by Chaz McGee
And so, I took to sitting behind Father Sojak each evening as he prayed, opening myself up and offering to take on as much as I could of the pain he had lifted from others. I don’t know if he felt it. I don’t know if it helped. But I do know that, at long last, in all of my years of both living and dying, and even wandering this earthly plane afterward, I finally felt as if I could be of use to someone. And that, I think, might be the point of it all.
EPILOGUE
A priest sits in a deserted church as the evening outside drains away and the stained-glass windows surrounding him fade to dark. He is, once again, weary beyond all weary. He walked among the rows of the needy tonight and their troubles still cling to him like wisps of cotton candy. There are so many people who need him. So many who come to him to lighten their loads. How can he turn them away?
Since he was a young boy, he has known that he has a gift. Perhaps, somewhere deep inside, he remains unsure as to its origin, but many years ago he decided it was a gift from God himself and that it was his duty to share it.
Since then, he has touched many lives. He has comforted the grieving, healed the sick and perhaps even banished true darkness at times. But all of it has taken its toll. He is forty-one years old and there are nights, like this one, when he feels as if he is one hundred or more. His body aches and there is a heaviness to his soul that he is not sure he can endure.
As always, he has sought refuge in the quiet of his church, where all the familiar symbols of his faith never fail to comfort him. This is where he feels solace. This is where he never feels forsaken.
The priest begins to pray. And as he prays, he can feel a presence there, almost as if God is with him. He is, the priest tells himself, of course he is here.
‘Please, Lord, lighten my load,’ the priest prays, feeling ashamed of himself for being so self-serving. ‘I am here to serve you, but I do not know if I can go on. Please help me to serve you longer.’
As if in answer to his prayers, he feels a lightness flutter in his chest, grow hold and spread. His spirit dislodges from the muck that traps it and he can feel it rising once more. The misery, the despair, the hunger all seem to drain from the fortress that other people’s sorrows have built in his heart. Hope floods through him. His heart beats stronger. He can breathe again. He knows that he, like life, will go on.