It had been such a short period of time and yet it truly seemed so very long ago. Where the afternoon had started out in quiet meditation, yearning for an inspiration on that week's sermon, now Declan sat in a large dark room filled with a myriad of equipment, among a group of people searching for God in a very real and tangible way, and standing with them, more than six feet tall, taller if you count the wings, was an angel of the highest order, a Seraph.
Declan combed his thinning hair over with his hand as he rose and stood before the Seraph in awe, then, as though just remembering who he was, he half curtsied, did the sign of the cross, and bowed his head as he began to speak.
“Forgive me my doubts of faith, O Lord” he said in a barely audible whisper. The Seraph looked at him gently, his eyes reflecting the same compassion he had with the Cherub. The Seraph's hand reached out and gently rested on Declan's shoulders.
“All among you have had moments when that foundation seemed to dissolve, but in time each has found their way, if they were meant to, and wished it, with God's help.”
Declan looked up, it was a common enough platitude, he'd uttered variations of it himself over the years, but it was spoken with conviction, true conviction and as such seemed to slip beyond platitude and into grace.
Suddenly Declan realized the power of the spirit, and its potential to lead, but he moved away because of his realization that his flock looked to him for such guidance, and he was only now beginning to understand that.
Declan liked to think of himself as a Shepherd, now he felt more like the sheep.
“Come with me sir.” It was the project leader, at least he looked like a project leader. He carried a MED KIT and was motioning Declan out of the room.
Declan didn't want to leave the room, he'd spent all afternoon trying to get here, he'd been beaten looking for this room, he'd finally met the Angel and felt, within himself, a renewal of faith. And because of that the seeds of doubt were fading away, he didn't want to leave that, not now!
“But I…” he began, motioning toward the Seraph.
The project leader understood, he didn't seem happy about it, but he must have understood, because he added, “You'll come back, but we've got to get those wounds clean or they'll infect.”
Reluctantly Declan nodded and glancing at the Seraph, he slowly followed the Project Leader out of the room.
Their first stop was a supply cabinet where they had coveralls in various sizes for the workers in the clean room to wear. “I'm not going to try to guess your size, why don't you pick out one you think should fit.”
Declan was confused, he had no interest in changing, his expression must have said as much. “The chick gang…,” the Project Leader stopped, trying to determine how best to describe the desecration the Priest had endured but obviously failed to notice.
Declan glanced down, realized his coat was wet, ran a finger through the liquid and brought it up to his nose to smell it. “Its urine!” he exclaimed.
“Yes,” said the Project Leader as he grabbed the biggest suit they had and continued to lead Declan to the washroom.
“It's something the chick gangs do when they don't get enough payment from their victims. You're lucky to be alive.”
Declan was disgusted and removed the jacket before they even made it into the washroom. Once inside he began to change, accepting the bulky but clean coverall happily.
“Well get these out to the cleaners right away.”
“Thank you...” Declan fumbled for what to call his benefactor, but for the life of him he couldn't remember if he'd heard any one else say the project leader's name.
That came across, and the project leader extended his hand, “I'm Parker, Anthony Parker.” He shrugged. “Parker.”
“Mister Parker,” Declan said. Normally Parker didn't like that kind of formality but there was something about the Priest, the way he handled himself and spoke, that seemed to make it all right. Declan seemed like a Professor to him, he couldn't remember which one, but “Mister” just seemed appropriate from him.
“I don't believe in coincidence.” Parker stated matter-of-factly.
Declan started at this. “What do you mean?” He asked.
Parker wasn't looking for a confrontation, not with the Priest and certainly not after the day he'd obviously had. He opened the MED KIT, and took out what he needed to treat the old man's wounds. He spoke calmly as he did, so as not to agitate the situation.
“You're the Priest from the Church we've been visiting and now you're here.”
“Yes?” replied Declan.
“Well, it's a little coincidental, don't you think?”
There wasn't much Declan could say, he certainly couldn't tell him about the confession that led him here today, “If one believes in coincidence then yes, I suppose it is. I've come to think some things are either destiny or divine intervention.”
There, Declan thought, was something to chew on. Even though he had acted on the confession the timing was too coincidental to be just coincidence. Why was that young man motivated to go to the church at that moment? Why was he able to follow the much younger man back to this building?
Declan even saw now that the attack by the young hoolies was apart of a divine plan to orchestrate his admission to this project. Further he could see that Parker was starting to wonder that as well.
“My concern is that what we're doing here may not play well in the news.”
“I agree, it must be kept out of the news at all costs.”
Parker looked at the Priest, surprised, and more than a little cynical. “Really?”
“Certainly. One does not rush out to a press conference following an encounter with the burning bush.” Instantly Declan suspected this was not true. The Bible was filled with people who did in fact rush to their equivalents following visitation, but he understood Parker's concerns.
Moreover the possibility of interviewing God would spark a holy war among the Journalists, or ignite a tsunami of cynicism that could be equally as destructive. This was going to be a small congregation, he could see that, and it must be that way with whatever good, whatever message, left to those in attendance to pass on.
Declan suspected they were to be the second set of Apostles, if they were successful.
“The thing is,” Parker continued, “our desires are not exactly virtuous.”
“I don't understand, you seek God, you seek an actual audience with the Maker, do you not?”
“Yes…” Parker was stunned at how the Priest had leapt to the point, had zeroed in on their intended target. “We've got some issues.”
Now it was Declan's turn to be surprised. The young man hadn't mentioned they intended to judge the Maker. “Oh dear. That might not go over very well.”
“What do you mean?”
“One does not judge the Supreme Being, my son. Judgment is reserved for Him alone.”
“We'll see about that”, replied Parker fatally. “I need to know Father, if you can be trusted to keep this private, even if you do not approve of the ultimate goal.”
Declan thought about this, thought about his advice for the young confessor. “I suspect that if God does not wish to come forward then nothing you do will make it happen, therefore if He does appear it must be part of His plan. I will keep the faith, but I insist on being able to observe.”
“I'm not eased by that thought, but it's not my call.”
“Then who?” Declan wondered.
“Don't worry about it Father, I'll take care of that end. You just get yourself cleaned up and rejoin us, OK?”
Declan nodded and Parker then left. For a moment he was alone, or so he thought as he continued to dab the antiseptic on his cuts and scrapes but then the door to one of the stalls opened.
“How could you?” Came the voice behind him.
Declan turned and what he saw made his heart sink. There were no words to explain it, for standing before him was the young confessor who had led him to his salvation.
