Rain pattered the asphalt as I returned from giving final prayers at the cemetery just outside town. I felt a knot forming in my throat, as the poor man only had a small number of loved ones in attendance. Those services were always the hardest. With a sigh, I parked in front of the stone church and turned off the car, wishing I'd brought an umbrella from my parsonage only twenty feet away. When the wipers laid to rest, streaks painted the glass in a continuous flow and blurred my view of a desolate street as the transparency of the windshield turned opaque.
There was about three hours until I was needed to moderate a meeting with session members and I wasn't looking forward to any discussion. Though I was the authority, it was usually spearheaded by Mr. Taylor, a crotchety but well meaning old man, who always asked me when I'd find someone nice to settle down with. I'd laugh at his inquiry and remind him that my focus was on the church and serving our community.
I led at Christ Presbyterian Church as the teaching elder, or pastor. My official title was the Reverend Katherine Hudson, but most people called me Pastor Kate. Being the congregation's youngest ordained minister at twenty-nine, there was an expectation to live up to the men who came before me, but I always felt my youth brought about criticism from the more established faithful.
I pulled at the fabric around my neck as though it somehow grew tighter over the last few hours. It sure felt that way. It wasn't every day I wore a collar-only under certain circumstances would I don the clerical garb-funerals being one reason. The tab sometimes garnered comments from curious people passing by who would tell me with the utmost confidence that women couldn't be priests. Then I'd have to politely inform them I
wasn't
a priest, but a pastor. It usually ended with them asking me what the difference was. Lord help me.
The last month I'd been particularly distracted from my work. It all began at service that first Sunday-I was in the middle of my sermon when I laid eyes on a woman I'd never seen before. I'd grown familiar with the faces that appeared every week and became comfortable with their gazes, but hers was quite new-and striking. That's not to say new members never joined but...this woman was different. She looked to be my age, with fiery red hair that fell in waves over her not-quite-church appropriate cleavage. As I went on about healing and wholeness, my fingers wrapped around the pulpit and gripped the wood until each knuckle turned white. I swallowed and brought my eyes down to clear my throat, but when I looked back up, I could only see her in a sea of blank visages.
Perhaps it was all in my mind, but she seemed to know that she captivated me. Somehow I managed not to lose my train of thought while watching her slowly lick her lips as if it were an invitation to taste them. But I thought perhaps I misjudged the situation. She crossed and uncrossed her legs enough times for me to see under her sundress and that very image had been burned into thoughts as I fell asleep each night. Or at least, as I tried to fall asleep.
The pounding between my legs was unbearable and it'd been years since I last touched myself. I tossed and turned, repeating,
"live by the spirit and do not gratify the desires of the flesh."
When I finally managed to drift off, I dreamed that the red headed vixen opened her pale legs to me whilst laying on the cloth covered Communion Table. Sweat poured from my temples and a part of me cursed waking up before I dreamed anything further than that.
The following Sundays were similar. I found her sitting in the same spot with the same piercing stare that never appeared to break. She could simply be still, listening like all the others, but my thoughts were only preoccupied with her. Every movement she made, whether it appeared provocative or not, was noticed without fail. I found myself thinking of her often and knew as the head of the church that I should introduce myself, but she always seemed to leave before I had a chance to meet her.
When I first took the position, I designated two hours Monday to Friday for personal prayer or meditation time inside the church. The doors were kept open and the lights dimmed for anyone looking for a reprieve from everyday life. Sometimes I'd sit in the back pew and greet the few that would come and sit for a while. And of course, some days I'd be lost in my own prayers. Today was one of those days.
I ran across the street and up the steps to the gothic arch doors that opened into a reception area. As soon as I shut it behind me, I heard the rumbling of thunder grow closer to town.
"Ask the Lord for rain in the springtime; it is the Lord who sends the thunderstorms."
When I walked into the nave, I admired the quiet that befell a usually boisterous meeting house. Three rows of oak pews stretched all the way towards the front facing the chancel, while beautiful stained glass windows depicting Jesus' miracles lined the walls. I felt very fortunate to lead such a stunning church in a tight-knit small town.
Only one figure sat in the darkness. I could tell from behind that it was Mrs. Franklin-a widow who never missed a single service. Her grey bun was taut and high on her head, and a celtic silk scarf was draped over her shoulders. I made sure the steps of my shiny leather chelsea boots were loud as I walked down the aisle so as to not frighten her when I approached.
"Hello Mrs. Franklin," I said quietly. "How are you doing today?"
The kind older woman smiled and took my hand in both of hers. They were soft and lathered in perfumed lotion.
"Pastor Kate, I left something for you in the office." Her voice was shaky but full of brightness.
We looked to the windows for a moment as a boom came from outside.
"I think I have an idea what that could be," I said with a smile.
Mrs. Franklin patted my hand and grinned. "Don't eat them all at once."
She often made butterscotch cookies for me that were very much appreciated, as my own mother lived a thousand miles away. I tightened my grip and gave a nod.
"I won't, I promise. Are you finished here? Please don't leave on my account."
"No, I've got a hair appointment," she replied. She used my hand to pull herself to her feet. "I offered a prayer for you today. You've been such a blessing to this church and the community, I asked God to watch over you a little extra."
I felt a twinge inside my chest and my smile turned thoughtful. "Thank you, Mrs. Franklin. And I shall pray for you as well. So if you win the mega millions on Saturday promise me you'll split the take."
"Oh!" she laughed. "If I win the mega millions, you'll never hear from me again." She stepped out of the pew and let go of my hand to grab her umbrella. "I'll see you on Sunday, dear."
"Be well," I said with sincerity. "And be safe!" My eyes watched her as she made her way to the front doors, then I turned around and walked to the first central pew. A bright flash came through the windows followed by the deep rolling of thunder.
I never usually sat here to pray, but today I wished to be near the chancel. My mind said it was due to feeling closer to God, but I knew it was bullshit. The night before, the red headed stranger came to me again in a dream that felt more real than the others. I dreamed that I sat her on the Communion Table and slipped her sundress over her head to reveal nothing underneath. My hands touched her pale skin, gliding up the curve of her waist to the fullness of her breasts. She lay back and opened her legs as I fumbled with the button of my pants. Then I woke up with a gasp and a few fingers in the waistband of my shorts.
I needed to repent-the serpent of lust had enveloped me more than ever before. After I sat, I reached into my blazer pocket and retrieved my prayer beads. They were made of stone and wood with a silver cross charm at the end. I closed my eyes and held it in my hands, my fingers following along as I moved through each prayer. When I reached the second Cruciform bead, I asked for forgiveness for my nightly musings of the red headed woman in my congregation. I remembered 2 Timothy 2:22-
"Shun youthful passions and pursue righteousness, faith, love, and peace, along with those who call on the Lord from a pure heart."
By the time I got to the fourth set of week beads, I remembered and thanked God for the blessings in my life, especially Mrs. Franklin and her butterscotch cookies.
Christ is alive in me. Thanks be to God.
Amen
.
I opened my eyes and looked towards the chancel once more while I wrapped the beads around my hand. My sigh was heavy-an unfortunate indicator that prayer was no help. It almost felt as if my body was crying out more than any thoughts in my head.
The thunder was much louder now and lightning illuminated the inside with every blinding flash. I put my head in my hands and took a few deep inhales followed by strained exhales.
Lust objectifies others for selfish pleasure
.
