Bathed in Prayer by Jan Karon

Author:Jan Karon [Karon, Jan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2018-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Edith Mallory promised Father Tim $25,000 for the Children’s Hospital if he would conduct a private service for her. She has preyed upon Father Tim for years. But he never expected anything like this.

He stood dumbstruck, praying the prayer that never fails. What did God want of him in this thing? What could He possibly have intended by bringing him face-to-face with Edith Mallory in a locked room? It was a nightmare.

His knees began to shake. He sat at once in the armchair next to the sofa.

‘I’ll give you your hour, Edith. Happily. There’s a little girl at the hospital right now, four years old—her leg was broken by her uncle because she tried to run from his abuse. Another child was born with a hole in his heart and is facing his third medical procedure. I could go on. The point is, if such an hour as this can spare these children even a moment of suffering . . .’

‘You disgust me, Timothy, with your preacher talk. Will you never weary of such pap?’

‘Never.’

‘You’re not alone, you know, in wanting to serve God. I want to serve God, too.’

‘Yes, of course, but only in an advisory capacity.’

She furrowed her brow.

‘You’re rude. You were always rude to me, Timothy. I find no excuse for it. Nor would God.’ She pouted again, drawing her mouth down at the corners.

He stood. ‘Let us begin.’ His knees trembled, still. ‘Blessed be God; Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.’

He waited for her response. ‘Will you respond?’

‘And blessed be His kingdom,’ she said, snappish, ‘now and forever. Amen.’

‘Almighty God, to You all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid . . .’ He didn’t know how he could get through this; it was a travesty. He sat again.

‘Give me a moment,’ he said. The message of the morning service, which seemed days in the past, suddenly came to him with the complete conviction with which he’d preached it. In everything . . .

‘Oh, forget that stuff you learned from a book! I never wanted you to do a full liturgy, anyway, I could never remember all those tiresome responses. All I wanted is for you to talk to me, Timothy, to . . . to hold me.’

She leaned toward him. ‘You’re a human being, you have feeling and passion like everyone else. Are you so frightened of your passion, Timothy?’

As she placed her hand on his knee, he recoiled visibly, but didn’t get up and move away.

Be with me, Lord, forsake me not. I’m going to fly into the face of this thing.

He removed her hand from his knee and took it in his. He was trembling inside, but his hand was steady.

‘Let’s begin by doing what you asked. Let me pray for you, Edith.’ Her hand felt small and cold in his, like the claw of a bird, the palm surprisingly calloused. She flinched, but didn’t withdraw her hand—the beating of her pulse throbbed against his own.

He bowed his head.

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