The Priest's Tale

Beads of sweat poured down my face. Hurriedly, I mopped my forehead with a handkerchief, glancing at the majestic gold walls of the church and the spacious center of twenty rows of seats for the congregation to sit. My breathing was the ragged kind often heard after hours of exercise even though I wasn’t doing anything strenuous. But the anxiety was pulsing through my veins like fire and my knees felt like rubber bands. I knew I was about to collapse.
‘That’s it!’ My brain jumped at the thought. ‘That’s the perfect idea. I’ll collapse or fake a collapse and then I won’t have to give my first sermon! Woo-hoo!’
Although the idea seemed totally absurd, being the goof ball I’ve been all my life, I scanned the room quickly to see if I can find something that may serve as a reason for my collapse. Hmm….nothing really. There were expensive stained glasses covering almost every corner, a huge statue of the Virgin Mary at the entrance of the church, gold chandelier lights hanging high above our heads, a red carpet that ran down the aisle to the podium I was standing at now, paintings in back of me and in front of the building, red flowers behind every row of seats. There were some also at the altar, which was obscuring at my chest down. I don’t think these items would do. I quickly turned around to face the statue of Christ on the cross hanging above the brown round table in back of me with two white candles. The fire was flickering gently in the calm, holy atmosphere. “Dear God,” I mumbled a prayer. “It’s me a again. I just wanted to say: Help.”
Nothing. No lights flashing to indicate he was in the church right there, no whisper from above in the heavens or something, not even a cow to walk into the church and sit at my chair to show that he heard me and was just trying to be humorous. Nothing.
Upon hearing more voices at the door I spun around back and tried to calm myself with deep breaths. People were filing in, in mass numbers now. They all must have been outside chitchatting before. People began taking their seats as the Bishop entered and walked up to the podium, his shiny black dress shoes making loud thuds on the platform. He smiled at me.
“Welcome, Priest Hilton.” He extended his arm out. “I’m Bishop James.”
“Thank you.” I shook his hand. “I believe we met before.”
“Aye. But never had a real talk.” He patted me on the back so hard I nearly stumbled to the floor. “After the service we can have a man-to-man talk, eh?”
“Sure.” I rubbed the sore spot on my shoulder. “Will do.”
“Good!” He pounded his palm into my shoulder again and once more I was forced to balance my fall. “Until then.” And he walked down to continue to greet members of the church at the door. I sighed, watching him go and shook my head. Okay, so I wasn’t the only nut around.
The number of people coming in was increasing and seats were filling up quickly, all with eagerness to see and hear their new priest of their church. I wasn’t just any priest either. They all expect higher of me because I just happened to be son of Priest Hilton the first, former pastor of the church. Yes, the pastor who carried out Christian duties, responsibilities and the word of God for eighteen years before me was my father. Talking about family all in one, where were they anyway? They had all promised to come this Sunday morning to hear me preach publicly for the first time ever. I mean I gave speeches before, but this was way different.
With a nervous, shaky breath I sat down at my chair. Why was I standing at the altar now? The service wasn’t going to start in another thirty minutes or so. But I did expect my family to be here by now. Pressure was tightening my chest like crazy. ‘I can’t go through with this without them here.’ I panicked. ‘Especially dad. He’s the one who motivated me into the ministry. If the rest can’t make it, at least let him come, God. I can’t do this without him.’
Although I must admit, my family wasn’t exactly the motivating type. Maybe my mom a little but even after a while she began to doubt me. My brothers never failed to put me down. As far as my father…let’s just say our relationship wasn’t the greatest in the past. Sounds bad? Well, actually looking back at my whole childhood is all quite funny.
A tiny smile curled up on my lips, just reminiscing about my past. How did I arrive here? Here in this position as head of the Lutheran Church? Heheh. Let me tell you.
I grew up on the countryside of southern California. We weren’t poor but we weren’t rich either. Just about middle class with a decent sized white house, surrounded by neighboring houses. We had a fence around ours to keep our macabre pit bulls (both females) out of other people’s yards and from eating their vegetables we all mostly grew there. My mother even had a small goat tied up in our backyard. (She loved animals.)
My mother was a pretty all American girl, long blonde-brown streaks of hair, green emerald eyes and pretty slender. Also in my household were my two older brothers, Isaac, the oldest and Ezekiel, the middle child. They were both very smart; got an A in almost every assignment they turned in. I, Jon Hilton, being the youngest in the Hilton family wasn’t exactly a child prodigy. We all had dark brown hair and hazel eyes like my father. People thought we were triplets at one time but after about 11 years (of my age) differences began to take place. Ezekiel’s hair began to show more blonde streaks in it and Isaac was just a tad bit taller than him. Other than that they both built up athletic bodies, being star football players in our school. I just happened to remain more lanky and shorter than the two. Our age difference went like this; Isaac 13, Ezekiel 11 and myself, 10. But our birthdays went in a way that in October, Ezekiel would turn 12, Isaac 13 and I would still be 10. When I turned a year older, Isaac will be a year older already, shifting it back into the 2:1:1 ratio.
Well anyway, back to the child prodigy part. Like I said, I wasn’t as intelligent as the two. They not only played football and got good grades but played instruments too. My mother was always very persistent on each of us learning an instrument. Isaac played beautifully at the piano and Ezekiel was a master at the violin. Me? Sigh. I tried taking up the trumpet but failed miserably. That wasn’t the only thing I failed at. I didn’t get all passing grades in school, sports were a wreak, girls weren’t always attracted to me since I wasn’t a jock like my brothers and I didn’t see the point of religion. I was a menace. After a while that was my name. Menace Jon Hilton or just plain Menace. It wasn’t that I was a total idiot, although everyone excused my behavior as such. It was because I just didn’t care. What was the point stressing over every little thing in life? More so stressing about other people’s issues? Let them solve it themselves. That’s what I told my father everyday when he came home from doing as he called “God’s work.” I didn’t know God could employ people. I found that very odd.
Our house was very tight on religion. We always had to say our prayers every night before going to bed, every morning after waking up and before every school day began. We attended my father’s church every Sunday and read the Holy Bible on Sunday evening, which was more like listening to another sermon from my father after church. We weren’t allowed to curse at home, we were to respect all our elders and each other and we had to silently confess our sins every single afternoon. If you didn’t, you were in severe trouble.
My father grew up in London and moved to California at the age of nine, raised by strict Lutheran parents. His family annoyed me. The only cool one I liked was his stepbrother, my step uncle. They all told me he wasn’t exactly all there in the head but I found him very entertaining. He was always out on a quest to catch demons, whatever that was supposed to mean. His objective was to detect and slay possessed people by the power of God. I don’t think my brothers liked him very much but he loved all three of us to death anyway.
One evening, when I was 6 years old, my uncle came over and took us three for a ride. We parked near some woods (not far from the house, just about 2 miles) and as he turned off the engine all of us were to sit stiffly, quietly and on the alert. This was our traditional way of scooping the area for demons. This was our first demon hunt with him. Finally Isaac got fed up.
“Uncle,” He whined. “There are no demons. This is ridiculous. Demons can’t even come near us. We are a holy family. Daddy told us.” He announced proudly.
My uncle hushed him with a hiss. “Silence boy! They may be near.”
Ezekiel looked at Isaac, his face masked with worry. I didn’t care though. This was the most awesome mission I’ve ever been on. “Demons are cool!” I cried with happiness then quickly corrected myself. “Hunting for them I mean.”
“Where are they then?” Isaac demanded, folding his arms across his chest, his lips pursed together tightly. “I don’t see them.”
I suddenly spotted something hop away in the evening sky afar. I leaned forward in my seat, squinting to see clearer. Holy cushions! It was a demon! Er…no wait. That was just a deer. I exclaimed it anyway. “Look! A deer!”
My uncle jumped up and dashed out the vehicle in alarm. He quickly ran to the back of the car to grab a long sword that he hid in the trunk. With surprise and amusement, I watched as he raised both arms up in the air, screaming at the top of his lungs. The blade gleamed wickedly in the sunset. “Come forth Satan! You cruel evil bastard!” (Ooooh! Uncle could’ve got in trouble if dad was there. That was a curse too.) “Possessing innocent little creatures! Ahhhhhh! Away with you!” He charged forward, brandishing the sword threateningly. It was obvious the crazy fool somehow thought the deer was possessed. Ezekiel screamed. I ran out the car in glee.
“Go uncle!” I jumped.
“No!” Isaac pulled me back from doing anything stupid. “Uncle you’re going to kill it!”
The deer leaped from my uncle’s clutches and hopped away as far and as fast as he could. My uncle sprinted after it. “Do not run from me! I am the demon slayer!”
There were sudden lights flashing in our area, startling everyone. My uncle fell flat on his face, smoke billowing up from the dirt road. My dad was racing towards us, pure anger marred on his features. “What is going on here?!” He bellowed. We all three shrank back in fear. It wasn’t very pretty when dad was infuriated. “Luis!” He shrieked, yanking my uncle up by the collar to his feet. “You said you were taking a walk with the kids! What’s the meaning of this?!”
“The demons, Christopher.” He shook his fist, determined. “They are here.”
“There are no demons! Go read a Bible!” He screamed. “Boys! In the car!”
“But dad,” I protested. “I think there was a demon in the deer-”
“Now!”
With that I scurried into the car afraid to get him anymore upset. Our dad drove us home that night and then had a talk with me that night reinforcing the values and beliefs of religion. Why me? I knew that there really wasn’t a demon possessing that poor deer. But if Uncle Luis could believe it why couldn’t I? He sent me to bed with my brothers snickering their little heads off.
This was my life for the rest of the years to come. I also remembered at 14 years old, I was trying to be cool like my brothers in sports. I signed up for the baseball varsity team and they scheduled a try out for me the following afternoon. That evening I ran home to tell my brothers. They were both sitting at the table with tons of books, studying. “Guys! Guess what! I’m going to be a member of the baseball team!”
“Sure.” Isaac muttered then turned his attention to Ezekiel. “Do you understand problem number seven?”
“Guys!” I slammed their math textbook shut. Ezekiel narrowed his eyes.
“What?” He snapped. “We’re doing homework. We don’t have time for your games, Menace.”
“It’s not a game! I’m telling the truth!”
Isaac snorted, shaking his head. “Jon, you couldn’t bat or pitch if your life depended on it.” He shrugged, opening his math book again. “Then again you couldn’t do anything if your life depended on it.” He mumbled under his breath.
I began to get angry. I’ll show them. “Where’s mom?” I huffed.
“Shopping. Go grab a toast or something. Dad will be late today so we won’t eat in a while.”
I trudged to the counter, pouting and grabbed up some left over bread from two days ago. It must have not been covered or heated because the thing was as hard as a rock. A piece for it crumbled in my hands to the floor. Then it hit me. I could use the bread as a ball and practice my batting! Neat-o! I hurried to open the kitchen draw and pull out our mom’s rolling pin. Then I wrapped the bread in aluminum foil.
“Watch this guys!” I grinned. I threw the bread up in the air and whacked it as hard as I could towards the open window.
Missed. The bread had sailed above the open part of the window and crashed right through the glass! It was amazing that bread could be that strong! With all three of us in shock, we watched the bread continue to fly through the sky and smash into our next-door neighbor’s living room window. An old man was sitting there in his wheelchair, snoring his lungs out as the extremely hard bread collided with his skull. He let out a muffled yelp and immediately dropped to the floor, wheelchair, cane and all. Ezekiel eyes widened in more shock; his mouth agape. “Oh my gosh….”
“I didn’t do it.” I dropped the rolling pin to the floor in defense.
“Brilliant, moron!” Isaac shouted and then all of a sudden they both busted into laughter. “Just perfect, you idiot! Dad’s going to have you now!”
“Eep!” I squeaked. I didn’t want to think of dad’s reaction to this. I quickly ran up to the attic planning to hide up there for as long as possible.
Of course that didn’t work. Later that evening when my dad returned from work an old lady rang our doorbell furiously, no sooner did he walk in. My dad opened it, calm as ever. “Yes, Mrs. Brown? May I help you?” he asked politely.
She just thrust the piece of bread in my dad’s face. “Does this belong to you?” She bit out nastily. My father eyed it confusingly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about-”
“Sure you do!”
Like a brave little solider I meekly made my way downstairs to witness this. Upon hearing the yelling, my brothers came out their rooms as well.
“My husband was hit in the head with this and it came from your window! I just got back from aiding my husband from a splitting headache!”
“Our window?” My father stared at her indignantly. “Ma’am, no offense but you must be mistaken. See we don’t throw food to waste like that around here. We feel that God has given us the blessing to provide us with such things as food, clothes-”
“Forget your God!” She spat angrily. She had leaned forward, spotting me peeking around the corner. “He obviously doesn’t exist if you have that devil in your house!” She pointed straight at my fingers. ‘Damn.’ I gulped; lucky I only thought the curse. If I said it out loud, I’d be in worse trouble than I was already in. It was not a surprise that she suspected me. This wasn’t the first time she or anyone else caught me in mischief. The whole neighborhood knew my record of trouble. One time in the 6th grade, I set a whole bench in my backyard on fire, trying to learn the chemical reactions of fire burning for a science fair project. (My mother flipped out more than my dad.) Then in the 7th grade, I carried our two pit bulls to school for an English project. They ended up running wild, ripping my teacher’s papers to shreds. I was expelled for that of course.
In my new school, I was put back in the 6th grade. Angered, I never paid attention, threw constant spitballs at fellow classmates and slept most of the time. My teacher kept me in detention almost every day and then finally one day asked me the hardest question I ever had to answer. “Jon? Why is it that you don’t want to learn?” I thought about this for 10 minutes. The answer seemed evident and logical. I shrugged nonchalantly. “What’s the point?” I responded back. “We’re all going to die anyway. Why not have fun while we still can?” With a heavy sigh, she got up and began packing her things.
“Where are you going?” I asked. She regarded me with a grim expression.
“I give up with you. I’m going to go home, take a hot bath and re-examine my decision to become a teacher in life.” She shook her head sadly and walked out the door.
There were tons and tons of more incidents I’ve been involved in but can’t list them all. I jolted back to the current situation I was facing. The old lady was staring accusingly at me and from the look on my father’s expression, it didn’t seem like he had any doubt that I was the culprit either. He closed his eyes, (I know he was counting to three) then twirled around slowly in my direction. “Joooon!” He yelled. “Jon Hilton!”
I came out of my hiding and approached him cautiously. I had to face the music sometime. My father furiously yanked me forward, snatching the bread from the woman’s hands. “Did you, by any chance, happen to toss this bread out the window?” He growled.
I was about to come up with some outrageous story or the excuse I always used when I got in trouble, ‘Satan made me do it,’ but decided against it. Thou shalt not lie, as it said in the Holy Bible and also thou shall honor thy mother and thy father as well. I decided to stretch the truth. “You see,” I began hesitantly. “I was in school, right? And then…like…my teacher, who’s also a coach for the baseball team, started talking about tryouts. And then he came to me and kind of asked, you know, like…what do you play? So I said-”
“I don’t want to hear your life story!” He finally exploded. “Did you or did you not throw this piece of bread out the window?”
I cringed. “I did. But it was only practice.” I expounded quickly. “Tryouts are tomorrow so I was trying to practice.”
“With bread?!” He exclaimed.
“It was the only thing I could find.” I whined. I turned to Mrs. Brown. “I’m sorry miss. I didn’t mean to. I’ll pay for everything, your window, medical costs and all that good stuff.”
“And how are you going to do that?” My father was only getting angrier.
I shrugged. “I’ll work.”
“Doing what?!” He bellowed. It was palpable that he doubt I could do anything right. I could hear my brothers cracking up on the floor.
“Flipping burgers?” I more asked than stated. My father snapped.
“No son of mine is going to be flipping burgers!”
“Look,” Mrs. Brown raised a hand up to prevent any further argument. “Being the bleeding heart liberal I am,” She stared at me coldly. “You’ll only have to pay for damage to the window. I’ll take care of the doctor visit I’m going to have to bring him to.” She turned to leave. “I expect an apology to my husband as well.” She descended the stairs briskly. I heard her mutter, “Preacher’s children,’ in disgust under her breath. My father didn’t though.
“Mrs. Brown I apologize.” He called to her back. “We’ll have the money as soon as possible.”
“Yeah, yeah.” And she was gone. Dad shut the door gently before facing me in rage. I held up my hands in defense.
“Dad, I know what you’re going to say. I understand what I did was wrong and accept my responsibility. But dad we can get through this.” I placed a hand on his shoulder. His eyes not only widened in rage now but in disbelief. “You see, I don’t think this incident should effect our relationship personally. You know what I mean?”
He just stared at me with incredulous eyes in silence. Then he shoved away my hand roughly. “Damn right it won’t! I still don’t like you!” he shrieked. With that, he brushed past me and went into the kitchen. My brothers guffawed loudly, falling over each other in laughter.
Believe it or not, (well, I guess you have no choice but to believe it, since this is my story) I made the team. Of course it wasn’t for long though but it was pretty enjoyable while it lasted. I remember one Monday afternoon all the sports teams in our school went on a field trip to the woods. They had an inn there so we didn’t have to camp out, thank God. As my brother’s team was filing in, gloating about the game they won, this sophomore girl I liked, named Shelia, came in the inn with her full cheerleading outfit. She had dark pretty curls, gorgeous red lips and blue eyes. I decided to impress her in front of everyone, including show off to my brothers. I was going to attempt to slide down the stair railing from the third floor to the lobby. The key word there was attempt. I hopped up on the railing, arms raised. “Look at me, everyone!” I shouted. “I’m going to slide down these stairs!”
“Sure genius.” Isaac rolled his eyes as Ezekiel snickered. “You do that.”
I smirked. “Indeed.” I turned around, grabbed onto the rail and skidded down. That’s when I forgot all about the huge knob on the other end. I flipped over on my side with a startled scream and tumbled down approximately four flights of stairs. After I landed with a thud (and all the bright lights vanished from my eyes from impact) I heard the whole group roared with laughter, including Shelia. Isaac shook his head in pity as he and Ezekiel stood over me. “Wow…” Isaac trailed off in awe. “You’re like, really stupid.” He let out a sound of disgust and walked off.
The following evening upon arriving home in time for dinner, the whole family sat around the table. My brothers were boasting about their latest success as usual and I made stupid comments here and there. My father glanced at me.
“And how about you, Jon? Did you pass your math test last week? I never got to ask you.”
“Oh…uh…” I averted my eyes to and from the window. “Yeah. Not so good.”
“What was it?” He insisted, getting stern.
“Somewhere in the twenties…” I began playing with my food.
“Twenties?” He asked dubiously. “Are you not getting tutored? Why isn’t that working?”
“Oh, I skipped a couple of days.” I replied calmly. “Too boring.”
My father slapped his palm to his face, an audible sigh going around the table. “I don’t think I can express the importance of education enough, Jon. Knowledge is power. You have to start taking your studies a little more seriously. No, not even have to, you must. How many times do I have to say this to you? Have you even thought about where you might want to go to college?”
I smiled proudly. “Yup! Anywhere with a lot of women! Like over 65%.”
“That seems reasonable for you.” Ezekiel pointed out. “Don’t need much of a brain for that.”
“Oh I do!” I countered back. “Do you know how hard it is to figure out women?”
“You know how hard it is to figure out you?” Isaac scowled. “Let’s face it; you’re not cut out for the challenge of the 21st century. Understand that and then move on.”
“Isaac!” My mother scolded with cold eyes. “We don’t talk to one another like that around here.” He just shrugged. I ignored him.
“Dad, I think I’ll be a psychologist when I grow up and teach the whole world that it’s okay to be lazy. You just need a good reason for it. What do you think?”
My father slammed his fork down into his left over meat and scraped the chair back, against the floor. He eyed his wife, expression indict. “That’s your child.” He responded and cleared his area. “I’m done. You talk to him.”
My mom put her hands on her hips, frowning ever so lightly. “Oh right. Like you had nothing to do with him.”
That night I over heard my mother and father talking in their rooms. “I just don’t know what to do with that boy anymore, Elisa.” My father said. “I feel like anything I say goes through one ear and out the other. He’ll never learn.”
“Oh dear, give him a chance. Don’t you think you’re being a little too hard on him?” I smiled, glad my mother was defending me. My father let out a sigh.
“I’m going to go pray.” He muttered and went to his bedside. I didn’t care though. I skipped off into my room. However, I didn’t know this was going to lead into the biggest turn around in my life.
At the age of 16 my father told me I had to do confirmation for church. Confirmation was when a 14-17 year old confirms, making a commitment of young adulthood’s Christian duties around the church. He also felt I was old enough to say my own prayer in front of the congregation and chose me to say one during Saturday evening service. I came home from school Friday night, plopped my tired body in my chair, drank the rest of my left over soda and began playing video games. Then there was a knock at my door.
“Yea’?” I answered lazily; the empty soda can on my stomach. It was my dad.
“Did you start your prayer yet?”
“No. I can do it tomorrow during Bible study.”
“The service is tomorrow. Jon, why do you leave everything at the last minute? I want you from that television and at your desk writing this minute.” He ordered. With a loud groan, I got up, turned off my TV and slumped at my desk. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it. But what do I say?”
His tone seemed to soften as he leaned over me. “It’s a prayer. Say what’s in your heart. Use the Bible to help you.” He took one off my dresser and opened it next to me.
“I know,” I rolled my eyes. “The Lord’s prayer.” I took up my pen and began writing while he searched for a passage or prayer in the Bible to help me. ‘Dear God, thank you for my new shoes and game. I pray that my teachers would go away and that poor people will get money.’ Tapping the pen to my chin thoughtfully, I continued. ‘Actually I need money. In the good Lord’s name we pray, Amen and Amen.’ Oh yeah. ‘P.S. Could I get a girlfriend now? Thanks.’ I gave it to my father to read. He scanned it quickly and then hit me in the back of my head with the pad. That was about the third time he done this to me in my whole life. (My parents didn’t really believe in hitting us for discipline, only in cases of extreme stupidity. I guess this was one of those cases.) “What?” I rubbed the sore spot on my head. “I thought it was good.”
“Can’t you take anything seriously?” His face was exasperated. “This isn’t a joke, Jon.” He scolded sternly. “This is God you’re talking to; you don’t talk to him that way. If you can’t be for real then don’t confirm and don’t bother coming to church while you’re at it.”
Somewhere deep within me, anger boiled. I didn’t know why I got so mad but I was tired of everyone’s constant nagging about doing well in school, excelling in extra areas outside of school and the importance of religion. Why couldn’t I live freely like my crazy uncle?
“What makes God so special?” I bit back nastily. I completely exploded. “Why confirm? What’s the point? What’s the point of anything in this house? God doesn’t answer my prayers. Why pray for other people? Why do you go out and help the populace with problems when there are psychiatrists around? That’s what they’re there for. And why do we bother talking to a so called higher being that we can’t even hear or see? I mean, I believe he’s around but how come he didn’t send me a cow when I asked for one? Huh?”
My father blinked. There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence. Finally without a word, he shut the Holy Bible closed and stood up straight. I expected an argument to erupt but there was none. He just parted his lips to speak, his voice unusually quiet.
“Fine Jon. Do what you please. I can’t force you to believe. From here on now, I won’t even bother with you. I give up.” He waved his hand vaguely. “You’ll never become anything in life. I don’t know what to do with you anymore.” He stepped over a bunch of comic books and a heap of dirty clothes and walked out. Before closing the door he added, “And clean your room.” Then the door closed behind him softly.
I sat there silently not knowing what to think. My eyes were fixed on my paper but my mind was far off elsewhere. Did I hear a crack in my father’s voice? Have I, Menace Jon Hilton, made my father cry? My hard, stern, no nonsense father? Couldn’t have….
I eyed the Holy Bible he left beside me. Sadness washed over me. My dad meant well. He only acted tough because he was looking out for our well-being. He was only trying to help us. I shouldn’t have been so harsh.
And it pained me that he thought I couldn’t do anything. I’ll never become anything in life? That wasn’t true. I would become something, somebody. I’d prove him wrong. I’ll prove them all wrong.
How was I going to do that? By doing my prayer properly and truthfully. I haven’t really given God a chance. I opened the Bible back and started to read. The more I read and skipped around trying to find something that would fit my prayer, the more intrigued I became.
I worked on my prayer for an hour and a half that night. I wrote, composing every sentence accurately and efficiently to the best of my ability. It was like God was shinning his light on me, speaking to me. It was also interesting because writing to God was like writing a journal in a way. You express all your feelings and spill out everything you ever held inside. I was amazed by the immense amount of burden that lifted off my shoulders. I included my family, friends, myself and even my pit bulls in my prayer. When I finished that I went on to my confirmation speech that wasn’t due until Sunday but I also wanted to show my dad that I could do things on time. I wrote that until I fell fast asleep at my desk.
The following afternoon, after I came home from Bible study (I actually stayed up this session.), I ran into the dining room. My brothers were snacking and practicing a music piece, studying each note as usual. “Guys guess what?” I cried happily. “I think I finally know what I want to study in college and do in life!”
All music stopped abruptly and they stared at me. “Oh boy, here we go.” Isaac sighed. “What is it?”
“Get ready for this! I’m going to study,” I paused for dramatic effects, raising my palms up. “Theology!”
Ezekiel immediately spit out the coffee he was drinking, snorting loudly. An obnoxious guffaw erupted from Isaac’s throat. He fell to the floor in near tears.
“Theology?!” Ezekiel laughed harder.
Isaac tried to calm down, wiping his eyes. He covered his mouth trying to erase the smile off his face. “You do realize you need a brain for that, right?” He sniffed, failing at his attempt to hide his grin.
“Shows how much you know. I have a brain.” I pouted.
“Hmm, let’s see,” Isaac analyzed profoundly. “You didn’t have one for 16 years, what makes you think you have one now?” Ezekiel was snickering again.
“Oh yeah? Well, I’ll show you!”
“Rrrrright.” Isaac smirked. He turned to Ezekiel, eyes half closed. “He’s going to show us how to fall down 6 flights of stairs this time.” He deadpanned.
“You’ll be sorry.”
“The only thing I’ll be sorry for is you.” Isaac frowned. “Although I doubt that as well.”
I stuck my tongue out rudely and started out the door.
“Hey stupid!” Ezekiel called to me. I spun around. “Heads up!” Before I knew it, a hard piece of Italian bread was hurled my way. I yelped, running, as it hit the back of my head. They both doubled over one another, cracking up.
Later that evening when my dad arrived home, I sprinted to him excitedly. “Hey dad! I got a surprise for you!”
“You broke another window.” He guessed uninterestedly. He put his church bags down at the door with a sigh.
“Nope.” I pulled him forward. “I’m going to study theology and become a priest just like you.”
My father was shuffling through the mail. “That’s good.” He replied with no emotion what so ever.
“Daaaaad!” I whined. I hopped up and down. “I’m for real this time! I stayed up last night and wrote my prayer and speech for Sunday. I really felt like I connected to God for the first time last night. After you spoke to me. Come on. Read my prayer at least.”
My father shook his head. “All right Jon. Just give me a moment to settle down.”
I shoved the paper under his nose. “No, now. Please.” I begged.
He let out another sigh and sat down on the couch, taking off his shoes. “All right, all right. Let me see.” He took the pad from me, eyed me then began to read, rubbing his temples. I stood over him, waiting. I could see his eyes light up after a while. He nodded his head here and there in approval. I smiled. At last, he looked up at me, stunned.
“Like it?” I asked.
“Jon….” He trailed off in shock. “T-this is great. No,” He glanced down at the paper again, gesturing his hand at it vaguely. “It’s excellent!” He exclaimed. “Jon, this is excellent. Did your brothers write this for you or something?”
“No.” I laughed.
“Your mother helped you-”
“Noooo.” I smiled with pride. “I stayed up and did it all by myself.”
“This is amazing!”
“Thanks.” I beamed. “When you think about it there has to be a God somewhere. I mean despite the trouble I got into, you never gave me or any of us a beating. Or told me you absolutely hate me. And you love mom. You love us all deeply no matter what you say or….err…I say. I have a good family,” I nodded. “I have both my parents and brothers. Some people don’t have anything at all. We are fortunate enough to have been provided with shelter, food and clothing. We’re fortunate to know about God, period.”
My dad gawked. “Wow…so you want to study theology, eh?”
“Yup.” I pranced around him. “I think I finally know what I want to do in life. It will get me closer to God. And dad,” I stopped dancing around the place and faced him seriously now. “I didn’t mean what I said yesterday. Are you going to forgive me?”
“Does not God forgive his children?” My father replied calmly. “You know what Jon? Come. Sit.” He patted the spot next to him. I sat. “To tell you the truth out of all three of you boys I wasn’t worried the most about you pulling through.” He paused looking up at the ceiling confusingly. “Oh wait, I was.” He shrugged. “What I really mean is that seeing your other two brothers tried to excel at everything, I thought they’d break one day from the pressure.”
I blinked.
“Well,” He paused again. “Although I thought you’d never try…” He shook his head finally getting fed up. “Look you know what I mean. Just…do good.” He got up, patted me on the back and started for his room. I grinned.
“Thanks! I love you dad!”
My father stopped short in his tracks and spun around to me. He seemed surprised and then for the first time, he smiled at me with complete sincerity and honesty. “I love you too, son. I have faith in you.” He gave me a light, playful punch at my jaw, chuckled and continued on to his room. I could even see the pride in his eyes. That filled my heart with utter happiness.
And that’s my story; complete detail on my life and how I arrived here at the Lutheran church. Not a second thought came to me since, that ministry is what I wanted to do in life. I didn’t have a single doubt. I completed high school; taking many classes I’ve failed in the past during my senior year and summer school. I graduated in August but oh well. It didn’t matter. My brothers went on to college and became successful people of course. Isaac became a doctor and Ezekiel, a psychiatrist. I got into a decent college and after majoring in theology; I felt that I was really meant for this. I was outspoken, I loved talking about God and I realized how I could even use examples in my life to further comprehend life’s situations. As a matter of fact, my sermon today was going to touch on the feelings that a person undergoes that he or she is nobody, when in fact God has a mission for each and every one of us. Also I was going to include, not being so impatient towards God’s answers to your prayers. He has a time and place for everything.
I spotted my family coming in then, my mother, my grandmother, my two brothers and even my uncle Luis! But where was dad?
They all approached the podium. I stood.
“What’s up genius?” Isaac gave me a genuine hand pound. Ezekiel hugged me.
“Congratulations.” He said.
I smiled. “Thanks. And nothing much Isaac. Just nervous as he-I mean, anything.”
“Don’t be. Or maybe you should be.” He frowned lightly and then the scowl curled up to a playful grin. “You’ll do fine. Can’t wait to hear your genius sermon. Talk about the bread incident.”
I snorted. “Yeah, I’ll stick that in somewhere. Heh.” We all laughed like true brothers as they made their way down to the seats. My mom hugged me tight.
“How are you?” She asked.
“I’m good. Where’s dad?”
She frowned lightly. “Oh he’s still over visiting your grandfather. You know your granddad is terribly sick. Make sure you include him in your prayers.”
“Will do.”
“Your father said he’d try his best to make it.” She finished. My heart sank at these words. My expression must’ve showed it because my mother took my hand and squeezed it gently, adding quickly, “I’m sure he’ll make it. If not, he’s here in spirit.” She reassured.
“Okay.” I tried to force a smile. “Thanks.”
“No thank you.” She gave me a tight hug again, tears in her eyes. “I’m proud of you, Jon.”
I hugged her back and helped her down the stairs to her seat. She still looked good as ever. I glanced at my watch. It was time.
‘I’d like to wait for dad, that’s if he’s coming, but….’
I couldn’t. The Bishop was already ascending the stairs. He gave me a signal as the ushers shut the front doors. With a deep breath to placate myself one last time, I stepped up to the altar and placed my Bible down. The congregation silenced. I scanned the room quickly, hoping to find one trace of my dad a final time, but no luck. I lowered the tiny microphone and began to speak. All eyes were on me.
“We will begin with a prayer.” I began. “Please bow your heads.”
The whole congregation did so in unison and I followed after. “Dear God,” I prayed. “Thank you for another Sunday. Thank you for bringing your people to your holy house this morning safely…to pray and worship your name.” My voice grew stronger. “And God thank you for having me up here today. For watching over me and guiding me in the right direction in life. I thank you for the blessing you’ve given me, allowing me to be fortunate with my family…Isaac, Ezekiel, my mother, my father, grandparents and other relatives. And I pray that you would touch the lives of those who are not so fortunate deeply and heal them Lord.” I could hear murmurs of conformity. “Touch my grandfather with your healing hand today, Lord and continue to bless us and guide us away from all evil. And as we read your word today, help us to comprehend. In the good Lord’s name we pray,”
The whole congregation sang, “Amen, Amen, Aaaa-meeeen.”
“Amen!”
My head shot up in surprise. That voice sounded so familiar. Loud, clear, confident…
My eyes widened. There he was, my proud, attentive father. He was near the podium, smiling at me, his eyes glistering with pride and contentment. My mom scooted over happily and he sat, still staring at me and mouthed silently, “Good job, son.”
The beam on my face couldn’t be any more jovial. My eyes welled up slightly and I fought the urge to just go run and hug him. Instead I responded strongly and ecstatically, my smile widening.
“Amen.”