Beloved

Susan: And that, Rudy, is how I ended up in your office four months ago, unable to function. I know I messed up. But I thought I was doing the right thing, coming back to LA, helping my mother, getting my professional life back, putting Jesus before everything else. And God torched all of it. All at once

Rudy: What about what Sophie said, that it’s just a dysfunctional business?

Susan: I wish someone in church had told me that long ago instead of prophesying that God would “open the doors that no man can close.” If it was going to end this badly, I wonder why God ever opened the door in the first place.

Rudy: At least you got to do it for a while.

Susan: Yes. But it’s hard to watch my friends get to keep doing it.  My high school David cast my New York Bill in his show! God was lining up the dominoes twenty years ago. And Central Park? What kind of cruelty motivated God to do that?

God: Are you ever going to grow up?

It was God the Father.  Pure, old-school stern.  Not snarky like I would have made him, and no kind Jesus to mitigate his severity. I feared that this was the real God, and not my imagination.

God: You sit back, “wait on God,” and blame me for the outcome.

Susan: I wasn’t just sitting back.  I was following what I thought you wanted me to do.

God: As long as the results were favorable.

Susan: Doesn’t the Bible say you will grant me the desires of my heart? And “may he grant you success”?

God: Is that why you married me, Susan, so your plans could succeed?

Susan: Should I have desired failure?

God: I gave you success anyway.  You drank it away. I rebuilt your life in New York, and you put Jack first.  You broke up with him; and you blame me for that it hurt. You always have an excuse.

Susan: And you don’t?  It wasn’t you who hurt me; it was just the church that represented you.  Well, your representatives also taught me that you were involved.  Tell me what your involvement was in Central Park.  What kind of cruelty motivated you to do that?

God: Cruelty?! It was love that motivated me.  I hated what happened to you.  But I didn’t want you wasting any more of your life or your heart on Jack.  I was tired of it.  I was tired of seeing you in agony.  And you think I enjoyed it? You don’t know me.

Susan: Then what about Bill and David?

God: Oh, stop.  Just stop it, Susan.  What are your complaints against me? That I didn’t give you the career you wanted? That I didn’t give you the husband you wanted?  I’m not a life-insurance policy; I am your Maker.  I want to be the Lover of your soul.  You married me for my money! I know the church is messed up.  Do you know why? Because they’re like you: you’re here to improve your own life.  And then when you don’t get what you want, you complain: The church is too hip; it’s not hip enough.  They’re too controlling; they’re slackers.  Remember Miss Toft?  She spent forty years in Japan trying to get one person to hear how much Jesus loved him.  She moved back, an old spinster, to take care of an invalid sister and teach you poetry and long division.  All she ever asked of you was to write one Bible skit and you wouldn’t do it.  You were too cool.

Wait.  This wasn’t the Father at all.  I could “see” his hands now.  I could “see” him thrusting them toward me.  And I saw nail prints.  It was Jesus.

Jesus: I gave you my life, Susan.  But you wanted a career and a boyfriend.

I hid my face.

Susan: You’ve grown tired of me.  You’re going to leave me.

Jesus: I’m not coming back to these counseling tribunals.

Susan: Please don’t leave.  You’re all I’ve got.  I may get angry with you, but it’s because I want to make this work!

Jesus: (Pityingly) No, Susan.  You want to make it work for you.

I could see him turning for the door.

Jesus: If you decide you want to know the real me- not a drill-sergeant Father or a wimpy Jesus you can manipulate or blame…If you want to love the real me, for better or worse, richer or poorer, lonely or in love- which is how I’ve loved you, Susan- then I’ll be back.  But not until then.  And don’t ask me to come back until you mean it.  Because I’ll know.

The room was as quiet as the first day I walked in.  There was the trophy case, the Bibles and the hymnals; the Baptists on the wall smiled with he same confidence.  And there was the Nice Jesus on the wall, face caught in the same sad expression. But it was not a depressed or passive sadness I imagined now.  It was heartbreak.

Rudy: We’re out of time, Susan. I’ll see you next week with your next chapter.

Susan: There is no next chapter, Rudy.  This is where I am in my life: here with you, in a room with no spouse.  I came to prove God had been a deadbeat and force him to step up and heal this “marriage.”  And he walked out on me.

Rudy: Did you just imagine him walking out?

Susan: No, he really walked out, Rudy.

Rudy: Do you think he walked out because he’s a deadbeat?

Susan: No.  The deadbeat is still in the room.