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Red State Sis

Phil Temples

    “You’re my baby brother and I worry for you. I worry about what will happen to you — when it comes.”
    My sister, Claudine, had called me from her home near Billings, Montana to catch up on family gossip—mostly, the latest shenanigans of our other sister, Jessica who still lived in our home town of Shelbyville, Indiana. I was just about to grab my umbrella and head into Harvard Square to putter around. Claudine and I spoke infrequently so instead of begging off I decided to hang around and chat with her for a few minutes. This urgent worry for my well being on her part was odd. I had heard from Jessica that Claudine was experiencing some health issues of late. But—what were these vague references of things happening to me? And, what was coming? I certainly wasn’t aware of any portentous event looming in my future.
    “Uh huh. And— what is supposed to happen?”
    “You know. The End of Days.”
    She pronounced the phrase in a quiet, solemn manner, as though she were afraid that articulating the words at normal volume might actually precipitate the heralding of trumpets, or the formation of crevices in the ground.
    “Ohhh kay.”
    I now remembered our conversations over the past few years where Claudine wanted to know if I had accepted Jesus Christ, a prerequisite for admission into the Kingdom of Heaven. But according to Claudine’s ominous tone, it now sounded as though the departure date was being moved up.
    “You don’t believe me?” She sounded incredulous. “Haven’t you been following the news stories, little brother?”
    Claudine went on to explain to me the publicity surrounding the Rev. Harold Crumpett, the president of The Word Radio. It seemed that the good Reverend had put his notable numerology
skills at work in interpreting various biblical passages to arrive at the date of the End Times. Crumpett predicted that
Jesus would return to Earth
on May 21, 2011 “whereupon the righteous would
fly up to heaven, and that there would follow five months of fire,
brimstone
and plagues on Earth, with millions of people dying each day, culminating on October 21, with the final destruction of the world.”
    Of course, what Claudine failed to say was, Crumpett had previously predicted that
Judgment Day
was supposed to have occurred on or about September 6, 1994. This I learned by way of Wikipedia.
    “I know you were raised a Christian, and I pray with all of my might that you’ll still allow Jesus to come into your heart. Before it’s — too late.”
    Her last few words tapered off. They were almost inaudible. I could tell she was fighting back the tears.
    “I— Gosh— I don’t know what to say, Claudine. We’ve had this conversation before. I’m not — it’s not that I’m a complete atheist. I suppose I’m agnostic. Or part pagan. I believe that there may be something out there that created the universe. There may even be energy in the universe that comprises spiritual power. Perhaps even the Earth Mother. But there are many, many different paths to enlightenment. I can’t accept your view that only Christians will achieve some sort of salvation or afterlife, while all the moral Buddhists and Hindus and Muslims and Pagans—“
    “—Arrrrrg! You make me so angry sometimes, Tom! You use labels like ‘atheist’ and ‘agnostic’ like you’re some sort of elitist east coast snob. Don’t be so foolish! You studied the Bible as a child. You know the Word. The Truth! The Reverend Crumpett and his followers, they’re trying desperately to spread The Word to as many as possible before it’s too late.”
    Claudine told me she and her husband, John had contributed several thousand dollars to Crumpett’s The Word Radio organization to help fund their campaign to enlighten the world about the End Days. Over the phone she could not see me roll my eyes, nor could she hear me sigh with my hand cupped over the microphone.
    I assured her that I would try and keep an open mind (and heart) about Jesus, and to remember Crumpett’s prediction/deadline, but I was fairly certain she doubted my sincerity. Frankly, Claudine was beginning to annoy me. I had given her far more time than I ever granted to anyone else who had tried winning me over to Jesus.
    I hung up with my big sister.
    “Wow.”
    She was right about one thing. It was true — I did feel like an East Coast snob. I had changed. I was no longer the innocent, wide-eyed Hoosier kid that she remembered from our childhood. For over half my life I had lived in Boston. I had met people from all walks of life and every corner of the earth. I had been exposed to all manner of spiritual and intellectual belief systems. My world was no longer the black-and-white, good-versus-evil world that my sister and her ilk inhabited. I was a citizen of the World. I lived in a Blue State.

* * *

    In the weeks that followed, I heard much more from Claudine than I ever had over the past five years. She peppered me with daily email updates and Facebook posts. Claudine and John joined one of Crumpett’s traveling caravans. They were excited to be a part of this crusade along with dozens of other families making their way across western states to proclaim the coming Rapture. Theirs was just one of a dozen or so caravans crisscrossing the United States and Canada in the final weeks. Claudine and John were retired, so they didn’t have careers to hold them back. And, they owned a large recreational vehicle. Many of Crumpett’s followers had quit their jobs, sold their homes, and had given all their money to the Church. I didn’t ask the couple whether the two were planning to donate all of their savings to the Good Reverend. After all, what good would their money be to them after May 21? (Or to the church, for that matter.) I was sorely tempted to ask Claudine if I could have it — but that would have merely confirmed her suspicions that I intended to stay behind. On a lark, I did ask about her plans for their two beloved Chihuahuas, Roxy and Scarlett. After all — wasn’t it a known fact among Believers that the Rapture would “take” only God-fearing people and not animals, for they have no souls? (Personally, I found this idea repugnant. Animals most certainly are self-aware; they have feelings and express love. If that doesn’t constitute a soul, I don’t know what does.)
    “Oh, we have that covered,” explained Claudine. “There’s a Jewish couple in Lewistown who are members of After The Rapture Pet Care. A week before the End Times, we’ll drop off Roxy and Scarlett at their house.”
    I found the idea of a pet-sitting outfit catering to Rapturists almost too much to swallow, but I checked them out and they seemed legitimate. The organization offered a sincere and cogent explanation of its service on their web site:
    “When all the Christians on the planet disappear, there will certainly be massive confusion. However, the majority of people will still be on earth, and communications will be their first priority to maintain. Therefore [...] it will not be a problem to coordinate activities to rescue and care for your pets. As far as the data about all registered pets, it is located on Google servers (the most secure servers in the world) as well as our own server in Lansing, Michigan (away from political and military hot spots to minimize chance of destruction if there is a post-Rapture war). The non-Christian administrators assigned to coordinate our efforts after we’re gone are also located in multiple locations — all with log in information.”

* * *

    Claudine and John made their way across Montana, Idaho, and briefly into Utah (not many converts to be had among the Church of Latter Day Saints, I gather) before heading further west into Nevada. The eventual destination of their Holy wagon train was San Francisco, California, for it was a well-known fact that the City by the Bay was home to multitudes of heathens, homosexuals, pagans and other assorted godless and wicked people.
    While in Las Vegas, Claudine made a short video from one of their stops outside of Caesar’s Palace that she posted on YouTube. No doubt the famous gambling establishment held great symbolism to Crumpett’s Christian soldiers. Claudine’s video featured one of Crumpett’s dedicated disciples, Andrew Freedman, a thirty-something evangelical preacher (and Vice President of The Word Radio). Freedman hailed from Little Rock, Arkansas; he was the unofficial leader of this particular caravan.
    I clicked on the video, intrigued. There were several dozen of Crumpett’s followers standing behind Freedman. Many were holding signs about the Rapture. I could see John among the flock near the edge of the screen. It was bright, sunny morning; most people were sporting sunglasses and colorful summer attire. Caesars’s magnificent fountains were visible in the distance. Huge plumes of water erupted into the air.
    “. . . America has tasted the poisonous fruits: pride, lust, envy, passion, frivolity, and entitlement. She has tasted of their sweet deception, and she has found it irresistible. She has danced in the streets, intoxicated by the very poison that will be her undoing.”
    “America— Does God still bless America? No! For America has rebelled against God. She has shaken her fist at Him and arrogantly cried, ‘We don’t need you. We don’t want you. We have our own gods. They are more powerful. Go away.’
    “And so now He’s going away.
    “Hosea, Chapter Nine, Verse Twelve talks of judgment against the nation that ‘plays the harlot’ before God: ‘Though they bring up their children, yet I will bereave them to the last man. Yes, woe to them when I depart —’”
    Freedman was briefly interrupted by the honking of several car horns, followed by jeering patrons who were exiting Caesar’s Palace, no doubt after spending a sleepless night at the slots or the card games. One stopped briefly in front of Claudine’s camera and gave her the finger. The camera panned down to street level for a few seconds, then it returned to recapture Freedman.
    “Friends, the day is coming when the Lord will return and unless people have a death wish in the Tribulation period, they will surely want to go up in the rapture of the church. The only way to do that is to accept the Lord’s payment of the sin debt by accepting his atonement on the Cross.”
    I had had enough. I scanned the various comments below the video. Claudine’s daughter, Carrie had posted a comment:
    “Won’t it be glorious mom, when the Rapture comes and we’ll all be raised into heaven together? I can’t wait! I hope and pray that Roger will accompany me. Time will tell. Wish I were on the road with you. Love to you and dad.”
    Carrie’s fiancée, Roger considered himself a Christian. But according to Carrie’s post he was either not completely convinced, or unenthusiastic about moving on. I suspect the real reason was, Roger wasn’t keen on trading in his wheels — a big ole’ Harley hog — for a pair of angel wings and some sissy harp. The Hog would have to stay back on Terra Firma. It would fall into the hands of some lucky non-believer who got left behind. I can’t say I blamed Roger for being ambivalent. It was definitely a sick machine.

* * *

    I continued to follow Claudine and John’s exploits via the Internet with interest. Just three weeks before the End Days, their Holy Caravan arrived in San Francisco on a bright Saturday morning just in time to set up a prayer vigil in The Castro, the nation’s quintessential gay neighborhood. How Crumpett’s flock secured a permit for that section of town was a mystery. Perhaps it was merely a coincidence; most probably, it was the City’s policy of embracing diversity. Whatever the reason, it was quite a culture shock — and the perfect storm. After only a few minutes, gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered, and questioning folk started to appear from nowhere to an event which had received absolutely no advance publicity. No doubt the curiosity factor drew many that day. By noontime, several thousand people had converged at the intersection of Market and Castro Streets to hear the Doomsayers preach of their demise. The police eventually cordoned off the area, and closed the streets to all vehicular traffic. The City had issued this Christian group a permit — and by God, they were going to have their say.
    At first, the crowd was respectful and well-behaved — even jovial, according to the bloggers and social media reporters who were present. The homophobic literature incited some to mock Crumpett’s people and its mission, but it was nothing too disrespectful. Things quickly soured, however, when Rev. Freedman started in with some of the more traditional Old Testament rants condemning homosexuality:
    “God says in Deuteronomy ‘not to bring any whore, sodomite, or dog into the house of the Lord.’ For ‘these things are an abomination to the Lord.’
    “Sodomites and dogs are biblical names for homosexuals, ladies and gentlemen. That’s YOU! You are Sodomites. You are ‘dogs.’ By God, you ought to be struck down where you stand. But you will surely, SURELY be left behind to die horribly in the coming months.”
     The crowd retaliated by chanting the lyrics to, “All You Need Is Love.” Then they staged a group “kissing” session. Many of the Christians were visibly shaken by this public display. They shook their fists and shouted stronger epitaphs at the crowd. That elicited a reaction by eight to ten men and women near the front who collectively “mooned” Crumpett’s followers by pulling down their britches and wiggling their buttocks as though they were in a chorus line. Infuriated, two of Crumpett’s men began to throw coffee mugs and other objects at the demonstrators. Suddenly, a shot rang out. A bullet struck one of the chorus men in the buttocks. Panic and pandemonium ensued. People ran in every direction. The Christians had drawn first blood.

* * *

    “Clearly, you all forgot why you traveled to San Francisco.”
    I was speaking to Claudine by cell phone shortly after the riot. I expected her to sound shaken and upset, but instead she seemed upbeat — perhaps even a little defiant.
    “They had no right to behave like that. Besides, we were the ones with a public permit. If the homos didn’t like our message, no one was making them stay and listen.”
    “But, why did someone in your group take a shot at them? Surely you’ve heard and seen worse. Haven’t you been been heckled at every stop along the way?”
    “Not like this,” she replied. “It was just plain— it was—“
    She was at a loss for words.
    “—They were savages. They were acting like animals! I guess it’s no surprise, seeing as they practice the lifestyle that they do.”
    “Listen to yourself! I thought you were supposed to be about Jesus’ love and all that. Whatever happened to, ‘hate the sin, love the sinner?’ Huh?”
    Claudine was silent for a moment. Perhaps she was reflecting on my question. More likely, the adrenalin was exhausted, and the shock and fatigue of the day’s events were slowly starting to sink in. Fortunately, no one was seriously hurt among either spectators or Christians. The shooter had been apprehended, and Crumpett’s followers had been quickly escorted away from The Castro to a safe location.
    “What about you? Have you thought more about it?”
    “About what?”
    I knew perfectly well what she was referring to. It was a weak verbal parry on my part. I hadn’t expected Claudine to raise the issue of my personal conversion just then, in the aftermath of the group’s near-disaster in San Francisco only a few hours earlier. I dreaded the closure.
    “No— Yes, actually, yes. I have thought about it.”
    “And?”
    “Claudine, you know that I love you. But I can’t accept this dogma that you and Crumpett’s followers are dishing out. My God! You’re basing everything on a book that’s been translated from centuries of storytelling. And, in how many languages?! Do you even REALIZE that the King James Version is simply the latest in a series of, of—“
    I stopped myself. I had raised my voice and was speaking to her in an angry tone. There was no reason for me to behave in this manner.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “I am too, Tom. I’ll pray for you. I’ll pray until the last moment my feet are planted on this earth, until the very second I start to float away with John, Carrie, and all of my friends. And even after that, I’ll look down lovingly upon you from above. It will be glorious. Glorious! And, Tom?”
    “Yes?”
    “I WILL try and love the sinner, and hate the sin. Thank you for that. Goodbye now.”

* * *

    The End Day came and went without incident. I remember the stories on the various network news shows covering the non-event. People around the country gathered to hold mock End of the World bashes. The whole saga was out of the public eye in just under forty-eight hours. I thought about giving Claudine a call to catch up, but I didn’t want her to think I was gloating or being smug. The last thing I wanted to do was to rub salt in a fresh wound. No, she’d call me when she was ready.

* * *

    Several months passed. I came across an old online news clipping I had saved about the Crumpett caravans back in May.
    I should really reach out to Claudine and see if she and John are okay.
    I picked up my cell and called her home number.
    “... The number you have reached is not in service. Please check the number and try your call again. This is a recording...”
    That’s odd.
    I called her cell. She picked up on the second ring.
    “Hi, sis. How are you? What’s with the disconnected number at home?”
    “Hi, little brother! It’s great to hear from you. Sorry, John and I have been out of touch, lately. It’s been a busy past couple of months.”
    Claudine went on to explain that she and John were now officially ‘nomads’ living out of their mobile home. I had reached them at a campground outside of Flagstaff. It seems that they had put their home in Billings on the market at a steep discount back in early January. It sold in a matter of weeks – right before they joined the Crumpett caravan. Claudine and John had given all the proceeds from the home sale to The Word Radio — less a few thousand dollars they figured they needed to tide them over until the Rapture. The temptation to say to her, “Who’s the fool now?” was overwhelming but I bit my tongue.
    “What will you do?”
    “Oh, I don’t know. We still have our social security, along with John’s military pension and benefits. We have our medical and dental. And there are military PXes near many of the campgrounds that we’re staying at. We’re officially residents of South Dakota — that’s where the camper and truck are registered. So for now, I guess, it’s the two pooches and us. ‘On the road again.’ Just like Willy Nelson.”
    We chatted about inconsequential things for a while. I caught her up on what I had heard about Jessica and her kids. Then I broached the subject.
    “Do you ever regret this whole thing with Crumpett? Selling your house? Believing in the End of Days?”
    “Heck, no! The Reverend was a bit off on his timing, that’s all. He’s such a wonderful man. John and I were heartbroken when we heard he suffered a stroke. But I hear he’s recuperating nicely.
    “Tom, it’s only a matter of time until the Rapture DOES happen. It might not be next week, or next month, or even next year. You have to admit – the country is spiraling downward into oblivion. The liberals might actually get this Muslim president reelected again. I know you probably don’t agree with me, but Obama IS the Anti-Christ. Mark my words. There’s a lot of evidence and biblical signs to support it.”
    I heard John say something to Claudia in the background. She returned to the phone.
    “Uh, sorry, got to run. The steaks on the grill are ready, and after lunch John and I are heading over to a gun show near Flagstaff. I want to pick up a new Beretta, and John has his heart set on a Remington Model 870 Wingmaster. We have to stock up before the libtards try and make it illegal to bear arms in this country.
    “Love ya’, little brother. Bye-bye, now.”

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