Christian Clarity Review

Eight Seconds

Job 41:8-34 Lay thy hand upon him; remember the battle, –do no more! Lo, hope as to him is belied: is not one cast down even at the sight of him? None is so bold as to stir him up; and who is he that will stand before me?… Upon earth there is not his like, who is made without fear. He beholdeth all high [things]: he [is] a king over all the children of pride.

You can’t understand exactly what takes place just by looking at it if you’ve never been here. But you can come close just because you are a soul.

Empty, the whole scene, (..the gates with the chipped paint, the old school sponsor signs next to the new school sponsor signs, the flow of the raked ground running parallel in curving rows, the smell, the seats and the overhang casting its shadow on dark earth..) is one of awaiting the best available perfection. Something waits to be completed over and over. The whole isn’t eternal. But it is too sturdy, too permanent for a one time event. Souls, if not here now, will come for something important. They will keep coming back to this place for more.

If you have seen of the other parts of life, you can fill in the empty places based on shape similarities. The onlookers can buy refreshments. Counter tops are counter tops in Arabia and in England.

There are niches here and there in the overall construction to accommodate small stoves and drink dispensers. On event night the smell of mechanical things and the items necessary to run them ( hot oil, barbeque and beer, paper money and hard coin, hotdogs and hamburgers) hangs in the air, mixing with the smell of people, animals and torn ground.

There are stands; mostly wooden planks in rude rows in the smaller towns. The seats can be private and plush in the larger cites and bigger venues. The center on which the action is performed is approximately the same as a football field. It is plain with no obstructions or obstacles giving the immediate certainty that the action is coming from the outside in and that a gate would be the natural entrance and beginning of the event. The present emptiness implies fullness later and proves the existence of the timing the event.

The ground is custom dirt, a clay/sand mixture of dark color not native to the surrounding area. Some experiments were tried years ago which involved fuller’s earth and limestone in an effort to influence the bull’s rage with the color of the earth beneath and around him. The more rage, the better the ride for the onlookers and the deeper the sense of accomplishment for the rider. The experiments were discontinued after it was understood that genetics play the dominant role in bull behavior.

He can’t escape what he is. It turns out he just doesn’t like to have anyone throw a leg over and ride him. The whole thing turns on that very truth.

Attempts to artificially enhance his resentment generally fail. Most riders are glad. What rage he has is already sufficient to throw all but the best. It makes him quick for his size. You wouldn’t think it just looking at him in the eye beforehand, but inside there is an internal combustion engine that explodes into action at the drop of a hat. The winners feel lucky after it is over.

As the time draws near, the peculiar leather is donned, hats are drawn a bit lower on the riders heads and the eyes narrowly search for the fight. The hands are clenched, legs and arms stretched, necks cracked in a prior equipment check. Some do push ups. Some pace. Some just stand and joke with the other brothers in the fight. Some offer advice and give tips while they wait to draw the name of the bull they will ride.

They are for each other against the bull. They are for themselves just a bit more—in a friendly way. It’s about winning. Stay on for eight seconds and do it better than the other guy who stays on for eight seconds. Do it closest to the ideal and you win. No one really knows what the ideal is, but in the middle of the ride with a little help from the rider they’ll feel what comes close.

Strong grip. Relax a bit. Make it look easy and natural. Negate the rage of the beast beneath you one handed and smiling. Give the nod and hold on. If you get thrown off, get up. Quick. You don’t have to know what to do or even where you are. Just get up. Next bull.

The best?

It’s beneath you on a certain level to do this. You just need the money. If the people will pay you for riding an animal, why not? You are not the people, yet there is enough of them in you to prove the ancient solidarity and to understand their sense of danger and profit from it. It flatters their sense of self intelligence and self will to be afraid for you on the back of the beast. One handed is the show.

*******

Mark thumbs the switch to the church lights and walks out of the building toward his car. Jim is halfway toward the parking lot before Mark notices the limp. Knowing Jim for some years, he hasn’t noticed it before; might have missed it now except for the slight backlighting produced in the haze of street lights filtering in through the fog.

“You okay?”

The question comes out disingenuous of voice as it seems to Mark even as he asks that the question is too late; that something has happened long ago he should have noticed sooner. Jim is comfortable in the limp.

“Yeah. What’s up?” Jim answers to answer, an automatic retort he absently sends downrange on encounter.

“You’re limping.”

Jim stops and waits for Mark to catch up. “That was years ago. But thanks for noticing. Bull stomped me. It makes me limp when the barometer drops.”

“I didn’t know you rode.”

“I used to. Still try it now and again when I can sneak out from the house. Mary is afraid I’ll get hurt again.”

“So what happened?” They walk toward the cars.

“Got out of the gate. Doing good for the first three seconds, then got suckled into the vortex before he bucked me off. I must have sailed ten feet in the air. Landed okay. But he stepped on my leg—fractured my femur. It never grew back right. Five surgeries, lots of therapy. All that.”

Mark is impressed. Bull riding isn’t his idea of Jim’s extracurricular activities. His perception of Jim is of an evangel geek, unmanned long ago by a lie and thinking his pretense is real strength; a churcheology specialist steeped in the etiquette, haircut and clothes of everything pop Christian. He has the music, the latest Christian novels conspicuously in his living room, the bible cover, the electronic gadgets of quote search. He teaches a class on something Old Testament. He has a vehement opinion on prophecy and just enough doubt to be polite on que.

Bull riding seems too real for his idea of who Jim is. Mark smiles, glad to see something good in his friend. It isn’t a judgment, but a first recognition of the solid things one acquaintance wants for another prior to true friendship. Bull riding takes a bit of gumption beyond the norm. “Did you get his name?”

Jim smiles wryly. “For years I thought it was Son of a Bitch. But in fact it was–is Really? Question mark and all. He was from some farm out of Oklahoma.”

Mark smiles. “Strange name for a bull. I would never have thought to incorporate the punctuation mark. Messes with your mind—besides the possible impact with horns, muscle and the hooves, the twisting and the hard ground.”

“Exactly. Makes you doubt if you can win just hearing the name. But you know me. I had to throw a leg over and ride. It is my image of myself. Still is—for the good.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do you mean? The other guy’s incredulity. That’s what we ride when we speak the gospel. Right? His unbelief. The bull is a physical counterpart, a balance. I always thought of myself as doing it one handed and smiling. Impressing somebody—somewhere. God maybe. Maybe the other guy. Maybe not. Maybe myself.”

“Oh. I thought you were talking about a real bull.” Mark laughs. “Some farm in Oklahoma?”

“It was a real bull. It is a real bull.”

Jim reaches his car and unlocks it as they stand. “You got your moves, the other guy’s heart has its moves. Don’t get sucked down into the vortex. Keep the high ground. Know when to sacrifice. Don’t get stepped on. You got eight seconds to save his soul. ‘Cause beyond that his attention has drifted and he can’t hear you. That’s the calling, the job—the life.”

“The gospel isn’t rodeo gear, Jim. It’s not a contest between you and him. You can’t think of it like that.”

“It is a contest. ‘Have a summary to give to whoever asks’. Paul said that. You don’t speak a summary for nothing. Run to win. Get the conversion. Not for your sake—for his.”

“That’s not what he meant.”

“Then what did he mean?”

“God speaks through us and genuinely births new spirits and new hearts and saves the soul. New birth is salvation. Not emotional manipulation of the old. A contest is denial that God is His Word, as if there is really no such thing as genuine new birth in Him as word. It’s His power. Not ours. It isn’t re-train or break the heart of certain rules or habits. It is give outright new hearts through God’s acts of Speech through us. Don’t let the attraction of supposedly doing personal gumption in the face of hostility obscure the reality of new birth. That gumption isn’t the same as losing your life for the gospels sake. You’re not riding anything. It’s not a contest.”

“It has to be. And that bull is real, brother. Just like my limp.” He bumped his leg with his bible. “But I won’t quit. I won’t give up. It’s all I know. I just get up and do it again until I die.” He looked Mark up and down. “Besides, if you get thrown off the clowns are always there to save your ass.”

“Stay off my brother, brother.”

“You’re deceived if you think it’s not a contest. What good are you for God if you won’t win?”

“Take now for instance. I’m doing emotion improperly? I’m bucking when I should be twisting? Have we reached vortex?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. It’s wrong. You’re deceived on that one.”

“Everybody rides somebody all the time, Mark. There is no getting out of it by checking out of the system. It is impossible to get out of the system. You know that.”

“No, I don’t know that. We are birthed out of it. That’s why it’s called new birth.”

“You may be born again but you’re still going go home this very night and Grace is going to want you to do love her way. She’s going to try and ride your heart and smile and be sexy while she does it—and you will probably let her win. Is that such a bad thing?”

“It’s not bad that we are together. But merely riding the other persons incredulity is evil. It gives them the impression they have free will and you are trying to out will them. It is a lie. Hell, it’s the lie.”

Jim opened the door and got in. “We’re not going to go there tonight brother. I know you mean well.”

“You heard me. But that doesn’t justify me. Or you.”

“You got it all covered. But you still have to go home and face Grace. I still gotta face Mary when I get home. And this event starts over.” He nodded at his leg. “And I’m still limping when it gets cold.”

“Be healed brother. In the Name of Jesus Christ. There is no bull. And the one giving the nod through you to open the gate isn’t your friend like you suppose. He is the enemy of the whole world.”

Jim looked at Mark and shrugged as he grinned. “You never did understand. Maybe God will let you wash dishes in heaven. I’m going for the gold.”

Mark turns and walks to his car as Jim’s brake lights flash at the stop light.

The church stands dark against the night under a full moon as they drive away. Brick and mortar surrounded by grass and trees, its silence in the middle of everything else proves an event is coming, that a sound has to come from the outside in and that a gate of speech will be the natural entrance. Souls will come back to this very place to hear even the smallest real sound spoken in the quietest voice in the shortest amount of time.

There are plush chairs. They sell refreshments here. On holidays, they have a barbeque.

—————————————————

Ephesians 2:110 and you, being dead in your offences and sins– in which ye once walked according to the age of this world, according to the ruler of the authority of the air, the spirit who now works in the sons of disobedience: among whom we also all once had our conversation in the lusts of our flesh, doing what the flesh and the thoughts willed to do, and were children, by nature, of wrath, even as the rest: but God, being rich in mercy, because of his great love wherewith he loved us, (we too being dead in offences,) has quickened us with the Christ, (ye are saved by grace,) and has raised us up together, and has made us sit down together in the heavenlies in Christ Jesus, that he might display in the coming ages the surpassing riches of his grace in kindness towards us in Christ Jesus. For ye are saved by grace, through faith; and this not of yourselves; it is God’s gift: not on the principle of works, that no one might boast. For we are his workmanship, having been created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God has before prepared that we should walk in them.

2 Corinthians 11:3,4 But I fear lest by any means, as the serpent deceived Eve by his craft, so your thoughts should be corrupted from simplicity as to the Christ. For if indeed he that comes preaches another Jesus, whom we have not preached, or ye get a different Spirit, which ye have not got, or a different glad tidings, which ye have not received, ye might well bear with it .

In the Name of Jesus Christ, Amen