“It is appointed unto man once to die, and after this the judgment.”
But not immediately.
Simon Brownfield had been dead for almost eighteen hours by the time he boarded the bus and paid his fare. He nodded at the driver, but said nothing. By now the gasses forming inside his quickly decaying body might easily escape, and the smell would be horrific. At least to humans.
Jael had watched impassively while Simon died there in the New Jersey snow the night before. The park had closed just after 11:00, so no other human had been around to hear the old man’s final gasps, his hand clasped like a claw to his chest as his weakened heart finally gave in to a lifelong aversion to exercise. When it was all over, and Simon’s soul had departed to meet his Creator, Jael had stepped in.
Simon’s body then stood back up, dusted the snow from its sleeves and trousers and flexed its arms and legs. Jael tried to get a sense for how this new body felt and moved. It was more heavy-set than his previous body, that of a young African-American child-of-God who had wedged his flipper in some coral and drowned while snorkeling in The Keys. Jael had used his twenty-four hours in that young man’s body as a vehicle to rescue a Cuban family from massacre at the hands of a national soldier gone rogue.
His mission now with Simon was just as pressing.
Simon’s milky eyes studied through the bus window the skyline of New York City in the distance as dusk approached, orange light reflecting off the buildings with brilliant contrast against the purple clouds of night. Jael could remember when this land had been nothing more than a forest. Long ago, God had sent him to protect an Oneida child who had been lost in enemy territory, a child whom the Lord later used to bring the Gospel to his tribe. Simon’s lips smiled at the memory.
Back in this land after so many centuries, yet the problems of humanity and the attacks of the true Enemy had barely changed. Across the world and across the ages, it was always the same. The Great Shepherd’s sheep still lost themselves. The wolves still hunted and sometimes devoured them. Messengers like Jael could only do so much to protect the sheep, because sometimes they truly wanted to be lost. Humans and their damned misuse of free will!
The bus ride took two hours. He hadn’t much time to spare now. Pastor Franklin was most certainly nearing his breaking point, and Simon’s body would soon be useless. Jael figured he had four hours to spare. Five if he pushed it, and if there wasn’t a crowd around to notice the stench. But as God had told him, Pastor Franklin’s depression would be taking him into that place of solitude where—if Jael lost the battle against the man’s will—he would take his own life.
Simon maneuvered through the crowded bus station, trying not to let his bulk bump into any other passengers. He kept his eyes focused on the exit and the darkness beyond. He was just four blocks from the bridge. God had prepared His messenger for these events, telling Jael that Pastor Franklin would already be there, pacing the walkway and attempting to pray words that wouldn’t come. Timeless God had already heard Pastor Franklins groanings of the next several hours. Jael was His answer.
Clouds of breath hovered over the heads of passersby as Simon stomped through the slushy streets. Nothing escaped Simon’s lungs, for Jael had no need for breath. He only needed Simon’s feet, his body, his face. And his history with Pastor Franklin.
Black steel cables stretched from massive fittings at street level up into the mist of diffused yellow light. Simon scanned the figures around him. Most people seemed in a rush, moving from their places of work to restaurants, movie-houses, strip-clubs, sports arenas.
Vanity Fair. All that is in the world: the lust of the eyes, the lust of the flesh, and the pride of life. Jael could almost understand Pastor Franklin’s depression, yet not really. Truly this human race was a mystery, and God’s love for them even more so.
He saw a man in a black woolen trenchcoat and fedora standing across the street. The man faced the water with hands in his pockets and swayed from one foot to another. When he turned his head to peer up the road, lips moving—or were they trembling?—Jael recognized Pastor Franklin. Quickly he stepped Simon’s body over the guardrail, made his way through the honking traffic, and climbed the opposite guardrail immediately behind Pastor Franklin.
After nearly twenty-three hours since death and without a sip of water, Simon’s tongue had swelled nearly to the point of filling the mouth. Jael had kept his lips pressed tightly together all day, and they were now virtually glued. But with the effort of his fingers, he pried the jaws open, flexed the tongue and lips and rasped out a breath which sounded more like a cough.
Pastor Franklin turned at the noise. Thankfully he was standing upwind from Simon’s body. Perhaps the bloating of death had changed Simon’s looks, or perhaps Pastor Franklin had simply forgotten what his old college roommate looked like, but recognition failed to register on his face.
Jael knew he needed to speak. Time was running out. Although the streets were still somewhat busy and Franklin wouldn’t likely jump with so many witnesses around, nighttime had arrived. It was nearing 10:00 and very soon the city would slow down, would quiet to a muffle of snowfall.
“P-ttr Fr-nkn?” This was the first time Jael himself had heard Simon’s voice. It was deeper than he had anticipated, and the swollen tongue made a jumble of the words.
The Pastor didn’t seem to understand him.
Jael tried again. “Pa-tor Franklin?” Better.
The Pastor’s chocolate brow furrowed. “Do I know you?” he asked.
“You don’t recognize your old college roommate?” Jael asked through Simon’s lips, now more tactile.
Pastor Franklin stared, skeptical at the intrusion, but finally recognized his old friend. “Simon?”
“Yes, Sir! Cold night, isn’t it.” Jael had to play the situation calmly. He had a message to give, but the situation called for delicacy.
“How did you—I mean—” Pastor Franklin looked at Simon in wonder. “I don’t know what I mean. Yes, it’s cold.”
“Do you wonder how I found you?”
“Yes, actually. No one knows I’m down here tonight.”
“God knows.”
“Yes, I guess he does.”
Jael noticed Pastor Franklin’s gaze. The man was afraid. He didn’t like Simon intruding on his pity, even if it were accidental. And he didn’t like how Simon looked. That much was clear.
“James, I know it’s been a long time, but my meeting you is not accidental.”
“What, ‘everything happens for a reason’?” They hadn’t seen each other in decades, yet the words came out from James Franklin’s mouth like spit.
“It goes much deeper than that, Friend. I have a message for you, and I need you to listen.” Jael didn’t wait for any snide remark or refusal. “The fact that your children turned their backs on you and, worse yet, on God the Savior and the Lord Jesus Christ is not your fault.”
Pastor Franklin’s eyes grew wide, as if the man before him had just read his mind. He was speechless.
“God knows that you’re thinking of taking your own life tonight, because of the guilt that you feel. Your wife inwardly blames you for their rejection. Your church has judged you and your ministry as worthless because of the behavior of your children, but I’m here to tell you that God Almighty doesn’t. You’ve been preaching it all your life: all humanity is born condemned, and no one can force another to believe. It’s your—” Jael caught himself. “It’s our own free will to accept or deny the Savior Who bought us. Your children made that choice for themselves, not you.”
Tears were in the Pastor’s eyes now. His lips really were trembling. “How—” he sobbed now.
“James, you need to remember. You need to remember the words you said to me years ago, late that night after my father passed. You told me that I could have hope, both in this life and in the life to come.”
Jael hadn’t been present for that conversation from years past, but he knew the story well—He had rejoiced when he had heard that news about Simon’s salvation.
“I’m here to remind you of the same. You, Pastor James Franklin, were saved by grace. It had nothing to do with your own efforts, but was a gift from God Himself. You are God’s special creation, and you were created to do good works for His glory. God ordained for you specifically to walk this life, and He did so a long, long time ago—longer than you can even imagine. The question you need to ask yourself, however, is how you can walk in a manner worthy of your calling if you snuff out your life tonight in the frozen waters beneath our feet?”
That was it. The message had been delivered. Nothing more needed to be said. Jael had learned millennia ago never to add or detract from the message, so although he longed to look into the mystery of this human heart and watch its gears turn, he knew that it wasn’t his place. So with a soft touch onto Pastor Franklin’s arm, Simon turned and walked away.
He never looked back to see if his mission had been successful or not. Such knowledge wasn’t his purview, and he’d find out in the end anyways. For now, he needed to find another park, a place somewhat similar to where he’d found Simon Brownfield the night before, somewhere deserted and cold. He walked several blocks past the bus station and finally found something that could work. It was a cemetery, and along the far end, he found an open gate.
He strolled past the tombstones, glancing at names he didn’t recognize, though each date brought back fond memories. He wondered how many of these bodies had been used for good—or ill—before they were laid down into their final resting place.
Towards the southeast corner of the cemetery, Jael found a massive mausoleum carved from marble pillars. He figured that now, in the chill of winter, few people would peruse this area on a whim, hopefully giving Simon’s body a long chance to stiffen again before being discovered.
Simon sat on the ground out of view from the path, with his back to the stone structure and his chin resting on his chest.
Jael stood up and took one final glance at the old man. And then he was gone.
[A version of this story originally appeared on my hobby site hobbieswithelliot on January 23, 2021]
©2026 E.T.
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