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On the Way Home
A tale of two faiths
Walking home from the train station during the evening rush, he took a different route today whereby he passed an old neighborhood church. He’d long seen the spire from his kitchen window but had never beheld the building in its full glory.
It wasn’t so glorious to him. As he loosened his tie, he remembered his days growing up going to church with his family. Sundays, they’d get dressed up for God. His grandmother would make sure he was spotless and spit-shined. He could count on one hand the number of Sundays they’d missed. The thing he remembers the most as he stands and lightly kicks the crumbling steps of the church like kicking the tires of an old, rusted Buick is the glum expression of his family on Sundays. They’d glare at him through gray faces strained from the weight of the God that they gripped so tightly.
To him, faith and belief were held in a rule-bearing sense. Going to church was like meeting with a potential employer for a job interview. In the eyes of this God, he was merely a number amongst countless other candidates. It was always a game of strategy with this God.
This cosmic employer didn’t know him beyond what was written on his holy CV and he didn’t know how he’d be judged.
So, he went to God dressed as intelligently as he could with his CV as impeccable as…
