“Perhaps you should pray,” Ethan said. He took her to the church and there he played the organ while giving her space to talk to God. The sound of the organ was surprisingly good considering the state of the rest of the building. During the first hymn, Brit was more interested in the music than prayer. By the time he started playing the third hymn, it was clearly obvious to him that Brit not only did not understand what it meant to pray but she also did not know about the existence of God. “God is everywhere and made everything,” Ethan quietly explained while continuing to play the song that made the church feel much less empty. “I prayed a lot when I was younger. Human.”
“What do I do to pray?” she asked. He explained that she just talked like she was talking to a friend and not to worry when there was no response. She looked all over the building and back to Ethan. “But none are near,” she told him. He continued to play and gave suggestions. The playing kept his hands occupied and the music soothed the discomfort that came when he realized that Brit had no understanding of the most significant influence in his mortal life. “I found much comfort in prayer in my younger years. Perhaps you should read about it. Talk to others.”
In the city, many were willing to comment on God, but few would discuss the matter. A stripper in town told Brit, “Honey, I mention God at least once each time I’m on my knees.” Many told her, “Not, God. It’s ‘Goddess’.” Yet others told her that there was no god. The books in the library contradicted each other so she returned to the church to find someone with answers. There, near the confessional, she found a tattered pamphlet titled “How to Pray.” It offered steps, tips and warnings. She read slowly, “Step 1: Set some time aside to pray every day. It could be 15 minutes in the morning, right when you wake up, an hour of meditation in the evening, or any time you can get a break.” Looking about and seeing no one, she decided that now was as good as a time as any.
“Step 2,” she lisped, “Know who you are praying to. It is a conversation and you just talk so it can be a casual hello or a cry for help.” Brit found this step bewildering. After all, she had been attacked once in this very church and no one was there to help. Looking up at the large cross on the wall, she mused about Ethan who obviously used to pray a lot and wondered if help came when he needed it. Since she never prayed, maybe that was why help did not arrive when she needed it. The pamphlet cautioned that all prayers were not answered. Gazing more up at the cross, she felt an incredible sense of emptiness in the building. None were near.”
Brit sat for a while and tried to talk to God, but she never felt any sense that anyone heard her. A few came and went. Of those who frequented the church, none wanted to discuss the being for who it was created. Several hours passed, and so she sat and read the pamphlet. Eventually, Lorne arrived as if he knew she was there. She asked if he knew about God and he told her that he knew several by such a name but confessed that he knew the one that Ethan knew very well as that particular being made him. Lorne painted a picture of a jealous, cruel being who once caste him out of his home – a home he helped to create.
Ethan listened patiently to what Brit relayed regarding her discussion with Lorne before telling her that Lorne was like a soldier from the opposite army. Ethan explained that he believed that God was good, was everywhere, and created everyone and everything. In addition, he said that God created free will allowing others to choose what to believe. Brit struggled to understand how he could be so very sure when Vlad, who was near, ran screaming down the street. Both Ethan and Brit watched Vlad run away, and then watched as Ellie followed him. Turning to Brit, Ethan said, “Talk to Stacy. She will help you understand.”
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When the church had cleared, Prof. Parker emerged from behind a pillar. He reached for the discarded pamphlet on how to pray and held it to his nose. He attempted to recover the scent of Brit, but to no avail. He tapped the paper against his lip, caught in a thought, perhaps a memory, as his eyes gazed upon the cross.
He dropped to one knee and placed the paper inside his coat's breast pocket, near his heart. He made a small sign of the cross and clasped his hands tightly together. He knew the ACTS of prayer well enough.
He showed Adoration for the Lord. "Praise thee, My Lord, the spirit of which I am a part."
He Confessed to the Lord. "Dear Lord, I am not a perfect man, I hide in the shadows."
He Thanked the Lord. "Thank you for giving me the strength to survive in this strange place, and for the ability to see your beauty in it."
He presented Supplication. "Dear Lord, I know you hear my prayers and in your wisdom, reply in your way. Give me the eyes to see it, the ears to hear it, and nose to smell it, the tongue to taste it, and hands to feel it and the wisdom to know it when it arrives."
He stayed on one knee and crumbled around it, tears wetting his eyes. He knew all that he met, all those he had seen, were a part of God, the unifying spirit. He knew all were gifted with both the predestined script of their lives, buried within them, AND the free will to attempt to uncover it.
Why then, was he drawn here? Why did he inhabit the shadows? Why could he not return to his mannor and his tea and his books and his students huddled around the fire and his lecture...a lecture they desired to hear? Why, was he made speechless, invisible in this darkened world. Unheard. Unheralded. Unsettled. 'Twas not his mission, nor his duty to teach her how to pray. She would find her own way.
He reluctantly dried his moistened eyes, finding some reprive from the dryness they had been feeling.
He composed himself, stood up with a familiar confidence, and returned to his place in the shadows.
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