“So, how long is the service?”

“Why?” Maryrose asked.

“Just wondering,” I replied.

“It’s two hours.”  I made a grunt and she definitely heard, “If you don’t want to come just go home Connor.”

“No, I just don’t get why it takes two hours for a church service.”

She sighed and said, “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“Why are you being like this?”

“Because.  I respect your beliefs, or lack thereof, so I need you to respect that I am a child of God.  A daughter of Christ.”

“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” I asked.  Probably shouldn’t have though.

“Yes.  I do Connor.  You know, I thought we could get beyond our differences, I truly did.  But no, you’re just too stubborn.”  I didn’t know what to say.  So I remained silent.  We rounded the street corner and the church stood before us.  “Connor.  We don’t work.  I’m sorry.  We are done.”

 “Wait, did you just break up with me for coming to church with you?”

“No, I’m breaking up with you because we don’t and can’t work.  I’ve tried to tolerate the little things but it’s too much.” she stated.

“Mary, we do work.  And what, all of a sudden it is too much?”

She sighed and said, “This past week I’ve wanted to call it off.”

“Why didn’t you then?” I asked.

“Because I wanted to give you another chance but, well, you blew it.”

“Maryrose.” I sighed.  “Why are you doing this?”

“When you find providence, you’ll understand.”

“What hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“Exactly,” Maryrose replied.  With a riddle she left me standing there in my unsophisticated logic.  She claimed to be on a mission from God, Jesus’ messenger.  But it seemed as if some angel scooped her from a cloud and deposited her in my path to convert me to a believer.

“Mary?”

She was a few paces away, heading up the front walkway of St. Augustine’s Catholic Church when she turned around.  Her white dress, polka dotted with gold splotches, swirled with her motion.  Locks of pure blonde hair bounced with her innocence.  I lost my innocence somewhere along the way. “Connor.”

            Her stare was unrelenting and pierced my essence.  I knew I hurt her.  I looked off into the distance with the cliché facial expression reserved for longing.  Her right hand grasped the black iron railing leading to the front entrance of her chapel as if holding on for support.  Really I think the church was the one holding on.  I took one last look at her beauty.  Then I walked off.

+++++

            A few weeks passed by and I was in a slump the entire time.  I hadn’t seen her, hadn’t heard from her and probably never would.  I just let the timeline take me along; a passenger.  Finally I worked up the motivation to figure out Maryrose’s riddle.  One day I was walking by some small random church; I didn’t even notice its name.  There was a board out front that said: “Confessions 1-4 p.m.”

            Maybe a random priest behind a screen could shed some light.  I walked into the open confession room, priest already occupying his space.  I could see feet under his red velvet curtain.  I gave myself an internal pep talk, walked in and shut my curtain, anxious as ever.  “Forgive me Father for I have sinned.”

            “What have you done, my boy?”

            “Oh, I don’t know.  Isn’t that how these start?”

            “In Hollywood movies, yes.  We aren’t in a blockbuster.”

            “Oh,” I said.

            “What’s on your mind?”

            “My girlfriend and I just broke up.  She’s a devout catholic and I’m…” I trailed off.

            “You’re what?  Atheist?” he asked and guessed.

            “Yeah.  We were fine, seemingly perfect.  Sure we’d have fights and not see eye-to-eye on some things but overall we were great.”  I paused, unsure what to say next.  “Well, I asked her why she is doing this, why is she breaking up with me.  She replied, ‘When you find providence, you’ll understand.’  What does that mean?”

            “Well, providence is the wisdom, care and guidance provided by God unto all human beings.”

            I interrupted, “I suppose I have yet to find that guidance and care?”

            “Perhaps you found providence in your girlfriend.”

            “Maybe,” I added.

            “All Christians, well, all Christians should, but all Christians find providence in prayer, in church and many simply in each other.”

            “Even the nonbelievers?”

            “Especially the nonbelievers,” he said.

            “What?  I don’t understand.”

            “Atheists, agnostics, or others who are just simply not religious shun away prayer and church.  For when they finally believe or open up to the possibility, they find providence.  Solace.”  He paused, “Now don’t get me wrong.  I find solace and joy in simply talking to you right now under God’s roof.  But for those who have yet to taste the love and tender care our God sheds upon this world are in for quite the treat.”

            “I’m still a little lost.” I said with a lack of confidence.

            “Think of it this way.  You don’t find providence.  Providence finds you.  Give it time,” he assured.

            “How would I know it is time?” I asked.

            “Because time will stand still.”

+++++

            I ran over to Maryrose’s house; a large yet quaint country home lingering just outside of town that I’ve always adored.  I nearly turned around and ran back home, petrified.  But finally I knocked a few times.  A few moments later Maryrose opened the door and only a slim screen stood between our differences.  “I understand.”

            She didn’t reply but blinked a few times in quick succession.  I half-smiled and left the porch.  My feet kicked up dirt as I walked to the end of her driveway.  I rounded the corner and looked one last time at Maryrose.  She was out on the porch leaning over the white-speckled railing, accepting the flaws in me, in humanity.

+++++

            A few months passed.  Again, these months were filled with emptiness: a lack of this so-called providence that I never knew I actually found until I lost it.  Today is December 24^th, an eve to a birth that changed the world.  But in this world it is a commercialized holiday and a chance for businesses to get money out of anyone.  Sure, donations and gifts are at an all-time high, but the true Christmas spirit is lost.

            Or so I thought.

            I went to St. Augustine’s Catholic Church for the Christmas Eve service.  I don’t know why.  I went alone.  My parents didn’t question.  I was underdressed and unsure what to do.  The women were in a range of red, white and, black dresses, much fancier than anything I've ever seen.  The men donned mostly suits; even the younger boys had sophistication around their shoulders.  Everyone before me dipped their hands in water and made the sign of the cross on their chest, reliving a two-thousand year old crucifixion.

            The echoes of conversations ricocheted off the towering arches and flying buttresses.  Large chandeliers hung in the center and stained glass covered the walls.  It was a cathedral, inaptly named a church.  It was enormous and the seats were filling fast.  I chose a small space on a pew only a few rows from the back.  People stared at my jeans and definitely judged my wrinkled brown and yellow button down.

            Then the priest took center-altar and spoke, “Greetings everyone.  Welcome to the Eve of a birth the world will never forget.  Welcome to God’s home, my home, our home.  Please take a moment and greet those around you with a Merry little Christmas.”

            So everyone shook every hand within reach, sometimes out of reach too.  “Merry Christmas,” was shared by all.  I simply mouthed the words and smiled.  Hymns, bible verses and the story of that cold night in Nazareth (hell, maybe it took place during the day) occupied the better part of an hour.  Children eventually went up front to sing O Little Town of Bethlehem and put on a quick play in a makeshift manger.

            Then the priest gave a sermon, most of which I spaced out for.  But he reeled my interest back in when he said, “Now Mary accepted the plea from the angel telling her she was going to birth the son of God; the man who would save humanity.  Like any human, she questioned, but eventually she believed.  And the providence her son gave, and gives, the world is immeasurable.

            And when the small child emerged into a world he already owned, Mary knew that she had done the right thing.  She believed in the power of the Lord and found solace in the perpetual kindness of our Lord Jesus Christ.  May his birth always be celebrated and providence always found.”

            “Hmm,” I said.  I didn’t realize I said it aloud but a few people looked at me.  I expected to be scolded for talking out of line but they all smiled at my immaturity or pettiness. 

            People went up for communion, or as they say: the Eucharist.  The body and blood of Christ, given for us.  I just sat in my seat, unsure.  Later, people knelt on benches only a few inches off the ground and read bible passages and whatnot.  I did not know what to do so I just followed suit.  I couldn’t even successfully make the sign of the cross.  It made me think that I sure knew how to dot my i’s but couldn’t cross my t’s during my time with Maryrose.

            After some more readings and stories about Jesus, the lights shut off and only candles illuminated the vast domain.  The piano started twinkling to a familiar tune and then a spotlight ruptured the darkness.  Maryrose stood in the center of that light and she was breathtaking.  Her white gown put wedding dresses to shame.  It reflected every ray of light.  A trinity of gold loops hung from her ears.  And then she sung…

            “Silent night, holy night,

               All is calm, all is bright.”

            Her voice was beautiful.  I could make out every syllable, every letter.  Every word resonated through the cathedral.  The piano was useless.  Nothing could accompany her voice properly.  I’ve never heard her sing.

            “Round yon Virgin Mother and Child

               Holy Infant so tender and mild.

               Sleep in heavenly peace,

               Sleep in heavenly peace.”

            Good gracious she is gorgeous and I let her go.  I’m an idiot.  I swear she was glowing.

            “Silent night, holy night,

               Son of God, love’s pure light.

               Radiant beams from Thy holy face

               With the dawn of redeeming grace.”

               Maryrose held each and every note for so long that time seemed to stand still.  It was incredible, brilliant.  I looked around and everyone was in wonder.

            “Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth

               Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth.”

               There was an odd sensation within my core.  Something new, something spectacular.  Rebirth?

            “Silent night, holy night,

               Shepherds quake at the sight

               Glories stream from heaven afar

               Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia!”            

               The song did not end.  It’s been at least twenty minutes now of singing, maybe twenty hours.  I just wanted to revel in it forever.  How I wish…

            “Christ, the Savior is born

               Christ, the Savior is born.”

               And with a long final note, Maryrose stopped singing and gave way to a perfect silence.  After minutes of adoration the priest returned and said, “Go in peace and Merry Christmas!”

            I sat here, not moving and unwavering.  The crowds parted and the people in my row had to go around my dumbfounded body.  There was chattering and excitement, shock and awe, for tomorrow the world starts anew.

            Everyone was just about out of the place of worship, hurrying home to sip hot chocolate or to open one present.  But I remained.  A white-gowned figure approached.  Maryrose made her way to me and sat down next to me.  I spoke first, “I believe.”

            “I know.”

 

 

 

 

 

~The Beginning~