He was ripping down the pitch-black Pacific in his hatchback, on a ton, urged on no doubt by 'false promise of peace and safety' (1THESSALONIANS 5: 2-3) maybe 'perilous times' (11TIMOTHY 3:1) weighing heavily on his mind. I was lying on the edge of the road shoulder under the offside rear guard of the EE KAY cursing the world and calling on Jesus Bloody Christ for help. My prayer was answered.
100 metres past and he hit the anchors, chucked a ewie and pulled in behind me. "Need a hand?" he asked as I crawled out from under the Holden.
"Could do with a bit. This bloody rubber blew apart and the fucking jack is cactus."
While he was foraging in his boot for his I managed to get the pump working on mine and lifted the shattered tyre clear of the gravel. He took the wheelbrace from a not unwilling hand and proceeded to wrench the nuts off.
About the third he said. "I'm a Christian. Do you believe in God?" "Er, not really. Each to their own I reckon," hoping he'd proceed to the fourth which he did without pausing.
"I'm from the Revival Centre," he offers. "I used to drink., smoke and do drugs but then I found Jesus." I mentally withdrew the offers of the Holy Trinity which I had thought he might accept as reward for his labour.
"He'll be coming again soon," my Samaritan continued. "Not before time," I said. "The bloody world is in a mess and someone ought to fix it up."
I shouldn't have said that. He was off in a flash. Off on a monologue that despite his tender years had obviously been practised on others and in his head. He paused but once to advise the last wheelnut not to be so "bloody stubborn." For the rest he told about how it was all in the Bible. Everything was foretold - from the Paradise to the atom bomb, the rise and fall of Communism, the Jews return to Palestine, natural and unnatural disasters and how in the Lismore Revival Centre they talk in tongues.
And THE SECOND COMING.
As he was tightening the nuts on the fitted spare, which he insisted on doing, he asked if I'd ever read religeous material. So I told him about Bishop Dom Helder Comara of Brazil who said. "When 1 give food to the poor they call me a Saint. When I ask why the poor have no food they call me a Communist."
In the torch fight his fresh, open face flashed wider in a smile.
"But its all in the Bible."
On with the hubcap, down with the jack and he borrowed the torch to put his gear away. He returned with a pamphlet, pressed it into my hand, waved aside my thanks and told me to turn to God like him by dropping into any Revival Centre shown on the paper.
Only when he drove off did I see the young blond alongside him.
Must be one of his converts.
Bet she talks in tongues.
100 metres past and he hit the anchors, chucked a ewie and pulled in behind me. "Need a hand?" he asked as I crawled out from under the Holden.
"Could do with a bit. This bloody rubber blew apart and the fucking jack is cactus."
While he was foraging in his boot for his I managed to get the pump working on mine and lifted the shattered tyre clear of the gravel. He took the wheelbrace from a not unwilling hand and proceeded to wrench the nuts off.
About the third he said. "I'm a Christian. Do you believe in God?" "Er, not really. Each to their own I reckon," hoping he'd proceed to the fourth which he did without pausing.
"I'm from the Revival Centre," he offers. "I used to drink., smoke and do drugs but then I found Jesus." I mentally withdrew the offers of the Holy Trinity which I had thought he might accept as reward for his labour.
"He'll be coming again soon," my Samaritan continued. "Not before time," I said. "The bloody world is in a mess and someone ought to fix it up."
I shouldn't have said that. He was off in a flash. Off on a monologue that despite his tender years had obviously been practised on others and in his head. He paused but once to advise the last wheelnut not to be so "bloody stubborn." For the rest he told about how it was all in the Bible. Everything was foretold - from the Paradise to the atom bomb, the rise and fall of Communism, the Jews return to Palestine, natural and unnatural disasters and how in the Lismore Revival Centre they talk in tongues.
And THE SECOND COMING.
As he was tightening the nuts on the fitted spare, which he insisted on doing, he asked if I'd ever read religeous material. So I told him about Bishop Dom Helder Comara of Brazil who said. "When 1 give food to the poor they call me a Saint. When I ask why the poor have no food they call me a Communist."
In the torch fight his fresh, open face flashed wider in a smile.
"But its all in the Bible."
On with the hubcap, down with the jack and he borrowed the torch to put his gear away. He returned with a pamphlet, pressed it into my hand, waved aside my thanks and told me to turn to God like him by dropping into any Revival Centre shown on the paper.
Only when he drove off did I see the young blond alongside him.
Must be one of his converts.
Bet she talks in tongues.
