The Fire of Faith

The choir huddled together near a wood pile stacked higher than Jane’s head. “Holy Week,” she thought. “Yeah, right. What’s so holy about it?” Nothing had gone right since it started. She loved her sixth grade Sunday school class, but the only part of the Passion play they got right last Sunday was the mob scene. Not exactly a dramatic stretch for most of them.

Then she and Tom had had a fight about…what? She couldn’t remember. But he should know better. rehearsals for the kids, planning Easter dinner, trying to get caught up at work (and failing) so she could take Good Friday off. “Wouldn’t a good husband cut you a little slack?” she thought.

And then John had been a real pain all day. “Mom, do we have to go to Easter Vigil?” he whined. “It’s going to be cold.” He had begged her to join the seasonal choir with him. “It would be a lenten family thing,” he explained. “Like Father Thompson told us to do on Ash Wednesday.” She knew it had much more to do with Mary Beth Richards in the soprano section than Father Thompson, but whatever gets the kid to church.

Her own voice, unused to regular singing, was raw from practicing and from the rainy weather. The seminarian intern—-what was he thinking?—-had talked Father Thompson into starting the Vigil outside this year. John stood sullen at her side, alternating between pouting and stealing glances at Mary Beth.

“Dear friends in Christ,” said Father Thompson, “on this most holy night….” John stifled a yawn. Jane elbowed him, and gave him her best “DON’T YOU DARE” look. “We ask this through Christ our Lord.” Boom! Boom! Boom! Someone was pounding a drum. A torch appeared, snaking its way above the heads of the crowd.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Jane realized they were too close to the wood and began to inch backward. The torch bearer tossed the flame into the wood. Woosh! Flames lit up the night. Boom! Boom! Boom!

Jane grabbed her son’s arm to pull him back, but he wouldn’t move. He stared into the flame, his face glowing in the fire light. “Wow!” he said to the fire. “Is that what God’s like?”

“Holy Week,” thought Jane. “Holy indeed.”