From the Bench

"THE PASSION" AND OTHER THINGS TO PONDER ON THE WAY TO THE BANK

"You’re not going to see ‘The Passion’", my friend Frisbee from Atlanta asked in a tone meant to hang an overpowering guilt trip on me? He was getting up another busload, his third I think, to see the movie. It was the most enthusiasm I’ve seen from Frisbee since he organized a protest at CNN Center against violence on television.

"Why aren’t you going," he insisted?

I couldn’t resist the opening. "Too much violence," I said.

The inference was wasted. When Frisbee takes up a cause, he is unaware and unstoppable. His most recent previous crusade had been "The Prayer of Jabez", the relatively thin missal in which the author got a lot of mileage from a little scripture; however, it became a best seller.

For a while, Frisbee’s genius was the rage of his Sunday School class. He had read the book over and over again, taking advantage of its brevity to commit key thoughts to memory. When it was discovered that he had cribbed much of his knowledge from the innumerable commentaries on the book, his star was tarnished. No matter. By that time, he was off on another crusade.

Frisbee has never mentioned "The da Vinci Code," either because he overlooked it or he considers it religious sacrilege not worth his time. It is the only target of prominence not picked up by his radar screen of guilt-laying.

One of Frisbee’s longest-running religious infatuations was, and is, the "Left Behind" series of novels, which, I suppose, will lead to Armageddon and beyond. There are to be, I think, twelve of the novels. I am not a reader; therefore, I don’t know where they stand.

Frisbee, being almost as devout a Republican as he is a Christian, and an enthusiastic drawer of parallels, became convinced for awhile that Bill Clinton was the anti-Christ. Then came the Monica thing, which threw his calculations into a clutter. Clinton was no longer the anti-Christ, but Frisbee remained convinced that he represented some evil Biblical character.

I made a most disturbing suggestion. "Maybe he could be King Solomon reincarnated. After all, they are both brilliant men and both of them like women."

Lucky for me, sackcloth and ashes are no longer in style. Frisbee wouldn’t speak to me for a month, until "The Passion" transportation project began. After my lack of enthusiasm for that, he has again expressed a lost faith in mine.

Something more disturbing about all these religious undertakings than Frisbee’s enthusiasm for them is the fact that I have found no way to capitalize on the phenomenon. As an aspiring writer, I have long dreamed of composing the great American novel, or at least a best seller. Next to cookbooks to gain weight or diet books to lose it, the religious theme seems to be the easiest pathway to success.

An ulterior motive that I hate to confess is my desire to restore Frisbee’s faith in my devotion to "The Word."

A few weeks back, I thought I had hit on it. After a pleasant dinner out, I went to bed contented and ready for a good night’s rest. Instead, there came upon me a surreal, out-of-body experience that I could attribute to nothing less than divine inspiration. It lasted at least an hour. It came in waves, unpleasant at times, but in others an uplifting that could have come only from God. I thought.

Then came morning. And breakfast.

"I had the strangest thing happen to me last night," my wife related. "I had the weirdest feelings. I think it must have been the mushrooms on the food bar. They tasted kind of funky."

I didn’t say a thing, but continued eating my oatmeal. I was crushed. The great religious novel would have to wait.

I hate it not just for myself, but also for Frisbee.

He would have been so proud.