Just a tiny little ficlet.
Title: Penitent.
Author: Lyn (backtothelight)
Rating: G
Warnings: Religion. That's about it.
There weren't many visitors at the small church and monastery, but that was expected. Few people stopped in the little town except on their way to Las Vegas further south and Las Vegas wasn't a hot spot for religious pilgrims. It was a matter of pride that the little monastery had survived with what was said to be the Mos Eisley of the United States so near.
The sanctuary itself tended to turn into an oven in the summer months. Even with the state-mandated air conditioning system, the monks tended to keep it warmer than most found comfortable. The temperatures were turned down when services were to be held for the public; the people in the world hadn't taken the same vows they had. But that hadn't stopped their visitor from coming in, making a rusty genuflection, and taking a place in one of the pews. Father Philip watched in silence as the man knelt on the hard wooden floor, weathering the temperature with grace even in his leather jacket. He'd seen the man a few times before. He tended to come in looking worn and tired, rarely smiling, and almost always looked up at the crucifix and the stained glass beyond with a kind of doubt and weight. Father Philip could almost feel his uncertainty, his wonder if he was doing what was right.
A few times, he'd taken confession for that man. He'd heard about violence, death, illegal activities that had both shaken him and made him remember Canon Law, and he'd given the penances. After the man, as a penitent, had left, they found a generous donation in the donation box. It'd paid for a good portion of the roof repair they'd needed. Still, the stories had affirmed something. As Jesus had once thrown the money lenders out of the temple, this man did what he must, shouldering a burden of a different kind, to see to it that people could live in safety from evils that many didn't even see. What few wrongs he had to commit were thus easily forgiven, especially by the Lord.
"Father?"
He looked up from his observations to see Brother Herman Joseph at his side. The brothers almost always moved quietly, and in his contemplations, he wasn't surprised that he hadn't heard his fellow monk approach. "Yes, Brother?" he answered, his voice carefully pitched not to carry.
"He isn't one of our regular parishioners but I've seen him before - do you know him?"
Father Philip smiled. "In a way." As the man both of them were watching stood and crossed himself the Father placed a hand on the Brother's shoulder, guiding him back toward the monastery at an easy, slow pace. "I tend to think of him as Saint Michael of the Freeway."
Author: Lyn (backtothelight)
Rating: G
Warnings: Religion. That's about it.
There weren't many visitors at the small church and monastery, but that was expected. Few people stopped in the little town except on their way to Las Vegas further south and Las Vegas wasn't a hot spot for religious pilgrims. It was a matter of pride that the little monastery had survived with what was said to be the Mos Eisley of the United States so near.
The sanctuary itself tended to turn into an oven in the summer months. Even with the state-mandated air conditioning system, the monks tended to keep it warmer than most found comfortable. The temperatures were turned down when services were to be held for the public; the people in the world hadn't taken the same vows they had. But that hadn't stopped their visitor from coming in, making a rusty genuflection, and taking a place in one of the pews. Father Philip watched in silence as the man knelt on the hard wooden floor, weathering the temperature with grace even in his leather jacket. He'd seen the man a few times before. He tended to come in looking worn and tired, rarely smiling, and almost always looked up at the crucifix and the stained glass beyond with a kind of doubt and weight. Father Philip could almost feel his uncertainty, his wonder if he was doing what was right.
A few times, he'd taken confession for that man. He'd heard about violence, death, illegal activities that had both shaken him and made him remember Canon Law, and he'd given the penances. After the man, as a penitent, had left, they found a generous donation in the donation box. It'd paid for a good portion of the roof repair they'd needed. Still, the stories had affirmed something. As Jesus had once thrown the money lenders out of the temple, this man did what he must, shouldering a burden of a different kind, to see to it that people could live in safety from evils that many didn't even see. What few wrongs he had to commit were thus easily forgiven, especially by the Lord.
"Father?"
He looked up from his observations to see Brother Herman Joseph at his side. The brothers almost always moved quietly, and in his contemplations, he wasn't surprised that he hadn't heard his fellow monk approach. "Yes, Brother?" he answered, his voice carefully pitched not to carry.
"He isn't one of our regular parishioners but I've seen him before - do you know him?"
Father Philip smiled. "In a way." As the man both of them were watching stood and crossed himself the Father placed a hand on the Brother's shoulder, guiding him back toward the monastery at an easy, slow pace. "I tend to think of him as Saint Michael of the Freeway."