The Agnostic Violinist
by
Josprel
Based on a true incident.
The two friends grew up together as inseparable brothers. One was a confirmed agnostic, who claimed the existence of God could never be verified. The other one was a religious hypocrite. Both studied music, and together they formed a popular orchestra. Neither one thought anything could ever sever their friendship - until one claimed that he had been “born again,” and attempted to convert his friend. That’s when the friendship ended. It took a strange, dramatic, religious experience on the part of the agnostic’s spouse to heal the rift.
** **
The Agnostic Violinist
by
Josprel
Chapter One
Broszi Lombardino and Paul Perrello grew up like brothers. Leaving Italy, their Sicilian immigrant parents had met at Ellis Island, became steadfast friends, and settled almost next door to each other. Shortly thereafter, their sons were born, only two days apart, growing up like twins, with almost no life apart from each other.
Provided with an opportunity to study music, both developed into superb musicians. Broszi, a master drummer, referred to himself as ‘“The Percussionist,” as though on the entire planet Earth, he alone played the drums. Moreover, Paul, a virtuoso of the violin, often bragged that no one could "percuss like Brosz." On the other hand, often referring to Paul as “The Violinist,” The Percussionist frequently claimed that Paul "invented the strings."
In their early years, Broszi had continuously prodded Paul to form his own orchestra. "I don't have the patience to lead one, Paul, but you do. I'll be your percussionist, and I'll help any other way I can."
Finally, The Paul Perrello Orchestra was organized. Orchestras usually employed "wind" leads, but Paul's violin led their group. The orchestra's sound instantly captivated immigrant and ethnic Italians, expanding to general audiences, until it was in popular demand throughout several states, and much of nearby Canada.
Though he never used the term, The Violinist was an agnostic. He claimed that no one could know that a God really existed. He even attempted, unsuccessfully, to prevent his wife, Sara - who was devoutly faithful to her religion - from attending church. Only through her perseverance was Joey, their infant son, baptized.
Broszi, however, did attend church. An irrepressible jokester, he often teased Paul about his anti-religious views. It was a liberty Paul accorded only to him. That is, until an altercation about orchestra affairs when, in exasperation, The Percussionist branded Paul a stubborn heathen, hoping he would burn in hell.
Broszi had never seen the slim, five-foot-seven, normally mild-mannered, Violinist so livid. Fulminating at the burly, six-foot-three Broszi, Paul erupted!
"You impious hypocrite; you’re lucky we're friends!! You’re worst than any heathen! Your act holy in church, but I see what you do on the outside. If Grace knew what you do when we’re out of town, you wouldn’t have a family left.
"If there was a God, He wouldn’t let you make such a fool out of Him, the way you do. If one does exist, you’d be in your grave right now. He would have struck you dead a long time ago! I'll tell you this, you big phony; if I knew that there really was a God I’d serve Him the right way, not like you pretend to do."
Turning to leave, Paul added, "Don't you ever mention religion to me again - not ever! Is that clear?"
Then he stalked away!
Taken aback, Broszi feared he had destroyed their friendship. He and Paul had argued before, but never like this. They were just brotherly spats. And Paul never had reacted this way – eyes blazing, fists clenched and voice menacing.
Reflecting on the argument, Broszi realized Paul's charges were true. Out of town with the orchestra, he partied excessively, gambled, and was not above easy flirtations, things his wife, Grace, didn't know. A good family man, Paul did none of these things. Moreover, he always was ready to help others. It was a matter of honor for him never to renege on his word, and his friends claimed that Paul's word was "like money in the bank."
Broszi apologized almost immediately, but for weeks afterward, they conversed only when unavoidable. Eventually, the gulf narrowed, and then closed. The old camaraderie resurfaced, with their mutual concern for each another. And it was that concern over The Percussionist’s two inexplicable absences from rehearsals that now brought Paul to Broszi's door.
** **
Chapter Two
Home alone, The Percussionist was thrilled to see his friend. "Paul! Come in! Come in! I've been expecting you!"
Surrendering his hat and coat, The Violinist noticed that Broszi appeared well.
"You've been expecting me?"
"Yes! Yes! I've been praying for God to send you, so you could hear what happened to me."
Paul groaned in disgust. "Oh no! I'm here because I was worried about you, and you joke around! Get my things; I'm leaving! Be at rehearsal tomorrow - without the jokes!"
Broszi sought to placate Paul's indignation. "Please Paul, I beg you, don't leave. It's no joke. I have been praying. Stay; let me tell you what happened."
Gradually, Paul's indignation melded with curiosity. He had never heard Broszi begged before. He seemed different, somehow. Accepting the proffered chair, The Violinist responded apprehensively, "O.K. Brosz, but, this better be good!"
Over coffee, Broszi began. “I’m born again, Paul. I’m going to a church that teaches right from the Bible.” As he spoke, he told of the things he had learned. Then he exclaimed excitedly, "Paul, I never knew these things were in the Bible. I'm saved!”
Unfamiliar with the terms "born again," and "saved," Paul grunted incredulously. What in the world was Broszi talking about? He was sure that, like him, The Percussionist had never even held a Bible, much less read from one.
“Brosz, I don’t know what in the world you’re talking about. Either you’re drunk, or this really is another one of your nutty jokes. And, believe me, when I say “nutty,” I mean like a fruitcake!”
"Wait, Paul. Just hear me out. I know you’d love the music in this church. It has a big orchestra – all the winds and strings, two pianos, an organ, accordions!"
Then, in a voice bordering on awe, he added, "And percussions, Paul. This church even has percussions in the orchestra. Can you believe it?"
A look of sheer scorn contorted Paul’s features. Now he was sure Broszi was pulling another of his practical jokes. Drums in a church? Did Broszi really expect him to swallow this line?
Lifting a hand for silence, he emphatically declared, "Enough, Brosz. So this is another of your stupid religious jokes, eh? You know what I told you about this garbage."
"But it's all true, Paul; the services are in Italian. The people sing and are so happy. They even clap to the music. Oh, the prayers and song, Paul; they’re just beautiful! You should hear those people sing and pray. They sing and talk to God like He's standing right there in front of them."
The earnestness on Broszi's face baffled Paul; it shouldn't be there. This was a joke.
Reaching across the table, Broszi gripped Paul's wrist, his voice reverent, "Paul, I know you won't believe this either, but the preacher asks people to get saved. He prayed with me and Grace. We've been saved. You and Sara should get saved, too. Grace and I have been praying for you both to get saved.”
This was more than Paul could take. Now Broszi was "saved”!
“So you’re saved. How are you saved - in a trunk? Or maybe in a bank? How about Fort Knox? Now, there’s a good place to be saved. I think the banging of your drums has finally driven you batty. What you really need to be saved from is your nuttiness! That’s what I think!”
Standing, Paul asked for his things. Slipping into them, in a voice full of concern, he said, "Broz, at first I thought you were kidding. Now I'm not so sure you are. I don't even know what you’re talking about, and neither do you. For once, I really hope this is one of your stupid jokes.
“But if you really believe all this malarkey you just fed me, then you’re bonkers. You really need to see a head doctor. I’m serious about that. If you make an appointment with one, I’ll even keep you company when you go. Anyway, I'm leaving, now."
Paul aimed for the door, but Broszi instantly moved to block his path. Gripping the knob, he remarked, "Just one more thing, Paul, I'm leaving the orchestra."
Paul’s jaw dropped; Broszi never had threatened this before. The group was as much his as Paul's. The Percussionist knew this; his love for it equaled that of The Violinist.
At a loss for words, the Paul stammered, "B... B... But, w... w... why? We've disagreed before. The group is as much yours as mine. Even, though you’re crazy, no one can percuss like you. Just don't talk to me about religion. I’ve told you that before. That's not too much to ask, is it? Be at rehearsal tomorrow. Just leave all your religious talk home."
"No, Paul. I won't be there; really. I've given up that kind of life. You know what a hypocrite I’ve been. You’ve told me often enough.”
"Aw, come on, Brosz! You know I say that when I get mad at you for talking about religion. It’s just talk."
"I know; but you were right, Paul. Anyway, I'm quitting because my talent belongs to God, now."
Paul felt bile surging in his throat. "Look, just let me leave," he demanded.
"Will you visit the church?"
"I said, let me leave, Brosz!"
"You can't leave until you promise to go to church with me!"
Now Paul was certain Broszi's mind was gone. "Open this door, Brosz," he fumed.
“Not till you give me your word you’ll to church with me.”
Paul didn't know what to do. He could never really strike Broszi; they’d been friends too long. Anyway, The Percussionist was a lot bigger than he was. He tried prying Broszi’s hand from the knob. The grip was too strong.
“Let me leave!”
"Not without your promise that the next time we meet, you'll go with me!" Broszi demanded.
Seeing no other alternative, the flabbergasted Violinist finally surrendered. Hotly, he answered, almost yelling, "O.K; O.K! But it’s got to be an accidental meeting. You can’t meet me anywhere you’ll know I’ll be?”
"Agreed!” And the door swung open.
Then, with a brutal detachment, Paul spoke the words neither of them ever thought possible. Face hardened into a scowl, he spaced them deliberately, punctuating each word with a finger jabbed in Broszi’s chest. "From this day on, our friendship is ended. No longer are we brothers!”
And feeling as though his heart had been torn from him, The Violinist stepped through the door!
Chapter Three
When he arrived home from his visit to Broszi, Paul paced the floor absorbed in thought. Sara surmised that something had happened, but asked no questions, waiting for him to speak. Finally, he told her everything.
"If he hadn't quit I could have overlooked everything else," he exclaimed, "Friends always have their differences. We always got over them before. Sure he teased me; but I teased him too. What really makes me mad is his quitting.
"Now he's religion crazy! He's so holy he can't play in the orchestra any more. 'I've given up the kind of life I use to lead,' he told me; like he's joining a monastery; like, all of a sudden, his God is going to strike him dead for being in the orchestra. Can you imagine that?"
Then, waggling one of his forefingers at his wife, he declared: "Believe me, honey, if his God wanted to strike Broszi dead, He has more reasons than I can count. He doesn't need the orchestra as a reason.
Lowering his hand, he continued, "You know, if he had stayed, he would have pestered me to visit that church with him. Nincompoop that I am, I probably would have gone - just to make him happy."
Sara looked up from her ironing with a scowl. She was shocked that Broszi and his family had "changed religion." According to her view, what their former friends had done was unforgivable. They were heretics.
"Don’t you dare!" she exclaimed, "I'm glad he quit. Don't you ever go to that church, even if you do see him again."
"Don't worry, Sara," her husband assured her, "I told him it has to be an accidental meeting. In a city this size that will never happen!"
** **
The new drummer was working out fine and the orchestra was doing as well as ever. Yet, for Paul things weren't the same. A malignant tumor had developed on Sara's neck. The doctors wanted to operate, but refused to offer assurances.
As he surmised, the chance of an accidental meeting with Broszi in a city of some two million people was remote. He hadn't seen The Percussionist for several months. Though still angry with him, it felt strange not to have him as his confidant. He knew the big man and his wife would have been as concerned for Sara as he was. Paul missed them.
Like now for instance - before the rift, he would have asked Broszi to drive downtown with him, to help shop for this expensive orchestra equipment. They would have consulted together on the best quality. And, possibly, they would have picked up Sara and Grace for dinner. Instead, Paul went alone.
After making arrangements for the delivery of his purchases, Paul entered the parking lot. He noticed a book store had opened across the street. An avid reader, he walked over and entered the well-stocked shop. Like him, several others also appeared to be checking it out, but Paul paid them no notice. At the rear he noticed shelves and bins filled with hundreds of old books. Old books were his hobby.
He had been browsing for a while, when someone brushed against him. Making an apology, without looking up, he moved to clear the passage.
"Hello Paul." The Violinist tensed, but kept his eyes glued to his book. That voice was unmistakable!
Again, the voice spoke. "Hello Paul."
This time Paul turned. The big man's hand was extended for a handshake, but Paul did not reciprocate. Remaining silent, he noticed Broszi looked well. The season was warm and, like Paul, he wore slacks and a sport shirt.
Withdrawing his hand, Broszi inquired about Sara. “Grace and I heard about Sara. Our whole church is praying for her to get well.”
Still Paul's silence continued, creating an atmosphere of awkwardness. “There he goes talking about religion again,” he silently mused.
When at last he spoke, it was with cutting sarcasm. "Did your God tell you I was here, or did you sniff me out on your own?"
"This meeting is completely accidental, Paul. You know I’d never lie to you."
Paul knew that was true. Broszi had a lot of faults, but lying wasn’t one of them - if deceiving his wife wasn’t factored into the equation. At any rate, Sara was the only one who knew that he had gone out. More to the point, he had not known about the new book store, so how could Broszi know he would be there?
"I suppose now you expect me to visit that church of yours," he bitterly observed.
"No Paul. What I did was wrong. I was totally out of line. It's a wonder you didn't hit me. I told my pastor what I did, and he said I was wrong to force that promise from you.”
“Well, at least he has more sense than you do,” Paul replied.
“I was wrong, Paul. I release you from your promise."
"Oh! You were wrong. And, you release me from my promise. How kind you are."
Ignoring orchestra leader’s dripping sarcasm, The Percussionist responded, "Yes, I was wrong. I have no excuse, Paul, except maybe my ignorance. Please forgive me."
Paul stared, slack jawed. To his astonishment, Broszi’s eyes were brimming with tears. In all the years they had chummed together, the only time Paul had ever seen his former friend cry since childhood, was when he and Grace almost lost their son to a swimming accident. Even then, the brawny man hid in a corner. But, these tears were flowing openly; in public.
The Violinist felt uneasy - plagued by vague sense of cruelty. His sarcasm dissolved.
Again, The Percussionist’s hand was proffered. This time it was grasped. Pulling the smaller man to him, Broszi embraced him, and Paul could feel tears welling in his own eyes.
Releasing him, Broszi stated, "Paul, Grace and I really miss you and Sara. Can we visit you?"
"No, I don't think that's such a good idea. Frankly, Sara wants nothing to do with you since you changed religion."
Broszi nodded his understanding.
"Brosz . . . about . . . that . . . promise,” Paul began hesitantly, “I . . . I . . . just . . . I just . . . Well, you know that I always try to keep my promises, and I wouldn’t feel right about not keeping this one,” The Violinist finally blurted out, “I've been limiting the orchestra to local gigs because of Sara's treatments. So I have a few open nights. When's your next mass?"
"Our church is having services every night for two weeks. They start at seven-thirty. I really want you to attend, but not because of the promise."
At first, Paul stared at Broszi with openmouthed disbelief. Then his words fairly exploded from him, "EVERY NIGHT! YOU’RE GOING TO CHURCH EVERY NIGHT?”
Apparently, still befuddled at his own sweeping change of life-style, Broszi responded, "Yeah Paul, ain’t that a kicker; who’d of believed it?"
Paul shook his head in bewilderment. "Give me directions to the church. I'll meet you there tonight, so I can get that promise out of the way."
Broszi wrote out the directions. "I'll be waiting in front of the church," he promised. And, with a final handshake, the two separated.
** **
Chapter Four
Convincing himself that it was best not to upset Sara,
Paul left the house without informing her of his
destination. His evenings usually were occupied with the
orchestra, so she thought nothing of his leaving. Still, he could feel his conscience twinge. He and Sara never kept secrets from each other; this was a first.
The spacious church parking lot already was filled to capacity when he arrived. So were the near-by curb spaces, forcing The Violinist to park a distance from the church - a fact that surprised him. He entertained a vague concept that Brosz was involved with a small cult.
He found Broszi waiting expectantly. In front of the church - up the steps - even in the foyer, with exclamations of joy, women hugged women, and men embraced men. Never - not even on the orchestra’s most festive gigs - had The Violinist seen people who appeared so happy to see each other.
Broszi also hugged his way toward the sanctuary, often pausing to say in Italian, "This is my best friend, Paul Perrello. We've been like brothers since we were kids. Please continue to remember his wife, Sara, in prayer; she needs healing."
Paul was overwhelmed by the solicitude these strangers voiced for Sara. Several even promised to pray daily for her healing. None of his friends ever voiced such compassion.
"Thank you; thank you," he graciously responded, "I appreciate your concern."
** **
The Conclusion
Sara was in attendance at Paul’s “heretic” church under protest. Her husband shamed her into attending, to have baby Nina prayed for. Nina had a serious case of pneumonia and the doctor had said there was nothing more that could be done for her.
“Even if there’s a slight chance that God will heal Nina, you won’t take it away from her, will you?,” Paul asked his wife, “You wouldn’t let the kind of church it is stand in the way of a chance for the baby to be healed, would you?”
How could Sara refuse Laura such a chance, even if it meant she was committing a mortal sin by attending a heretic service?
The church was crowded to overflowing; however, Sara thought nothing of it. Her own church was a large one; moreover, as the wife of a musician, and a woman who loved to party and dance, she was accustomed to large gatherings. It was the service that bewildered her; she couldn’t relate it to anything she ever before experienced. She found the music and singing exhilarating, realizing now, that Paul did not exaggerate when he told her that the music in this church was “fantastic.”
Mostly, it was the kind of praying these people did that astonished her. It was a strange kind of praying. The man behind the pulpit made a remark and the congregation - Paul included - rose to its feet, turned and knelt between the pews. Not Sara, however. She remained uncompromising, sitting rigidly at attention, cradling Laura.
After several voices in succession uttered what Sara took to be prayers, one man close by spoke right out loud in a language she knew was like no Italian she had ever heard. The man’s voice subsided and an expectant hush fell on the gathering. Then, from several pews away, a women voice spoke out in English, “You are seeking to enter heaven by following a religion, but no religion will get you there. Jesus Christ said that He is the way, the truth, and the life. No one can come to God, the Father, without going through Jesus Christ. Only Jesus can lead you to eternal life.
“You have come to this service tonight only to receive healing for your child, yet God will also heal you from the terrible tumor that afflicts you. But, your soul also needs to be healed from your sins and your doubts and fears. Tonight you shall be born again by God’s Holy Spirit and you shall become a new person. God will fill you with his Holy Spirit and you shall witness to many others of the wondrous things Jesus Christ has done for you.”
It was a flabbergasted violinist’s wife who sat through the offering and the message that followed. Just before the preaching ended, Sara turned to Paul with a puzzled look. She whispered, “A voice in my head keeps saying that I’ll saved and healed and filled with the Holy Spirit tonight. That’s the same thing that woman said would happen to me. I don’t know what that all means. I’m scared. Let’s leave here.”
Paul took her hand and whispered back, “But, God is going to do it, so it should be fine. You want Laura to be healed, don’t you? If we leave now, she won’t be prayed for.”
With an uneasy look, Sara nodded.
** **
The alter call was given. The minister progressed down the long line of supplicants, finally reaching Sara, Laura cradled in her arms, Paul and Grace behind them. Addressing her in perfect English, the minister inquired, “Are you saved?”
“I believed in God,” Sara responded, defensively.
“But are you saved? Have you received Jesus Christ as your own personal Savior?” he persisted.
“I really don’t understand what you mean. I said I believe in Jesus.”
“You must receive Him into your heart and life, personally,” the minister explained, “You must believe that He died to save you from the power of sin, and that He rose from the grave to give you eternal life. When you confess that, He will save you from your sins.”
“But I already believe all those things. My own religion taught them to me when I was only a little girl. Anyway, I’m not a bad person. I’m not a sinner.”
“Do you read the Bible?”
Sara shrunk back in horror. “No! Never! I would never do something like that! My church taught me that I could never understand what that book says. My husband just started to read it, but I don’t want him to. I try to stop him, but he won’t listen to me. He shuts himself in the bathroom, so I can’t stop him from reading it.”
The minister prayed for her, lightly touching her brow. Instantly, her legs buckled, and Grace grabbed Laura!
Covered by a blanket, arms lifted, eyes closed, oblivious to her surroundings, Sara sang to the Lord in songs so soul-stirring, that other worshipers wept.
Not Paul, though!
Stunned, he watched Sara’s tumor diminish, and then vanish. Informed by Grace that Laura's fever was gone, he just gapped, slack-jawed. But, oblivious to time and surroundings, Sara continued her song.
When, finally, she opened her eyes and attempted to speak, melodic tunes were all she could utter. This lasted for several days, then the phenomenon ceased. Afterward, Paul brought Sara and the baby to their physician, informing him of the miracles. Having no other alternative, the doctor pronounced that Sara's tumor had spontaneously disappeared, and that Laura also was cured.
Now Paul knew God existed, and that He answered prayer. Telling his orchestra he was leaving, he gave all orchestral rights to his assistant, Frank, consecrating his own music to God. Paul and Sara zealously witnessed of God and His Son, Jesus Christ. They gave their testimony to all who would listen.
Conducting street meetings in Sara’s hometown, brought persecution to the couple. Though they never attended their own church, Sara’s conversion devastated her parents. Even her healing failed to move them. Her brother, with whom she had been exceptionally close, slapped her across the face and disowned her as his sister.
Paul fared no better with his family. His six brothers and two sisters wanted nothing more to do with them. Paul’s mother, a plain Italian woman with extremely poor vision, always before had treated Sara as her own daughter. Immediately after Paul’s marriage, mother-in-law and daughter-in-law bonded into a loving relationship. Now Paul’s siblings told their mother that Paul and Sara had “lost their minds.” They insisted that she stay away from them because they might harm her.
The persecution did not last, however. Within a decade, Sara’s brother was born again. So, were Paul’s mother and three of his brothers, with their entire families.
Both Paul and Sara continued to give glory to Jesus Christ, who redeemed them and who answered the prayer of a former agnostic violinist.
-30-
© Josprel
josprel@yahoo.com
