Be Here Now

Living Waters, 3 EL (2023 CE)- Bishop Phelps

The morning bell clanged as early sunlight streamed in the window of the small, plain room. A tall, thin man with flowing white beard and hair, clad in a long, plain, cotton nightshirt, lay on the old brass bed. He abruptly awoke, raised his arms as if to embrace the world, and shouted, Thank You, Lord, for another day to do your will! Bishop Kevin Phelps strode to the small desk in his cubicle, and put his hands upon the large black book which lay there. He closed his eyes as he prayed, Oh, Lord, I know that all Scripture is suitable for inspiration and reproof. What inspiration or reproof have you for me today? He opened the Bible at random, to Proverbs, where his finger poked at Chapter 1 Verse 7- The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and instruction. Thank you Jesus! he exclaimed. I fear you, and shall continue to direct your people here in that loving fear! We'll have no fools here! Please guard and guide my tongue and actions this day, that I may faithfully guide them in our sojourn! At the tiny washstand he splashed his face with water, patted it off with a thin towel, then pulled a black robe, boots and hat from his wardrobe. Awake and ready for the day, he tucked his Bible under his arm and strode down the hall and into the Common Room. The day's assigned kitchen workers had set up the rows of tables and benches for breakfast, and were stirring pots of vegetable porridge and frying meats. There were many smiled and waved greetings as he strode across the room to the Deacon's Table on the platform at one end. He paused to ask some of the women how their children were doing, as Chicken Pox had been going around- undoubtedly spread by the ungodly among whom they lived. He eventually reached the high table, sat, pulled out his Bible, and began to read to himself: He truly loved his people, and knew that he could best serve them by constant immersion in Scripture. Soon the bell rang again and the Sheep of Living Waters were ushered in by their Deacons. The men all wore denim overalls and plain shirts; the women long skirts and long-sleeved shirts, with head scarves. Families took their assigned places in the center of the room, with mothers making sure that their children were properly seated. Single men and women, coming in ranks from their dormitories, sat on opposite sides. Each Deacon, as his assigned charges were seated, came to the high table to join his Bishop. Soon, all were seated, chatting happily. The passion that Bishop Phelps felt as he gazed out over them felt like an engulfing flame. That he had been chosen to shepherd God's very elect through the Tribulation filled him with awed love and humility. He rose, and gestured all to join him. All other sound ceased: Even the children were hushed. Good morning, my people. Good morning, Bishop. On this 834th day of our sheltering, let us rejoice in the Lord. Sing now with me! He led them in singing the 23rd psalm: Because the Lord is my Shepherd, I have everything that I need... And the morning's encouragement song:

I just wanna be a sheep. Baa! I just wanna be a sheep. Baa! Pray the Lord my soul to keep. Baa! I just wanna be a sheep. Baa! Today's reader is Deacon Brown. What selection have you for us today, Brother? The round-faced young man stood and said, I will be reading from Ecclesiastes, Bishop. then walked to the lectern at the right side of the dais. Fine, fine. Please sit, everyone. Servers, bring forth the excellent bounty you have prepared. Deacon Brown began reading as food was distributed: Vanity of vanities, all is vanity says the Preacher... After all had finished eating, the Deacons read forth the day's work assignments from slate tablets. Soon the hall was empty, but for the scurrying kitchen crew.

Phoenix, 3 EL- Master Po

A soft predawn breeze wafted through the slats of the dojo's closed shutters. Across a gravel path the sound of an old-fashioned alarm clock sounded from a window in a hillside. Soon, a door opened and a fair-haired, middle aged man, muscular as the surfer-dude he had once been, strode forth. He was barefoot, and wore a plain gray kimono. A room filled with books and a simple pallet bed could be glimpsed through the door behind him. Danny Thompkins, known to most as Master Po, paused to listen to the few morning birds before crossing to the dojo. He walked around the small building, sliding open its many floor-to-ceiling panels, then stepped up and inside. He went to the shrine, a Japanese-style black wooden cabinet holding an incense burner before statues of the Buddha, Jesus and various Hindu and Polynesian gods. He lit three sticks of incense, clapped twice, and bowed his head in prayer. Make me an instrument of your piece. Guide me in helping these souls through a vexing time. He went to a low bench on which he assumed the cross-legged lotus position. He was quickly in a deep meditative trance. Precisely an hour later, as the sun rose behind the hillside, he opened his eyes and stood, did a few minutes of Tai Chi limbering moves, and walked through the precious wooded park to the Community Hall. There he found breakfast in full swing. Though not as raucous as some meals, the dining hall rang with adult's morning talk, children's chatter, and the clatter of dishes. The larger tables scattered across the room mostly accommodated families, although a few had been claimed by work crews, planning their days over fruit and bread. Most people were dressed in Phoenix-made spidersilk robes like Po's, or similarly gray shirts and shorts. Their bright and idiosyncratic hats, a Phoenix trademark, merrily clashed with the many paintings and sculptures around the room, making the place as noisy visually as it was sonically. As he retrieved his tray of yogurt, fruit and herbal tea from the kitchen pass-trough window, one of the servers asked, Is there any space left in the afternoon Tai Chi class, Sensei? Sure, Taisha. Just come by a bit before four. We'll work you in. As he took his tray, and scanned the room for a place to sit, Karl Mueller beckoned for Po to join him

and Pastor Dave at a corner table. Karl, an ordinary-looking, middle-aged white man with long saltand-pepper beard and hair, was Phoenix's Founder, and head of its Village Council. Dave, a slight, dark-skinned, round-faced man, was leader of the Lutheran contingent at Phoenix. Po had noticed them in conversation as he entered, but hadn't wanted to interrupt. They both rose to shake hands as he set his tray down. Hey, guys! he asked. What's up? It's that stinking oil tree incident, Karl answered, sadly. I have a meeting with Bishop Phelps this afternoon to talk about it. I'm so pissed off that I may say something I shouldn't. I need the perspectives of people who are in the perspective business. Po exchanged a look with Dave. Both knew what kind of trouble Karl had with Xians, and why. So, Preacher, what have you been telling our Fearless Leader? I reminded him that they aren't typical. Sure, their kind helped cause the trouble that landed us all here, but they weren't a real majority even back then. But, they're absolutely convinced they're the good guys. They aren't bad people, just confused by fear and the need for absolute certainty. We'll be living with them and their kids for a long time, so we'll have to work something out. What do you suggest, then? Karl asked. Go easy, and stay calm, Po suggested. Stick to facts. Be understanding about how hard riding herd on individuals here can be. Stress that we all have to depend on each other. You CAN'T convince them that they aren't eventually going to get raptured out or something, so don't even try. Dave clasped his hands together on the table, and stared at them a moment before continuing. We all know that Faith is a necessary part of the human psyche. Society needs that sort of binding. It's just that some people get stuck at a low level of understanding. Be compassionate. Stick to practical matters.

Bishop Phelps
After breakfast Bishop Phelps went on his usual rounds. He walked through the common areas of the big concrete block building at the heart of Living Waters. The halls of the one-time abandoned slaughterhouse echoed with the sounds of the community's vigorous work: sawing and hammering from the wood shop; women chattering and pans clattering from the kitchen; children reciting Bible lessons. The smells were as varied: baking bread, sawdust, chalk dust, the occasional whiff of the animal pens outside. He stopped to talk with the Deacon in charge of each work area, then moved on. Satisfied that all was working smoothly, he went outside. The fields were properly bustling. The Lord had provided His people with a refuge with fine bottom land soil, which helped their crops to cope with the erratic weather. The Sheep, although mostly city dwellers in their previous lives, had learned how to encourage the soil to yield its bounty. That fact, and that the growing season was nearly a month longer, if less stable, had stretched their survival rations farther than they'd imagined they could. They'd learned a great deal about succession-planting, mulching, row cover, shade cloth and irrigation. They'd hauled uncounted buckets of brackish water from the dwindling stream across the rusting railroad tracks that ran beside the main building. This morning was becoming typical. The day before, when it was 80 degrees, Phoenix had issued a warning to expect a hard frost that night. Folks this morning were picking up the many row-covers that had hastily been put down just before sunset the evening before. Many had slept on beds without blankets that night, and the laundry crew would be busy washing blankets-turned garden covers

through the day. They would dry well in what promised to be fine, warm, sunny late September weather. As useful as their technology was at times, Bishop Phelps felt a sadness for the Phoenix people. They still believed that the bizarre weather worldwide was caused by some kind of human action. Poor souls. They couldn't see that it was all part of God's scourging of a civilization that had wandered too far from him. In only a few more years it would all be made plain, although it was already far too late for anyone to repent; The Four Horsemen of Apocalypse had already been unbound. After surveying his flock Phelps went to his study, a converted school bus. In the very last week before the LOOZ had been sealed this bus, and eleven others like it, had rolled into their new home, packed with survival supplies, preserved food, tools, and 144 chosen refugees, ready to wait out the Tribulation. Their trek was the very Rapture foretold long before. The bus would never go anywhere again- it didn't need to. Like the others, which had been turned into dormitories, it had been insulated and fitted with a wood stove: If anything was common in these days, it was dead trees waiting to be burned in the service of God's people. In this bus, rather than being converted into bunks, some of the old benches had been arranged in a half-circle facing the Bishop's desk at the rear, so that Deacons' meetings could be held away from the Sheep. Kevin relished his daily study times. They provided the strength and insight he needed to shepherd his flock. The shelves around his desk held Greek and Hebrew Bibles, commentaries, reference materials and writings from good, solid, Biblical Literalist writers from St Augustine to Cotton Mather to Frances Schaeffer. There was an extensive library of sermons on CDs; The edification of their Leader was worth using some of the colony's precious solar and wind generated electricity. He prostrated himself across his desk and began to loudly pray, Oh Lord, hear your humble servant, who is but dust beneath your feet. Guide me in my studies today, that I might gain Your wisdom in how to deal with the unbelievers among whom we live. Help me to treat them with firm compassion. Help me to guide our vulnerable young ones in the narrow path of being among but not of these utterly condemned ones. I pray in the name of Your Son, our soon-returning Savior, Jesus Christ. Perhaps I should start in Leviticus, with the laws on dealing with outsiders, he thought.

Master Po
Well, I need to go, said Master Po, pushing back from the table. I volunteered for greenhouse duty this morning. You know how crabby Tammi gets if anyone's late. Three men exchanged farewells, especially Good Lucks to Karl, and bused their dishes to the kitchen pass-through. Po walked out through the eastern doors and up the hill to Phoenix's greenhouse complex, the linked group of hundred-foot-long structures that produced organic food year round. Tammi Delfina, Phoenix's Ag Chief, checked in the dozen or so volunteers after they'd washed their arms and changed into clean gardening robes, hoods and slippers: Part of keeping the greenhouses going was maintaining their cleanliness, eliminating any chance that pollen, pests or pathogens could hitch hike in. Po had drawn transplant work. His task for the morning was to move a dozen trays of broccoli-raab seedlings to a newly cleared greenhouse, stir amendments into the soil there, and plant them. It was enjoyable, meditative work. He pondered the passage from the fourth chapter of the Bhagavad Gita: He who has faith has wisdom, who lives in self-harmony, whose faith is his life;

And he who finds wisdom soon finds the peace supreme. But he who has no faith and no wisdom, whose soul is in doubt, is lost. For neither this world, nor the world to come, nor joy is ever for the man who doubts. He who makes pure his works by Yoga, who watches over his soul, And who by wisdom destroys his doubts, is free from the bondage of selfish work. Kill therefor with the sword of Wisdom the doubt born of ignorance that lies in thy heart. Be one in self-harmony, in Yoga, and arise, great warrior, arise. The morning passed swiftly. Soon dozens of perky, bright green plants were safely tucked into their new beds. Po changed back into his outside clothes and headed to the Community Hall for a box lunch. There he ran into Jimmie Olson, head of the Order of Rememberers. His group's current task was to seek out books and recordings from the abandoned houses and offices of the LOOZ, to conserve and catalog them. Civilization was clearly crumbling, and it would be shameful to lose all of the learning and art of the ten thousand years before. Somehow that reminded him that Karl would be heading for Living Waters about then. He hoped that the two leaders could come to some rapprochement. Po hate to think of a community of folks right in the neighborhood who wanted so much to be held at arms length. He sighed. Ah, well, bad religion can do nasty things. They'll have time to loosen up. After a short chat Master Po took his lunch, and a huge crockery mug of herbal tea, back to his burrow. He set them on his bedside table, took an apple from the box, and faced his workbench. Spread out on it were scriptures of various faith, tomes on the psychology and sociology of religion, and works of various late-Twentieth and early-Twenty First Century scholars who had seen this collapse coming. His long task was to digest and cross-reference these works, to try to understand why Humanity had such absurdly self-defeating attitudes, often in close relation to utterly sublime ideas, and how to build from that knowledge a culture in the LOOZ that would stand, sanely, for the centuries to come. He picked up his current volume, began to read, and realized that it connected with something else that he'd read. He shuffled the books about until he found the one he wanted, located the passage, made note of the reference in the margins of both books, and also jotted it in his notebook. Things were taking shape. Soon Master was deep in study mode,oblivious to all around him, trusting his time sense to poke him about his later appointments. After a few hours he realized that it was time to return to the dojo, to prepare for the afternoon class. He set aside his study materials, and headed back across the park.

Bishop Phelps, Jim Lawson, Karl Mueller

Deep in thought, Bishop Phelps didn't at first hear the knocking on his door. The voice of Deacon Negard finally stirred him. Bishop! Are you in? I have the boy for you! Yes! Come in, come in. Let me put these things aside. Deacon Negard, a broad-shouldered Norwegian-looking fellow, pushed a mid-teens boy up the stairs ahead of him. He muttered, Now you'll get what you deserve. Jim Lawson, who had brought a crisis in relations between Phoenix and Living Waters, looked not so much repentant as confused.

They came back to sit in the first row of benches facing the Bishop's desk. Well, Deacon, Bishop Phelps began. Tell me about your charge. This boy is undisciplined and insubordinate! complained Jim's overseer. He learns well, and can recite entire chapters, but he asks too many questions! The Bishop knew that such fire, if properly tended and banked, could be of great benefit. What a shame that they wouldn't have time to properly train this zealous lad! The Lord would certainly have use for him in the world to come. I see. You have sought advice on this lad from me before. Bishop Phelps stroked his beard, looking into the distance. Brother, please give the boy and I some time alone. The Phoenix man should be here soon- you can wait on the bench outside to bring him in. As you say, Bishop. Soon Bishop and Sheep were alone, facing each other across the broad desk. Bishop Phelps sat back, and crossed his arms across his chest. Jim, what do you say about being undisciplined and insubordinate? Jim leaned forward with his hands on his knees, as if about to leap up, clearly on the defensive. Deacon Negard doesn't understand! He takes forever to say things, and is often wrong! But what has that got to do with anything? Phelps rubbed his nose, blocking the smile he managed to suppress, mostly. Even if your criticism is valid, he is the one that God, through me, has set over you, so that is no excuse. Remember I Peter 2:18, that servants must submit to those set over them, even if they are flawed. What it has to do with is your actions at Phoenix. Do you honestly think that we would have wanted you to do them? He raised a hand for silence. No, don't answer. You should have known that we would not. If you had been properly submissive you would have known. But you all keep saying that they're evil and usurping God's ways! Of course, that is true, but remember that God has often used unbelievers, without their even realizing it, to do His will. That is the role of Phoenix and the others here- to help provide for us until the Lord's return. They are surely lost and destined for the eternal fire, but we must not anger them so that they turn from their God-given role. I know of your anger and its source, but remember where we are So we have to just let them get away with whatever they want? Remember Deuteronomy 32:35- 'Vengeance is mine, and retribution. In due time their foot shall slip; for the day of their calamity is near.' They aren't going to get away with anything. It's we who will get away when the fire consumes them all. Deacon Negard knocked once, then poked his head in the door. The Phoenix man is here, Bishop. Fine, fine. Please show him in. Phelps rose, gesturing for Jim to stay seated. He saw an ordinarylooking, gray-haired man a bit younger than himself, dressed all in shimmery gray robes. This is the mighty Karl Mueller? he thought. Good camouflage. They shook hands heartily. It's good to finally meet you, neighbor! Phelps quelled. Karl looked at him through narrowed eyes. About time, I'd say. Do sit down, said Phelps, indicating the other bench than Jim was sitting on. I'm sorry that I can't offer anything, but my needs here are simple.

But you aren't simple. Oh, no. thought Karl. No that's OK, I understand. Phelps began, It seems that we have a mutual problem in this young man. Let me profess our profoundest regrets at his actions. I quite understand, Bishop; emotions can run high in our situation, especially with young people. But still, we can't allow such vandalism. You probably sent him to do it, you snake. Were trying to help everyone here, working for the long term. Phelps stroked his nose with steepled hands. I see that you have no future. I have a proposal. The boy can work off his debt to you directly. Jim sat up straighter, shock on his face. Yes, lad, said Phelps. I've decided that you'll go with this man, back to Phoenix. You'll work there for, say, a month? Mr. Mueller, I trust that you will not impede the free exercise of his faith? THIS will teach the boy to appreciate what he's got! Of course not. We have many Christians at Phoenix, even a Lutheran minister. But not so many spies. Phelps rose, coming around the desk to offer his hand. It's settled then. Have you space on your buggy to take James now? The sooner the better. Let the shock sink in. Yes, I can take him now, said Karl, turning to Jim and offering his hand. Are you ready for an adventure, boy? Where was this kid before? How did he get here? How damaged is he? Jim still looked shocked as he answered, Yes, sir. I'll get my things. The ride home in the small horse-drawn buggy was very quiet. Everything that Karl tried to draw Jim out failed. Just about the only words they'd exchanged were in loading up, and when Karl asked whether Jim would like to take the reigns for a bit- which he loved. Jim was clearly attentive to what was going on around him, but his personal life was shuttered in steel. Karl thought- Phelps may be a tyrant, but he doesn't seem like the kind to mess a kid up this badly. We know that he's not autistic, and this is a lot more than religion-induced fear. Time to call out the experts. When they reached the gates of Phoenix, Tina Dahingwa was minding the gate. Karl asked her to request that Master Po and Pastor Dave join them in Dining Hall in about fifteen minutes. Tell them I've brought home a time bomb, he explained. Oh, and who's in charge of housing for visiting minors? Annie Anson, sir. Have her come too, please.

Karl, Jim, Po, Dave

After dropping off the buggy at the livery stable, Karl and Jim, carrying his single backpack, walked to the Community Building. In the Dining Hall the supper bustle was just beginning as they took a semisecluded table behind a pillar. You didn't bring much, Lad. What, a couple changes of clothes and some personal stuff? Jim quietly nodded, watching the hall between half-open eyelids. Son, we're going to have to get you properly outfitted, so I need to know. I'm not your son. You aren't my father.

Karl snorted and crossed his arms in frustration. What is this kid's problem? He decided not to push it, waiting for rescue. Rescue came when Annie, a thirty-something blond woman, arrived carrying a clipboard. She seemed to be startled to see Jim, but hid it. Hi, Jim! Welcome back! How long will you be staying with us this time? Jim shrugged. Officially, a month, Karl answered. We'll see what that works out to. Let's see, you're how old, Jim? she asked. They think I'm sixteen, he mumbled. We've got a room for you at Card House, with five other guys from your age to twenty. Would you like to go get settled before supper? I suppose, he answered, getting up and grabbing his pack. Annie led the teenager from the hall. She shot a concerned look at Karl- I'll be back, she mouthed. Karl watched them go, then took the chance to grab a tray of supper. Tonight the main dishes were red beans and rice, with a bit of sausage, and greens pie. By the time he had his tray and was heading back to his table, Po and Dave, who he thought of as Phoenix's spiritual Mutt and Jeff, had arrived. He gestured for them to get trays and join him. Soon the three men were seated with their food. What's the scoop Boss? Po asked. Tina said that you've brought a time bomb home with you. Something like that. You remember that kid who attacked the new trees the other day? Both men nodded. Very sad case, Dave added. Well, he's back, in sort of a restitution deal. They both wondered whether this was a good idea. I'm not sure, but we have to take some chances to keep this overall community together. Living Waters has been a thorn in our side, hanging around and taking, but not really being a part of things. Maybe this boy can be a bridge. Just then Annie returned. How did that boy get here? I never thought that I'd see him again, she worriedly wondered. You mean after the other night? Karl asked. No. Was HE the one who did that? she answered. No wonder. He's a desperate fellow, at least he was when I last saw him. When was that? Back in Minneapolis. Back with Shoshanna. Back when Phelps changed. What? Karl snorted. You knew Phelps back then? Why didn't I know that? I told Dad about it. I guess that he figured you didn't need to know, with everything else going on. It was a long time ago. So, tell us what happened.

I was only about twenty five. We were doing what we could in South Minneapolis... She told an involved story about the evil that happens when people are poor and desperate, when Government refuses to help, when gangs and criminal mobs fill the power vacuum, when there is profit in preying on the powerless. Dave put a hand on Po's shoulder. Brother, we'll have our work cut out for us with this one. He's going to be scared, and something like autistic with PTSD.

Bishop Phelps
Bishop Phelps had followed supper with his usual three-hour sermon and exhortation. In light of the day's events, he concentrated on the need for submission to God's will, and to those whom God had placed above one. Afterward, he retired to his chamber for an hour of Bible reading before bed. He said his prayers kneeling beside his bed, with only a thin cushion for his knees as concession to human frailty. He closed with, Lord God, I thank you for your guidance this day, and ask you for untroubled sleep that I may continue to serve you at this, the End of All Things. I pray in the name of Your loving Son Jesus, who is returning soon to smite all unbelievers. Amen.

Master Po
Master Po, Pastor Dave and the others had talked for a long while, not just about Jim, but about the future of the LOOZ's Compact and community. Phoenix had built well, as had the other, smaller groups. Still, their situation was akin to that of the ancient people of Easter Island- on their own, with only the resources at hand and their own knowledge and wisdom. They'd have to strike that balance between freedom, faith, ingenuity and wisdom that had eluded those people, or face similar peril. As he did his evening zazen meditation in his room, Po knew deeply that they had to build well together a foundation for generations to come- They stood at the very beginning of a new world, after all.