3

As the man in the suit talked about him, Father Lucas wondered about the small redheaded girl he had just been talking to. She seemed jumpy, and he had been left with a bad taste in his mouth as she left. She had seemed nervous when he mentioned he was a priest, which he was used to, but he wished he had had time to speak to her. The fact that nowadays most of his conversations revolved around his priesthood made him uneasy. He had been a priest for almost twenty years now, and was known as an easygoing, open minded and intellectual. He had a big interest in science and had never denied that faith carried with it a reasonable doubt. He advocated a personal spirituality, in which each person should be able to justify and find his own faith. He had began doing TV interviews to promote his book God and You: Why Freedom is as Important as Faith, but his charisma and well-spoken manners meant that he was soon being invited to shows on account of him being himself, rather than any special event.

He didn’t listen to a word the man in the suit was saying, he knew them all: The Science Priest, The Atheist Theist, The Vatican’s Darwin... He hated all of them. He had had some troubles in the past with his congregation and the Church due to some of his ideas. He was claimed a radical, for refusing to demonize abortions or for encouraging children to take on satanic career paths such as biologists or astronomers. And then, the other people still saw him as one of the bad guys. He saw himself stuck in an eternal fight, trying to reason with both parties so nobody gets hurt, but getting all the blows himself.

And yet, he had sold millions of that first books, and the follow ups, and he still did TV appearances and got the crowds cheering. It was only when he met people face to face that things never worked out. He was great with crowds, but he didn’t understand people. He made up it, however, by being a great communicator, by using his ideas and charm to promote the Church ideals, or at least the good ones.

What nobody knew was that Father Lucas didn’t believe any more.

He was still sure that there had to be a God, he just never felt Him listening. He still remembered how during his early years, prayer had been his favourite time of the day. He would simply talk and talk, and he would get a sense of fulfillment, and of oneness that allowed him to make it through the day. Then, after his book had been released, that link had been slowly eroded, until his conversations had turned into something more mechanic, with no response and no hope of response whatsoever.

From his point of view, prayer had turned from talking to a good friend in your dorm room to speaking into an answering machine when the person you’re speaking to has long since forgotten he had a phone, let alone an answering machine. Lately he had turned to format his prayers as if he was writing a letter to an old friend. His prayers went something like this:

Dear God comma how have you being lately question mark how is your boy Jesus question mark I hope everything has being ok comma down here I’ve been having some barbecues lately with the people from church because spring has been very nice period in case you haven’t been following the news there seems to be more and more crazy people everyday speaking in your name comma the new cult to bother us has been the eschaton seekers period have you heard about them question mark they speak of a great change to come open bracket don’t they all question mark close bracket but somehow these do not offer any kind of salvation for money or ask for anything period I’ve taken the liberty of speaking with some of them for the sake of my congregation and they actually seem like nice people period one of them insisted that he used to be a christian but had a crisis of faith some years ago and now feels liberated thanks to his acceptance of the coming of the eschaton stop I must admit I’ve been having some doub backspace backspace backspace backspace backspace backspace backspace backspace backspace backspace backspace backspace backspace backspace backspace backspace thinking a lot about my own faith recently period do I really help people comma God question mark I like to think I do comma and for that reason I keep doing it comma whatever it is I am doing stop well comma I must leave now period I hope to hear from you soon open bracket ha ha ha ha ha close bracket stop Father Lucas

While he had been thinking about is own faith, the man in front of the camera with the eerie smile had finished with all the introductions, and he was expected to walk on stage. As he crossed the door into the stage, the audience broke into the proper applause and he instantly used his killer smile and waved slowly. He walked to the couch and gave a handshake to his host. Father Lucas used both hands, and closed his own hand firmly and gently at the same time. His host’s fingers were limp and creepy, and he didn’t make an effort to look him in the eyes. Father Lucas sat down and waved once more to the public.

“Well, Father, I want to jump straight into the questioning, because there’s something that I’ve been wondering for a while. Where’s your habit?”

Father Lucas smiled, he had this one before.

“Well, Anthony, that’s an interesting question, of course. Habits have been used for ages to distinguish the clergy from the people, and as a way for people to know who is a priest or a nun. However, I’ve always claimed that the best way of making yourself known to the community is by showing who you are, not just your habit.”

“Isn’t that against the pope or something?” the host asked. Father Lucas saw that he looked a second time to the prompter after asking that question, and seemed nervous.

“I think you’re referring to Pope John Paul II, he did insist in the importance of a religious habit, but as a preacher myself, I’ve always felt that separating yourself from your peers creates a rift. When I preach it’s not about telling people what to do or think, but about why I think what I think. And conversation is never a one way road, so it’s important to me to feel on the same level as the people I preach to.”

“What about the Good Atheist Paradox?” asked Anthony. “I mean, if an atheist is a good man for all his life, do you believe it’s fair for him to go to Hell?”

Father Lucas saw him once again look nervously to the prompter. “Is he only reading these just now?” he thought. He composed himself on the couch before replying with practiced non-chalance.

“I believe good people go to Heaven regardless of their religion. I know this might sound shocking to some, but God does definitely want good people by his side. Life is about making the right choices, so that everyone lives up happy and to their greatest potential.”

“What about Richard Dawkins?” another nervous, this time directed to the side of the stage, where the program crew was resting.

“I believe Mr. Dawkins would go to Heaven, but don’t tell him I said that, he might not want to come!” Audience laughter, right on cue. Father Lucas was getting the feeling for the crowd, but his host still seemed disconnected, nervous and worried. Anthony turned around and flashed a smile that had too many teeth on it.

“Well, you sure are an open minded priest,” once again, audience laughter.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he answered. He looked once more to the side of the stage, where the girl he had been talking to earlier sipped on a coffee cup and had an evil grin in her face. She seemed happy to see Anthony suffering.

And right then, he felt as if a huge hand was picking him up from behind. He noticed a backwards tug and suddenly he could see his back and the whole stage as he floated further and further away. When reaching the ceiling, the tug stopped. He saw his body on the stage taking a life of it’s own. He tried to scream, move and flail around, to no avail. He was ghostly and scared. He could only watch in amazement as his body stood up on the couch, walked onto the table and spread his hands. When it did so, a flash of lightning seemed to fill the stage. His body started levitating and the lightning started arcing across his back, creating the outline of ethereal electrical wings. When it was floating five inches above the table, the head attached to his body suddenly dropped and a voice that had a twinge of his own, but was something completely different, screamed in every known language at the same time:

IF CHRIS BARNETT ISN’T DEAD BY DECEMBER 12TH, THE WORLD WILL COME TO AN END.

And as fast as he had been pulled from his body, he was thrown to it again, crashing from the table. People flocked to him after a couple of seconds, when all lightning had died out, and started asking all kind of questions, to which he had no answers, like “what has just happened?” or “who is Chris Barnett?”. He was dazzled, and extremely confused, but through it all he could see the girl, still with her coffee cup in the hand, looking in disbelief.