Fiction: Relic

“Behold, the symbol of our faith and the focus of our works.”

The priest opened the small, sturdy wooden box. The interior was lined with bubble wrap, and the relic lay on a thick velvet cloth. The relic gleamed as the priest held it up in the fading light of the sunset. The members of the small congregation stared at the relic, their eyes filled with longing.

“Be of strong faith and good cheer,” the priest intoned, “in the certain hope that our efforts will bring about the Second Coming of the Power that will light our way once more.”

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Fiction: Critical Mass

After more than three decades as a priest, Father Joe thought nothing of the two men who came into the church after the mass had begun. Not even when they all but marched down the center aisle, failed to genuflect, and sat in the front pews on either side where two other men already sat. Father Joe was caught up in his work.

When it happened again during the Act of Contrition, he still did not give it more than the most passing notice. People came in late, babies cried, people unwrapped peppermints. Church was a strangely noisy place.

At the end of the first reading, two more men strode down the aisle and seated themselves down front, just as the others had done. Father Joe was starting to notice. He looked briefly at the men and was startled to see the hate on their faces. But he didn’t have time just then to sort it out.

In the middle of the second reading, two more men came in and took their places with the others. The congregation was beginning to stir both at the unusual procession and the lack of respect paid to the altar.

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Fiction: Upon the Altar of God

Father Ramon stepped to the pulpit to deliver his Sunday morning homily. The familiar faces looked up at him with the familiar expressions: expectant, sleepy, thoughtful, judgmental, and blank. This Sunday, though, the old priest knew he would give them a lesson they would remember.

“You have noticed the sword on the high altar,” he began. “It has lain there for two weeks, now. I have told no one the story of how it came to be there, but I will tell you now.”

The sleepy and blank faces took on more life. The judgmental remained judgmental, as if daring the priest to be interesting.

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