deVan and Picture #12: deVan’s Eighth Visit

Visit #8: Jewish

 It was a bright and sunny morning when deVan stole into the Catholic Church through the unlocked back door. He had a few questions sizzling on his brain, but, still, he visited each of the 14 Stations of the Cross, the picture story of his friend’s walk to death. After seeing his friend buried in Station #14, deVan backtracked to #12.

            “Hello, Jesus.” Jesus looked down from the cross, and deVan heard his words clearly, although absolutely nothing moved. “Good day, deVan.”

            “I’m confused,” deVan confessed.

            “I’m not at all surprised.”

            “Is that a dig?”

            “Yes. It’s off-brand, isn’t it?”

            “It sure is. Abrielle never once said you made fun of confused people.” Abrielle was deVan’s consultant when he sought answers about the Bible; she knew a lot about the Bible.

            “I’m not proud to admit it,” Jesus said. “But I did. I once called one of my friends a devil because he didn’t understand my mission.”

            “What did you say exactly?”

            “I said, ‘get out of my sight, Satan.’”

            “Dang, that’s harsh. What did he do to deserve that?”

            “Short version, he said he didn’t want me to die.”

            deVan raised both hands. “Oh, your friend didn’t want you to die, and that made him a devil?”

            “I had to die. I didn’t need anyone talking me out of it.”

            deVan squinted at this. “Are you sure he was the one who was confused?”

            “The whole thing was hard, deVan.”

            “Go easy on yourself, Jesus. You’re only human.”

            “Um…”

            “Oh, I forgot. You transitioned. You were Tri-OON.” Jesus once told deVan that Jesus was part of the Triune God and then became a boy, somewhat like deVan, who was transgender.

            “Right,” Jesus said.

            “You know, Jesus, that sort of thing can also be pretty confusing.”

            “So, here we are back where you started.”

            deVan nodded. “Yes, confusion. You were Jewish, is that right?”
            “Yes.”

            “My best friend — I think I mentioned him to you — Stewart, he’s Jewish. I went to his Bar Mitzvah, remember?”

            “You said it was long and boring.”

            “Not exactly. Besides, the party after made up for it. That was fantastic.” deVan looked up at the man on the cross. “Did you have a Bar Mitzvah when you were twelve?”

            “Yes, of course. My parents were observant. They went by caravan to Jerusalem every Passover. When I was twelve, I had my Bar Mitzvah in Jerusalem.” Jesus probably smiled at the memory. “When we got ready to return home, I left the caravan and stayed behind in Jerusalem. My mom and dad went on for a day not realizing I wasn’t there.”

            “They didn’t know you were missing?”

            “Lots of our relatives and friends were part of the caravan. They thought I was with one of my uncles. When they realized I was missing, they went back to Jerusalem.”

            “By themselves? Wasn’t that dangerous?”

            “I guess. Travelling by caravan was definitely safer.”

            “What happened then?”

            “They found me in the Temple. I was talking with the synagogue officials.”

            “You were bad, Jesus. What did your dad say?”

            “He made a face I’d never seen before. Mom said, ‘how could you do this to us?’”

            “Sounds right. So here’s where you say sorry and beg forgiveness.”

            “Not exactly. I thought they knew I wanted to be a rabbi. I said they should have realized I wanted to stay in the big Temple and chat with the officials.”

            “Are you joking? I’d be grounded for life if I said that.”

            “So,” Jesus said. “What has been confusing to you?”

            deVan was jolted back to the topic he came to discuss. “Yes, right. The confusion is, if you were Jewish and had a Bar Mitzvah and became a rabbi, how come Stewart is a different religion from Christians?”

            “Oh, you decided to ask an easy question this week.”

            deVan took a breath. “I assume you are being sarcastic.”

            Jesus sighed. “Yes, a little. There’s a lot of history behind your question.”

            “I’m sure, but I’m not asking about history. It’s the same question I always seem to be asking you.”

            “Which is?”

            “Who’s right and who’s wrong?”

            Jesus looked down at deVan with a warmth that deVan felt like a quiet embrace. “There is only one answer to that, deVan.”

            “Live in love?”

            “Live in love, that’s the whole story, every law ever written, every word spoken by every prophet.”

            “And love is bigger than all of it.”

            “Yes, deVan, much bigger.”

            “So,” deVan said. “Maybe we humans come up with different ways of living in love, and they’re all one hundred percent right.”

            “Is that possible?”

            “I think so. I remember how I felt at Stewart’s Bar Mitzvah, with his parents and relatives and friends all smiling and rooting for him, me included. They were saying, ‘here’s how we live in love.’ I felt it when Abrielle stood up for me with that bully, Henry. I feel it in the Rainbow Cellar when us queer people tell each other we’re all just fine.”

            “That’s living in love.”

            deVan shook his head. “Dang, Jesus, it just hit me. Love is work.”

            “Yes. Sometimes it’s private work, like when Abrielle confronted that bully.”

            “And sometimes it’s public work like a Bar Mitzvah ceremony or whatever Catholics do around here.”

            “They celebrate Mass.”

            “Yeah, that.” deVan paused to consider all this. “Maybe love is so big we humans have to come at it from different directions.”

            “Maybe,” Jesus said.

            “Did you ever stop being Jewish, Jesus?”

            “No, I didn’t, and I didn’t have to.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Do you know what happened when your friend Stewart had his Bar Mitzvah?

            “They told me he became a man. I thought twelve was a little young for that, but I wasn’t going to argue.”

            “Actually, it means being a son of duty.”

            “Uh-oh, here comes another complication. A mitzvah is what, a duty?”

            “A mitzvah is something I do because it is my responsibility to do it.”

            “Responsibility to who?”

            “To God.”

            “To love.”

            “Yes.”

            “Wait,” deVan said. “So when you called your friend a devil, you were telling him that he was trying to keep you from doing your duty.”

            “My mitzvah.”

            “Mitzvah means duty, got it.”

            “It means more than that. A mitzvah connects me with love, puts me in touch with God. Listen, deVan, why do you go around the Stations of the Cross whenever you visit me here?”

            “When I first came, I saw the first picture over there and just went there. Then I noticed the other pictures along the walls and they told a story. Your story. Now, when I come, I can’t just walk up to the twelfth Station; I need to do the story first.”

            “Because it connects you.”

            “Yes, that’s right. I walk with you when you get convicted and when you get your cross to carry and when you trip and fall and then when you get stripped and nailed and die. Then I am ready to walk up to the twelfth Station and say hello.”

            “The need to connect is strong. That’s what a mitzvah really is. Connecting. Walking the Stations is connecting. Attending synagogue on Friday or Mass on Sunday, those things are connecting.”

            deVan liked this concept. “Joining other queer kids at the Rainbow Cellar, is that a mitzvah?”

            “Is it?”
            “Yes, Jesus, I think so, especially for Reverend Marjorie who runs it. She definitely connects with love.”

            “I agree. Any action that connects with love is a mitzvah.”

            “Like when Abrielle’s fist connected with Henry’s mouth.” Henry was the bully Abrielle stood up to. That ended pretty much the way deVan just indicated.

            Jesus mused. “I’m not sure that was a love connection.”

            “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. At least not with Henry.”

            “So,” Jesus said. “Are you less confused?”

            “Much less.”

            “Good for you, deVan.”

            “But not so good for the rest of the world. They seem as confused as ever.”

            “There’s a way you can help.”

            deVan did not hesitate. “Don’t judge. Live in love.” He was pretty sure Jesus nodded. Or at least flashed a quick smile.

deVan and Picture #12: deVan’s Seventh Visit

                         

Visit #7: The Rainbow Cellar

 

deVan had a serious look on his face. He entered the back door of the church, the door left ajar even though the front door was locked tight, and entered the area where the 14 Stations of the Cross were hung, the pictures circling the walls around the pews. These pictures told the story of the execution of Jesus by Roman authorities.

            After stopping at each Station, deVan strode back to Picture #12, the one with his friend looking down from his cross. “Hello, Jesus.”

            “deVan, good morning. Have you had a good week?”

            “I’ve had an interesting week. First of all, I met some Christians who think queer is just fine. They are Episcopalians. Do you know what they are?”

            “Yes.”

            “They have bishops and priests and guess what? They have the Stations of the Cross in their church.”

            “How did you meet them?”

            “This is the interesting part. They opened up something they called “The Rainbow Cellar.”

            As always, Jesus was fascinated by deVan’s discoveries. “What is it?”

            “Obviously, it’s a cellar.”

            “I see.”

            “It’s the basement of the church. A real cellar, with concrete walls and floor. They dressed it up with chairs and tables and a few rugs. I think they added some lights to make it brighter. You walk down old wooden steps to get to it.”

            “What goes on there?”

            “It’s for me and other queer people.”

            “How did you find out about it?”

            “A kid at my school told me about it. Jeremiah Font. He’s gay and Episcopalian. He gave me a flyer telling me all about this Rainbow Cellar.”

            “What happens there?”

            “Reverend Marjorie is in charge of it. She’s the assistant to the pastor. She said we’ll figure out what will happen as we go along. She said The Rainbow Cellar is a place of welcome and inclusion, which I’m not sure what all that means.”

            “This sounds like a good thing, deVan.” 

            deVan nodded. “It is. Our first meeting we all sat in a circle and said our names and what we thought made us part of the LGBTQ+ community. There were 16 of us, all teenagers. That first time around the circle was emotional, you know?”

            Jesus didn’t know. “What made it emotional? You were just telling everyone your names.”

            deVan shook his head. “You should have been there. Three of the kids said their names out loud for the first time ever. A couple of others only use their names with their closest friends; their parents don’t even know they picked their names. One girl started crying and couldn’t stop. I ran over and stooped down in front of her and held her hand.”

            “What happened then?”

            “She looked up at me with tears all over her face. She said, ‘You need a haircut.’”

            “What?”

            “It was great. Everybody laughed. It didn’t bother me.”

            “No?”

            “Well, I got a haircut the next day.”

            “You did need one. What happened next?”

            “Reverend Marjorie said we had enough tears. She had us go around again and say the best thing that happened in the past month.”

            “How did that go?”

            “Good. I don’t remember all the best things everybody said. One person said he got his first banana split ever, and it was delicious. A girl got new running shoes and the members of her track team said they were the coolest.”

            “What did you say?”

            “I told them about my talk with a homophobic woman.”

            Jesus was getting accustomed to deVan’s sudden digressions into topics more interesting than the one being discussed. “Who was this woman?”

            “She was the sacristan for Reverend Marjorie’s church. That means she takes care of the church. Before our Rainbow meeting I went into the church. That’s when I found out they have the Stations of the Cross. I was checking them out when I heard her in one of the back pews.”

            “So you know they are called pews.”

            deVan sighed. “What I know is everything in these churches has a different name, so I just Google them. I don’t want to walk up to you and call a pew a bench.”

            “It wouldn’t bother me.”

            “And I wouldn’t want to call a sacristan a cleaning lady.”

            “That would be fine with me.”

            “Sure it would, except for the little smirk whenever I make a mistake or say the wrong word for something.”

            “I don’t smirk. You won’t read anywhere in the Bible, ‘And Jesus smirked.’”

            “Like you said before, the people who wrote about you thought you were all high and mighty.”

            “I was.”

            “My point is, they all knew you smirked. They just didn’t think it was a great idea to write about it.

            “Tell me about the sacristan.”

            “She loves her job and she’s good at it. She said being over six feet tall — she’s very tall — means she can do her work way faster than most women. She can reach anywhere. Then she found out about the Rainbow Cellar.”

            “She did?”

            “Yeah. She was invited to a meeting of the top church people in this church where they discussed the idea.”

            “She didn’t like the idea.”

            “She said she came around when they started having women priests, even though that took some getting used to.  And all kinds of new stuff she also had to get used to.”

            “What stuff?”

            “She didn’t say. But, this, this homosexual thing, I think that’s how she put it, was too much. ‘Too much what?’ I asked her. She said we were letting sin into the church.”

            “What did you think about that?”

            “I felt bad for her. She is homophobic. Can you imagine what it’s like for her to clean up the rainbow cellar after a bunch of sinners were just there laughing with the Associate Pastor?”

            “What did you tell her?”

            “That I felt bad for her. She didn’t know I was one of the sinners. She said she knew I’d understand because I had great faith.”

            “What did she mean by that?”

            “Oh, I kind of knew what she meant. I said to her, ‘Just because you saw me going around the Stations of the Cross a couple of times, that doesn’t mean I’m some kind of saint.”

            “What?” Jesus said.

            “She was shocked. She said, ‘you knew I was there?’ I said yes. She said she was back in the shadows, that I couldn’t have seen her. I said that’s true for most people, but not me. I said she has a very unusual shadow, long and thin, and that dress that goes almost to the floor.”

            Jesus was more than intrigued. “So this sacristan, a six foot tall very thin woman, was the ghostly figure you saw over by the third Station.”

            “Yep. She came to pray and slipped into the shadows when she heard me come in. She came back the next week too.”

            “Pray? She has her own church.”

            “Jesus, people can pray anywhere. I could go to my bedroom and shut the door and pray in total quiet. In fact, I think more people should do it that way.”

            “Me too. But back to the story.”

            “Right. She came to this church because, first, she knew about the open back door, and, second, she said she wasn’t comfortable praying in her own church because of the homosexual thingy. When she saw me at the Stations, she thought I was an angel or something. Then I ran into her at her church and she said God sent me. I wanted to say, whoa, lady, God didn’t send me; a flyer sent me. But guess what, Jesus?”

            “What, deVan?”

            “ I did what you said. I decided to just listen to her. I said, ‘what made you think that?’”

            “Excellent, deVan. What did she say?”

            “She said she felt in her heart I would give her guidance. I’m thinking, whoa, lady, I’m a kid. I don’t guide; I stumble, you know? But I kept listening. She said seeing me at the Stations of the Cross was a sign, since she’s carrying her own cross. I never felt so – so symbolical.”

            “What did you say then?”

            “I said, ‘live in love, ma’am.’ I called her ma’am because I didn’t know what else to call her. She said, ‘how do I do that? These people are sinning.’ I said, ‘Yeah, it’s hard sometimes when people think differently from you. I have a friend, Abrielle,’ I said, ‘who doesn’t think I’m an angel at all. She passes me in the hall and ignores me.’”

            Jesus said, “What did…uh, ma’am say to that?”

            “She got upset, really upset. She said, ‘How could someone do that to you? It’s cruel.’ I said, ‘Well, you know, she also punched out a bully who was harassing me.’ That surprised her. ‘Then this girl doesn’t hate you.’ I said, ‘No, ma’am, we have different feelings about each other.’”

            Jesus smiled, one supposes. “How did ma’am handle that?”

            “She basically asked me how I handle it with all kinds of feelings flying around.”

            “And you said?”

            “Ready for this? I said, ‘Tomorrow is all new. We keep working at it. If we haven’t figured it out, there always another tomorrow.’ Pretty good, right?”

            deVan was sure Jesus nodded. “I couldn’t have said it better, deVan. How did ma’am react to that?”

            “Ha,” deVan said. “This is where it gets interesting. All of a sudden, I think she realizes I’m not really an angel. She squints her eyes and says, ‘What brought you here? I know you’re not part of this Church.’”

            “You mean she suddenly realized that?”

            “Exactly.”

            “What did you do? How did you respond?”

            deVan took a deep breath. “Okay, I turned toward her and put my hand on top of hers. She looked down at my hand and then up into my face. I looked at her and said, ‘I came to the Rainbow Cellar, ma’am. I am transgender.”

            Jesus paused for a few seconds. “What happened then?”

            deVan took another breath. “She cried, Jesus. She just cried.”

deVan and Picture #12: deVan’s Fifth Visit

Visit #5: The Intruder

 

This is the fifth of the visits by young deVan to the building behind the unlocked door.

 

As the large, heavy wooden door creaked open and allowed deVan entry, two ears inside the building heard the belching sound. Between the ears was a head that tilted to one side inquisitively. Beneath the head, a thin body rose upon its feet and turned toward the sound.

            deVan, as yet unaware of ears, heads, bodies or feet other than his own, made his way, as he had done several times before, to the inside door, a portal to the Catholic church that was home to his very good friend. Before that, of course, deVan had to make his way to the first picture on the side wall, the one proclaiming, “Jesus is condemned to death.” He now knew this was one of the 14 Stations of the Cross, depicting the path his friend took to the hill where he was nailed to a cross.

            The long thin figure was witness to all this, its shadowy presence no more than a hardly visible crease in the big empty church. All was well, one supposed. The child was walking the Stations with reverence, a sight too solemn and too rare to interrupt. Curiosity grew when the boy finished the 14^th Station (Jesus is buried) and reversed course until he was back at the 12^th (Jesus is crucified). The child stood there a very long time, apparently chatting with the man looking down upon him from the cross.

            Greetings over, Jesus said, “What’s new today, deVan?” “Every day is new, Jesus, all new. Did you ever notice that?”

            “Of course,” Jesus replied, a little excitement slipping into his voice. “That was a point I was constantly trying to get across in my preaching.”

            “Hm,” deVan said. “We already know you weren’t the best preacher around.”

            “Hey!”

            “People kept getting you wrong. First, they wouldn’t shut up when you told them to. Then, they thought you were going to overthrow the king when you said you weren’t.”

            “deVan, you have to realize, people have a hard time understanding my preaching when they think I’m going to tell them something entirely different.”

            “One of the things you preached was that each day is new?”

            “I didn’t put it exactly that way, but yes.”

            “This is where you get into trouble. How exactly did you put it?”

            “I said, sufficient to the day is the evil thereof.”

            “Dang, Jesus. Could you be any fuzzier?”

            “I also taught people to pray: give us this day our daily bread.”

            “What? You got evil thereof and daily bread, and that adds up to every day is new?”

            “Yes. Look, people worry about things down the road, in the future, when they should just take each day as it comes.”

            deVan smiled. “Take each day as it comes. There! Just say that. That’s something I had to learn.”

            “What do you mean, deVan?”

            deVan sighed. “You know I’m transgender, right? I used to get upset, really upset, about all the bad things that could happen to me if people didn’t accept me. My therapist…”

            Jesus interrupted. “You have a therapist?”

            “Yeah, he’s great; he’s trans too. I see him every week. He helped me see that each day was new and the day after was not here yet. His mantra was, ‘today has enough problems; tomorrow will have to wait.’ Pretty cool, right?”

            “Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof, deVan.”

            “All right, all right,” deVan admitted. “They really mean the same thing. But you don’t have to say it like Shakespeare.”

            “I didn’t talk like Shakespeare. I spoke simple Aramaic.”

            “If that’s true, why do you sound so unsimple?”

            Jesus sighed. “The people who translated the Bible made me sound that way. If you heard me in Aramaic, I would have sounded just like I do now.”

            “If I heard you in Amaratic, you’d sound like—” and here deVan did an entirely inappropriate imitation of a foreign language, which, to be fair, he would not learn was inappropriate for several more years. “But I get your point. Are there any translations that sound like you?”

            “Several. But the one you hear most sounds like, what you said, Shakespeare.”

            “I have to ask Aubrielle about this.” Aubrielle was deVan’s friend who didn’t speak to him and knew a lot about the bible because she was a “five-star Christian.” deVan looked up at the man looking down at him. “Jesus?”

            “Yes?”
            “Did the people who killed you hate you?”

            Jesus thought for a minute. “I don’t think so, deVan. I don’t think they knew what they were doing.”

            deVan was a little surprised. “These Stations of the Cross sure make it seem like they knew what they were doing.”

            “Oh, they knew how to put on a crucifixion.”

            “You make it sound like a rock concert.”

            “It was meant to be a spectacle. To show people what happens when they go against Rome. I went up that hill with a group of condemned men.”

            “The Stations didn’t show that.”

            “Poetic license, remember?” Jesus said. deVan once told Jesus that you can change parts of a story to make it flow better.

            “But you didn’t think they hated you?
            “Hate is just fear on fire, deVan.”

            “Fear on fire?”

            “Yes. Cold fear can freeze you or cause you to run away. Fear on fire attacks and burns. 

            “What sets it on fire?”
            “The feeling that I am threatened, that you are something awful that will harm me if I don’t burn you out.”

            “Did people feel that way about you?”

            “Some did.”

            “What set their fear on fire?”
            “Some of them thought I was out to change the way they lived.”

            “Were you?”

            “If they weren’t living in love, yes.”

            “Is that all?”

            “Others thought I was taking what they felt was important and making it unimportant. Or taking what they thought was unimportant and making it important.”

            deVan blinked a couple of times. “Any examples of this?”

            “I told them the poor, the meek, and the powerless were as valuable as the wealthy and the strong. That the stranger deserves their love and care as much as their family.”

            “Why would that make them hate you?”

            “They felt threatened. Maybe the powerful would lose their power if everyone thought the weak were just as important. And, deVan, if you are blessed to be rich and think you deserve to be rich, you don’t want someone coming along telling people the poor are also blessed.”

            “Is that what you told them, that the poor were blessed?”

            “Yes.”

            “I still don’t get hate. The poor are different from the rich, but they aren’t really a threat.”

            “deVan, I have to tell you, I don’t get hate either. That fear on fire is dangerous. It doesn’t just burn the one who is feared; it burns the hater too.”

            “It’s dumb is what it is.”

            Jesus could only agree. “The fire is so bright it blinds the hater to the goodness in others. It is so hot it scorches everything it touches.”

            “So love puts out the fire?”

            “Love brings its own brightness, but love’s brightness makes us able to see. Love brings heat, too, but it’s a heat that warms and comforts.”

            deVan smiled. “Now see there, Jesus. You can preach pretty good when you put your mind to it.”

            “And you listen pretty well when you’re not being a wise guy.”

            That thin figure in the shadows heard deVan’s laughter as the boy strode away from the 12th Station, through the sanctuary and out the back door. It seemed to glide over to the picture of the man on the cross. The figure stood for a while where deVan had stood, looked up, and wondered.

deVan and Picture #12: deVan’s Fourth Visit

Visit #4: Henry

 

This is the fourth of the visits by young deVan to the building behind the unlocked door. 

 

deVan was so excited that, when he opened the door to the back of the church building, he almost tore it off its hinges. Actually, he didn’t come close to tearing it off its hinges because the door to the back of the church building was large and thick, and, even in his excited state, he struggled to open it wide enough for his body to slip in. The point is, deVan was excited.

            He entered the church sanctuary and walked immediately over to what he now knew were the Stations of the Cross, 14 pictures telling the story of the death of his newest friend. As was his practice, deVan stopped at each one of the 14 Stations, read the accompanying explanation of what was going on, and just thought about it for a few seconds.

             When he circled back to Picture #12, the man on the cross was first to speak. “You kind of rushed around the Stations today, deVan.”

            deVan didn’t think so, but that can happen when you are excited to meet up with a good friend; you don’t even know you are rushing. “Hello, Jesus.”

            This was becoming a thing. If one of them forgot to start with a “hello,” the other would gently say it first. “Good morning, deVan,” Jesus said. “Now what has you so animated this morning?”

            “I made NJHS!”

            “That’s exciting, deVan. Do those letters stand for something?”

            “Yes, they stand for something.”

            Jesus waited.

            “They stand for National Junior Honor Society. You probably didn’t have one back when you went to school.”

            “No, school was different then. I did become an apprentice mason when I was your age, though. That was a kind of junior honor.”

            “You were a bricklayer?” deVan’s attention often shifted to what became interesting at the moment.

            “Much more than that. There’s no word for it today. I was a tekton. I did carpentry, working in wood, but I also was a stonemason. My Dad and I worked on the homes of the wealthy. That paid well.”

            “That doesn’t sound on brand for you.”

            “On what?”

            “On brand. It means kind of matching up with who you are supposed to be.”

            At times deVan caused Jesus some annoyance; this was one of those times. “I don’t think I have a brand, deVan.”

            At this assertion, deVan could not hold back a chuckle. “Are you kidding? Live in love; feed the hungry; heal sick folks; yell at rich people.”

            “I never yelled…”

            “The point is, you have a one hundred percent definite brand.”

            Rather than succumb to exasperation, Jesus decided to go with deVan’s faulty logic. “All right, but how is doing masonry for wealthy people off brand.”

            “Because you’re helping people who don’t need your help. I don’t know all that much about the Bible…”

            “Understatement,” Jesus muttered.

            “…but I bet there isn’t a story about how great it is to build houses for super rich people.”

            “How about if I told you that the experience taught me how differently the rich and poor live?”

            “Yeah…”

            “And that experience helped a lot when I was creating my brand.”

            “I can see that.”

            “So?”

            “So,” deVan said jauntily, “back to the NJHS.”

            “Right.”

            “I never thought I’d be selected.”

            “Why not?”

            “I thought I wasn’t taking enough honors courses. But my grades were good, so I got in.”

            “I am happy for you.” Jesus meant it.

            “You know the best part?

            “I assume the best part was being selected.”

            “Nope.” This is where deVan’s smile shaded ever so slightly toward wickedness. “The best part was the look on Aubrielle’s face when they announced that I got in.” Aubrielle Vinly was a very smart classmate of deVan’s; she was, in deVan’s words, a “five-star Christian” and someone deVan could always count on to explain the bible to him.

            “She was surprised you made the Honor Society?”

            “She was flabbergasted. She came up to me afterwards and said congratulations, like it was a question.”

            “So Aubrielle is talking to you now?” Aubrielle, being a five-star Christian, had told deVan she had to shun him because he was transgender.

            “She goes back and forth. If I pass her in the hall she shuts her mouth till it becomes a little line and nods at me.”

            “Will she still talk about the Bible with you?
            “That’s the thing. If I just say the word “Bible” to her, she’ll sit and look me in the eye and not just talk but listen. Like on Wednesday, when she punched Henry Slacken in the mouth.”

            Jesus was frankly caught off guard by this sudden pivot. “She what?”

            “Henry Slacken is a big beefy bully, and he has at least four nasty looking zits around his nose.”

            “And?”

            “He comes up to me last Wednesday. I was alone with Aubrielle outside during lunch — we’re allowed to go out after we eat — talking about the Bible. Do you want to hear what we were talking about?”

            “No, I want to hear about this Henry.”

            “Oh. Okay. So Henry must have seen us by ourselves. He comes up to me and does that thing bullies do where they get right in your face. Those zits are not pretty. Then he calls me names, you know, because I’m trans, tells me I don’t belong here. Right then, Aubrielle tells him to back off me.”

            “She did?”

            “Yeah. Aubrielle is a lot of things but a coward isn’t one of them.”

            “What happened then?” Jesus was intensely interested.

            “Then Henry turns to her and laughs. I think he was going to say, ‘What are you gonna do about it,’ but he got just about to the word ‘do’ when, wham! She jabs him right in the mouth.”

            “Hard?” Jesus said.

            “Oh, yes. Aubrielle is some sort of black belt in karate. She could have punched him even harder if she wanted.”

            “How do you know that?”

            “Because she said after, ‘I could have punched him harder.’”

            “What happened then?”

            “Not much. Henry ran off with his sleeve against his mouth.”

            “Didn’t he report her?”

            At this deVan could only laugh. “Definitely not. It would be totally off brand for Henry Slacken to be punched out by a girl.”

            Jesus mused, “I’m getting the hang of this brand concept.”

            “Right?” deVan said. “Not everyone has a brand, but every bully does. That’s why, when a bully shows up in a movie, you always know exactly what they’re going to do.”

            “Were you shaken up by all this?”

            “A little, but Henry I’m used to. He says something mean every time he passes me in the hall.”

            “How was Aubrielle?”

            “Fine. After she said she could have hit him harder, she just sat and said, ‘I really hate bullies.’ I thought that was pretty obvious. Now, are you ready for this?”

            Jesus was wary. “deVan, I’m never ready for what you’re going to say next.”
            “So I ask her, ‘Hey, Aubrielle, are there any bullies in the Bible?’ She gets snooty right away and says, ‘I assume you are referring to the New Testament. Well, the answer is yes.’ And she told me about a girl who was caught committing the sin of adulthood, I think she said.”

            “Close enough,” Jesus affirmed.

            “This girl, she’s dragged to Jesus by the bullies, and they tell Jesus they are going to stone her. You know what that is?”

            “Yes.”

            “It’s bad. Really bad. They want to kill her right there because that’s the law. So, Jesus says, fine, the man with no sins can throw the first stone. But there’s no one with no sins so the bullies all slink away. Then Jesus asks the woman, who’s around to condemn you to death? She looks around and says, nobody, and Jesus says that he, you, won’t condemn her either. Then you tell her to leave and don’t do any more sinning.”

            “That’s an excellent summary.”

            “Then Aubrielle says, that’s the point of the story, that the girl should not do any more sinning.”

            “What did you say?”

            “Ha. I said, ‘what? That wasn’t what I got out of it.’”

            “What did…”

            “What did I get out of it? First of all, saying not to sin is not the main point. What else are you going to say, like hey, lady go and sin like crazy! No. It’s just the obvious thing to say. The point is that you did not condemn her. You forgave her, right?”

            “Yes.”

            “Aubrielle said sure, that’s important, but it’s more important not to sin.”

            “Did you disagree?”

            “Nope. What I said was, ‘what if the same girl did the same sin a week later and was dragged to you again? What would happen?’”

            “Hm,” Jesus said. “Interesting.”

            “Oh, yeah. Aubrielle really had to think about that. Finally she said you’d forgive the girl a second time. I said how about a third time. Then she said something about seventy times seventy times, which I guess is a lot of times.”

            “What does all that mean to you, deVan?”

            “It means you’re on my side against all the bullies in the world.”

            “That’s true.”

            “That’s the part I like.”

            “Is there another part?”

            “Yeah, I think. It looks like I’ve got to forgive Henry Slacken and keep forgiving him.”

            “I think you are right,” Jesus said.

            “But I don’t have to feel extra bad that he got a nice smack in the mouth.”

            “I’m not going to argue with that.”

            deVan laughed out loud. “I’m not sure that’s on brand, Jesus.”

            “Oh well,” said the man on the cross.