Faith-Based Initiative

Summary: Christian and Ryan have been groomed to be leaders in the Traditional Values Protection Ministry, and they’ve wanted nothing more. That all changes when they discover they need something else – each other. Explores themes of homosexuality (slash) and religion.

Chapter 6

“We’re going to be late, we’re going to be late, we’re going to be late,” fretted Chris, running about in his boxers and a rumpled blue shirt. A patterned tie hung over his shoulders, and he wore mismatched socks. “Our first day, and we’re going to be late for the meeting with the anti-violence people.”

“And whose fault would that be?” I inspected my face in the dingy bathroom mirror, then wet a comb in the suspicious-looking faucet, and smoothed my hair forward. As good as it’s gonna get, I told myself resignedly.

“Ryan,” he began exasperatedly, then stopped and changed his mind. He raked his hands through his hair for what seemed like the millionth time. “Have you seen my blue pants? You know, my navy blue pants that I -?”

“Blue, blue, and blue?” I interrupted, slightly nauseated. “A blue patterned tie, a blue shirt, and a pair of navy pants? Are you going for the Papa Smurf look?”

“At least I don’t look like an undertaker,” he quipped.

I was dressed in a conservative pair of black slacks, a white shirt, and a gray tie that my mother had picked out for me. “Never seen an undertake wearing a gray tie,” I told him. “Besides, better safe than sorry. At least the first time around.”

Chris, already searching for his pants under the bed, made no response. “Maybe if you’d been more organized…” I muttered at his back. He heard me and shook a fist in my direction.

He emerged from under the bed looking utterly defeated. “I thought it would be a good thing that this place already had furniture,” he said ruefully. “But it only means there are more places to lose things. And you can’t destroy anything if you’re angry at it,” he added as an afterthought.

The apartment had been furnished fully by what seemed to have been a tornado. The unmade bed, where I had slept, revealed a large, iron-shaped burn in the middle of the pillowcase, and the pull-out futon where Chris had slept was covered in a fine fabric of gray dust. His sleeping bag, which he had spread out on top of the futon, was probably the cleanest bedding in the apartment, frighteningly enough.

We had moved in to the apartment the night before last, and we now knew how my dad and Marilou had managed to save so much money for the mission. From the flimsy plaster of the walls protruded rickety-looking pipes, around which hard water stains bloomed in elaborate fractals. The shag carpet was matted and graying, and the bed was unmade when we arrived. A reddish-brown smear decorated the walls, and the antenna of the television, which looked to be at least thirty years old, was snapped neatly in half.

‘Ugh’ had been my first reaction, but Chris, who had stayed up half the night reading the Bible and contemplating miscellany, had been too tired to care. He spread his sleeping bag out on the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be the futon, stripped down to his boxers and socks, and fell asleep.

Left with the bed, I had no choice but to delay my presence in it. I transferred my clothes from my suitcases to the top few drawers of the banged-up bureau, leaving the bottom three for Chris. He never put them to use, living out of his bag and scavenging the clothes he needed like a vulture stripping the carcass of a wildebeest.

“Found ‘em!” Chris cried triumphantly, clutching a sorry-looking pair of blue trousers by the left pant leg. “They were in the bottom of the bag.”

“Figures,” I muttered. “Now hurry up and get them – oh, holy -!” I looked at my watch and jumped. “We have five minutes to get moving! Hurry!”

“Okay, mother!” He pushed me out of the bathroom. “No gawking!” He slammed the door.

The room was dirty when we encountered it for the first time. Now it was messy, too, thanks in no small part to Chris. Sighing, I picked up a shirt, and slid it over a coat hanger. I waded over to the musty closet door, unstuck it from the frame, and hung the shirt from the rack. Next, I folded his cotton tee shirts and placed them neatly in a drawer below mine.

Chris finally came out of the bathroom as I was finishing uselessly folding the last of his dirty socks. “Ryan? Ryan, what are you doing?” he said, sounding scandalized.

“I was bored, and you were taking forever,” I intoned, not looking up.

“You didn’t have to do that!” he said, sounding shocked. “I was going to – I was going to do that this afternoon! I just–”

“It’s okay,” I said, suddenly feeling magnanimous. I grinned up at him, and my grin nearly faltered off my face.

He smiled smugly. “Like what you see?”

I regained my voice. “You look better than a disaster,” I admitted. I tried to swallow some spit to wet my throat a little. “Your tie’s on crooked, though, because you’re blazingly inept. Hang on, let me..”

I took my time straightening his tie, which had begun only slightly askew. It was important to make a good first impression, especially when representing an influential faith-based organization. I ran the silky fabric of the tie through my fingers, and felt his body heat through the fabric of the shirt.

“Hey, um,” he broke in awkwardly. “About done there?” His silver crucifix glimmered from under his collar.

I snapped away. “Yeah, uh.” I fought down the color coming to my cheeks. “I’m …I’m going to go. Meet you downstairs. Go get your Bible.” I was backing away toward the door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Ryan, everything okay?” he called.

“Everything’s fine,” I said briskly. “Just get your Bible.”

“All right, already, I have the Bible!” he said heatedly. “Now tell me what’s the matter!”

“Nothing!” I snapped, not turning around. “See you downstairs,” I said sullenly.

---

“I understand you’re embarking on a series of faith-based initiatives while you’re in New York,” said the man in the gray suit, who introduced himself as Brian Jenkins. “We’re honored that speaking with our organization is high on your list of priorities, and we’re determined to make a good impression on you.”

Christian and I shifted uncomfortably in the plastic blue chairs. Marilou and my father, not Christian and I, had prioritized our schedule and composed our itinerary. Christian, though, had had a lot of experience with public speaking and community service through the youth ministry, but working behind the scenes, I had nothing right now except sweaty palms. I folded these in my lap.

“We’ve prepared a presentation for you,” continued Mr. Jenkins smoothly, “that details some of our most important programs.”

The slides of the computer-based presentation fused monotonously. They strongly resembled, rather than faith-based philanthropy, a business strategy with references to faith and philanthropy thrown in for the illusion of continuity. Everything, it seemed, had to tie in to the importance of a traditional family structure.

“Mr. Evans will be working with our Youth Violence Outreach team on –” Mr. Jenkins frowned at a piece of paper on the desk. “On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. On Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays, Mr. Nelson will be working with Creation Biology groups, giving tours through some of our zoos. On Sundays mornings and Saturday evenings, you will be responsible for helping coordinate youth group meetings.” He took a breath and continued: “Mr. Evans, you have Mondays off. Mr. Nelson, you have Tuesdays off. You have Wednesdays off together, but the rest of the week, you are expected to report to the office for administrative tasks. Any questions?”

I fought to keep my face steady, but I knew color was draining away from my face. So much for our grand New York adventure, I fumed silently. Chris looked similarly grim.

Mr. Jenkins looked at us expectantly.

“Nope,” I managed to stutter from my dry mouth. “I think we’re all set. Th-thank you.”

“I trust you won’t let us down,” he said, with a businesslike smile. “Now, then. If you’ll follow Alice out the door, she’ll brief you on the zoo tours. Since today is Monday, you’ll spend a tour tailing another guide, and maybe fifteen minutes talking to the children yourself. Remember – emphasize the family structure.”

It seemed distinctly unfair that I had the first shift, but I decided not to complain – it wouldn’t do to get fired on the first day.

---

“These are the monkeys!” I practically yelled, swinging my arms around enthusiastically. Chris watched me from behind the mass of children.

“You’re a monkey,” teased a freckled boy with an upturned nose.

“Hey, watch it,” I threatened. “Just because it’s after school, doesn’t mean I can’t stuff you into a locker.”

The girls around him giggled. “Shut up, Kenneth,” a black-haired, serious-looking boy chided. Behind them, I saw Chris stifle a laugh.

“Specifically,” I continued, raising my voice to address the entire group, “They’re Japanese macaques. You’ll also hear them called snow monkeys. They live together in groups, and have an organized family structure – sound familiar?”

A red-haired girl in pigtails raised her hand. “Is that God’s plan?”

“Yeah,” I grinned. “God wants us to raise a family. God wants us to love each other – human families, but animal families too. There’s a reason God gave us a second chance after the flood, and there’s a reason he gave us stewardship of the earth. Do you know what that means?”

“My sister’s a monkey,” Kenneth commented. Monkeys seemed to be a consistent theme with the kids.

“Quiet, Kenneth,” said the serious, black-haired boy sternly. He turned to me. “Does stewardship mean loving something a lot? My mom likes to garden in the earth.”

“You’ve got the right idea,” I said encouragingly. “It means loving something in actions as well as in words. It means taking care of the earth. And that means taking care of our friends in the animal kingdom.”

I looked at my watch. “It looks like we’ll have to wrap up here for today, guys,” I told them. “I’ll walk you around to the gate, and your parents will pick you up from there.”

“But the monkeys!” cried a little red-haired girl in pigtails.

“They’ll be here tomorrow,” I smiled at her. “And for a long time after that. You can always visit with Mom or Dad. And maybe Chr – Mr. Evans and I will get to take your church group again!”

Behind me, Mr. Evans stifled a snort. Together, we led the kids to the gate, where some parents had already gathered.

“It was a good place to end, anyway,” I told Chris as the last boy, Kenneth, left holding his mother’s hand. “Want to walk around a bit before we go home?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. Our feet crunched the leaves. I leaned into the glass of the sea lion tank.

“They’re amazing,” I said softly. I turned towards him.

“They kind of look like dogs,” he commented, standing beside me.

“They’re related,” I began. “Did you know – ” I stopped. “No, never mind.”

“No, go on!” Chris tried to encourage me.

“You know, sometimes it’s better just to appreciate things. And feel them.” I paused. “They do kind of look like dogs,” I admitted.

“This is really, really chilling to admit,” Chris said, “but I think you’d sort of make a good dad.”

I put on an exaggerated look of dismay. “After all we’ve been through together, you wouldn’t trust me with children?”

“No, I would, I just – it’s so weird thinking of you as a dad, you know? A husband, with a wife, kids, beer belly, responsibility…”

A wife. “Shut up.” I pressed my palms over my ears. “Cut it out. I’m five years old, and you hid my Legos, and that little girl with pigtails probably gave me cooties…”

The air smelled crisp, and odors of food and damp wafted through the streets. The wind was humid, but chilly. I drew my brown jacket around me. I saw the warmth of his breath crystallize and watched it float and diffuse toward the heavens.

“Do you think you’re going to get married soon?” Chris asked me abruptly.

“No!” I reacted. “Well, maybe. I guess so. I don’t know who. I’m not even – I don’t even have a girlfriend. Why?” A realization rapidly thundered horror through me. “Why? Are you?”

He didn’t answer.

“You are, aren’t you?” I was incredulous.

“I have to,” he said heavily, “Don’t I?”

“You have a girlfriend? A girlfriend, and you didn’t even tell me? I thought we were supposed to be best friends.” The air felt colder than before.

“Well, no,” he said delicately. “But your dad introduced me to this girl who works at…”

“What’s her name?”

“Well…”

“You’re kidding me.” My heart, which had been racing, began to slow to a normal beat again. “You don’t even know her name? You haven’t even asked her out, and you’re planning to marry her?” I laughed out loud, mostly from relief. “You know what I think? I think you’re a creepy stalker guy. I’m not going to be your accomplice!”

“Well, how am I supposed to know how it works?” he burst out with genuine exasperation. I stopped laughing. “I don’t even want to get married!”

“What do you want to do? I mean, you can’t be single forever. You’re not going to be twenty-five for a whole lot longer…”

“Your dad,” he began heavily, “is trying to set you up with Marilou. Didn’t you notice?”

“It’s not working,” I told him light-heartedly. Somehow, the conversation had acquired a mood of guilt and fear, and I was desperate to break it.

“You watch it,” he accused. “You’re going to end up married to her, and…”

“Shut up!” I snapped. “What does it matter to you, anyway? Do you like Marilou or something?”

“Not her!” he said frantically.

I took a breath. “Come on,” I said. “It’s probably late. Let’s go home.” I touched his sleeve reassuringly, and our hands brushed.

---

The apartment was as damp and musty as it had been when we left it this morning, only now it was also dark. Chris was sprawled on his futon, glazed eyes watching the damp ceiling, and I was on the bed, idly rearranging the unmade covers with my feet. A bundle of ideas weighed on my mind.

I took a breath. “Chris, I’ve got something to tell you,” I said hesitantly, burrowing my toe into a newly discovered hole in the mattress.

He looked at me. “Is something the matter?”

I sucked in a breath, bit my lip, and tipped my head back, examining the ceiling and finding a new stain.

“Are you okay?” he asked cautiously. His voice was soft, now. Concerned.

“I…”

He walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down, not looking away from me. “Ryan?” Tentatively, he put a hand on my knee.

I looked at him.

“I – I think I might know what you’re going to say,” he began, his face coloring. He looked down. “And…”

“I believe in evolution!” I broke out suddenly, not wanting to hear the rest of his sentence.

“What?” Chris looked surprised. What had he been expecting?

“I believe in evolution,” I told him. “I have ever since college. It makes sense. Everything goes together. It’s natural.”

“What?” Chris repeated, looking at me blankly. “Do you mean –”

“Please, let me finish,” I begged him. “I need to get this all out right now, all right? It’s just that – evolution explains the progression of species, it explains diversity, it explains differences, and some things that aren’t our choices, it – I – it doesn’t mean I don’t believe in God, does it, Chris? Does it mean I can’t believe? All my life, I’ve learned that power comes from only one source, and that’s God, obviously, but if life evolved – do we need God? I mean, we do, right? But evolution doesn’t – ” I broke off, sputtering like a rusty engine.

“You’re not making this easier for ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­ourself, you know,” he said kindly. “You’re rambling, and you’re practically incoherent…” He put an arm around me.

“Can they both make sense?” I pleaded desperately, trying not to lean into his touch.

“I – I think so,” he said. “I mean, I – I kind of believe in it, too. After watching you talk,” he added.

“What do you mean?”

“Listening to you talk about the animals today, and everything. The demo zoo tour. You know, you would have made a great zookeeper, if you weren’t doing the ministry…” he trailed off, smiling.

“But what do you mean you ‘kind of believe in it’?”

“I mean that I was just watching you,” he said, “watching you talk, and I realized, and it all kind of came together for me – it makes sense. Evolution makes sense,” he clarified. “And I don’t think it’s wrong, and I don’t think it’s contradictory, necessarily. We can still have God, can’t we?”

“But if evolution happened by itself…”

“You know what I think is profound? I mean, I was never smart enough for a biology major, like you” – he cracked a smile – “but listening to you, and everything, I think that all it is, is that we’re just big chunks of physics, chemistry, and biology – but somewhere in there lies the capacity for thought. And worship. And love. I think that’s it, right there. I think that’s God. I think He gave it to us.”

“Is that in the Bible? I was never smart enough” – I cracked a smile at him this time – “to know the Bible as well as you did.”

“Some things you just have to extrapolate.” He shrugged. “Some things you just feel.”

We sat together for a while. Outside, the sky began to darken into shades of purple.

“But if we’re both wrong…” I ventured hesitantly.

“No, we’re not wrong,” he said defensively, tightening his hold almost imperceptibly. “People can disagree. They’re welcome to disagree. But we’re not wrong.”

---

It’s been way too long. Thanks again for the reviews, the favs, and just for reading! I really appreciate it. That thing you’re all waiting for – it’s coming up within the next two chapters, which makes me kind of gleeful. Also, I’d just like to get this out there – rereading it, I almost completely cringe at the lack of continuity in the last chapter, and this thing will probably get a big ol’ rewrite once it’s all done. At least a massive revision. (In my own defense, though, the hostel clerk is based on a real hostel clerk in NY…and the apartment is based on one of my old apartments, lol.)

Lalalaelelel and Write25: You’re right. I wanted to really emphasize experiences that would push Ryan to the edge and make him uncomfortable, but at the same time, I might have gone overboard. When I revise it, I’ll try to make her more subtly suggestive, and make Ryan’s paranoia just run wild with the suggestion that he might be gay. Thanks for your support, though! )

Inherent: Thanks so much! It’s difficult having Ryan deal with it because even though he’s technically an adult, he’s really kind of immature in that he hasn’t had any real, gutwrenching struggles to deal with. Tbh, I was kind of inspired by Ted Haggard when I was watching Jesus Camp. Literally, his opening line is “…And you know how the Lord feels about homosexual behavior!” I wonder if he’s considered how his Lord feels about hypocrisy, and I thought I’d write a story about a similar struggle, but with a concrete love interest and room for character growth.

Vindiematrix: Thanks a lot, and I’m really glad you like it. I really respect and admire the comfort and support that religion provides for some people, but I don’t like its weaponization against certain group of people or against other religions. I’m trying to kind of walk the line with this story. Btw, I’m sorry he has your bf’s name! I remember reading a story where the characters had the name of an ex of mine and of my best friends, and I was going slightly nuts.

.shiftblue: The plane scene was my favorite to write, with the possible exception of Forward Denise. It was kind of where Ryan realized his feelings, accepted them, and accepted that he had to suppress them.

DeadlyPinkPuchu: That crap irritates me, too. It was hard to write because of the convincing nature of their fallacious arguments, and if it gave me a twinge of angst, I kind of feel sorry for Ryan, which is stupid because I made him up, but there you go.

ks darkstorm: Thanks for reading! Hope I haven’t put you off with the chapter delays :X

String horse: I tried to make it as informed as I could. I didn’t want to vilify anybody, because inside the conservative organizations like Focus on the Family or the Traditional Values Coalition (not that the Traditional Values Protection Ministry is based on them or anything…uh…) are just people trying to make their own way, and they’re not necessarily evil, just misguided and feverishly militant.

AngryRex: Eep, I’m sorry you’re lost! Anything I can help with?

Poppendol: I’m glad you like it, and thanks for sticking through with it this far:

Rae: I eat sexual tension for breakfast. Soon, there’s got to be a breaking point (wink wink), and then I’ll have to switch to eating angst. But seriously, something’s gotta give.

Magalina: Yea, verily, Chris likes Ryan, but he expresses it in gentler ways, whereas Ryan is all over the place: sometimes, he’s really tender, other times, he’s all about repressing his feelings and even making abrasive digs at Chris. Chris is always genuine, even if his gestures are toned down. Ryan is anxious and represses too much, which creates a lot of angst for him and evil, evil fun for me. D And thank you for sticking with this story from Chapter 1! I appreciate it like a big graham cracker and chocolate house filled with marshmallows. …Uh, yeah.