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Sam wasn’t sure exactly what he was getting himself into.  The more he thought about it the more perplexed he became.  Throughout his life of faith he had always taken concepts like angels, demons, and the spiritual warfare they signified to be at best figurative, and honestly more like icons to an intellectual struggle to work out salvation.  If what he’d experienced over the last few hours was true, and he had no indications it wasn’t, then everything he’d thought and believed his entire life was off base, and significantly to boot.

When pressed by the older gentlemen for an answer on his call to action, who said he was called Jeb, he had nodded in the affirmative.  The resolve of that nod was however anything but firm.  He’d seen his figurative ideas of faith blow away like chaff in a strong wind.  He wasn’t sure exactly what that left him with really.  He’d never been much of a ‘take it all literally’ sort of Christian.  And yet he was now faced with a reality that meant nothing but a literal interpretation would suffice.  It was a bewildering world he now faced.

Jeb must have sensed his internal struggle, and leaned over to check his wound again.  He spoke, “It looks like the bleeding has stopped.  It’s a lot to take in given the short span of time you’ve experienced it in I know.  Do you think you can move?”

Sam leaned forward and began the painful move upward and replied, “I can.  I am just not sure how far.”

Jeb put his arm around Sam and helped him up, “Don’t worry, it’s not far.  We will be there before you know it.”  And they were off.

Sam didn’t remember most of the trip.  He somehow managed to put one foot in front of the other through the thick underbrush and fecund undergrowth.  Jeb seemed to be able to both guide his steps and still make good time through the woods.

In no time at all they had arrived at the destination.  And this is when things took another turn for the surreal.  Jeb seemed to be ill at ease.  Sam could only believe that things were not as Jeb had left them, and that something was wrong.  They stopped a few yards short of the edge of the glade, and Jeb eased Sam down to the ground and leaned him up against a mature oak tree.  He put a finger up to his lips in a sort of ‘shush’ motion, and then he disappeared into the brush.

He wasn’t gone long before Sam saw the source of the problem.  One of the bansheers was in the middle of the glade sitting atop a pile of rubbish of some sort thrashing wildly, and grunting in what Sam could only assume was an unhappy low tone.  Pieces of the rubbish pile were being tossed to and fro without concern by the creature as it seemed to be intent on finding something.  Sam saw clothes, canvas, and other things being tossed high into the air by it.  Sam wasn’t sure what to make of it all honestly.

The next time Sam caught sight of Jeb he spotted him kneeling inside the glade itself, in what he could only assume was prayer.  And he stood and spoke in a booming voice, “In the name of the father, I bind you to your fate.  I cast your lot into Gehenna where the fire is not quenched.  Go willingly now and you will not suffer further harm.”

The beast turned and regarded Jeb for the first time.  For a tense few moments, it stared intently at Jeb as if staring into the fabric of his soul.  And then it retorted in a voice that Sam wasn’t sure was physical that had a tone like fingernails on a chalk board, “You are not the master of my fate.  You hold no power over me.  I am bound for the day of reckoning, and nothing short of that.  You are a trifling thing.  Die now like your darling bride old man.”

With the massive beast launched itself in a headlong charge.  Sam wasn’t sure what chance the old man had against the beast.  He wasn’t sure what that meant for his own fate.   It all boiled down to whether a frail looking old man could best something that looked like it was belched out of a John Carpenter nightmare.  Sam wasn’t sure what the odds were, but he was fairly sure they weren’t high.

When Rhona Lammas awoke that morning she knew something was wrong.  Not in that, ‘its damp and my hair will look like crap all day’ sort of way.  Rather in that, ‘something in the universe is totally off, and lives could be lost now’ sort of a way.  Not being the sort of person that is driven by emotionalism or hysterical fervor, she knew this impression on her psyche to be the genuine article.  She knew this, because her long experience in these matters had taught her well.

As she quietly rose from her cot in the sparsely furnished tent that she called home, she weighed the impression.  She took its full measure and came to terms with its dimensions.  The more familiar she became with the particulars of its height and breadth, the more concerned she became.  Under normal circumstances she was able to make some sense of the impression at least in terms of source, focus, intent, and potential destinations.  In this case, she was unable to lay hold of any of that.

The more she focused on it, the more her own personal hackles began to go up around this impression.  In her most honest moment, she admitted if only to her, that she was fearful for her own safety.  The life she lived in the wilderness with her husband of approaching a half century was fraught with peril.  Anything could go wrong in the deeps of the forest, and no one would be the wiser.  She could pass from this life without so much as a blink from the world around her, and there would be little that would notice apart from her husband.

It was at this point that Rhona realized she had been pacing aggressively again, and wearing a deep path into the ground under the tent.  She did that from time to time, more so when she focused intently on spiritual matters.  She stopped the pacing and stepped out of her tent into the glade that was for all intents and purposes her entire world.

As she stood there she wondered how much longer her husband was going to be gone.  He had gone down to the Fox creek early in the morning, before the sun was even up to check for truffles and ginseng.  And now with the morning pretty well spent, she knew he’d been gone entirely too long for that task.  “What’s keeping him?”  She muttered under her breath.

And in that next instant, all of the information she wanted about the impression became crystal clear.  As a beast from her nightmares stepped out of the forest and into her glade not even fifty yards from her.  It was a bansheer, a creature that she’d heard Jeb talk about more than once, but that she’d only seen in her mind’s eye and in her nightmares.  It was uglier in person than even her imagination had painted it.

In that instant she knew that this particular one was here for her.  And she was sorely afraid.

Not willing to be consumed by fear she spoke, “I command you in the name of Jesus to flee back to the dank hole you crawled out of.”

It focused its considerable will upon her, and wordlessly intoned, “You have no ability to constrain me.  You have been handed over to me.  Your time has come, and I am here to claim your ending.”

The creature’s words left her puzzled and confused.  She lived the life her creator had called her to.  She’d been as faithful to the holy text as she could.  And her entire life was focused on living out her calling in relationship with her savior.  To have this situation befall her didn’t make any sense.  A bear, a coyote, a snake, or a wolf that would have made sense, but to be handed over to a servant of the dark one, that was devoid of logic.

In that moment she did the only thing she knew, she responded in the only way that made sense.  She knelt and prayed fervently for her direct and immediate salvation.  She prayed for her husband’s immediate return from the creek.

Either sensing what she was doing, or knowing full well the only response a person of faith would have to such a situation, it bull-rushed her, head down at an amazing speed, an unearthly speed.  She knew she would feel its long claws in mere moments.  She prayed her end would come quickly if her salvation was not immediately to be had.  She didn’t want to be a plaything for this beast.  And as she prayed the sweetness of unconsciousness consumed her.

The premise of the book “Dinner With a Perfect Stranger” is simple; business man Nick Cominsky receives a dinner invitation from Jesus Himself. Though suspecting it is a hoax, the skeptical Cominsky honors the invitation and finds a modernized Christ in a suit and tie awaiting him at the restaurant. It takes Cominsky awhile to buy into the idea that he is actually speaking with Christ, but once he does the ensuing conversation is quite beneficial to the reader. Cominsky throws all of the usual objections at Jesus; topics covered include suffering, other religions, and sin. Gregory’s work is in essence an apology wrapped in a narrative.  

I must admit that my heart skips a beat anytime I see writers use Jesus as a character. It seems more prudent to allow our Lord and Savior to speak to us rather than presuming to speak for Him; however, I must admit that Gregory’s story works. There are no shocking moments and Gregory makes no attempt to reshape Christianity – rather, Gregory’s Jesus makes a case for why Christianity is relevant in our modern, hurried life.  

Perhaps the most edifying aspect of this short book is its focus on our relationship with Christ. I highly recommend it for skeptics and Christians who have nagging doubts. For those on a budget, “Dinner With a Perfect Stranger” is available in Kindle format for just .99 cents.

----> Clark Goble is a disciple of Christ, a husband, father, student, and writer. He welcomes your comments and encourages you to leave one here or email him at cdgobleATgmail.com. You can follow his twitter updates at http://twitter.com/#!/CDGoble