Page 8 of The Prodigal Son

So who the fuck am I to complain?

Two

Jensen

“Brothers and sisters, let us remember that God’s love is steadfast and his grace is sufficient for all our needs. No matter the trials we face, His word is a lamp to our feet and a light to our path.”

Heads nod in the congregation. Thousands of eyes point in my direction as I speak, but my attention catches on the few who momentarily glance down, distracted by something on their phones or carrying on a small conversation with their neighbors.

When I raise my voice, just a hair for dramatic effect, they all turn back to me. It lights a fire in my veins. My heart thrums harder.

“Let us walk boldly in faith, trusting in his sacrifice and sharing his love with the world around us.”

More heads nod.

Preaching is a performance. One I’ve prided myself on getting pretty good at over the years. It’s an art form, really, turning Bible scriptures into narratives, compelling and relatable.

“Have we not our own sins by which the good Lord has sacrificed himself for?” I ask softly as I rest a hand on the pulpit. As I stare out into the audience, I try to bare a piece of my soul to each of them. Like casting a line and hoping to catch a bite. Except it’s not fish I’m after, but kinship.

There’s a buzz under my skin as my eyes connect with a woman near the middle. She’s clinging to every word, hope and desperation in her eyes. She’s not here because she’s been ingrained with a responsibility to worship. She’s here because she needs this.

We all need this.

This hope. This faith. This harmony.

To stave off the loneliness, or the shame, or the fear, or all of the above.

“Let me ask you, my friends, what are you doing with your life to honor Christ’s sacrifice? How are you spending your time before your final judgment day? Are you wasting it on hatred and judgment of your brothers and sisters? Or are you using the blessing of time you’ve been given to look after one another? Love each other as Jesus loves you.”

The woman in the middle grows misty-eyed and I give her a soft smile and a simple nod.

After concluding my second sermon today with a prayer, I breathe a sigh of relief at the pulpit. I make my way down to the floor to mingle with the congregation, and before long, a crowd forms, waiting to shake my hand or share their kind words.

After they’ve all cleared out, I make my way through the back halls of the church toward my office. The team has everything else under control, and I have a meeting to get to that I don’t intend to miss. It took me months to set it up.

As I reach the office, I quickly change out of my formal shirt and into something more casual. My phone chimes with a textmessage and I quickly pick it up to check while standing in my black slacks in my private office.

Dad: Beautiful sermon this morning, son. I’m so proud of you.

Smiling down at the screen, I type out a quick response.

Glad you liked it. Thank you.

Before I can put it away, I notice an incoming email and a sense of guilt gnaws at my stomach.

From: Eternal Harmony

To: Jensen Miles

Subject: Invitation to the Annual Conference, Harmony for All

I don’t open the email. I just stare at it in my inbox and mentally berate myself for not being more enthusiastic about responding.

Deep down, I don’t want to attend or contribute to the organization, and I haven’t for years. But there’s a deep gnawing guilt for putting off their requests. I’ll deal with it later. It’s a heavy topic to tackle in a rush.

After getting dressed, I throw my phone in my pocket and check my watch. Twelve fifteen. I’m going to be late if I don’t hurry.

Rushing out of my office, I wave at everyone who congratulates me on a job well done this morning as I pass by them on my way out to the parking lot. I thank them all andburst out into the sunlight behind the church where my Lexus is parked in the first spot.

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