Winter is the ideal season for the ordained.
A church isn’t made for comfort. We sleep like peasants in stiff twin beds with old, flat pillows. We eat boring meals made from non-perishables donated by those with enough money to fund our yearly expenses. And in the summers, without air conditioning, we sweat. We sweat like He is burning away our wickedness. And I burn the most, so I pray for winter.
But the main reason I pray for the cold? Because it brings me visitors.
No longer are the homeless able to sleep outside. In winter, they must find shelter. It can get below zero where we live. Anyone trapped outside by nightfall won’t live to see the rising sun. Thus, it is my duty, as a lady of the church, to save the homeless. And that, as you already know, makes me quite happy.
One such fellow found his way into His house last night.
Just after 8 p.m., I heard his soft knock at our door. I rushed to answer and found him wrapped in an old blanket, his face and fingers black from days without washing. Upon opening the door, this poor man felt it appropriate to enter without asking. He only gave me so much as a nod. Then, he threw himself into a pew and laid back, happy with himself and his reprieve from the cold.
Patient to his rude first impression, I went over to him. I watched as he undid the laces to his boots, hardly looking up at me. I asked him his name. He did not respond. I asked twice more, then he answered. ‘Henry’. He asked if I had any food.
“Yes,” I told him, “I shall fetch you some.”
I brought him a small box of crackers. He stared at it for a moment, staying hunched in his pew as if my offer was not satisfactory. He reluctantly took the crackers. One by one, he ate them, relaxing more with each bite.
“Do you have anything else?” he asked when finished, “Something hot?”
“Yes, of course,” I said, then went to our kitchen. In the pantry, I found a can of soup. It was one of Father Brown’s, though I knew he would not mind. He did not stay at the church each night, only me, and I knew he’d want me to serve our guest.
I brought the cooked soup to our visitor. By now, he’d taken off his heavy clothes. His smell was foul, though I’d grown used to his kind. At the sight of me, he sat up and grabbed the bowl. In ravenous aggression, he spooned the soup into his mouth.
“Do you have any wine?” he asked, “And some cheese?”
“Yes,” I replied, “Let me bring them to you.”
I returned once more, holding a cup of wine and a plate of cheese. His soup was empty. With one hand, he downed the wine and began on the cheese. Extending the empty cup, he asked for more, to which I replied yes, and did indeed bring him another cup. He drank this as well, and the next one, before eventually he lay smiling in the pew, his plate and cup empty.
“You can leave me now,” he said, kicking up his feet, “I don’t like you standing there.”
“I apologize, Henry,” I said with a smile, “I simply wondered if you’d like a warm bath and a shave.”
He did not return a smile, nor give any indication that he was pleased.
“Get it warm for me, then.”
Of course, I nodded again, then went back and readied his bath. Swaying from his wine and full belly, Henry went into our private quarters where I’d readied the water. For some time, I sat outside the door, listening to him splashing around, muttering to himself, engaging in a pleasurable act. It may have been an hour before he finally emerged, wrapped in a fresh white robe. He’d trimmed his beard, cleaned his hands and face, and stood in front of me a new man. The sight of me waiting outside the room seemed to startle him. Maybe he thought I enjoyed serving him. More likely, he was thinking disgusting thoughts.
“May I sleep in your bed tonight?” he asked, giving me a smile.
“Of course,” I replied, “I will prepare it for you.”
He began to walk towards my quarters.
“However,” I said. This froze him in his tracks. He turned to me as if I’d upset him deeply. I shrunk backwards. “If it wouldn’t trouble you, Henry, would you please pray with me first?”
I’d upset him for sure. He quenched his left fist tight. His face pulled back into a heavy snarl and his eyes fixed on me like a dog ready to bite. I raised my hands instinctively, palms out, to stop an incoming blow. At this, Henry gave a rye chuckle which grew into a hearty laugh. Relieved, I smiled and laughed nervously in return.
“Sure,” he said, “I guess I can do that.”
It was difficult to hide my excitement. At his acceptance, I gave a bow, if only to hide the smile that could not help its way onto my face. There was nothing I loved more than praying with a guest. He requested more wine, somehow feeling I owed it to him. I complied graciously. He did not notice I’d filled it higher this time. Another small joy.
I lead Henry down under the church, around a winding stone staircase lit by hanging lightbulbs. As we drew near, he caught smell of the dank underbelly on which His house rests. He recoiled in disgust. I expected him to refuse to go any further, as others had done before, but Henry was different. As he sipped his wine and stepped further down, I believe he felt His presence flow through him. Thus, he did not argue, nor refuse to follow. As we reached the last step, though, he did stumble, falling to a knee.
“I am drunk,” he announced, his voice hoarse and bellowing, “I am very drunk.”
I did not reply. Not down in my sanctuary. There, in my home, I spoke only with Him. I looked upon the glorious statue that I’d nailed into the wall, knelt on both knees, and bowed forward in silence revery. “I am here for you, Lord,” I said in my heart, “I am here to do your work.”
“I am…” continued the homeless fool, “I am not well. This wine…it is…”
He collapsed backwards now, falling onto his ass. The thud was muted by the cold walls.
“Water,” he cried, “Please, I need water.”
Pleasure filled within me as not one muscle moved for his call. I was no longer his servant. In my sanctuary, I serve only one.
“What have you done to me,” he cried, “What…”
I heard him stumble backwards, scuttering to a wall with flailing arms and feet. He gave a pathetic shriek.
“There’s a body. There’s a body over there.”
Through his eyes I saw the body of he looked upon. It lay wrapped in the blood-soaked blanket as I’d left it. I could feel his fear. I could sense his panic. He’d try to run. He’d try to crawl. He’d do anything to escape. But he’d then realize his legs would not move. His arms had stiffened. There was no escape.
Moving towards him, I drew the blade from my waist, holding it out as I do. In his eyes, I could see the realization come to him. But behind his overwhelming fear, and past the ever-spreading poison, I saw a small hint of understanding. His life, he could now see, was worthless to himself. He’d only gone about squandering it, wasting away on drugs and abuse. Now his life would have meaning. For once he could do something good.
Of course, he screamed as I drove the blade deep into his chest. His face twisted as I pulled and inserted it again and again. He was weak, after all. All of them are. But He does not mind. He will make use of them all the same.
I said my prayers as I always do, thanking Him for bringing Henry into our home. Once Henry had stopped twitching, and life left his body, I felt His presence once again. That rush of His love flowing through me. His gift had been renewed, as it had done so many times before. It is the most amazing feeling, like a warm embrace on a cold winter’s day. And I cried, as I always do.
Yes, winter is a beautiful time of year. If there is one problem, it is only that my spade cannot pierce the frozen ground. I shall need to do something about the smell.