The Churchgoer

The Churchgoer ran up the stairs in a feverish haste. The church with all its ancient stairs and crosses of the Lord Almighty, loomed above him as if it knew what weighed upon his heart. The churchgoer ran through the doors, the echo of his stitacco footsteps filled the empty church. “Father! Father please! I need to confess!” He called out, not having any care for how loud his desperation rang through the long cold halls. The Churchgoer saw candles tenderly glowing by the altar, the only sign of life in the church, he knew someone was here, and someone would have to listen to him. “Father please! Please this weight  is too much for my mortal heart, please Father I have to confess!” 

The vaulting silence and the pleas from the churchgoer were broken by delicate footsteps meeting with the cold grey floor of the church. A Nun had come to meet the churchgoer after hearing his cries, and stopped a few feet away from the Churchgoer out of caution. “My dear sir, are you looking for the Father?” The Churchgoer’s shoulders melted, his face softened, the Churchgoer’s demeanor seemed to have been cooled compared to his earlier feverish rankings and cries. “I am sister, I have a confession to make, please this feeling, it burns and chars my heart, I MUST confess!” The Nun kept her composure while the Churchgoer wailed for his confession, almost crying out like a manger animal caught in a trap. “The Father isn’t here at the moment, he had to step out momentarily.” The Churchgoer’s whole body seemed to rise a little, almost as if a burst of hope brought the weight off his mortal heart. The Nun and the Churchgoer stood there facing each other, the Churchgoer with his body slightly wound up and there was a glimmer in his eyes, waiting for the Nun to speak further. The Nun kept her composure, hoping that telling the Churchgoer that the Father was gone would be enough.

“I’m not sure when Father will be back, but you are more than welcome to sit and rest unt-“ “NO!” Cried the Churchgoer, he looked to be almost on the verge of tears, “This isn’t a matter that can sit idle, I must confess as soon as possible.” The Nun shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t remove her gaze from the Churchgoer. A tense silence stood between the Nun and the Churchgoer, both attempting to stay their nerves. The Nun cleared her throat uncomfortably, “I can hear your confession, if it is that what you seek.” The Nun offered, seeing the Churchgoer have some glimmer in his eye’s again, that same look of weightlessness coming off his entire being. Seeing the spark of hope in his eyes, the Nun continued hastily, “I can listen to your confession and offer you spiritual guidance, but please know that I cannot absolve you of  your sins…” the Churchgoer walked up to the Nun, almost lunging at her, and reached for her arm, “That’s fine my Sister! Perfectly fine! If I must admit…” he lowered his arm, realizing that the Nun drew back from his attempt at touching her, “If I must admit…I would rather it be you who heard my confession. I know you have no power to absolve me of my sin, I’m am content with that. Please Sister, hear what I must say.” The Nun nodded solemnly, turning around to make her way to the confessional. 

The Churchgoer walked into the confessional, almost eagerly, and knelt before the lattice window. He waited for the Nun to speak, feeling sweat drip from his forehead in a fit of anticipation. He heard the rustling of the Nun’s cloak against the floor, and heard her shifting about. “What brings you to to the house of the Lord?” The Nun asked in a low voice, so only the two of them could hear each other. “Oh Sister, please forgive me for I have sinned.” The Churchgoer said, his voice shaking. “I can only hear your confession and give you guidance, not forgiveness.” The Nun reminded him, her voice still low but with a gentle firmness to it, as if gently reminding a child of what he can or cannot do. “I know Sister, but please….in this case…please forgive me.” He took a shaky breathe, and continued with his confession, “Bless me Sister for I have sinned. It has been almost two days since my last confession of my sins.” There was a tense wave of silence, one staving his nerves and the other sitting still as the stone walls in the church, waiting patiently for the penitent to continue. “I have committed the sin of idolatry.” He continued, his voice getting lower and slower, as if he was preparing himself for the worst. There was a note of silence, then the Nun spoke, “Please go on child of God. You speak of committing the sin of idolatry, and for that, it can be remedied by removing the item that has been the central of your…” The Churchgoer spoke up, interrupting the Nun’s spiritual advice. “My Sister, please forgive me for I can’t do that.” He cleared his throat and continued, “please forgive me, for it is in the arms of a woman that I find my church, that is the cause of my idolatry.” His voice was still low, but he continued speaking, this time with more assurance in his tone. 

“She has occupied every thought I’ve had, every decision I’ve made, and every word I’ve spoken.” He continued, his words getting faster and faster, the urgency to tell anyone about his sin becoming greater than the need to keep his voice low and steady. “She occupies my heart, mind, and soul. My only word of truth in this grey world.” He continued, once his confession started, he couldn’t stop, his words almost running together.

”For you see Sister, from the moment I laid my eyes on her, I knew my soul was damned, for I knew she would be all my mortal soul would care about. I have not shown my face to her, for I feel if she gazes on my face, my mortal soul would shatter. There are moments where I imagine the thrill of showing her that I am alive and exist and exist only for her, but I know in my heart of hearts that she will never know nor find room in her heart to care. And for that, I have found my peace knowing this, just knowing she exists and that I can lay my unworthy eyes upon her gives me more fulfillment than any God.” He started to quicken his breath, but continued on. “She is the Garden of Eden of my eye, a paradise with flesh and blood. When I hear the song of her voice, that is when I know I have found my religion. To have her look at me, just for even one moment, fills me with a prophetic hope that I still have trouble finding the words for how much joy and fulfillment her gaze gives me.” The Churchgoer felt his temperature rise, he absently wiped his brow of sweat as he continued, his stomach lurching with nerves. “Everything she is, it is a divinity in itself. When the morning light of a stained glass window cast onto her coif, that is her beauty. When she walks, I fight myself to not run to her feet and kiss them. When she speaks, cherubs and trumpets of God spill from her lips, that is the only thing in this life that brings me comfort and hope in this dismal grey lifetime. I could at any time tell her how much her words and guidance means to me, but I do not want her chained to my earthly desires, she must remain pure of the knowledge of my existence.”

The Churchgoer cleared his throat again, he knew he should stop and wait for the Nun to give him advice, but he couldn’t find it in himself to stop. He had to keep going, he had to say everything. “ There is something deep inside of me, a deep and ravenous hunger. A hunger to be held by her, to have her read my body as if it were scripture, to hold onto the apple of my desire in her holy hands.” The Churchgoer began to ring the edge of his shirt. “Forgive me for saying this my Sister, but I need her like sin. My souls torments and laments not for the sin I have committed, but for her sin is what I crave for. Her eyes have given me the most devilish affair, like we were meeting in secrecy in a church full of unfortunate souls.” Suddenly the Churchgoer started to chuckle nervously. “Many many times, I have knelt before her, much like during Sunday morning prayer, so that maybe, just maybe, I could taste the divinity staining her lips. I want her to touch me like I am everything she asked God for, under her hands I would become her hymn.” The Churchgoer started to become frantic and faster with his speech, the words almost running over one another. “My Sister in Christ, please hear my plea, for I want her to carve her hips into mine like she is Donatello and I am her holy stone to shape as she wills it. I want to taste her divinity staining her thighs,her holiness running down her legs, her holy temple to give away to my undying devotion to her.” The Churchgoer was in such a fervent state, he began to crack the door of the confessional so that he might have a slight cross breeze to cool his feverish body. The Churchgoer was in a frantic state, full of nerves and anxiety and earnestness, but he still kept pouring his heart out to the Nun, for he knew we wouldn't rest easy until he told her.

 “To have one night with her,” he continued, “Even if it was for one night and that one night was all I could ever hope to have with her, I would be a disciple to her every want and desire!” The Churchgoer started to cry out and be racked with sobs, but still he continued on, “I have been ever so devout to her, for she is too perfect for me to ever come near her. For every Sunday morning I come and see her, and pray for God to help me and forgive me. I know that she may never be a god, yet I know she could become one with such ease, but in this overwhelming need to worship her very existence, I have become something less human with such frightening ease so that she could be my god.” The Churchgoer’s body was shuddering with sobs of relief, the weight was finally off his chest, he could breathe now, knowing he told someone, that he told her. Silence met his sobs as a stillness only altars of saints know, the Churchgoer cleared his eyes, waiting for a reaction, a reply, a small gasp of flattery, or even a groan of dismay, anything from her would make his heart and mind fly into ecstasy, knowing she heard him.

The silence was deafening, it made his ears ring, it make his head pound, it made his body electric, the Churchgoer was on his feet now, no longer kneeling for a confession but standing for an answer. It seemed like minutes added up to hours, and then added up to days, but it was only a few tense minutes. 

Then the Nun’s voice, her voice, filled the confessional, “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good. Go in peace.”