I AM REAL!!!!    I’ve gotten some messages that you don’t think I’m real!  I am real.  I am real!   (I’m chanting this to convince myself.)  I am alive, I breathe, see and smell. (I mean I sniff, I don’t smell.)   Primo is real and so is Dux, Pony and Crock.  (I can see the men coming with the syringe and a big smile telling me it’s going to be okay.)

This story IS real!  Sal and Sammy are REAL PEOPLE!!!!!  I had coffee with a dear friend, and she told me she felt silly after leaving a comment about Mama because she forgot this was just a “story.”  I almost fell into my coffee cup!  I reached over and took her hand (I’m taking yours now.)  I looked into her eyes, (please look into the screen) and I softly screamed,  “This is real!  Do you think I like to hide in shadows and creep down dark hallways at night???”  (Don’t answer that.)

As I wrote in the “About” section of the blog, 95 percent is true, 5 percent is not.  I had to change names and cities and risk my life, once again, for our blog.  But it’s a story that needs to be told…so I’m willing to risk my life and tell the story, all for you, kid.

So please, pour yourself a steamy cup of coffee and put your feet up.  So where were we? Last I remember is statutes that talked too much and a church without God.

Oh, yeah, we’re back at Sal Baby’s church, where he’s decided to continue on as pastor, this time without God.  It gets a little weird.

As I read on in Mama’s dairy, Sal continued on as head pastor and lasted for quite a few more years.  But he was never the same. He was a tormented soul.  The scary part is that the church grew.  Outward appearance became the new God, and people were looking good.   The spirit of competitiveness and pride surfaced, and the church began to follow the world’s message.  Sermons were based on what God could do for you, not the other way around.  Many times not one single Bible verse was ever uttered on a Sunday.  Bible studies were based on the motto being the best you can be (and other fabulous myths.)   The church ballooned.  Their ears were tickled.  They liked hearing about how great they could become.

Sal began to believe his own press.

On a sunny spring week day, a large crane was positioned at the church.  An over-sized crate was slowly lowered near the entrance to the sanctuary near the fountain.  After the workmen secured the wooden box to the ground, they opened the crate showcasing an 8-foot tall bronze statute…of Sal.  Yes, he did!  (Oh no, he d’dn’t) Oh yes, he did!  But I think the scariest part of the whole statute story is that the congregation oohed and awed over it.  (Oh no, they d’dn’t!…oh, yes, they did!) (You should be saying that with one hand on your hip, one finger snapping all around in circles with your head tilting side to side) True story.

I guess it shouldn’t shock us that much, look at how movie stars, rappers, athletes and gangsters are worshiped.   It’s not so shocking to see life-size statutes of them or to see people pay thousands of dollars for something they signed or touched.  I always thought it a tad odd to pay a grown man millions of dollars to dribble or pass a ball, run a crooked line, hit a puck with a stick, slide into a plate that doesn’t have food on it,  but that’s just me, silly ol’ fashioned me.  It’s just one of the things on my “Proof America’s Gone Mad” list. (Don’t get me started, please.)  I guess idols come in all shapes and sizes.  (Looking at that baseball picture, I sure hope she has bloomers on!)

Ah ha, I get it now.  Sal probably didn’t even know it, but he was teaching Humanism,  how to use the things on the outside to soothe the insides,  always grabbing at things to satisfy your soul.  (Your soul is not the bottom of your cute flat boots.)  It’s you, your personality and feelings and opinions and views.  And if you’ve been raised in America, chances are your soul has been taught since birth to reach out and grab whatever you may think it is you may need to satisfy that darn demanding soul.

Sal was unable to teach the opposite, how to live from the inside out,  how to satisfy  your spirit instead of your soul, how to have a garden of fruit from God.   Sal couldn’t’ give what he didn’t have, so he couldn’t teach about sowing in the fruits of the spirit.  Humanism was all he could plant.

The more Sal lived in Humanism, the more miserable he became. There was no limit on the amount of money he would spend on clothes for himself and his family.  His clothes came from Tortinanas, an Italian haberdashery located in the city. Mama saw the tailor’s Italian-priced bills flow through the office, ordered to be paid as a business expense.  Alli, rail thin, always looked like she stepped out of a fashion magazine, unless you looked in her eyes.  The eyes of dread, hopelessness, fatigue.  The fight in her seemed to have died, and she gave way to just surviving.

Sal’s optimism in life turned to bitterness that snacked on his soul daily.  Mama writes that he was good at turning on the charm when someone walked in, but his spark was gone.  Depression settled over him like rain clouds over Seattle. He seemed to teeter from depression to bouts of anger.  The Board morphed into a co-dependent junkie, doing anything they had to to get Sal his fix.  The God they served and defended was a mortal man that was coming undone.

In an urgent board meeting, it was unanimously approved to offer the young man who played worship at the hotel the position of music director.  The true motive was they knew he could soothe Sal’s nerves with his music.  Their first offer was refused by Dave and the frazzled board doubled the salary. Not only did they double the offer, they fired the current director to make way for Dave.  Mama had some choice words to say about that, throwing all God’s money away on trying to appease a man that couldn’t be appeased.

Dave eventually accepted the job and joined the staff at The Shepherd’s Gate.  Kind of ironic that The Shepherd’s Gate didn’t have a shepherd.

Dave was introduced to the worship team and given only a few days to settle in before he was called to play his guitar for a fretting Sal.  He got the call late at night and was summoned into Sal’s bedroom.  As he was quietly ushered through the enormous house by a deacon, the dim lamps cast shadows on the marble floors. The house seemed empty and cold, and he noticed empty Chinese food take-out boxes on the table.  The TV cast a light onto the hallway, though the sound was low, and he could see two little kids sitting quietly cross-legged inches from the TV.

The men made their way up the grand staircase and through the expansive home.  The deacon, Larry, pointed to a closed door on the right and silently mouthed “Alli”.  Dave nodded and continued to follow Larry.  At the end of the hall, two double doors stood shut.  Larry paused for a moment, and then quickly knocked and opened one of the doors.  “Dave has arrived, Sal.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The large expansive bed was disheveled with silk sheets and feather pillows.  Dave was shocked when he realized Sal was curled up in the bed and was blankly staring out the window into a moonless night.  He never responded or answered.  Dave hesitated, but Larry motioned him in.

Dave made his way to a large overstuffed chair strewn with clothes and quickly got his guitar out.  Sal never moved.  Dave awkwardly sat, guitar in hand, trying to act nonchalantly.  But there was nothing casual about this situation.   Finally Sal’s hand broke the tension by motioning for Dave to begin.

 

The sweet music began to encompass the room and the tension in the air was finally grounded.  With the praise going up, the talons of the depression began to subside.  You could see the relief flood Sal’s body and soul.  He laid on his back stretched out in the king bed with eyes shut and tears cascading down his cheeks.  His clenched hands relaxed and even the attending board members seemed to let down.

Dave saw Alli leaning against the door frame wrapped in an oversized terrycloth robe, listening but not entering.  Her drawn face looked hollow and lifeless until the tears began to flow.  Dave played and sang long after Sal fell asleep.

 

 

Finally the exhausted board members quietly led him out through the back door way after midnight, patted him on the back and thanked him.  Dave walked toward his car, casting a glance behind him at the mansion that held the captives and felt a shiver go up his spine.

He got in his car, fumbled for a certain CD and popped it in. 

 

Well, I hope you enjoy the audio.  BTW, it only took me 279 hours to figure out.  I now know what a mp3 file is and what a M-80 is, and they’re not the same thing.  This week’s recipe advise is:

ORDER PIZZA

Chao!