By Loren Adams, 23 May 2010
“Lordy, Lordy, you’re so unchristian,” screams my fundamentalist
neighbor as I flee his door.
My neighbor across the street moved from Fumbduck, Texas, a
few years ago and nothing's been the same. Wasn't long before they got another
couple from their church to move in right smack-dab next to them –
probably as back-up against the rest of us. Actually, it's not a church but a
cult. You'll understand after reading the story.
Let’s back up. One quiet afternoon we hear an approaching
rumble from down south. Is it a thunder boomer or twister? No, it's the new
neighbors arriving in their earsplitting Humvee with its malfunctioning muffler
and exhaust pouring out like an unfiltered smokestack.
Nancy turns to me, "Is that what we have to look
forward to, Harry? OMG! I hope they don't bother coming over to make
acquaintance 'cause I'm going to give them a piece of my mind."
"Now, honey," I caution, "is that Christian?
What would Jesus do? We've got to give them a chance, sweetheart."
The neighbors, the Butt family, soon unpack. Actually they
move in before the mortgage closes because George Butt says he's assured
directly by God the house is his. So who needs a closing? Or any other legality
for that matter? They break-in before the keys arrive. "Laws are just
pieces of paper," explains George, "because I rely on a higher
authority."
“Okay…” I mutter in disbelief.
In unison neighbors on Senate Street shake their heads. Some
just take it in stride and console us, "Hey, they'll move out before you
know it. Jerks don’t last. No need for alarm."
But Nancy worries. Because we're directly across the street
and have to breathe their toxic fumes and listen to their racket 24/7. My wife
is the "progressive" of the family – always wanting to get
along to make things better. Thus, the new situation poses a strong challenge
to her sensibilities. So, when hearing her ultimatum, "Either they shape up
or ship out,".I knew something was up.
George and Laura smile pretty, but that's about the extent.
Because they let their dogs loose to defecate on everyone's lawns, show no
respect for covenants and local ordinances, and trash the place to where housing
prices drop. The Butt house is the butt of the community and actually attracts
curiosity seekers who gawk at the once-respectable residence now turned into an
unbelievable trash heap.
But I continue to console Nancy, "Now, sweetheart,
you're seeing the Butts through eyes of bitter hatred fueled by who knows what.
You need to look at them as Jesus would and forgive. Turn the other cheek,
dear."
That bit of advice only adds fuel to the fire. "Hell
hath no fury."
At that, Nancy slams down the vacuum to face me directly,
"You know perfectly well, Harry, I'm a dedicated Christian. That's not the
problem. THEY are the problem. Now, either you go across the street and
straighten them out or I will."
I take no action, of course, because I think it'll blow away
if we just take it in stride and trust God to make everything okay. But it
doesn't. I guess we're supposed to put legs on our prayers.
George and Laura deliberately park their vehicles on the
front yard because their garage is so packed with junk. Neighborhood dogs soon
die from licking spilled antifreeze on their drive. Then we notice oil leaks
all over their lawn and driveway which runs out into the street and sidewalk
making an awful mess. Kids walking to school slip and fall from oil spills.
Injuries result.
Finally Nancy pressures me to where I'm forced to confront
George about his nuisance.
"George, got a minute?" I ask at his front door.
"There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."
"Why, sure, Harry. What is it?" George asks with a
curious smile. "But only got a minute. Me and the old lady have to be at
Bible study in a bit. Can't miss church 'cause Jesus wants us livin' right.”
Without pause, he adds, “You go to church, Harry?"
I guess posing that question in attempt to change the
subject was to dissuade me from bringing up anything of a negative nature.
"Sure, George, we attend.... I don't mean to be rude,
George, but the neighbors and I are disturbed by your vehicles parked all over
the yard, the oil and gas leaks, your dogs meandering free all over the place
leaving droppings on our lawns, and the loud racket blaring from your house all
hours of the night. We don't like oil slicks on Senate Street," I tell
George in the most non-confrontational tone I can muster. "Is there a way
we can help you resolve these issues peacefully?"
George's expression instantly morphs from smile to snarl.
"Lordy, Lordy, you’re so unchristian! Hey, buddy, I own this place so I don't
give a goddam what anybody says. So, get your sorry ass off my property before
I knock the livin’ s--t out of you, you sorry motherf***er! ! Go f--k yourself,
Harry." Felt worse than Pat Leahy cussed out by Dick Cheney on the Senate floor.
I am in shock. One minute George is talking sweet Jesus; the
next he wants to knock the s--t out of his neighbor. I don't get it, although
in my mind, I question my own statesmanship, "Maybe I didn't word things Christian
enough."
On hasty retreat back to Nancy, I get an earful from the
other end: "You wimp! Where's your balls? Let me handle it next time, Harry,
because obviously you can't see what hypocrites they are....... talking Jesus
one second and cursing the next. You and your weak-kneed neighbors sicken me
more than the Butt family." Nancy is not one to hedge words.
A few days later George and Laura decide to go door-to-door
"canvassing for Christ" – handing out gospel literature. The
neighbors are outraged again because they all attend various denominations
except for one who attends a synagogue and another a mosque. Makes no
difference. They aren't attending the Butts' church specifically, so according
to George and Laura, they're all bound for hell anyway. One can just see the
arrogant, pious self-righteousness written all over their faces.
Meanwhile, George and Laura's twins get arrested for
under-aged drinking back in their former hometown, Fumbduck. Word arrives about
the incident via the neighborhood rumor mill. "How can those people set
themselves up as model Christians while they don't have the behavior to back it
up?” “They talk the talk but don't walk the walk," Nancy injects.
I play devil's advocate, "Now, honey, you know George
and Laura are acquainted with Franklin Graham and other big-time preachers.
Don't you think if Billy Graham's son says they're good Christians and have
been born again that's good enough for the rest of us? I'm sure Franklin Graham
knows him better than you. He appears convinced and so does Rick Warren,
Kenneth Copeland and Pat Robertson."
I wish you could have seen the reaction on Nancy's face. If
looks could kill… It's as if I set off a bomb on Times Square.
I continue with my "Christian" apology: "I am
really, really concerned that you're losing touch with reality, Nancy. We can
put up with the Butts family. You know the admonition, 'Bear ye one another's
burdens.' If you'd just pray for them, maybe they'd behave. You just seem
obsessed. Of course, all I hear from you is this bad neighbor rhetoric. I hope
you can get back to reality so we can enjoy a normal life again."
"No, Harry, I see what they do day after day, night
after night.... how they've destroyed the neighborhood and keep us awake. I'm
so worn out, I can't see straight. I'm through talking about it; time for
action," Nancy gives me the silent treatment and walks off. Huh-oh.
Soon George decides to get active in the community by joining
the town council which profits him handsomely. He manipulates the council to
rezone sections of the neighborhood commercial – setting off another
firestorm. He arranges for his cronies to buy up property they know is targeted
to be re-zoned so they can jack up prices once re-zoned. Insider trading of
sorts.
George also gets involved in lots of fights – physical
ones, not just verbal. He gets accused of setting a neighbor's house on fire up
on North Capitol Street. The evidence somehow secretly disappears, but we all
know. Then another fire breaks out on Katrina Street south of us wiping out
nearly the whole block. Then Portside Avenue, Anthrax Street, Babylon, Kabul, Persia,
Caracas and Rio Grande Boulevard.
Meanwhile the neighbors who were brought in by the Butts
also become a nuisance. George's best bud, Dick, shoots his old friend in the
face down near Fumbduck while duck hunting. Everything's excused because
they're good "Christians," of course. But it doesn't explain why Dick
refuses to take a sobriety test to prove he wasn't drinking when he nearly fried
his old friend.
Fire engine sirens scream night and day. Never have we
witnessed so many blazes, and George is implicated in every one of them. He's
not only a hypocrite but a bully arsonist – a terrorist. Reports leak
that George threatens he'll have their houses burned to the ground if they
don't comply with what he demands: agreeing to re-zoning, selling their
properties at rock-bottom prices so his cronies can snatch them up as bargains
pre-zoning and ignoring covenant regulations while never facing prosecution or
even a simple investigation.
The longer the Butts family stays, the more the neighborhood
disintegrates into a slum. Everything's going down hill.
Eight years later Nancy finally takes matters into her own
hands, walks across the street and knocks on the door. She's greeted by Laura
with a broad plastic smile, "Hello, Nancy. So nice of you to drop by.
George and I were just praying for the opportunity to meet you so we could
share more about Jesus. Would you like to come in?"
"No, Laura," Nancy curtly replies. "What I
have to say can be said right here." In anticipation, Laura's expression
shifts from angelic to demonic. Nancy continues, "You people have made a
wreck out of this neighborhood. You've destroyed not only its appearance but
its atmosphere. You've polluted, you've plundered, you've lied about
everything, you've turned your dogs loose to s--t on our lawns, you've set fire
to people's houses, you've committed hit and runs, rammed your vehicles into
others' without the courtesy of leaving insurance information, you've blared
your radio preachers over loudspeakers at night keeping us all awake, and we
want you out. Either you straighten up or we'll arrange to have you evicted.
That's no threat; it's a promise."
Obviously Laura is quite perturbed. After a brief pause, she
responds: "Lordy Lordy, you're so unchristian! I've never seen such hatred
come out of a woman in all my life. That's not characteristic of a
"true" Christian believer, now is it? Am I left to doubt your salvation?
You're showing a real lack of trust in God to view the entire mess as caused by
my George. So, get the f--k off my porch before your house ends up a pile of
ash like the rest of you losers."
Unlike her passive husband and “diplomatic” neighbors, Nancy
doesn’t budge, God bless her. "Before I go, let me ask you some things,
Laura. Whose Jesus do you serve? Would Jesus start fires all over town and burn
homes to the ground because occupants don't agree with Him? Would Jesus spread
hate and strife in the neighborhood? Would Jesus dump oil all over the
neighborhood killing birds and causing accidents? Would Jesus torture people?
Would Jesus speak kindly out of one side of the mouth and filthy, vile language
out of the other? Please don't answer. Just pack up your belongings and prepare
to move 'cause this ol' gal will see to it that it's done. And I'll be waiting
up tonight with shotgun in hand in case you or your old man are inclined to
retaliate."
After that, Nancy whirls around and briskly walks back to
the house. She has more balls than her old man.
Nancy turns in all the evidence, photos, documents, witness
statements and affidavits to law enforcement. Soon the sheriff arrives at the
Butts' place with a warrant for George's arrest and eviction notice.
George doesn't go down without a fight. He confronts the
sheriff with a shotgun. The sheriff immediately calls for backup and the SWAT
team arrives thereafter encircling the house.
Laura appears at the front door waving a white handkerchief
with large embroidered cross. Tears are rolling down her cheeks, "But we
all love Jesus in this house! The neighbors are all just lying about us because
they're evildoers. We're being persecuted for righteousness' sake," she
cries.
Law enforcement doesn't buy it but sees the evidence for
themselves – how they deliberately broke the law, set fires, polluted,
threatened people's lives, destroyed property, committed insider trading,
violated ordinances, and hit & run. George and Laura are cuffed and hauled
off.
Neighbors congregating on their front lawns all applaud and
cheer. Nancy is their hero, not the spineless husband or passive neighbors who
bought into all the religious jargon during those gawdawful years.
After several months we hear the Butts are released. They
retreat back to Fumduck.
Now we're able to get on with our lives. Mission
Accomplished. At least until Sister Sarah from Moosestew, Alaska, moves into
the Butts’ old house.