Empty the Pews by Stroop Chrissy & O'Neal Lauren

Author:Stroop, Chrissy & O'Neal, Lauren
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Epiphany Publishing
Published: 2019-12-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Across the street from my front door, down a steep, forested hill, turning right at Eagle Bridge and taking off into the woods, I found seclusion. The creek was filled with hidden things. Printed pornography, abandoned furniture, pencil cases filled with notes, beer bottles, syringes, a million pieces of hardware—lumber and nails—waiting to be made into after-school tree forts. My secret place was a very small area next to a stream where someone once dumped a love seat, now moist and decomposing, with rusted springs and egg-yolk-colored stuffing exposed. This is where I prayed my most honest prayers.

My pursuit of Catholic magic escalated quickly. I was progressing in karate, physically transforming into a healthier, more muscular human as the color of my belt became darker. But my bedtime prayers bore no fruit. Saint Michael didn’t help me. But he wasn’t the only being I could appeal to for what I desired most in my heart. The forest was closer to God, I thought, than even a church or cathedral. The trees, rocks, and water—these were God’s actual creations. As an affirmation of this truth, the slowly disappearing couch next to me was an altar: behold the insignificance of human creation when compared to what the Lord has made.

All alone I knelt, placing my palms on my thighs and closing my eyes. The trickle of the water was loud, and if I strained, I could make out the sounds of younger kids playing far away. I wasn’t worried. No one could find me in this hidden outdoor chapel with its dilapidated seating arrangement. My mouth moved quietly and my focus tightened as I whispered to God.

“Please, Lord, make me like Saint Aidan.”

My confirmation saint was a devout missionary. His ability to fast was renowned, as was his commitment to asceticism. These were not the qualities I was asking for. A life of poverty in service of God, I knew, was the greatest form of prayer, but there’s no way that my middle-class Catholic school was about to actually advocate for that sort of thing. The place was, as I imagine most Catholic schools are, a vector of classism. We talked the talk, but when it came to walking, we did the sort of strut that advocated against the perceived dangers of mixed-income housing.

No, as much as I would have loved to suffer for God in exchange for paranormal agency, I knew abandoning my family and school to preach was a terrible idea. Instead, I spent hours whispering in the woods to get what I really wanted: Saint Aidan’s wind powers. Judging from my education up to that point, that was exactly the kind of thing the best Catholics could do. Saint Aidan’s relationship with the Lord provided him a direct line to whichever of God’s angels was turning the crank on the weather machine that day.

Besides, it’s not like I wanted to scare an army of druids. All I wanted was to be able to jump a little higher, kick a little faster, do the things Sensei did.

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