Village

Village Part 3

Denmark – The Meadows 10:00 A.M.

Darvey sat at his kitchen table with pencil in hand. In front of him was a list of pick-and-choose sermons he had amassed over the years. After twenty three years of serving the people of the Meadows, he had it down to a science. And maybe that was what bothered him the most. He had taken the inspiration that God had filled him with and turned it into a science. Not that he believed science or the scientific process was evil, or as some did, inherently dichotomous with religion. No, it was just the fact that taming the Gospel down to a mathematical equation felt sacrilegious and sterile.

The norm during this time was fire and brimstone and you'd better get saved today or else. But considering how on edge everybody was, that probably wouldn't be the best choice. There was enough fear sweeping the town, at least in the older circles. Some of the young were on board, but some of the youth were full of question and rebellion. The rebellion he could work on. That was common everywhere. But the questions, well . . . that was a different story. He would have to tread carefully there. But it was obvious that God had placed him here for a reason. He would do his part in the grand scheme.

What about Revelation 12:9?

And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him.

To cliché for the youth. They were expecting that the day before. And it was the youth that needed reaching the most. The elders had been clear about that. The middle-aged crew still had plenty of stories from their parents, and the older ones, they had been around during the 40's and 50's when the Chosen had always come out dead. Always. Eighteen years of certain death. That was enough to make you believe.

Darvey wasn't born until a decade later in the 60's, but at the time the tales were many and dark. People were just beginning to have a little hope again. Then it was sporadic. Intermittent. Impossible to predict. And for the last 26 years, not one death. Some catatonics, yes. But not one death. The older crowd was happy with this, but the younger crowd, far removed the actualities of battling the Tethered One, were skeptical.

Some would joke about it, especially the younger teens. But inevitably, as if the beast could hear their laughter mid-summer, one of their parents would be chosen. And when Loki's Festival was complete, their mother, father, or perhaps brother or sister if they were old enough, would travel to the Outskirts to spend the rest of their days. That was the hardest time. That's when Darvey would find them crying at his doorstep, unsure of what to do in the face of such an unforgiving and inexplicable situation. Their parents turning a deaf ear to their pleas.

It was then that they turned to God in supplication. This type of loss was worse than the death of a loved one. In death, you never got to see that loved one again. And that was horrible in itself. To try to come to terms with the fact that you simply could not see this person ever again who had been there since you were born. But at least in death, there was finality. Death itself, and knowing what happened to them, whether it be a stroke or heart attack or what have you, was a closure of sorts. But when they went to the Outskirts and you were told it was off limits, that you may indeed never see them again, but that they had changed somehow, that they were not like you remember them, and that they were just over the hill, that was unbearable. It was incomprehensible to some. And some left as a result. Some tried to visit them. And some did. And that was usually worse than if they just didn't know and continued suffering. Whereas before they could always tell themselves that the Elders were loony birds, that their village was just steeped in religious fanaticism, now they weren't sure. Because your own senses don't lie to you.

It was there, at those crossroads, that he had to catch them. Because they were headed full speed ahead for either the arms of God or the way of doubt and suffering.

Suffering. That would be fitting. Following up with Hope.

He laid his pencil to the paper.

Why does God allow suffering?

What about 2 Corinthians 12 and Paul's thorn?

That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

Yes, when it came to suffering, Job got all the limelight. But many have suffered over the course of history. Many a martyr. Many a man, period.

Follow up with answers to why evil is not a direct product of God, but of man's machinations, and then come to prayer, how to keep the lines of grace open, and then on to hope and triumph.

Father Darvey's pencil raked and slid across the little yellow pad with feverish intent. He was done in thirty minutes and had a little time to kill. Maybe he would take a walk down to the river before the sermon.

Contemplate.

Relax.

He remembered the story of Siddhartha. How there was something mentioned in the text that was constantly changing but always stayed the same. A river.

He walked outside of his bottom floor apartment and out into the street.

"Morning Father!"

It was Herald. A fiery red head with a quick wit and sharp tongue.

"Morning, Herald."

Darvey smiled and they passed each other in silence. Any other day, there would have been a good ten minutes or more of jostling and at least one priest joke. Not today. Everyone was on edge. Still no one coming forward with the sickness. But that was the Elder's business, not his. They would find them if they were too afraid to show themselves.

They always did.

As he walked the dirt path to the river below the village, he turned and looked back at the defining edge of this part of the Meadows, the back of cottages and a few apartments spread unevenly about. He thought about the village. About how long it might have stood here. How long it would come to stand here, God willing. About how everything was changing in the village over the years. About the one thing in the Meadows that would never change.

The Festival.

He turned back toward the gently flowing river, Bible in hand, and thought about Elsa.