Unholy Shepherd by Robert Christian (rooftoppers txt) 📕

seven on each wall. They were dazzlingly colored, and each contained what she knew to be the image of a particular saint, though which ones, she hadn’t the foggiest idea. Most of her childhood Catechism had left her.

The altar area was set a few feet above the congregation, on a stone platform of two concentric circles rising from the floor. The altar itself was draped in white linen and adorned with several tall candles in golden holders. The candles on the altar, as well as several smaller ones behind, were all lit and, along with a few of the dimly lit sconces hanging from the rafters, were the only source of light in the church. And, as in any Catholic church she had ever entered, a gaudy, golden statue of Jesus, arms spread on a mahogany cross, stood in the center of the altar, towering above the rest of the scene.

Maureen kept one eye on the statue of the crucified man as she took a seat in one of the pews in the middle of the church. She hadn’t come to pray, of that she was certain. God had abandoned her long ago. And after the events of the last few days, all logic in her mind would scream against sitting in a Catholic church if one were looking for a place free of judgment where they could sit and be alone. She was relieved to see that St. Mary’s was not one of those churches that hosted a Saturday night mass. Had anyone else been present when she entered, she would have turned right around and headed straight back to her apartment.

Maureen continued to stare at the crucifix. Even as a girl, she had always wondered, if what scripture said was true, why a person would allow themselves to be put through that much torment and misery. Did he have any idea beforehand what it would feel like? She had always been sure that if he did, he’d have never gone through with it all. Her mother and others like her had called it The Passion, meaning that their Lord willingly went through all that out of love for all mankind in order to forgive the world’s sins. Given all that she had seen in her life of the worst in humanity, and what they were capable of inflicting on one another, she couldn’t understand why God would forgive rather than punish. It definitely felt like He’d been punishing her for the last two decades.

“It’s been a long time since anyone has come into the church at this hour on a Saturday night,” a voice said behind her.

Maureen’s head snapped around to see the old priest walking up the middle aisle toward the front of the church. As before, he was dressed in his black shirt and white collar, and his footsteps echoed on the bricks of the church’s floor.

“It’s Ms. Allen, right?” he asked, stopping alongside the pew.

Maureen nodded. The jovial smile that she remembered from their first meeting was nowhere to be found on his face, but his eyes were still relaxed, even kind.

“I saw you come in,” he continued, casually looking about the church. “I didn’t want to disturb you, but you look uneasy. And I must say you don’t exactly seem comfortable sitting in that pew. Would I miss my guess if I surmised that you have not been to church very often in your life?” He chuckled at his own observation.

“Not since I was a kid,” she found herself answering.

The old priest paused for a moment before sliding into the pew next to her. The two sat in uncomfortable silence, staring up toward the candlelit altar. Maureen clasped her hands and shifted in her seat, trying to anticipate what the man was going to say next. She wasn’t used to any man, even a priest, showing her kindness without eventually exposing an ulterior motive. Her mind calculated all of the possibilities, and she turned her head slightly to make sure the front door was still where she left it. Yet, even though the desire to leave was strong in her mind, something held her fast to the church pew.

“I’ve never liked the decor in here myself,” Father Patrick said, breaking the silence.

“What?” blurted Maureen, taken off guard at such a mundane comment.

“The decoration of the church,” he said gesturing about. “I’ve never been a fan of stained glass, and the crucifix is very ostentatious. And grim too, don’t you think? I’ve always favored ones that do a better job of conveying Christ’s love as opposed to focusing on his suffering.”

Maureen looked closer at the image of Jesus on the cross. She could now see that the artist had indeed taken extra care to ensure a look of utter pain and sorrow on the face of the crucified man.

“Would you have a different expression on your face if you were nailed up on a piece of wood?” she retorted. “I would think a Catholic priest would relish the idea of showing the flock that your Savior went through horrible pain for you. Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

Father Patrick let out a soft, sighing chuckle. “I can see that you had some much harsher church leadership in your youth. I admit that there are those within the church who harken back to the days of fire and brimstone teaching and focus more on repentance as a means to forgiveness.”

Maureen saw a shadow cross his eyes.

“Not to say repentance doesn’t have its place,” he continued. “God knows, we’ve all got things we need to atone for.” He turned and looked steadily at Maureen. “But the world isn’t going to change based on admonishment alone. People need to look deeper into themselves than I feel the church asks them to sometimes. They need to find the light in the darkness as it were.”

Maureen stared back into Father Patrick’s unblinking eyes. “So, what? You’re a ‘light in the darkness’?”

The priest shook his head and turned to stare back