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me feel like we’re in this together.”

      “Ha, ha! Now that is what I’m talking about. Yes sir, we are in this together. All the way, now and in the here-after. I like that. I don’t even know you, Brother Tripp, but you and me, we’re in this together, and do you know why?”

      Taking my best guess I offered, “Jesus?”

      “Praise his holy name. I can talk to you, Brother Tripp. And I like someone I can talk to. You know what I’m saying?”

      “Yes sir, I believe I do.”

      “That’s good. That’s good.”

      Despite his participation in a play, his hour long homily, and his leading of the congregation in a dozen or so songs, my new brother-in-arms, Reverend Irving, had plenty of energy left for conversation. You have to admire that sort of drive.

      Immediately after the introductions, I told him what I wished to discuss and thanked him, in advance, for honoring my odd request of subject matter.

      “Talking about Satan?” he asked. “That’s not odd. We talk about Satan all the time. You better talk about Satan. The moment you let your guard down is the moment he will conform you to his ways.”

      “Well, that’s kind of what I want to talk to you about. Satan’s ability to conform us to his ways, as you suggest. So . . .” I intuited his desire to cut in. “Yes?”

      “No, go ahead.”

      “No, no, please,” I told him. “I’m here to ask you questions. I want to hear what you have to say, so any time you feel like saying something, please jump in.”

      “Let me ask you something, Brother Tripp, if you don’t mind.”

      “Not at all. Please.”

      “Why do you think you are here wanting to talk to me about Satan?” he asked. “Now think seriously about that for a moment. Why are you here, on this very night, talking to me?”

      “Well, to be honest—”

      “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he interrupted.

      “Ha-ha. Of course. Well, there are any number of contingencies that enable us to find ourselves in certain places with certain people at certain times. I guess in this situation the fact that I work here may be the most obvious reason.”

      I could tell he was not satisfied with my response, so he offered another possibility. “But you don’t think this was some sort of accident, do you?”

      As I stood there trying to find the right words I sensed he already had the answer he wanted to hear, but he was kind enough to allow me the opportunity to figure it out for myself.

      “No, by contingencies,” I continued, “I’m not referring to an accident per se, just the idea that I could have very easily ended up somewhere else tonight, or you could have been somewhere else, or—

      “Right, right,” he interrupted. “Now think about that for a second. You could be anywhere else in this world having this conversation, or not having this conversation, yet here we are, together, talking about the one responsible for the fall of all creation. Why do you think that is?”

      “I’m guessing you think it’s by design?”

      “As is all things,” he furtively grinned. “Now, I want you to think about that before we go any further.”

      After standing there quietly feigning thought for a moment or so I asked him, “Are you suggesting that I was meant to be here? That God led me to this particular moment?”

      Laughing rather loudly, almost beside himself, he said, “I’m not suggesting it, Brother Tripp, I am saying it! Praise the Lord! Come on with me now. Praise his holy name!”

      I stood there looking at him a bit confused.

      “Oh, uh, you mean right now?”

      “Right now! Praise his name, Brother Tripp, praise it!”

      “Okay . . . praise Jesus,” I softly offered.

      Being none too pleased with my pitiful attempt, he said, “Come on now; say it like you mean it!”

      “Well, I do mean it.” Now it was my turn to preach. “But I think one of the problems of contemporary Christianity is it confines praise of God to what we do with our voices, when praise of God occurs through acts of charity, the enactment of justice, obedience to Jesus. You know, St. Francis said to preach the Gospel everyday, and if you have to, use words. I think that is a—”

      “I love that, Brother Tripp, I love that!” he interrupted excitedly. “I’m going to use that sometime, but right now I need you to praise his name for me!”

      “For you?”

      “No, no, not for me. Not even for Jesus, but for you.”

      “Well, that could be a bit Feuerbachian, but, at the same time I guess—” and before I could finish my sentence he shouted at the top of his lungs, “PRAISE HIS HOLY NAME, BROTHER TRIPP!”

      “PRAISE JESUS!” I screamed in terror.

      “That’s right, that’s right,” he said, bringing it back down to a civilized decibel. “Praise the Lord.”

      “Yes sir.”

      “How do you feel about that?” he proudly asked.

      “A bit high strung. Maybe a little frightened. My heart is beating pretty hard, but, uh, overall, pretty good.”

      “Ha-ha, yes sir, yes sir. That heart is beating hard because Jesus is in it. And now we know why you’re here, don’t we?” he asked with a very pleased tone.

      “I think so,” I told him. “I really do, and that is, in a very round about way, what I want to talk about. This conversation about Satan, it’s really about a pursuit of God, or as you just, I think, eloquently suggested, God’s pursuit of us.”

      “That’s right.”

      “Well, and, I’m not completely sure how I want to begin this conversation, but I guess, in a way, during the service you sort of gave me a lead on how, perhaps, this conversation could go.”

      “It’s funny how things work out that way, isn’t it, Brother Tripp? It wouldn’t be a mere coincidence, now would it?”

      “I’m guessing you’re thinking ‘no.’”

      “That’s right,” he confirmed.

      “So, earlier in the service you were talking about science, and presumably, at least specifically, from what I gather, the claims of evolutionary biology that suggest we share a common ancestor with other primates. And then you made an interesting—”

      “Well, now hold on there a second,” he interrupted. “What do you mean by ‘other primates’?”

      “Oh, well, only that homo-sapiens, based on a number of anatomical characteristics, maybe the similarities in our DNA, something about opposable thumbs, I don’t really know as I’m not a zoologist, but based on whatever sort of taxonomy of characteristics we are classified as a primate.”

      “According to . . . ?” he slowly asked.

      “Um, well, people. Scientists.”

      “Let me ask you something, Brother Tripp. Why is that the standard of truth? Why is the model of science held as the ultimate bearer of truth? Especially when we know, you and I that is, when we know that Jesus is the truth. Are you suggesting that Jesus was a monkey?”

      That question is as funny today as it was then. Seriously, go back and re-read it. Take your time. It’s hilarious. I’m not going anywhere. Re-read it. He actually asked me if I thought Jesus was a monkey. I wanted to say, “No sir. I learned in my first year of divinity school that Jesus was human. Once we figured out Jesus wasn’t a monkey,

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