Screwtape’s Masterpiece

“And so Wormwood – I trust my letters were helpful?”

The two demons walked unseen along the high street of a British town. Wormwood nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes uncle. I have made much headway in this place. Many converts for the Master.”

“Well, it is pathetically easy these days, so do not become too bloated with self-congratulation dear nephew. In my day, before I was promoted, I dare say it was much more difficult to turn a client away from the Enemy.”

“Yes uncle”

“Many converts you say? Go on boy, show me your best work.”

Wormwood then lead his diabolical uncle to a side street where, next to a dumpster, covered in vomit stained rags, a figure lay snoring in the midday sun.

“There is my masterpiece, uncle. He was a decent family man but I lead him to drink and despair. His wife left him and he lost his job. He blames everybody but himself …and he blames the Enemy the most. He is safely in our Master’s hands.”

“You call that a masterpiece?? Oh Wormwood, I see that I wasted my time writing to you. Proud foolish imp! Let me show you a true masterpiece!”

Screwtape then clapped his hands together and the two demons vanished with an inaudible thunderclap. When Wormwood opened his eyes he could not believe where his uncle had taken him. They were in a huge church. The brightly lit stage was grandly decked out with flowers and on the back wall hung a giant backlit cross. At the podium a man stood in a suit with a perfect hairstyle and a ten-megawatt smile. He was carefully looking into one of many television cameras and pointing dramatically to the ceiling. Wormwood looked around at hundreds upon hundreds of eager hungry faces – well-fed and happy. Some were scribbling down notes and others had their hands raised in the air in blissful worship. The imp heard the man at the podium say the name of the Enemy and he shuddered.

“Where is he uncle Screwtape? Where is your masterpiece?”

“Hush Wormwood and listen…”

The man at the podium spoke for twenty more minutes and ended with a prayer. The congregation gave him a huge round of applause and then sang a beautiful hymn. After that they filed out and the stage lights were turned off. Soon the two demons sat in an empty padded pew seat in the silent darkened hall. Wormwood was speechless.

His uncle looked at him and grinned.

“That is a masterpiece! I got an award for turning him several years back”

“But – but he told them about things in the Bible …”

“Yes he did," Screwtape grinned, "wasn’t it great!?”

“But he told them about the – the Enemy.”

Screwtape waved a dismissive hand, “Well yes – after a fashion.”

“But they sang to the enemy!”

“Did they … really?”

“They said his name in the lyrics.”

“Hmmm, and I suppose that is important, Wormwood?”

“Isn’t it?”

“How is it important? … I can call Hell a paradise but does it make it one?”

“But this is a church!”

“No, this is a building – a television studio to be exact.”

“But he gave a sermon…”

“Did you listen to it? Did you hear the accursed Gospel being preached?”

“No, but it was about … about … loving and stuff.”

“NO! It was about themselves. He spent all that time telling them how to be better, to live better – to have their best life in this life. Tell me – did he mention sin even once?”

“No”

“Did he warn them of the coming wrath and judgement of the Enemy?”

“No”

“Did he remind them of how the Enemy has paid the price for their transgressions?”

“No”

“What did he essentially tell them?”

“That – er – that the Enemy loves them?”

“Yes, dear Wormwood, the enemy loooooorves them and would never ever judge them. They are okay to just be themselves and to prosper and be blessed. Tell me – what did the preacher actually ask them to do?”

“Uh, to buy his latest book and bring more people to the next meeting?”

“Exactly, anything about repentance?”

“No”

“Anything about persecution and taking up their own cross?”

“No”

“You see now boy? A Masterpiece! Your pathetic drunk in the gutter may be safely within our master’s grasp, but this one man is bringing thousands to kneel at their own altars and thus really worship the master. Your pathetic drunk in the gutter actually runs against the master’s designs because other humans will see his self-inflicted suffering and be warned against the dangers of drugs and alcohol. But my clean-cut preacher with his jet, his collection of cars, his gleaming wife and children all shot in soft focus and bathed in delightful gentle piano arpeggios, his immaculate suit and winsome smile, his mansions and his connections, his life affirming pronouncements and guilt-free religion – he is a saviour. He is a winner of souls. His delightful message attracts and keeps safe those who want what he wants.”

“Which - is – practically - everybody…”

“Exactly – now you see it.”

“How can I – How did you – turn a man of the Enemy camp into such a creature?”

“It is far easier than you think.”

“I want to try uncle Screwtape.”

“I’ll write you some more letters then.”