A few weeks ago, I caught wind of this little thing via Twitter about Daniel O’Shea hosting a little flash fiction event for March 1st
I don’t know why, but I decided to jump in myself. Here’s my entry. Enjoy (or not).
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He kept telling himself that it was just one time, a single moment of weakness. Surely, he could be forgiven.
Being an associate minister isn’t really any fun. You give the sermons when the other guy is golfing, you might get to give a night sermon every now and then. You go see the poorest of the elderly in the worst of the nursing homes. When people see you, they’re always looking for “the real minister” – someone even said that to him once. There was probably opportunity there for him to learn humility from it all, but somewhere after he turned 40, he’d just lost interest in the whole ordeal. He was never going to be allowed to do God’s Work. He was relegated to doing God’s Busy Work.
Yet every Sunday, he’d sit in the front row, and smile. There was nothing else for it, really. He had to try and make the best of what he had. He was too old to start over now, and too used to what he was doing. He was coming to peace with his circumstances, even if that peace didn’t involve prayer anymore. Besides, those cast-offs, those people too unimportant or unattractive to talk to the other guy, they still needed a minister.
She was a bit of a lucky break, really. She came to their church for the first time while the other guy was out of town. She was going through a rough divorce, and tearfully was looking for someone, anyone to that could help, just to talk. He was only too glad to offer his services, and they spent the entire afternoon in his office, talking. Everything he ever learned in seminary, everything he’d learned on the job, everything he’d ever been told, it all said the same thing: she’s emotionally vulnerable, weak, hurting and will become attracted to you if you aren’t very careful. There are things you do in those situations to help mitigate the risk. He knew what they were, all of them. But he ignored them.
A single moment of weakness.
They met again later in the week for some Bible Study. And every Sunday and Thursday after that. He could tell there was something there, something special for both of them. Sometimes they would read scripture and talk well into the night. If he had been the other guy, tongues would have set to wagging. But nobody gossips about the associate minister.
It was one of those late night sessions where she decided, abruptly, that she was ready to accept Jesus into her life. She was ready for peace. She wanted to be baptized, right then, and so off to the church they flew.
They parted briefly, awkwardly, to go into their changing rooms, and each listened quietly, minds racing, as they could hear the other fumbling on the other side of the wall, removing their clothes and putting on their respective robes of ceremony. He closed his eyes trying simultaneously to drive away and embrace the image of her flesh, how yielding she would be, how soft and tender. He beat his lust into submission.
A single moment of weakness.
He was waiting in the baptistery when she came out, her robe clinging to her body in ways contrary to intent and design. He forced eye contact as she came into the water, clapping a mental hand over the voice in his head that was providing ceaseless narration. Taking her hand, he showed her where to stand, what to do and how to cover her nose lest the water get inside.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
She leaned back into the water, and he dunked her in deep. And for reasons he’d never fully understand, he held her there. He held her there through the surprise, through the panic, through the noisy splashing and scrambling for purchase on the baptismal floor. He held her there until her frantic flailing quieted. He held her there until she found peace.
Now she floated before him, his single moment of weakness, and he prayed for forgiveness.
