the publicans

Two old men. A diner near the Tug River Valley. One wears a red face. He calls his friend Plez.

Plez: The General’s a pastor now.

Red: I reckon?

Plez: Yup. Says God spoke to him. Set him on his course.

They figure on it. For a while.

Plez: But we don’t know. We don’t know if He really did. Or if the General just thought it, or wished it, or made it up to suit him.

Red: The Lord can speak to a man.

Plez: But this ain’t a wise man and it ain’t wise things he’s saying. And the Lord don’t speak foolishness. He’s been around too long for that.

They shake their heads and drink their coffee and think about the man who just took up God; but took Him up better than most.

Plez: I told him I’m a publican – that’s what they called sinners in the olden days.

Red: The Lord ate with them.

Plez: Yes sir.

Red: I’d rather be a sinner beside Jesus than all right on my own. Any time.

Plez: He’s all ornery ’bout me goin’ fishin on Sundays. I told him I ain’t heard a man yet went to Hell for fishin.

Red: If the Lord ain’t in the good earth, where’s he at?

Plez: He’s behind that pulpit pointing his finger and tellin’ people the devil’s holdin’ onto ’em.

Red: Not My Lord, friend. Not My Lord.

They finish their coffee and talk about the weather.