BORN AGAIN
Ronald MacKinnon Thompson
Act One
The preacher finishes his sermon and pauses. He glares at his little congregation for a moment before speaking.
“The great Reverend Granger Lineweber has honored U8 by accepting my invitation. This will be your chance to be brought to the Lord by one of His finest Apostles.”
Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM
Thirteen year old Roscoe Wheatley shakes his head and thinks, Here we go again.
(Roscoe is skinny, cowlicks leave his hair always in disarray, no matter how hard he tries to beat it down with brush and comb. His Florida tan makes him look healthier than he really i8. He suffers from dreadful attacks of asthma.)
As they leave the church, Aunt Molly grabs his arm and says, “This will be your chance to be Saved. You must not continue to refuse. What if something happened and you weren’t saved?”
(Aunt Molly is in her late forties, but to Roscoe she is old. Her hair is done up in a no-nonsense bun, she is slightly overweight, her face is unremarkably kind.)
Tonight is the first of The Great Lineweber’s revival meetings.
But Roscoe,” Aunt Molly says, “You promised me you would go up to the altar at the next revival meeting.”
I don’t want to. I’d feel foolish. I’m afraid.”
Aunt Molly continues her pleading,
Roscoe thinks, After all, she is taking care of me, spending her little income on me. She’s all I have.
Who knows where my mother is? he asks himself, or what man she’s with now? And my father has been so long gone I scarcely remember him.
Roscoe’s face contorts with anguish and tears. He controls himself and says, “O.K., I’ll do it—-but I don’t want to.”
Maybe Aunt Molly is right, Roscoe thinks. After all I nearly died twice in the hospital with asthma. I don’t want to go to Hell.
Roscoe has seen the little church many times but now he feels the need to study it again. He pulls his hand away from Aunt Molly’s grasp, puts his hands on his hips and glowers at the church.
Not much of a church, he thinks, comparing it in his mind with the large brick Methodist church nearby, two story, columns, a golden cross, stained glass, and air-conditioning.
This little church is built of unadorned concrete blocks. A cheap wooden cross. Plain glass windows. No air-conditioning.
Only recently a devout carpenter-member of the congregation had built screens for the windows. They kept out the flocks of Florida mosquitoes, but nothing could keep out the little gnats that, when the wind was right, swarmed in to buzz around and bite the Faithful.
Aunt Molly grabs Roscoe by the arm again and says, “What are you gawking at? Time to go in.”
ACT TWO
THE EVANGELIST: (He is tall and thin, his features bold and stern. Perspiration adorns his forehead, but he does not remove his black coat or loosen his narrow black tie)
He holds both arms straight out, palms up offering the congregation the benevolence of God’s Will though His Representative on this poor planet.
Roscoe whispers, “He looks like Abraham Lincoln.
Aunt Molly replies by holding her forefinger over her lips .
The Evangelist drops his arms to his sides and for a rigid moment looks up and over the heads of the congregation. Then he closes his eyes and clasps his hands before him in long-moments of silent prayer.
He opens his eyes, raises his right hand with his fist clinched and glares with a fiercely determined air and speaks.
His voice begins with the whisper of a creeping cat and ends with the bellow of a charging lion.
Look into yourselves, you young sinners. Now is the time to meet your Lord, time to be Born Again. Come - Come up to the altar Come now! Or be forever Damned! Our Lord is impatient. He will not wait. Now! Now! Now you must be Saved - or risk Eternal Damnation!”
Roscoe resists Aunt Molly’s tug at his arm. She takes a firm grip, and walks him to the altar.
Two other boys are waiting to be Saved, one about seventeen and the other perhaps nearer twenty, but to Roscoe both are men.
I’m not old enough for this, he thinks.
The Evangelist places his hands on the head of the older boy and prays aloud. Although his voice is piercing, it is also reassuring, promising the Great Love of our Lord.
In a few minutes the boy stands, throws up his arms and shrieks, “I’m saved! I’ve found the Lord. Hallelujah!
The Evangelist echoes, “Hallelujah,” a brief smile of triumph on his face.
A few more minutes of prayer and laying-on-of-hands, the other boy is Saved and leaves.
Fifteen minutes go by... Thirty minutes go by.
Roscoe remains on his knees on the hard wooden bench. His legs ache from kneeling and he starts to wheeze.
Hope I’m not going to have an asthma attack.
The prayer resounds in waves around him, louder and louder, more and more intense, wave upon wave of passion and piety.
The Evangelist prays. The Evangelist’s wife prays. The Minister and his wife both pray. Aunt Molly prays. All pray aloud. Louder, and louder, tears and wails and cries of retribution.
THE EVANGELIST: “Oh Lord, Oh Lord. I bring this lamb unto you.
Pounded on the table
Hard as they were able
Boom, boom, BOOM
THE EVANGELIST’S WIFE: (She is medium height, medium weight and her face is medium fair. Though it is Monday night, she is wearing her Sunday-Best. At best, this is just a plain, threadbare, grey woolen dress, too warm for this Florida summer night. The neck of the dress is modestly high, the hem modestly low.)
She prays aloud, “Bring him unto Jesus, unto Jesus. Praise be His Name. Hallowed is His Name.
She clasps her hands and bows her head.
Then I had religion
Then I had a vision
Boomlay, boomlay, BOOM
THE LOCAL PREACHER: (the sanctity of his expression makes it difficult to judge his age—somewhere between twenty and forty. Like the Evangelist, he has on black trousers and a narrow black tie, but he has removed his coat. The back of his shirt is dark with sweat. His medium-brown hair has fallen wet and matted over his forehead.)
He prays loud and long, “Yea, though you are not born again. Hell and damnation await you. Await you. Await you. Now must you meet the Lord. Now must you be Born Again. Or forever burn in Hell!”
Hear how the demons chuckle and Yell
Cutting his hands off down in hell
Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you
Skinny, little thirteen-year old Roscoe, between wheezes, begins to cry. He bawls aloud. He tries to stand. His legs are asleep from kneeling on the hard wooden bench.
He can not stand. He falls.
The Evangelist springs over the rail, gathers Roscoe up in his arms, and cries, Praise the Lord. This boy is Saved. He is Washed-in-the-Blood-of-the-Lamb.”
He raises Roscoe triumphantly over his head and shouts, We cry out to You, Oh Lord. Forgive them their sins. Give them the Joy of Rebirth. The Promise, Oh Lord of Everlasting Life!”
Roscoe thinks, Gosh, I hope he doesn’t drop me.
Sunday, Aunt Molly is up early, dressed in her Sunday best. Ready and proud to take her Born Again nephew to Church.
From the kitchen the aroma of bacon frying, and home-made biscuits, hot and fresh.
Get up, Roscoe, it’s getting late, don’t want to be late for Church.”
Roscoe mumbles, half awake, and turns his head into the pillow.
“Come on, get up,” Aunt Molly repeats, Almost time for Church.”
Roscoe sits straight up in bed, puts his hands over his ears, and then throws his arms out to the sides and yells, “I’m not going to Church, not this morning or any other morning. Never! Never again!”
