The Sermon
The doorway opened above a large chamber hollowed out of the earth. Below a celebration was taking place. Ransom inched forward and peered over the railing. The room was not only large but ornate, with carvings and statues and colorful wall coverings. He had not expected anything like this; no one, not even army investigators, knew the Elvists were so organized. More amazing was the fact they had managed to keep this subterranean tabernacle secret. Ransom assumed like everyone else the Elvists were poor and unsophisticated, holding their meetings in member’s homes or out in the desert. This was a windfall of information the army would not ignore.
He watched as the uninhibited congregation danced joyously around and on the pews, moving freely from one partner to the next. Old men stood near the walls stomping their feet and clapping their hands as the drums pounded. Even the very small children were wiggling and waving their hands in the air.
A broad stair led from where Ransom stood down to the main floor, the whole of which was covered with a deep burgundy carpet into which the children dug their toes as they spun around on bare feet. The high walls were dressed with large wooden panels trimmed in silver and equally large brass plates. In the middle of each panel a detailed scene had been carved, and these had either been colorfully painted or done up in silver with rhinestones set over the heads of what must have been the equivalent of their saints: maestros they called them, if he remembered correctly. The plates were etched with similar scenes, without the coloration or rhinestones, and were highly polished so that the light from the torches shone on them. Both the plates and the panels were hung head high in an alternating pattern from the front of the chamber to the rear, giving the impression of a solemnity wholly ignored by the dancers. Ransom did not know much about the cult, but he knew enough about religious symbolism to know the pictures depicted important events in the short history of their religion. He had seen many such gaudy illustrations in textbooks.
There were two columns of heavily constructed pews, no doubt built where they were as they were too large and cumbersome to have been carried down through the tunnel, all dark stained with intricate gold and silver embellishments. The craftsman had been partial to exaggerated features far too eccentric for Ransom's plain taste. He had given the backs and arm rests the most outlandish gothic lines an contours which made them look uncomfortable to sit in.
The pews were arranged to allow plenty of room for dancing, and the young people were putting the space to good use. Everyone shook and twirled madly in the main aisle as the brass section cut loose. Ransom had never seen dancing of this kind before, though the music seemed vaguely familiar. Every now and again one of the many young women would sail into the air and do her best to hold her skirt down as she plummeted back into her partner’s arms. It was a very strenuous dance, tiring even to watch, but the practiced moves of the young people made it look effortless.
Down the middle of the main aisle three enormous oaken beams rose up out of the floor. On them were fastened many heavy joists and girders which spread up and out in every direction, like sprouting branches, to support a cathedral ceiling. The main pillars and the elaborate system of rafters that extended from it had been chiseled and shaped meticulously so that many dark open-mouthed figures of various shapes and sizes inhabited the trunks and the boughs and the branches. Ghostly imps forever looked down on this place of worship, their faces frozen in a state of perpetual surprise. They were curious to look at; Ransom could not tell if the creatures were singing at the tops of their lungs or shocked at what they saw. When a group of young women came dancing down the aisle toward the altar, he thought perhaps it was a little of both. They danced slowly forward, working themselves around the crowd toward the alter. Their thin white gowns hung in the air, trailing behind them like smoky wisps. Their faces and hands were dusted with a fine white powder that made their skin seem to glow in the torchlight; their lips were of shining silver. As they danced they moved their bodies in a manner that would have been considered lewd and suggestive even in a Vegas nightclub. Ransom could not take his eyes off them.
The room grew pregnant with silence as everyone seated themselves. Ransom somehow understood that the sudden stillness and quiet was a yielding of life to the sacred and not the profane. He thought he counted at least fourteen writhing bodies, but because they were moving freely about the altar he could not be sure; there might have been one or two more. Neither was he sure if Lily was one of them. He was too far away to see clearly, and even if he had been closer he doubted he could distinguish Lily from the rest. The white makeup and gowns made them all look alike. That all of them were slender and dark-haired like Lily did not help matters any, but kept Ransom hopeful.
He watched intently as the women danced provocatively around the altar undulating their hips and, from time to time, running their hands along their bellies and their thighs. There was a kind of innocence in their eyes and the motions of their bodies which spoke, at the very least, of purity, if not chastity. The dance itself was graceful, erotic, and strange. At first Ransom could not put his finger on it, it just seemed odd. He was intrigued by the way they thrust their arms and legs out into the air, gyrating their pale forms around the altar. As he watched, the reason for his fascination became clear. None of them were dancing to the rhythm of the music! Each seemed enveloped by a low, harmonious undercurrent only she could hear. It was as bizarre as it was beautiful. As if a private muse was singing softly in her ear, each girl moved to an eroticism out of time with the world around her. Acknowledging no one, not even each other, they swirled around independently, though from time to time their bodies came gently into contact. Soon, one by one, they began laying down and danced frantically on the floor before lying very still. Ransom caught his breath when it was all over, he had too; he had twitched a little himself as they grinded on the floor in a very realistic display of agony. Ransom wondered what it all meant.
Other than where he was standing, there were only two other doors leading out of the chamber below, both where on the far wall on either side of the altar. Ransom wanted to explore beyond those doors but there was no way to get to them without going through the chamber. He was trying to figure out how to go about it, or even if he should, when the door on the left opened. A man in a cream-colored suit entered and shut the door behind him. He was tall, dark-skinned, and with grey hair, perhaps in his early sixties. His steps were light and his eyes glided back and forth over the faces in the congregation as he moved. He walked quickly to the podium behind the altar and smiled. The chanting and music came to halt almost immediately as he looked over the room, and when he raised his hand over his head everyone became very still.
‘Welcome, everyone,’ he said in a sharp, pleasant voice. ‘It’s good to see you all here tonight. I see we have some visitors. Glad to have you with us.' His eyes sparkled. ‘Visitors raise your hands!’ Several hands went up. At this his smile grew larger and there was an undeniable sparkle in his eyes. 'Welcome, welcome! I’m Reverend Skypilot. Glad you could join us. If you are seated near a visitor please introduce yourself and shake their hand. Let them know they’re among friends tonight.’ Skypilot waited a moment as everyone turned to introduced themselves to each other, then, clasping his hands beneath his chin, he stepped out from behind the podium and said, ‘I guess by now you have all heard about little Joey Everett Arizona, severely beaten last week.’ A murmur traveled through the congregation. ‘A classmate heard him singing the glory of Elvis to a friend—and three young boys conspired to beat the living tar out of him in front of the teeter-totters at recess.’ Another gasp went though the room from those who had not heard. ‘Please, keep the Everetts in your thoughts tonight as you praise Elvis—’ Skypilot scooted across the floor on one foot and threw his hands in the air. ‘as you sing to Elvis!.’ He sprang up and his feet left the ground momentarily. ‘Yes! As you get down with Elvis tonight!’ He squatted low, rose up with a bit of a spin, then cut loose with a little jig as the congregation cheered him on.
‘Yes, keep them in your hearts,’ he continued, more softly. ‘because this is but a pale reflection of the persecution we face from the Christian community, and which threatens to tear us apart, but which can only bring us closer together if we remain faithful to the sweet Song of Elvis.’ Cheers went up from the crowd. ‘Put your hands together if you Love Elvis,’ he said clapping his hands. All hands came together. ‘Praise Elvis! ‘Praise our King and Holy Sender,’ continued Skypilot. Almost in refrain, he added. ‘—for She is worthy of praise.’ Ransom was unable to take his eyes off of the preacher.
Skypilot wiped his brow with a handkerchief before asking, ‘Can I have an a-huh-huh? The crowd erupted in cheers and shouted, A-huh-huh, and Praise Elvis at the tops of their lungs. There was the occasional, Thank you Elvis, thrown in—followed more often than not by, Thank you very much! With all the sobriety of a catholic priest genuflecting, Skypilot made one fluid motion with his hands, as if he were hanging the strap of an air guitar around his neck, before strumming the imaginary instrument twice, from bottom up and then top down.
Ransom was at a loss. He watched from behind the blue curtain as Skypilot raised his hand again and again everyone fell silent. Only the hushing of children and the occasional cry of a baby could be heard. ‘Just as a rhinestone cannot be polished without friction,’ he continued. ‘Neither can a person be perfected without trials and tribulations!’ Skypilot spoke for a while about the hardships of living in troubled world. He spent a lot of time on the nature of pride and how pride was the true source of suffering in the world. ‘The time is coming,’ he said, when we will do away with pride and the greed that follows, or the wealth that follows after that, and the suffering that comes when those who are empty and wise take more than they need trying to fill themselves up with the insubstantial trifles.’ Everyone cheered again. He raised his arms up high above his head. ‘One fine day—Lyrics one, chorus five, verse sixteen—you’re gonna want Me. I am Love. I am Peace.’ A look of utter joy came over Skypilot’s face at he thought those words. ‘And on that fine day pride will have no power over us! One fine day the guiding principle of political office will be to improve society and the world, not simply to do whatever it takes to stay in office. One fine day democracy will not be defined as hundreds of millions choosing to lead, but a leader chosen for hundreds of millions! On that day the shadows of the world will crumble and fall away before the light! A-huh-huh! Humanity and humans, mother and child, so long estranged will embrace again under the stars and we will sigh softly in her bosom.’ Skypilot flipped through a book quickly. ‘Turn now in Lyrics one to chorus seven, verse twenty-four: One never knows does one, when Love will come along—then so suddenly, life turns out to be a Song.’ He stopped and smiled out over the congregation. We must be ready.’ He paused then said, ‘—but isn’t that jus the way of it? When the spirit of Elvis comes into your heart—Life is a Song. When Love, our Holy Sender, are the source of light within, you are moved by the music. And what a glorious feeling it is, a-huh-huh.’
Everyone was attentive. Only the occasional “Yes Elvis” from somewhere in the room, softly punctuated Skypilot’s words. He paused thoughtfully, then, as if turning a page in his mind, he smiled out over his flock once again and said, ‘Friends—are you lonesome tonight?’
‘So lonesome I could cry!’ yelled a woman from the back of the room.
Skypilot came down from the stage. ‘Is your heart filled with pain?’ He waited a moment for the rising cries to die down. ‘Well I’m here to tell you, you don’ have to be lonely! You don’t have to know pain! No sir, friends—listen to me now—Elvis is with you. That’s right! Elvis, King, and Holy Sender, loves and cares about each and everyone of you here tonight! That’s the good news! And I’m here to tell you, it only gets better! Because the Spirit of the Holy Sender, the sacred feminine spirit that is the mother of us all, life-giving defender of purity. Her spirit abounds. It is in each and every one of us!’ Skypilot scanned eyes scanned through the Book of Lyrics. ‘The Holy Sender desires our gentle, steadfast, affections. Follow along,’ he said. ‘Lyrics two, chorus 12, verse 17, tells us The Holy Sender wants us to “love Her tenderly.
‘That’s right—skip down to verse 19, halfway down the page: And The Holy Sender said unto Maestro , “tell the western kings to free their slave, for they are my children too. Only through a Song of grace and harmony shall they learn of Me. Only with knowledge of Me may they love Me tenderly. Only through tender Love shall they come to be loved by Me. Only through my Love will they receive the gift of eternal life.”’ Skypilot paced back and forth quickly. ‘Love Me tenderly.’ He repeated the words many times, eyes beaming. ‘There is nothing I would rather do, how ‘bout you?.’ The congregation cheered in agreement. ‘What about you? And you? Are you ready to Love. Are you ready to sing the Song? Are you worthy of the gift?’ he continued. He seemed to come alive on stage. ‘And The Holy One does have a whole lotta Love for you. Can I get an A-huh-huh.’
The room shook with a thunderous a-huh-huh.
‘Turn now in Lyrics to the firs book.’ He waited a moment for the flipping to subside. ‘Lyrics two, chorus three, verse eleven— The Holy Sender is speaking with Maestro Jude, the prophet and father of our metaphysics. She appears to him as a purple rain cloud on the horizon and spoke of the people of the world, saying, “When they wish the ceiling was the floor, the empty cup will be as sweet as the punch, and the sad Song will be made better. ”’ Skypilot threw his hands up in the air, reveling in the thought of it. ‘What a wonderful world—,’ he said as a single tear appeared on his cheek, ‘it will be when that day comes! What a wonderful day when the empty cup becomes sweet like the punch! Praise Elvis! Praise His Holy Name!’ The congregation was visibly moved and many soft, Thank you, Elvis’s came from many quivering lips.
‘Elvis is alive!’ shouted Skypilot, speeding up the tempo. ‘That’s right! He is with us here today in this holy place—infused with Her Holy Spirit. I feel Him all around. Elvis is with me, and you, and you—and you,’ he said, pointing to various members of the congregation. He collected his thoughts a moment, then said, ‘Now, I know what you’re thinking—you’re thinking—But Reverend Skypilot, how do you know Elvis lives? How do you know He is with me?’ A smile broke like a sunrise across Skypilot’s face. ‘Lyrics two, chorus nine, verse thirty-seven, tells us, “I saw you crying in the chapel.” I saw you crying in the chapel! I saw!’ He looked around the room. ‘Now I ask you, what does that mean? Please—please tell me now—what does it mean to “see” something? I’ll tell you what it means, it mean two things really: first, it means you’re alive. You can’t see something if you’re dead, now can you. Am I right or am I right? No, you can’t. You must be alive to see. Can we agree on that?
‘Secondly, it means you are there. You can’t see something if you’re not there to witness it. You can not see something and know you are seeing it, unless, at least some part of your awareness is present and attending to it! Praise Elvis! Now does that mean Elvis is here, physically, hovering in the room? Not exactly, that’s not what I’m saying—though, He has been born again and walks the earth with us. A-huh-huh.’
The congregation repeats, A-huh-huh, enthusiastically.
‘What is does mean, is that The Holy Sender—part of Her loving spirit— surrounds us at all times.’ Skypilot opened his arms wide and wrapped them around himself. ‘Now I ask you, Is that not comforting to know?’ The joyful smile on his face grew more luminous. ‘Is it not good to know She is watching over us through the spirit of Elvis and the living embodiment—His divine Incarnation on earth? ‘Course it is! What a wonderful feeling! Don’t that just make you want to get up in the morning and make biscuits from scratch? I’m telling you what's the truth.’ Skypilot scanned the room. ‘I see you smiling,’ he said, looking at a man who’s lips were on the verge of curling. ‘Don’t be shy. It feels good to know you’re loved, don’t it? Praise Elvis!’
Skypilot held his arms out and said, ‘I walk with beauty,’ and the congregation answered in unison, Beauty is before me. Skypilot said, ‘Beauty is beside me,’ and the congregation answered, Above and below me.
‘Elvis , King and Holy Sender has given us much,’ he continued more solemnly. ‘and we have done much to keep His Song in our hearts—but as the great Maestro once said, “what have we done for Him lately?” Skypilot nodded thoughtfully. ‘You see, it’s not what we’ve done—it’s what we’re going to do. Praise Elvis. It’s not what’s in the past that makes us worthy. It’s what we do today.’
‘Today,’ repeated Skypilot.
To be living for you is all I want to do, said the congregation.
‘Today!’ said Skypilot more loudly.
I’m so full of love I could burst apart and start to cry.
‘Today!’
With you here with me, I can tell the world what is means to Love.
‘Today,’ Skypilot said more softly.
And softer still the congregation answered, Everything you want, I swear, it all will come true.
‘Praise Elvis!’ said Skypilot. ‘Praise His holy name.’
When Skypilot began speaking again it was with an excited tone, his hands moving in primitive gesticulation. ‘Yes friends, He walks among us—and He is climbing the charts in our hearts. He has been born into the world! The King has returned! This is an exciting time to be alive, friends, make no mistake. He is the lead and the base! She is the melody and the rhythm! He is the winds and the strings! She is the high note that came before and the low note that follows. The Holy Sender, through the living embodiment of Elvis, has returned to guide us, to nurture us, to show us the way to live in harmony with Her perfect Song! He’s here to share His teachings, set down in Lyrics, as only Elvis reborn can do.’ He beat his chest with his fist. ‘I could not do it! The Bellwethers of the church could not do it! The best among us should not presume to be worthy! We wouldn’t even know where to begin.’ Skypilot smiles out over his flock with a tenderness that nearly disarmed Ransom. ‘But that’s alright!’ he proclaimed. ‘Elvis knows! We don’t have to know! What release! What Joy! We have simply to follow His sweet Song.
‘The Holy One is with us. Only He, with the awesome power of The Holy Sender acting through Him, could ever open our hearts to the true wisdom of Lyrics. Can I get an a-huh-huh?’
The crowd roared joyously.
‘The King is here, that’s true enough!—but the spirit of The Holy Sender is everywhere. She permeates our daily lives and comforts us. There are no worries when She is your peace. There are no difficulties, no worldly dangers, or uncertainty, when you have The Sender’s loving arms around you. She remains eternally at the center, and yet, spirals out in every direction. She is the Chorus and the Melody on this plain and the next. Can I have an a-huh-huh?’
A din arises dwarfing the one before. A chill ran up Ransom’s spine. The rafters shook as the congregation continued to jump and stomp their feet, singing and shouting at the top of their lungs. It was as if they thought they could shake the whole world with the power of voice.
‘We’ve come a long way!’ continued Skypilot, raising his voice above the cheers. The noise died down. ‘But we have more work to do! We have outreach work in nearly every state in the union and thirty-seven countries. Our Japanese partners are very excited. And leaving that unfortunate incident in Montana aside—very unreceptive people up there—but that aside, all has gone quiet well. Our work is going well because we have true believers singing the sweet Song of Elvis!’
‘Now friends, listen to me,’ he said, clasping his hands. ‘Just because your not one of our young carolers, trudging through the muggy, tick-infested rainforests of Koo-koo-ka-choo, struggling to bring the holy Lyrics of The King to those heathen, Christian, aborigines—that don’t mean you’re not important, or needed. No it doesn’t. Elvis, King, and Holy Sender has a plan for each and everyone of you here tonight.’ Skypilot pounded a finger into his hand, saying: ‘And that’s the truth!’ To Ransom, Skypilot sounded like a fibbing child, who, by placing emphasis on the one part of the story that seems plausible, hopes to make the whole lie more convincing.
‘We were all put here for a reason—sent for Her divine purpose,’ he continued. ‘A purpose! And only when that purpose is fulfilled, only when our mission is complete, only then, on that happy day, may we return to Sender and take our place at Her side!’ Skypilot paced back and forth in front of the altar. ‘The work of the carolers isn’t for everyone,’ he said pausing in front of a woman. He looked at her knowingly. ‘Many of you have expressed an interest in getting out into the field. You want to try a little hands on work.’ He smiled appreciatively. ‘I understand.’
He walked back and forth, waving his hands above his head. ‘Can’t blame you! Wouldn’t it be great to be out there singing the Song! Thank you very much! Wouldn’t it be wonderful to get down with the Spirit! Thank you very much! Wouldn’t it be thrilling to be there, where the Song’s being sung—to be there when the sweet Song of Elvis is heard for the first time—to see the looks on the faces of the wretched and despairing when that glorious melody first enters the heart. Thank you, sweet Elvis.’
He clasped his hands again with a joyous expression on his face. ‘Kinda makes you feel tingly all over just thinking about it. Praise Elvis! We’re all excited about doing what we can to spread the glorious Song that Elvis lives. Thank you very much! We each want to help in our own way. Thank you, thank you, sweet Elvis. Praise Him! Praise His holy name! We want to save some hearts,’ he said, raising his voice higher. ‘Praise Elvis! Help us, Elvis, to fulfill our destiny in the Song. We want to feel Your power—Your everlasting Melody around us. We want Your Song to shake us up on the inside, and shake us loose on the outside! Yes, yes, all glory to Elvis! I got the feeling now! Thank you, Elvis. Thank you, thank you, thank you, sweet Elvis—for putting the Song that moves us in our hearts. Praise His Holy Name.
‘But friends—listen to me now. As I’ve said before, the work of the carolers is not for everyone. It’s hard work. Hard and dangerous. Those savages don’t always realize we’re there to help them—and that’s the truth! Just last month, in a remote jungle village, three of our young people were baptized at spear point by traditionalists of the Watusi tribe. How many of us her tonight could have endured such hardship? Hmmm?
‘No, we can’t all be carolers, but we can all help in our own way. We can all do our part to spread The Song. You know how this pains me— I don’t care too much for money—Lyrics one, chorus one, verse two—money can’t buy me love. One day we will be free of the curse, but right now we have to except that we live in a world where no one will do anything unless they can turn a profit doing it—and right now our young people in the field need us. They need us here working jobs, providing the financial support they so desperately need. The Christians have spread the word, but I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—it’s time to sing The Song! And what a sweet Song it is. Isn’t it! Isn’t it wonderful? Praise Elvis! Sing for Him and Him only! Praise His holy name!
A somber expression came suddenly over Skypilot’s face. ‘Right now, me and Elvis, the King and I, want you to dig deep into your pockets and give. A-huh-huh.’ Skypilot looked out over the congregation while the bellwethers passed the collection plates. He looked at a man who had not put any money in the plate. ‘Brother Albert,’ he said. ‘You’ve lost your job, you’re behind on your car insurance, your rent is due! You don’t think you can afford to give, but I’m here to tell you—you can’t afford not to. For though your wallet is empty, the bounty of Elvis’ runneth over—and He will be with you.’
Brother Albert dug around in his pockets for some cash.
‘Brother Tom!, you have a teenage son with a sexually transmitted disease.’ The young man next to brother Tom sunk into his seat. ‘Doctor bills are piling up! The medication is expensive! You think you can’t afford to give, but I’m here to tell you—you can’t afford not to. ‘Cause if you do, Elvis will protect your son—from the waist down.’ Skypilot froze in an Elvis-like karate stance as Brother Tom emptied his wallet into the offering plate.
Skypilot scanned the room. ‘Sister Meredith, you have three kids, a baby in your lap, and one on the way! You don’t know how you’re going to feed them! You think you can’t afford to give, but I’m here to tell you—you can’t afford not to. ‘Cause if you do, your baby will suckle—at the nipple of Elvis. I have foreseen it.’ Skypilot wiggled his fingers in front of his eyes as Sister Meredith swooned and rummaged through her purse for money.
When the offering plates were on the alter, Skypilot motioned for the music to start again. Everyone began to dance and sing. Ransom looked on with a disgust tainted with fascination and thought again about trying to make his way to one of the doors behind the alter. He now knew there were many new comers present and thought it might be possible to dance his way to one of the doors without anyone becoming suspicious. But he thought of stepping out from behind the blue curtain and revealing himself was nerve racking. He had not forgot everything he had heard about the cult on the evening news over the years, or about the bodies of the Elvis impersonators piling up in the Vegas morgue. There was no question he had to do something, but he could not make himself go down the stairs.
In the end, he knew what he had to do. It was what he should have done in the first place, but the thought of leaving Lily behind while he went for help tormented him. He could not bear to think of her somewhere, perhaps a dark room, scared, wondering why he had not come for her. He was certain she was here, but there was nothing he could do alone. He had to get to the police and bring them back.
He had just made up his mind to go, when a joyous crowd of worshipers, arriving late, came dancing their way down the hall behind him. The music from the worship chamber was so loud that the revelers were nearly on top of him before he noticed they were there. A woman took Ransom’s hands and began to sway her hips against his as the others danced around, forming a circle into which he was drawn. A man took the painting from his hands and thanked him for “the offering.” The girl’s hands glided through his hair and down his back. As they moved together, Ransom’s arms went up in the air and his fingers snapped instinctively. He had to act the part.
He was swept along as the dancers pulled him with them down the stairs into the main chamber. Ransom played along, not quite losing himself in the now frenzied rhythm, dancing and gyrating with innocuous delight, daring at the height of his abandon only to dance on a pew for a moment or two with a persistent woman. He had only just jumped down when an elderly lady dancing close by sashayed over and took his hands in hers. She held them up above their heads as she spun around beneath. Ransom danced with her a moment, then pulled away politely, only to be embraced by a woman who had danced up behind him. He worked his way through the crowd in this manner, dancing here and there with anyone who smiled at him. When he had built up the nerve, he danced his way close to the door to the left of the altar. He watched the faces of everyone dancing near him. When he was sure no one was paying attention, he opened the door and slipped through, closing it quickly behind him.