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The Gospel of St. John Cross - Chapter 1
“Never leave Mission Dei,” they said.
“The Land of the Godless is for no human being,” they said.
“You are a member of Blackwatch.”
“Blackwatch protects Missio Dei from the Godless until the Day of Judgement comes and annihilates all sinners.”
“Blackwatch studies the Godless.”
“Blackwatch trains you to destroy the Godless.”
“In many ways you become like them but you are consecrated for holy mission.”
“However you will not become one of them,” they said.
Then they exiled me to the Land of the Godless.
My name is St. John Cross.
I am 24 years old.
I am a member of a religious order called Missio Dei or “The Mission of God.”
Five hundred years ago, when the Protestants and the Catholics waged war on one another, a group of men and women dedicated to the Way of the Master separated themselves and began a community called Missio Dei.
They devoted themselves to living a simple lifestyle based on the teachings of Jesus Christ.
Eventually, Missio Dei grew to become an underground international movement for the good of all humanity in the name of the Master.
Outposts or monasteries were created all over the known world with the monastery in the fledgling United States becoming its headquarters.
One hundred and fifty years ago, the Council of the Master elected a former Godless to be the Archpriest of Missio Dei; his bloodline has ruled ever since.
A former politician in the Land of the Godless, the Archpriest brought “new ideas” to the council and created an order-wide constitution called the Master’s Manifesto which added rules and regulations to the order’s way of life.
Since the council overwhelmingly approved the Manifesto, the majority of the members surrendered to its rule of law.
Dissidents to the Manifesto were threatened with exile into the Land of the Godless and/or excommunication from the order.
Youth who showed ‘signs’ of rebellion were sent to Blackwatch.
Blackwatch is Missio Dei’s military branch.
Historically, Missio Dei was a pacifist movement but under the rule of the Archpriest and his Manifesto the opposite became true of the movement.
I am (or was?) a member of Blackwatch.
When I was 12 years old, my parents were found to be dissidents by the Archpriest.
According to the Manifesto, people declared Godless disciplined harshly.
Since my parents were prominent and respected members of the Missio Dei community, and to squelch any more ideas of dissent, the Archpriest made an example of them.
They each received the penalty of the Soul’s Demise.
I haven’t forgiven the Archpriest for my parents’ murders.
I have internalized my thoughts and feelings for the past 12 years until now.
After my Blackwatch unit destroyed a whole Middle Eastern town for undisclosed reasons, I lost it.
Not only did I challenge my superiors (physically), I took my concerns to the Council of the Master.
When the Council found me “unfit for holy service” in a mock tribunal, they exiled me.
“The Land of the Godless will force you to repent,” they said.
“When we return for you, you will submit willingly to the Manifesto and the Archpriest,” they said.
“To Hell I will,” I said.
I looked at the Archpriest and mouthed “Fuck you!”
“I’m not done with you yet...Godless” he said with evil in his eyes.
“Neither am I… murderer.”
God had grace on the Archpriest that day.
But the day is coming when I won’t shed any grace on him.
This is where my gospel begins.
*****
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But A Clown Is A Clown
“They say everyone has a dark side; a part of themselves that isn’t so kosher for the rest of the world. Well...even monks have a dark side.”
St. John Cross sits on a wood bench inside a locker room of a local Vegas combat sports training facility. He is wrapping his right hand with white tape as he prepares to head into the facility’s main gym area. He looks up at the camera with a serious demeanor. Even his model good looks can’t erase the agitation on his face and the tone in his voice.
“I hate clowns. I wish I could say that they didn’t scare me at my 24 years of age, but let’s be honest, I just can’t be in the same room as clowns. It’s probably why I couldn’t stand to be in the presence of the Archpriest and his council. They’re a circus of clowns. And the Archpriest is their ringleader. But I digress.”
St. John bites the tape loose from the tape roll and affixes it to the rest of his hand. He punches it into his bare left hand to ensure a comfortable fit.
“I was very excited to learn that I was booked on the card of Climax Control 223 against Anthrax until I learned who this ‘Metal Maniac’ is. I figured Anthrax was an overzealous heavy metal fan. You could imagine my shock when I learned he’s a clown, and not just any clown, an insane, psychopathic clown in a loincloth.”
St. John lowers his head and takes a deep breath before continuing on.
“I have issues. I never would have been in Blackwatch if I was just your average Joe falling in line for the Archpriest and his Manifesto. I can’t stand injustice. I lose myself in the cause of injustice but I go to a dark place when I see a clown.”
The tone in St. John’s voice grows somber as he recalls a memory.
“A couple years ago, I was on a Blackwatch mission in downtown Istanbul. I was doing surveillance on a suspected terrorist. He went into a small cafe so I followed him there and sat in the far corner where I could watch his every move while avoiding unwanted attention. The suspected terrorist gave the cafe owner a nod and handed him a package which confirmed our suspicions that they were working together to cause people harm.”
St. John takes another deep breath. This one more labored then the previous one.
“Before I could take any action, a street clown entered the cafe to entertain the customers. A street clown. Whether the clown was part of the terrorist organization, I’ll never know, but a clown is a clown in my screwed up psyche. The clown had frizzy-rainbow-hair, the classic red nose, white facepaint, baggy clothes, and those stupid shoes as long as its legs. I don’t even remember if it was male or female. But a clown is a clown.”
St. John tries to lessen the agony of the memory by taping his left hand.
“The critical mistake was the clown approaching me before I could exit the cafe. I was in full panic arrest and I couldn’t risk the mission because of my psychosis. Sadly, the clown made me the target of its attention when I got to my feet.”
“‘I am a clown,’ it said.”
“‘You’re in my way,’ I responded.”
“‘I make people happy,’ it continued.”
“‘Not me,’ I warned. I glared at it as my inner darkness began to overwhelm me. I hoped it would get the point and move but it didn’t, so I sidestepped it. Like a shadow, it followed me.”
“‘I can't let you leave until you smile! Why won't you smile?’”
“‘You are in my way’ I stated firmly as I watched the suspected terrorist exit the cafe.”
“‘But why won’t you smile?’ it repeated.”
“I gave the clown a final warning. ‘You’re in my way. Please… move or there will be consequences.”
“‘Why won’t you smile?’”
St. John smashes his hand into the opposite hand. There was more power behind this impact as the sound echoed in the locker room.
“I lost it. I couldn’t control myself. I grabbed a metal chair that accompanied the table next me and whacked the clown on the side of the head with it. The clown immediately bent over and yelped in pain. I pulled off its nose and tossed it aside. I pulled at the wig and it stuck! It was real hair!”
“I could feel myself smile as I envisioned the first clown that ever scared me juxtaposed with the Archpriest’s mug as I watched my parents die. This clown paid a heavier toll for bothering a cafe visitor. I heard myself say, ‘He-he, you got what you wanted, asshole! Look I’m smiling!’”
St. John looks up from his tapework. There is a sinister gleam in his eye.
“I don’t know who Anthrax is behind the dried, tattered makeup. I read somewhere that he’s possibly a former member of the Armed Forces for doing the same thing I did to my unit leader and want to do to the Archpriest. Maybe we’re cut from the same cloth than I really want to admit.”
St. John rises to his feet.
“But a clown’s a clown. Anthrax...I’ll see you at Climax Control 223. God have grace on you, because knowing me, I sure as Hell, won’t.”
*****
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“Are you sure you’re okay with me staying here?”
St. John was flabbergasted that he was standing in the doorway of a huge mansion owned by Effie Bingham. When Ty West suggested he make acquaintances with Effie, he never imagined going he’d be going from a 10-foot by 10-foot room to a room the size of the Blackwatch barracks.
“For the last time, Monk, YES! If Ty says you’re cool, I believe him. Plus, you’re a monk. What trouble can a monk be? I’d be more concerned about perverting you with my habit of walking around here butt-naked.”
Effie smiled coyly as St. John looked at her with trepidation. There was no shame to her game. As much as St. John was shocked by his new living quarters, Effie relished in the idea of challenging his monastic lifestyle. She smacked him in the ass before asking him a question. She went for another feel until he caught her hand.
“Ooo...strong and hot. I like that. Are all the monks where you come from as hot as you?”
St. John was well-trained and knowledgeable about life in the Land of the Godless. But he was not prepared for advances of Godless women much less a woman like Effie Bingham.
“I...I don’t know?”
He returns her hand to her side. She responds with a playful smile and a wink.
“Good. Then you’re all mine, Monk.”
St. John feigns a smile. Effie was hot but he wasn’t sure being housemates with such a brash, forward, and unknown woman was the best idea. But he had nowhere else to go since he signed with SCW. He gave her a stern look.
“How about we start by you calling me ‘Sinjin’ instead of ‘Monk?’”
Effie narrowed her eyes as she realized that St. John had an edge in him. She rolled her tongue in her cheek as she turned to head into living room.
“Okay SINJIN… I’ll be in the living room catching up on Game of Thrones if you need me. Make yourself at home. Mi casa es su casa…….Monk!”
Effie took another swipe at his ass. He dodged it and raised a finger of warning at her.
“Hey, this is my house and you’re hot. Can you blame me?”
She turns around and saunters into the living room ensuring his gets an eyeful of her round butt cheeks in short shorts. St. John whispered to himself.
“Dear God...what did I get myself into? The Council will shit their pants if they find out WHERE I am and with WHO!”
The thought of displeasing the Council and, even more, the Archpriest brought a smile to his face.
“Come find me, Missio Dei. I dare you.”
St. John grabs his duffle bag and heads up the spiral staircase to begin his life outside the monastery.
