The Angel and the Father15:07 Aug 14 2010
Times Read: 671
"A few days ago, I had a crisis of faith. Yes, even we men of the cloth can sometimes have those weak moments, after all, we are only human. I was filled with a rage that still shames me, a fierce, burning anger, and I turned my eyes heaven-ward and cast that anger towards the Almighty. I spat such venom out of my mouth that I feel even Satan himself blushed. I was possessed by that deadly Sin, Wrath, and overcome with it, I dared to question God."
Father Macombe allowed that to sink in with his congregation for a few minutes. He was known as a gentle man, calm, never one to even approach anger, much less succumb to it. His flock, gathered as they were in the Holy Trinity Church for Sunday Mass, all stared at him, as he stood behind his familiar cherry-wood podium, sunlight from the stained glass windows filtering across him, casting him in myriad bright colors. He took a deep breath, and reached for his glass of water, sweating in the noonday heat, and drank deep of the cool, tasteless fluid, wetting his parched throat before moving on, and allowed his hands to ungrip the sides of the podium and follow his words freely, as he gesticulated in time to his speech, even moving away from the customary location to walk in front of the Holy Altar to more imformally address his Flock.
"And in that darkest of hours, the Will of God was made known to me. In that place in my heart where only black rage lived, twisting and burning me, now lives only the cool, calm certainty of the everlasting Love of the one true God! I was visited, ladies and gentlemen, by an Angel of the Lord, who told me everything would be ok. That the pain of my Flock had not gone unnoticed. That God had heard my pleas, OUR pleas, for justice."
The parishoners looked at each other at this point, not wholly certain exactly what the Father was getting so worked up about, and collectively wondered if the stress of the job and the recent scandals had perhaps unhinged their beloved Priest a tiny bit. All the same, despite their worry, something about the passion in his words had rung true in their souls, and as all knew the Father was unapproachably honest, not even telling the smalles fib for any reason...so even the most skeptical of the Flock had begun to think that maybe an Angel HAD visited the Father, and through him, was somehow working the will of God.
"That visit, that night, reminded me of one simple, true fact. God loves us, and if we stay strong in our love, in our steadfast devotion to him, there is nothing of this world that can hurt us. That he will always keep us safe, that we will always lead us to lie down in green pastures, that God, and his Son Jesus, and the Holy Spirit are ALWAYS with us...and if we say true, Angels will come to us in our hour of need."
The parishoners did nothing in response to this. They did not move, they did not blink. They did not even seem to breathe. Father Macombe looked out over his flock for some sign that they understood him, that they knew and felt what he knew and felt. All he recieved in return were blank looks from people normally filled with life.
No. Not blank. Frozen. All the color drained from Father Macombes face when he realized that every single member of his Parish was no longer moving in any capacity, standing as still as if they had been carved from marble. He whipped around and began looking about, convinced something beyond his ken was at play here. He began to take notice of the smaller and smaller details that lead back to the same conclusion...dust motes frozen in mid drift, droplets of sweat on his glass no longer dropping, a fly that should be buzzing in midair...frozen as though suspended in glass.
And then he fell to his knees as it felt like every single cell of his own body was converted to that self-same glass and shattered into atoms by a thunderous, mountinous, impossible voice that split the air like the axe split the convicts neck.
"HE WAS NO ANGEL, BUT ABOMINATION!"
All at once, Father Macobme took an incredible sight. A light, some fifteen feet above the Altar, that burned his eyes like the sun, and within it, a figure...that begain to drop out of the light so that the Father could look at him more accurately. It was an impossibly beautiful man, dressed in the simplest of clothing, bearing a sword made of gold and steel at his hip. His eyes of the palest gold, his hair the same shade. His figure was perfect beyond description, each muscle outlined and obvious, each bone as though crafted by the most masterful craftsman over the period of his life. From his back come six..ropes? Cords? Lines?..made of rapidly changing colors, tethering him to the pool of Light from which he descended. His figure filled Macombes eyes, as it fell in front of the massive statue of the Benevolent Christ with pierced hands outstretched. He fell ever slower till his perfect, bare feet touched lightly on the Altar. Where his feet touch, wreaths of golden sunlight sprung up and along the Altar, solidifying into a random assortment of flowers made seemingly from spun sunlight. The six cords faded away into the pool of Light, which also faded from existence, and left the Father in a crumpled heap, alone save his frozen flock with this otherworldly figure.
And then it spoke again, its voice still ripping along every nerve ending the good Father had left, like a jackhammer of sound driving into his mind, his soul, threating to sweep him along on waves of beautiful power and shatter him on the rocks of absolute agony.
"I AM URIEL, THE SUN OF GOD, PRINCE OF THE PRESENCE, HE THAT PUNISHES THE WICKED."
Uriel looked down at the crumpled figure and then stepped from the Altar and landed gently on the ground, and then moved to stand before the Father, it's soft, beige garments in sharp contrast with the Fathers black priestly vestments. It looked down at him, then, as a man might look down at a crying child...compassionate, yet somehow disappointed.
"FATHER MACOMBE, YOU ARE GUILTY OF THE SIN OF WRATH. YOU ARE GUILTY OF QUESTIONING THE LORD YOUR GOD JEHOVA, WHO GIVETH LIFE AND TAKETH IT. YOU ARE GUILTY OF LOOSING THE ABOMINATION ON THE WORLD. YOU HAVE ONLY ONE CHANCE TO SURVIVE YOUR INIQUITY."
Father Macombe whimpered, beset on every level of his meager existence by the unrepenent assault by this Angel. Every word was like liquid ice and froze fire along his soul, the pain almost transcendent as the agent of his God bore it's power upon him. In that instance, he knows fear, and gult, and shame. That he, a lowly insect, should have questioned the Will of the Almighty! That he should have caused that thing that visited him to rise into existence! That he should have unleashed it! He crawled, bleeding now from the eyes, ears, and mouth, to the foot of the Angel, and rested his head just in front of the toes, remarking somehwere far off in his mind that it was strange that it had no toenails, before he coughed a few words around a mouthful of blood...
"I have...sinned agaisnt the Lord. How may I seek....repetence?"
Uriel smiled a triumphant smile, pleased that the Sons of Eden have not grown stronger in their many, many milennia away from the garden, and spoke again.
"AS YOU GAVE HIM RISE, YOU ARE TIED TO HIM. YOU GAVE HIM A NAME. YOU WILL GIVE ME THAT NAME, THAT I MAY ONCE AND FOREVER REMOVE THIS STAIN ON THE WORLD."
Somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, in that part that had questioned God, lives the part of Father Macombe that tries to defy the Angel. That tries to shutter his mind, to conceal his thoughts, to keep his mouth closed. To prevent this beautiful, terrible creature from stopping Ahz'Real, because that part remembers that no Angel of the Lord came to punish the monster in their midst. No holy wrath descended to stop that creature from his deeds.
Unfortunately, the animal part of him, the part that wanted to live, to keep breathing, to stop bleeding, to make this horrible, terrible thing JUST GO AWAY was much, much stronger. MUCH more in the forefront of his mind. As strong as Father Macombe's desire to protect Ahz'real was, it could not win out over the Heavenly assault of Uriel.
"Jerrod...Jerrod Tzelekie..."
And with the uttering of the final syllable, the Angel smiles, and it is the same smile the cougar wears when it is moments from the jugular of its prey. It inhales, closing its eyes as it feels the connection between the Father, the Abomination, and the human the Abomination was brought back to deal with. It opened its mouth again, those awful, awful words spilling from from its perfect lips, dropping like boulders onto the Priest.
"GOOD. I LEAVE YOU NOW TO MUSE ON YOUR ACTIONS, PRIEST. NEVER AGAIN QUESTION THE LORD YOUR GOD."
And with that, Uriel stepped away from the Priest, and raised its head Heavenward, and the pool of Light shimmered back into existence with a soft hissing sound and the smell of a lightning crack, ozone and something...else. Those same six shimmering cords descend once more, and raise it up into the pool, which then vanished as it came, swiftly, and with no evidence, save the beautiful flowers of spun gold on the Altar, and the barely conscious Priest on the ground.
All at once, the Congregation came back into Reality, unaware that they had been frozen while a manifestation of the will of their God had interrogated and nearly killed their human Shepard. All they knew was that the Father was talking, and then in a bloody mess on the ground. There were the customary gasps and cries out, the people surging forward to ask if he is ok, to lift him to his feet, to wipe him clean and offer to take him to the hospital, all of which he waved off. He stumbled to the wall, and called his Deacon to him, instructing him to finish the Mass, and then, shrugging off any help, he forced himself into his living quarters, situated as they were behind the Rectory, and collapsed in his bed, and was dragged into sleep before his body had settled fully into the mattress.
He did not awaken for several hours. Though his parishioners checked in, his Deacon, and one individual from the Flock who was a junior medic all tried to rouse him, he did not respond. As he was no longer bleeding or showing signs of distress, they simply tucked him in, cleaned him off, and let him rest.
It wasn't until MUCH later that evening that he awoke, the simple bell from his phone splitting the air and his restful state. He reached for it and pulled the receiver to his head, and managed a suprisingly coherent...
"This is Father Macombe. How may I help?"
COMMENTS
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faeriemoon
17:59 Aug 14 2010
Again you leave us foaming at the mouth for more. I love how I can play this scene out so vividly in my head because of your attention to the tiniest details. Awesome, simply, awesome.