Courage
An BigCloset TopShelf Exclusive Story
I took a deep breath as I peered toward the plain, copper protestant cross that stood on the altar. The air inside St. George's Episcopal Church was cold, just like the weather outside. A rare snow storm had moved in from Tennessee bringing with it not only snow, but a bitter wind that cut one to the bare bone. The Rector of St. George, Fr. George Stonewall had yet to turn on the heat. And thus the only warmth was from the tip of the altar candles.
The orange and yellow flames seemed to reflect the fire that was burning inside my soul. As I made the sign of the cross and knelt down and started to pray I started to silently reflect on life. I wanted to scream out, to curse God and to demand why? Why have so many sisters been taken from us this year? Why was man so cruel toward his fellow man? Why must we judge so harshly those who are different? Why? Did not Jesus preach love? Did not Jesus the one who's flesh we ate, and who's blood we drank break bread with the scum of society? Were not his followers, humble fishermen who toiled upon the storm tossed Sea of Galilee for their daily bread?
Did not this Jesus teach me that all who proclaimed his name would be saved by his grace? Did not this Jesus teach us that through his suffering mankind had been redeemed? These thoughts swirled around my head as I breathed in the cold air of the church. A sudden touch on the shoulder brought me back to reality.
“James.” A man's voice said. “I was hoping to have a word with you.”
I turned my head around and there gazing at me was a pair of dark brown eyes, eyes that were as hard as stone. The man's voice seemed to tremble with anger and disappointment. The man's hand seemed to tremble too as if he wanted to bring it up and bring it across my face.
“Yes Father?” I said making the sign of the cross as I rose up gazed into the eyes of Fr. George Stonewall. “How may I help you this morning?” I added trying to inject a little cheek, a little humor into the mood.
“You could have helped me by getting a proper haircut like I asked you too last week.” Fr. George Stonewall said as he peered at me. “Instead you disobeyed me, or you ignored me. You have disregarded the priestly authority I'm entrusted with. I'm disappointed in you.” There was no emotion in his voice. And no hint of any emotion in his eyes. Only coldness.
“Yes Father..” I said starting to tremble a little.
“It's unbecoming of a senior acolyte to flaunt the authority of the priest in charge of the parish.” His tone of voice was cold and condescending. “Please get that addressed before next Sunday's Mass.” At this point Fr. George paused. “Otherwise I am afraid I will be forced into using draconian measures to see that my authority remains unquestioned. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal.” I took a deep breath.
“See you then.” He muttered. “Finish your prayers. We must get vested and prepare ourselves for Holy Mass.” He said as he turned away from me and with measured steps he strolled toward the backroom.
I watched him retreat and then once I was alone again I turned toward the heavens.
A few minutes later I found myself vesting up for Mass. The air inside the vesting room was bitterly cold and my fingers trembled from the cold. There was frost on the windows. Fr. George seemed to have better humor than a few minutes ago. He was joking with one of the older men of the church. They were talking about football. Ole Miss seemed to have trounced the crimson tide last Sunday and was in position to give Mississippi state a good thrashing. Fr. George was a firm Ole Miss fan.
“So.” The fellow said as he looked at me. He was a ruby face farmer with hands the size of hams. “James.” He tried to include me in the conversation.
I raised an eyebrow.
“When are you going to get that haircut?” He said, smirking a little. “Cause, everybody thinks you're a girl. I mean from behind you look like a girl, with a ponytail. And your voice and all. I mean I'm sure between George and I we can find you a dress to wear.”
Before I could open my mouth to speak. Fr. George butted in and in a harsh, snarling tone of voice said.
“Before next Sunday Mass. Or else I might result in very unpleasant measures.” He growled.
It was then I made up my mind to leave.
What transpired next happened some thirty minutes after that little exchange. The first part of the service was over and now Father was giving a sermon.
“As many of you know.” He said, taking a deep breath. “We are at war. The church is under siege. Our very morals are being undermined by those in high places. Though there is hope. The overturning of Roe Vs Wade by our Supreme Court shows us that there is still hope. That we as a nation have not fully turned our backs on God.”
A mummer ran through the crowd.
“But there is still work to be done. Marriage is under attack, a priest can still be forced by his Bishop to perform a blessing of marriage of two people of the same sex. Sexual deviants are still allowed to change their gender. God fearing women are still in danger of having these same sexual deviants assault them in spaces set aside for them. Bathrooms, changing rooms, and other such special areas. We have much work to do.” Fr. George's voice echoed like a bullhorn.
“God is with us, God is in the parish. But this parish must be purged. If anybody here feels that any person, young and old, should be free to choose their own gender and change their gender to suit their fancy.. I order them to leave now and never return.” He paused. “If anybody here thinks that marriage is just an expression of friendship and a union of two people who care deeply for each other. That gender has no part to play in the union. Then I ask you to leave now.”
Silence.
I closed my eyes and before I could stop myself I felt myself rising from my seat. All eyes turned toward me. Even Fr. Georges. I could tell he was daring me to say anything.
“Where is the love of God in that Father?” I bellowed.
Dead silence.
With that I walked down from the altar and bowed before the cross. And I then started to walk toward the vesting room. I knew then I'd taken a side. And there would be no turning back now. In this world we must either be hot or cold. There was no room for lukewarmness. I also knew there were people in this world who suffered in silence, who had been killed for simply being themselves. For having the courage to express who they knew they were inside. As I stripped myself of the vestments. And tossed them on the cold, wooden floor.
I breathed another prayer, this time I hoped the blood of all those who had been killed for simply having the courage to be themselves, for being different, for being transgender, gender fluid, or whatever would water seeds, seeds that would one day bloom into a wonderful garden and the world would richer for this garden And that this garden would bring peace to the world.
And I hoped that maybe one day my own blood would be used to water this garden. My blood, blood rich in Celtic heroism, blood forever tainted by a Confederate traitor. My blood, may it be made pure by being poured out in defense of those who could not defend themselves. That was the last prayer I ever breathed in St. George's Episcopal Church.
Comments
A voice for the voiceless
I also knew there were people in this world who suffered in silence, who had been killed for simply being themselves. For having the courage to express who they knew they were inside. As I stripped myself of the vestments. And tossed them on the cold, wooden floor.
“May have been the losing side. Still not convinced it was the wrong one.”
― Malcolm Reynolds
THANK YOU!
Love, Andrea Lena
sometimes
sometimes old memories come back to me from when I was in the egg. Those memories often come rushing back and before I can catch myself they come pouring out into cold written word. Thank you Andrea-San for the lovely comment.
I am blessed
and honored that you added 'chan' to my name. Your prose may sometimes depict cold harsh realities but your words are anything but cold; you leave us with hope! Thank you for sharing so much of yourself; I am better for the reading of those words and by extension better for coming to know you. Thank you.
Love, Andrea Lena
Powerful.
Sunflower-san, this so clearly came from your heart. It is a powerful story. I also think it is one of your absolutely best pieces of writing, but that’s very much secondary. Thank you for sharing this.
Emma
Thank you!
Thank you Emma-San, for stepping into my role and becoming for me my senpai. I'm glad you enjoyed this story and I hope you will enjoy the follow up. I've decided now to open my heart and see what pieces of prose can be fished up from it's murky depths. Also thank you for all you share with us, you are a beauitful person inside and out.
Strong scene
An excellently strong scene written with lots of heart. Thank you, Sunflowerchan!
And it has always saddened me greatly to watch those professing to follow the teachings of Jesus ignore completely the bit about not judging others or else be judged in return - let alone the entire message of love. But sorrowfully humanity has the full measure of potential for both love and hate - with one side of that coin typically being screamed louder than the other.
Written from memory.
This was written from an memory thought it has been updated a little and some of the names have been changed. I was sixteen when this happen, and I was just starting to wonder if I was in the egg. I was attending the Episcopal Church because many of my friends attended and at the time I'd started to grow my hair out so it was quite long. I was in the throws of my anime phase and deeply into Anime and a bit of an weeb. And at the time I was flirting with the idea of entering the priesthood once I'd graduted from Highschool.
Thank for taking the time to comment on this memory turned story Erisian-San. I hope when I get around fishing the events that transpired after this out of the murky depths of muse you will likewise comment on it and give me thoughts on it. And I agree, humanity has the full measure to be something wonderful and full of love and wonder or something dark and torturted.
Prejudice And Bigotry
A church is supposed to be a place of sanctuary, not a home for hatred. In my mind there is no doubt that what Fr. George was preaching was hateful. James showed extreme moral courage to walk away from that travesty which purported to be Christianity.
You have probably gathered by now, Sunflower, that I am not a christian as expounded by that priest, but I do believe in the Golden Rule.
Obviously Fr. George does not share the same faith as me. You and I are in the same tent.
Well written.
Past dealings.
When I was in my early twenties, I flirted with the idea of entering into the priesthood. I did a year of volunteer service and helped put together a bunch of community events that were aimed to bring the varies churchs of Yazoo City together. I was the rectors batman if you will. What I saw then forever ruined me. I saw small men, using the pupit to add lustor to their name. I saw timed third rate men and women cower and quiver like puppies before men who used the name of God as a sword and shield. Fr. George Stonewall, is based on that, and is based on the rector of Yazoo City, who now looking back was a very flawed man who I felt still regretted leaving a thriving law practice to become a rector for an poor, church.
There was a theme of bitterness, of regret and he was always ready to boast of his family name, his social-political connections and the power commanded. Like James, I too had to take a stand, it was at the time unheard of of somebody standing up to 'Father' as the parish called him. I later learned, that my aunt, who I never meet who was also an lawer had trounced him once in court and put him to route, once he made the connection his ire turned me.
Of course at the time I was a one hundred and twenty pound femboy with long brunette hair, who often wore My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic teeshirts under his vestments and once wore a pony ear headband. Thank you for the lovely comment Joanne-San!
Good story, however
I am puzzled by your random comment about the Confederate traitor. Is this a reference to another of your stories? Please explain.
Danielle
a proud child of the Confederacy!
There is a quote which is often thrown out…….
By the ultra-conservative, far right assholes. Thomas Jefferson wrote in a letter to William Stephens Smith, the son-in-law of John Adams, that, “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.” Those on the far right always seem to forget the “and tyrants” part though - it wouldn’t look good to someone like Trump who fancies himself among the so-called “President for Life” group of tyrants.
I bring it up here because it fits. A patriot need not be some fun-toting red neck waving a Confederate flag and a MAGA hat - those people aren’t real patriots anyway - they are scared of losing their supposed privilege to the rest of the people in this country. That isn’t patriotism - it’s bigoted reactionarism.
No, a real patriot is one who stands up for what they believe in - even if it means they could lose everything.
“We mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honour.” Our founding fathers were mostly wealthy, landed men; people with much to lose. Yet they pledged it all - just like we do today. That is the mark of a real patriot, no matter the cause - even if that cause is that all of us deserve to live as our true selves.
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of happiness.”
How can we deny others the right to be happy through expressing their true gender identity or sexuality when it harms no one to do so? For that right is guaranteed us in the primary legal documents of our country.
And yes, I hope that one day my blood may water that tree as well.
D. Eden
Dum Vivimus, Vivamus