Untitled, Part 1

A work in progress; written during the church service this morning on the back of my and John's sermon notes...I am such a heathen:

Sobs echoed throughout the empty cathedral. Within the empty hall, merely a skeleton of ribbed vaults and stained glass windows, there stood a large stone table, an altar upon which many sacred rites had taken place. The gray stone floor made the hall feel cold and uninviting, and the soft pitter-patter of rain drops created a low hum on the shingled roof, somewhat filling the seemingly endless void of silence. A large, wooden cross loomed over the altar, intimidating and cold.

The man sitting in the empty pew at the front of the hall didn't notice these details. He couldn't, because he was too preoccupied with the thoughts flooding his mind. He stared at the cold floor through his fingers, not really seeing the individual stone blocks due to the many tears welling up in his eyes. His emotions were about to boil over as he thought of all the wrongs done against him, and of the many wrongs he too had done to others. Harsh words, bad looks, evil thoughts all collided in his heart, creating a tumult, a tempest of feelings and regrets all mixed together. Then he finally couldn't keep it all in...

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" he screamed as he jumped up, shaking rebellious fists at the heavens, being brought down as he saw that all he was yelling at was the ceiling. "They all lied...there's no one out there!" His voice echoed throughout the hallowed hall, confined to the empty space within, just like he was confined to the empty body he lived in.

After the echoes had resided, giving way to the silence, he plopped back down into the pew, tired and defeated. Slumped over in the pew, he was too tired to cry anymore. He felt like nothing mattered, like he was in a hole that he himself had dug, in which he could no longer see the light of day or feel the cool breeze on his face. He closed his eyes and dreamed of death, longing for it to take him away from this wretched world. He was so caught up in his deathly dreams that he didn't even notice the man walking in through the doors in the back of the cathedral. It wasn't until the large wooden doors had bolted back that he heard any trace of anything else in that hall. He jumped up with a startled countenance as he turned around and was met face-to-face with a man in tattered, weather-worn clothes.

His face was rugged and wrinkled with age and strife. His unkempt brown hair was wet with rain, dripping down onto his shoulder, soaking his already damp rags. However, in spite of his obvious hardships, there was a peace on this man's face and an air of kindness about him. He only gave the man in the pew a quick glance as he walked past. The man in the pew watched, wondering what this man was doing. The homeless man walked with confidence to the steps of the altar and the intimidating cross and knelt there with his head bowed low. The man in the pew waited a few seconds to compose his thoughts until finally he began to feel anger, not towards the man, but towards what he was doing. He ran to the altar and began a tirade.

"Don't you know that doesn't work?! Who's listening to you? It's hopeless, pure stupidity, to pray! You could speak to the birds and they would listen better to your problems...there is no God!!!" That last word lingered in the air longer than any other. The man was red-faced and out of breath, looking down at the homeless man still kneeling there. "Are you listening to me, old man?" At that, the homeless man stood up with his eyes still closed and a look of reverence on his face. Then he looked up at the cross, seeming to try to communicate with it in some way. Finally, after a few long seconds of silence, he looked over at the angry man standing next to him with a piercing gaze and spoke in a low, raspy voice.

"What is your name, son?" he asked...

(to be cont'd)