A Quiet Cup of Tea

Father Daniel Asher sat back in the rectory chair, a feeling of relief washing over him as the final confession of the day concluded. The church had been unusually quiet this evening, perhaps due to the sudden spring rain that fell in soft, rhythmic sheets against the windows. He never grew tired of the cadence of the confessional. Every so often, someone would come in, weighed down by sins great and small, seeking absolution. Some were eloquent, others nervous, but all of them were in search of peace. Tonight, Daniel felt at ease, knowing he had helped them find it.

When the bell above the rectory door rang, Daniel didn’t immediately notice, his attention drawn to the holy orders on the small desk in the far corner of the room. It was a humble space; no marble altar, no gilded candlesticks. Just an old desk, a worn armchair, and a small bookshelf that held only a few select volumes—the works of Augustine, Aquinas, and of course, the Bible. When Daniel turned toward the sound of footsteps on the worn wooden floorboards, he blinked, surprised to see an old face standing in the doorway.

"Father Liam," he said softly, almost incredulously. The priest standing there looked very much the same as when they had shared a dorm room in seminary many years ago, along with four other young men: tall, broad-shouldered, and the same brilliant blue eyes that had been both a source of comfort and mischief to Daniel in their youth. Father Liam Pendleworth still carried that knowing smile on his lips.

"It’s been too long, Danny." Liam’s voice was warm, tinged with nostalgia. "I was nearby for a retreat and thought I might pay an old friend a visit."

Father Daniel chuckled, standing to greet him. "A visit from a friend is a blessing—although I didn’t expect it. Please, come in. I was just about to make myself a cup of tea."

“Ah, yes. Tea,” Liam remarked with a slight grin. “Still haven’t moved on to something stronger?”

Daniel paused for a beat. He and Liam shared many nights during seminary sipping tea, studying late into the night, seeking wisdom from the tomes on their desks, and offering each other words of solace. Life in the priesthood had kept him steady; even after years of solitude, the ritual of tea remained. Even if it was a small pleasure, it was one that had endured.

“No, just tea for me. But tea... there's a lot of things that tea does, Liam.”

Liam gave him a sidelong glance, clearly wondering where this was going. "Let me guess—‘tea is a balm for the soul,’ and all that? Please, don’t start with philosophy, Danny.”

"Ah, well, in all honesty,” Daniel replied, leading Liam into the small sitting area of the rectory, “I do believe there are things that a good tea can fix that no sermon or holy writ can. The delicate balance of the leaves, the warmth, the smell. And the peace it brings.” He hesitated, gesturing to an empty seat, while making his way over to the kettle resting on the stovetop. “Though I think you're the last person who needs soothing, aren’t you?”

Liam shrugged in reply, a sheepish grin on his face. “That’s kind of you to say. I wish I felt that calm all the time.”

Daniel ran a hand through his dark hair as he turned the knob on the kettle. "You've been a priest much longer than I have, Liam. I don’t think there’s a moment when you’re not at peace. But you’ve come for something." 

Liam let out a breath, knowing the jig was up. "You know me too well, Danny."

“Perhaps.” The kettle whistled gently, and Daniel reached over, turning it off, before reaching into the cupboard for two old-fashioned porcelain cups—like they used to share as seminarians. It felt right, despite the years that had passed, to use these same cups tonight. He prepared the tea with the care and attention that years of practice had afforded him. When both cups were ready, he returned to his guest.

Liam’s hands wrapped around the cup immediately, as if the heat was a comfort to him. He looked at it, then to Daniel. “You’ve heard of the call?”

Daniel nodded slowly. “The bishopric.”

Liam’s gaze turned away, contemplating, before he lifted the cup to his lips. “It’s not an easy choice.”

“It never is,” Daniel replied quietly, taking his own seat opposite him.

There was a long silence between the two men, as the weight of the conversation settled. Father Liam took another sip from his cup, clearly thinking, gathering his thoughts, trying to arrange them into words. Daniel, patient, simply waited.

"I’ve been asked, Danny. By Bishop Warfield. To consider answering the call. To become a bishop.”

Daniel took a breath and leaned back in his chair, hands loosely folded before him. The news, though surprising, was not entirely unexpected. Over the years, Liam had always been a steady presence in their church, admired by colleagues, loved by parishioners for his ability to relate to everyone from the most troubled souls to the wealthy benefactors who supported their missions. He had a talent for calm that people naturally gravitated toward.

But with that talent came a choice—a hard one. A burden that could leave Liam’s life much less... peaceful than it seemed right now.

“And what’s holding you back?” Daniel asked softly, studying his friend.

Liam shifted in his chair, his fingers curling tightly around the porcelain cup. “It’s not that I don’t want to serve, Daniel. I’m honored, truly. But the responsibility...the expectations. This town is small—how can I lead when I feel so... lost at times? What if I fail them? What if I fail myself?”

Daniel looked over at his old friend, observing the vulnerability he rarely showed. As young seminarians, they had each wondered if they would be worthy of the tasks they had set before them. The journey to the priesthood had not been an easy one for either of them, with doubts lingering long after they had put on their collars. But now that Liam was considering a much larger responsibility, it was clear that the man he had become was wrestling with those same old fears.

“The thing about leadership, Liam,” Daniel began, pausing for a moment as he tried to find the right words, “is that it is never about being perfect. It’s about being willing to answer the call when it’s placed in front of you. Even if you’re not sure you’re enough. Because, truthfully, no one’s ever truly enough. We’re all called because we’re broken. And by accepting that, we allow the Spirit to work through us."

Liam absorbed the words, but it was clear the doubt had not yet completely lifted from his heart. He stared down at his cup for a long moment, thinking, the steam from the tea rising lazily into the air.

"I never thought I’d be in this position,” he said slowly. “To be asked. I wonder if they’re looking at the right person.”

“You are the right person,” Daniel assured him softly. “The fact that you’re asking yourself these questions? It means you're ready.”

Liam laughed lightly but with some genuine warmth. “I’m glad you believe that.” He set down the cup on the table, then looked back up at Daniel. “But now you’ve made my tea, Danny. The least I can do is repay the favor.”

With a calm yet solemn expression, Daniel met his friend’s gaze. “You repay me simply by sharing this time with me. Tea is never about the return favor. It’s a simple offering. Given without expectation. Just like the calling you’ve received.”

Liam’s smile was thin, but sincere, as if there was a weight he was ready to bear, a decision made, if only in part.

“Thank you, Danny. I think I needed to hear that more than I realized.”

Daniel smiled. “You’re welcome. But, remember, friend, whether you accept the call or not—it’s okay. God will guide you through either way. This cup, this moment—perhaps it's all part of that."

The two sat in silence for a while longer, sipping their tea. And though there was no immediate answer to the question hanging between them, neither of them felt the need to rush the decision. It would come, when the time was right. Perhaps it wouldn’t be through logic or strength, but through stillness, through simplicity, through the quiet steady reminder that the Holy Spirit was always with them.

And in the end, the answer would be found, not through ambition or fear, but through trust.