Charlize didn’t know what to expect when the Man from C.H.R.I.S.T. arrived at her Sydney home one fine winter morning.
She heard the familiar ring of the doorbell and, still half-asleep, shuffled to the front door. She half-expected Terrence or someone else, but instead, she found herself face-to-face with a man in a long dark coat, wearing a matching fedora—a look that was decidedly out of sync with Sydney’s latest fashion trends.
The Man reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, holding it upright so Charlize could read it clearly.
It read:
“The Man – Evangelist
Congregation of Holy and Reformed Individuals Seeking the Truth”
Charlize groaned.
“Oh Christ!” she muttered aloud, instantly realizing who he was. She had heard of this group before and had gone to great lengths to avoid them. Yet, somehow, they had finally caught up with her.
“Actually,” the Man said sheepishly, “Man will do. I’m not divine, you know.”
Charlize sighed. “What do you want?” she asked, rubbing her eyes, trying to get a better look at the fashionably impaired intruder.
“I’d like to ask,” he said, animatedly, “Do you have an intimate relationship with God?”
“Huh?” Charlize blinked, momentarily distracted by one of the many elephant-on-mouse statues scattered around her house.
The Man followed her gaze, then shook his head regretfully.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he said in a pained voice. “There is no salvation for you if you worship false idols and do not accept C.H.R.I.S.T.”
Charlize frowned. “What do you want?” she repeated, this time with more force.
Her morning routine had been rudely interrupted, and she was getting irritated. This was supposed to be a lazy, cozy morning, best spent staying in bed for another hour, flipping through food channels, chatting with Terrence, and then—well, going back to bed again.
“Actually, I’m here to introduce you to C.H.R.I.S.T.,” the Man said, flashing a smug, toothy grin as he dramatically paused on the last syllable.
Charlize raised an eyebrow. “Are you selling something? Because whatever it is, I’m not interested.”
She prepared to slam the door in his face.
The Man quickly interjected.
“But if you could just give me five minutes, I could share something that might change your life—and the lives of the people you love!”
Charlize hesitated.
She heard the part about love—and against her better judgment, decided to give him a few more moments to make his point.
If nothing else, she thought, she could always go back to bed with the Naked Chef.
Sensing an opportunity, the Man removed his fedora, adjusted his coat, and leaned in conspiratorially.
“The secret is that God loves you,” he whispered. “He created the world, including you, me, and all of creation. He blessed us with abundance, intelligence, and free will. But as we grew intellectually, we grew apart from God. I’m here to tell you that by accepting C.H.R.I.S.T., we can bring you closer to Him again. Never again will you be lonely or sad. With C.H.R.I.S.T., we can help you develop a personal relationship with God—”
Charlize cut him off. “What does that even mean—‘personal relationship with God’?”
She had heard that phrase before, tossed around by people who had embraced C.H.R.I.S.T. But what exactly did it entail?
- Was it like having a toll-free hotline to God?
- Or maybe a divine instant messenger ID?
- Or better yet—a God who lived in your spare closet so you could let Him out whenever you needed to talk?
The Man, oblivious to her thoughts, continued smoothly.
“It means that anytime you want, you can talk to God, and He can work miracles for you through C.H.R.I.S.T. No more sacred texts, no more yogic exercises, no more worries—”
Charlize barely listened, her mind wandering into deliciously wicked thoughts about all the things she could do with a personal, on-demand God.
The Man, sensing it was Decision Time, held his breath.
This was the crucial moment—the final 30 seconds after a sales pitch, when the customer either buys in or walks away.
Charlize looked at the Man, processing everything he had just said.
She recognized some truths in his words—truths she had glimpsed as flashes of insight during her meditation sessions. Truths about nature, existence, and her place in the world.
But before she could fully grasp them—
The Man ruined it.
Grinning, he suddenly brandished a stack of brochures and, in his best Shopping Network voice, declared:
“And if you accept C.H.R.I.S.T. today and sign up for a one-year membership, I’ll throw in this wonderful Saviour Doll that blinks in the night! PLUS! Membership now entitles you to a FREE CD titled Lower Than a Mountain, Higher Than a Mould—jam-packed with the latest evangelistic hits!”
That was it.
“ENOUGH!” Charlize screamed, making the Man jump in shock.
Still clutching his brochures, membership forms, dolls and CDs, the Man stared at her in stunned silence.
Charlize took a deep breath and spoke calmly but firmly.
“I was a pacifist Buddhist before you knocked on my door,” she said. “But now, I am convinced of what I must do.”
The Man smirked. “Pacifist?” he mocked. “That’s so meek and weak. Our God will make you powerful, so you don’t have to rely on mysticism and rituals and all that rubbish.”
Charlize’s temperature rose.
“Meek? Weak?” she repeated. “I knew you’d say something like that about me and my beliefs.”
The Man brightened. “So you’ll join C.H.R.I.S.T.?”
Charlize grinned. “Nope. But I will start my own movement.”
The Man blinked.
Charlize crossed her arms. “It’ll be called the Songs of the Himalayans, and I’ll market it big. Then we’ll see who truly inherits the Earth.”
With a triumphant wave, she slammed the door shut.
The Man from C.H.R.I.S.T. was never seen in the neighborhood again.
(Note: Names of the characters have been changed to protect ME)