09-24-2013, 07:43 PM
John's hesitation was pronounced, but when he finally began to unfurl an explanation, Jensen found his own mind chanting the man's creed nearly word for word.
For it was the same as his own. The son of God. Infallible and inerrant. Light of the world.
It was both with anticipation and shame that he remained to hear more. Soon, he found himself seated across from the man, drinking up every drop to land on his parched soul. So many lonely years had passed without fellowship with another believer.
As John continued, a bilge stone of sadness settled in his heart. The man's warning was certainly not enough, though open-minded Jensen believed he was, saying the Bible was both inerrant and yet hiding its full truths were the contradictions of a conspiracy theorist. He scanned the impressive selection of books splayed before John: a highly educated conspiracy theorist.
By the end of John's oration, Jensen's dismissal of this man had morphed into a calling to help him. His gaze settled on the displayed tattoo, shaped in a script Jensen nodded that he recognized. However, the translation which came to his mind was one of servant rather than slave, particularly when used by Christ. No doubt a flicker of confusion touched his expression, but John explained that too.
He wasn't sure why, but John saddened him. He should think more highly of his own value as a son of God. Jensen could have shook his head at that. He could understand not heeding such advice.
His gaze fell to the paper slid before him. He took it, of course, and pulled it up to the level of his eyes briefly before folding it in half and placing it in the pocket of his jeans. After which, he returned his attention to John, studying the man's expression. It was hard to read, but Jensen believed the man was sincere in his delusions.
He ought to leave, but like he ought to have followed Katya and shared the gospel with her, Jensen did nothing. Instead, he drew in a breath, "And who exactly is your Master?"
He was prepared to hear what he feared to hear, and clenched his jaw in anticipation of the dark truth. As he waited, his gaze was drawn inevitably back to the man's wrists and a twist of nerves curled in his stomach at the symbolism. This was a public place, after all. Maybe he should accept the invitation for 'closed conversation', if only to draw the danger away.
For it was the same as his own. The son of God. Infallible and inerrant. Light of the world.
It was both with anticipation and shame that he remained to hear more. Soon, he found himself seated across from the man, drinking up every drop to land on his parched soul. So many lonely years had passed without fellowship with another believer.
As John continued, a bilge stone of sadness settled in his heart. The man's warning was certainly not enough, though open-minded Jensen believed he was, saying the Bible was both inerrant and yet hiding its full truths were the contradictions of a conspiracy theorist. He scanned the impressive selection of books splayed before John: a highly educated conspiracy theorist.
By the end of John's oration, Jensen's dismissal of this man had morphed into a calling to help him. His gaze settled on the displayed tattoo, shaped in a script Jensen nodded that he recognized. However, the translation which came to his mind was one of servant rather than slave, particularly when used by Christ. No doubt a flicker of confusion touched his expression, but John explained that too.
He wasn't sure why, but John saddened him. He should think more highly of his own value as a son of God. Jensen could have shook his head at that. He could understand not heeding such advice.
His gaze fell to the paper slid before him. He took it, of course, and pulled it up to the level of his eyes briefly before folding it in half and placing it in the pocket of his jeans. After which, he returned his attention to John, studying the man's expression. It was hard to read, but Jensen believed the man was sincere in his delusions.
He ought to leave, but like he ought to have followed Katya and shared the gospel with her, Jensen did nothing. Instead, he drew in a breath, "And who exactly is your Master?"
He was prepared to hear what he feared to hear, and clenched his jaw in anticipation of the dark truth. As he waited, his gaze was drawn inevitably back to the man's wrists and a twist of nerves curled in his stomach at the symbolism. This was a public place, after all. Maybe he should accept the invitation for 'closed conversation', if only to draw the danger away.