Conversations with the Light Bearer (Religious Satire)

CHAPTER IV - Vincent goes to Church

CHAPTER IV

VINCENT GOES TO CHURCH

It was a cold Sunday evening, with the street damp under the leather of my new pair of black oxfords, and strangely enough, I found myself heading towards enemy territory, or so they say. A street urchin, about six and a half, kept bugging me to buy her dangling candles even before I reached the second block. There were many like her around; young children forced to labor by their parents at a very young age, many who were supposed to be holding a book instead of a candle or a flower; children who were supposed to be counting grades instead of pennies.

But alas, the Church taught them too well: that there is no wrong in having too many children, even if you do not have the means to provide. And so because of this archaic and stubborn way of thought, more street urchins are born every day, every hour, and every minute, feeding the power-hungry dogma dictators with daily offerings and an assurance of authority.

As I reached the large arched door of the ancient, towering structure, surrounded by stone walls blemished with spreading mildew and sprouting tendrils, I gave the visit a second and final thought, until eventually, a smirk broke on my face.

"Might as well," I said with a waving gesture.

"Please buy some candles, sir," the urchin persisted, pulling on my black suit.

I looked down at her, and smiled. "You're quite the stubborn one, aren't you?"

"Please buy some candles," she repeated.

"But dear, I'm not here to pray."

"You can make a wish!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really now?"

"Yes!" She explained. "Every candle gets you a wish."

She kept tugging me, which was starting to get annoying, but I was tired of standing as well, so I finally gave in, as the poor girl earned her reward.

"Fine," I said in defeat. "Give me one."

She smiled vividly, and in less than a minute, the child was gone, without even uttering a single word. "A wish, eh?"

****

Inside the cathedral, I gazed at the impressive fresco, a detailed portrait of several biblical figures stretching across the expanse of the whole ceiling. One of my favorites, of course, was the Creation of Adam by Michaelangelo, who was unfortunate enough to be named after my prick of a brother. Oddly enough, this image of the near-touching hands of God and Adam reminded me of a theatrical poster of the 1982 film, E.T., which perhaps was made to serve as an allegory of sorts, if not for laughs.

I stood near the entrance for a while, where an old church lady handed me an offertory envelop, and as I noticed, the benches were scarcely occupied, with only a few "Golden Girls" at the front left (the usual penny collectors) and a choir by the right, middle row, where the group surrounded the pianist and the electronic organ. They were singing a hymn, the usual Latin, which was of course made so no person could understand the lyrics; like how teens these days kept singing to Asian pop songs without understanding a single word.

Sauntering along the isle, I noticed each side of the row had a flat screen, a 32-inch Samsung LED by my guess, and a pair of vertical Bose speakers. With twenty rows multiplied by two for each side, you'll pretty much see where the money is going. After all, these people are immune to tax, and yet they do love to meddle on political affairs.

Paying my respects, as I do with every religion, I dipped my hand on the Holy Water stoup, made a cross gesture, and contrary to popular belief—it didn't burn me. Nothing can. As the tower bell began to ring, I knew it was time. I proceeded towards the small prayer area in the corner room, and strode along the confession booths until I found the one with the sign "Will be back in five." He always did have a sense of humor. I went into the booth and closed the door.