The Forking of the Bishop
"There is no god and there are no gods!" Proclaimed Dr. Rodger Allan Montgomery.
Dr. Montgomery, forty-one years old, had a lean and lanky runner's physique, fine, neatly barbered brown hair, and turquoise-green eyes. Rodger stepped away from the podium and pumped his fists at the riled-up crowd, marking an end to his impassioned speech.
The throng of five thousand students simultaneously jumped to their feet, screaming and shouting with devotional approval. A deafening, booming roar ensued, recreating the 100-decibel sounds of long-ago packed football stadiums when the home teams scored touchdowns.
"Yeah!" Yelled Mitchell Humphries, a senior at Christopher Hitchins University.
At 5'9'', Mitch had a thick, weightlifter's body, cobalt blue eyes and shoulder length, sandy colored hair.
He'd been sitting in the front row of the Richard Dawkins Amphitheater along with four friends, and all five flew two feet into the air as they ejected upright out of their seats.
"Yeah!" Hollered Mitch's best friend Michael Reed.
Mike stood 6' 2 ", and looked like a ballet dancer, with a sinewy, femininely graceful body. He had big, cinnamon-colored eyes, and the haircut of an olden day's Marine recruit.
"Woo-woo!" Mitch countered, grabbing Mike by the hands.
Laughing hysterically, the pair began hopping up and down like pogo sticks, chest bumping at the top of each powerful leap. Mitch took great care not to strike Mike too hard, lest, as had happened in the past, he'd topple Mike hard backwards to the ground. The rest of the audience were holding similar celebrations, and the noise output in the auditorium leveled off to that of a bygone sports arena's raucous tailgate party.
Mitch broke into a chant, and Mike quickly assisted.
"There is no god! There is not god! There is not god! There is no god!" They howled, out of sync at first but then harmoniously as one.
Pleading with their eyes to nearby audience members for help, they bellowed, "There is no god! There is no god! There is no god!"
The people around them were inspired, joining the mantra. Soon, like an old coliseum's fanatical human 'wave', the chorus gained more and bigger participation.
"There is no god! There is no god! There is no god!" Incanted the gatherers like beating drums.
When at last the bombastic parroting reached maximum unification, and the grandiose mob had directed all the power of their vocal massage directly upon the messenger, all eyes went to Dr. Montgomery, still standing onstage beside the dais.
"There is no god! There is no god! There is no god!" Thundered the attendees.
Their admiration filled auditory assault lasted a full minute and a half, until finally Dr. Montgomery raised both hands, signaling for the incantations to stop. The resounding echos wound down slowly, like the second hand of a wall clock running on a dying AA battery. Then they suddenly and explicably ceased, bringing a strange quietude back to the auditorium.
"Oh, you honor me here today." Rodger addressed the gathering, running one hand through his thinning mane. "Thank you. Thank you, dear students and faculty."
He paused for effect, leaning into the mic, standing motionless as a cardboard cutout, waiting for the moment the audience could hear a pin drop.
"But even more than that you honor yourselves." He told them. "And I'm just so proud of you, all of you. We're just so proud of you."
He looked up and motioned towards the second tier Chancellor's box, where his wife Dr. Stephanie Ormond Montgomery sat with CHU Chancellor Robert John Herman and his wife Pamela, CHU President Jasmine Eang Kawamoto and her husband Dr. Timothy Lucas Lowell.
A two-minute standing ovation brought the assembly to a wondrous finish, during which time Stephanie smiled proudly at her husband, offering him happy Anjala mudras and blowing kisses.
The Los Angeles city council meeting had protesters. Five men and five women, claiming to be from a group called Americans for Religious Rights, sat stoically front and center waiting to be heard.
After the council concluded general business for the day, Mayor Dennis Cummings made the procedural announcement. Dennis, 51, had short, tightly curled blond locks, a potato shaped body and speckled brown eyes.
"Anyone wishing to be heard may now come forward." He stated.
A woman from the ARR, sitting only two meters from the microphone, eagerly rushed up. She had wavy, mid-length red hair, held back into a bouncy ponytail by a purple scrunchie.
"Good afternoon, Mayor Cummings and city council." She began.
The overweight, forty something lady pushed tortoise shell glasses back onto the bridge of her dainty nose and held up a formal looking stack of papers.
"My name is Katharine Johnson." She continued, a fearful wavering hanging lightly upon each slowly enunciated word.
"I'm a State Bar of California attorney representing Americans for Religious Rights, here today to petition an amendment to Article 149B, decriminalizing Christian religious services held in privately owned places of worship."
"Well, you've come to the right place for that Katherine." Mayer Cummings wryly spouted. "Yes indeed, we can sort that out for you and your clients right here today."
"Really?" The lawyer replied, puzzled. "Honestly, we didn't think it would be that easy.
"Oh, it's going to be easy," butted in council member Jake Thome, "easy as pie."
Jake had a tall, skinny frame, and a rather gruesome, apostrophe shaped scar on his neck, which he acquired when a runaway ski gouged him while snowboarding. He almost died in the bizarre accident, as the runner missed his jugular by mere centimeters. Jake, 32, appeared super villainous on the outside but on the inside had very kind heart.
"Well, we were certainly hoping the council might take a softer stance on this issue, after all, making God worship a crime in the United States of America doesn't seem to fit with what the original framers of the constitution had in mind, and it appears you agree with that, which we're very happy to hear." Katherine responded.
She turned around and winked at her clients, who were visibly pleased and nodding approvals.
"Oh, we're quite aware some communities in the bible belt areas of the country have repealed the new Federal Laws against God worship, and we of course feel strongly that's a slip in the wrong direction." Dennis informed her.
"Yes, in fact, we think that's totally bass-akwards." Jake chimed in. "Yet we're quite positive those minor setbacks will soon enough be re-corrected."
"Wait, I thought you said you agreed with us and were ready to fix the problem today." Katherine replied, confused.
She removed her tortoise shell spectacles and shot the council a confused look.
"Oh, we're going to take care of it right now." Jake assured her. "Bailiff Fields, please take Ms. Johnson into custody."
"My pleasure sir." Court officer Fields answered.
"And why don't we believe in god?" Jake pressed her, coiling up like a snake about to strike.
"Well, I don't know sir." She answered. "I suppose that's for each person to..."
"No!" Jake yelled.
Ms. Johnson flinched sharply backwards, genuinely frightened by his vehemence.
"It's because faith in god is lunacy!" Jake spat. "The god myths are fictions, told by our ancient, science ignorant human ancestors!"
A few of the visitors in the gallery viewed the verbal lashing as an opportunity to join the beat down.
"Stupid Christain!" One hollered.
"Read a real book, a science book!" Added another.
"Order, order!" Demanded Mayor Cummings. "Order in the chamber! May I remind you councilman Thome, never to forget our rules of civility, sir. I know this subject is highly sensitive, yet we must at all times maintain proper levels of dignity and mutual respect, ones which this chamber doth dutifully demand. Now, Bailiff Fields, please bring Ms. Johnson's document to the fore."
Senior Court Officer William Billy Fields, assisted by his cane, limped from his post at the end of council's elevated table and retrieved Ms. Johnson's paperwork, then brought it to Mayor Cummings.
Billy, forty-five years old, an athletic African American, played sports as a boy and young man but started to let things go in his mid-thirties. He carried around a fifty-pound beer belly, which sadly saddled his gait with a gimp. Billy had a freakishly large head, and a handsome face dotted with fudge brownie-colored freckles.
"Thank-you Billy." Cummings said. "Now, Ms. Johnson, you're aware it's illegal to practice any form of god-based religion, whether public or private? You're aware that the statutes for both, though separate, carry with them the same criminal penalties?"
"Yes, Sir Mayor." She assured him. "But we're more concerned about the violation of citizens' rights to worship a God of their own choosing in privately owned churches, as is provided in the original United States Constitution. And we strongly argue it's not the governments place to rewrite such laws."
Mr. Thome rolled his eyes and began to speak, but the mayor strongly shot out his arm, stopping him.
"Ms. Johnson, a question." Dennis began sneakily. "Do you ever talk about your god in public places, say a restaurant, or at work, or when you and the ARR are discussing plans to reverse the will of the people?"
Ms. Johnson, appearing to gulp, returned a blank stare and remained silent.
"Not even one little mention of the Holy Spirit or thank-you Jesus for this food or Lord have mercy? Because you know that's illegal too, right Ms. Johnson, punishable by up to five years in prison?"
She tried to recompose herself, but the truth kept her frayed.
"We're waiting for an honest answer Ms. Johnson." Snickered councilman Thome.
"No, never." She quickly lied.
Well, I think we've heard enough then." The mayor decided.
He picked up the amendment copy and noted its title page.
"Motion for adaption committee to debate revised amendment to Article 149B, 'Rights of United States Citizens to Lawfully Congregate in Private Places of Worship for Religious Purposes', all those in favor, say yea. All those opposed, say nay."
"Nay!" All seven council members proclaimed, Mr. Thome's being the loudest objection.
"The nays have it." Mayor Cummings declared. "Motion to adjourn"
"Motion to adjourn seconded." Jake Thome speedily added, grinning widely at Ms. Johnson.
"Motion passed." The mayor announced. "Meeting adjourned."
Councilman Jake Thome exited the city council chambers and waltzed one-hundred feet down the Los Angeles Civic Centers main hallway to LAPD headquarters. Going in, he encountered Sgt. Rick Salinas at the desk.
"Hey Pete, Don in?" He asked.
"Yeah, he's back there somewhere Jake," Rick responded. "Do you want me to call him?"
"No, that's alright Rick," Jake said, "I'll surprise him."
