"thus said David,'Thou prepareth a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.' Church, when we use this Psalm as a lens over our life, we introspect on the way the growingly secular world treats us as Christians."
"Prejudice, and side-eyes from our non-believer peers."
"what does Christianity ask of us in those moments? Not to retaliate in the same secular fashion, but instead to lead with prayer, nurture a relationship with the community of Christ, and ask for strength."
"Let us pray..." She said as her hands folded to meet her forehead. The words that came after clutched within her palms as she brings the mic closer to her mouth. I observed her movements closely as she speaks the words "bless" and "return" while mouthing gibberish in between sentences. Her behavior was odd to say the least. Every end of sentence would find her lagging as if she was a series of moving pictures, before she reverts to her default speed for the next sentence.
Distracting as always however, the grand ceiling of the church halls were baron, except for the echoes of a well-rehearsed prayer blasting from the pillars. Of course, one would assume her words were rehearsed, as their perfectly sculpted wishes and thankful grandeur leaves no room to meander through improvisation. But then again had I not been observing the speakers mounted around the church walls, I would have probably been a better judge of that prayer. The patterns of dots on the black Sony formed a face when looked at in a certain way. Blotches of lights of various sources above and away from the stage—red, blue, purple, yellow—can cause one's eyes to view such patterns differently. Focus is key to this, as it solidifies the intent of one's mind. Intent. That's all it takes to see a face on a speaker.
Wonder rushes through me, drawn by the discovery of this new skill. Alas, a tiny moment of victory cut short by a light and sudden slap near my left shoulder. My mother, who's back of the hand met my left arm for a brief but effective alarm to redirect focus to her face. Brows tensed as her eyes flung glass shards into mine. A great departure from the subtle surreal technicolor expression on the speaker. Our microsecond of wordless exchange prompted me to bind my eyes and refocus onto the prayer as it was coming to a close.
"...and may we forever and always be sheep for The Righteous Shepherd. Let our imperfect prayer be purified with Jesus' own. Our Father, Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name..." proceeded by the crowd who followed suit immediately. End of prayers typically signify a time to recite something people forget the meaning of as they get lost in a concrete maze of pre-written script. Though the blurring of one's mouth and mind doesn't affect me as I close the gates to the trance-state most of the congregation had entered by this point. In that moment, one oddity presented itself as my ears searched for her voice in the sea of sounds within the cathedral, her pew for once completely silent. No vocals registered from the speakers.
"...be done, On earth as it is in Heaven..."
I opened one eye slightly to check the front stage, and there she was moving her mouth. Muted. Shaping similar gibberish that I saw not five minutes prior. But this time she stopped. Her eyes opened and she ceased her bow slowly, looking into the abyss of collective mutterings of The Lord's Prayer. With a slight squint, her focus was great like she was trying to identify something. Those cloud-like eyes, the eyes of a minister, knows not of evil but can recognise it from a mile away. I wondered if that was what she was doing, searching for the goat among the sheep as they would say. I asked to myself if I was the goat in this situation for not contributing to the nearly-choral chanting of that ancient prayer. Then a sudden neck turn to her left, to the right half of my pair of eyes. In fear of showing disrespect, I quickly retracted my curiosity and sight. More questions arose as I curtained the window to answers.
"...this day, our daily bread, And forgive us..."
In a last-ditch effort to save myself from suspense I opened both eyes. Needles poking around in my head and heart as I saw it. Her gaze still locked into my direction. Eyes wide in an ovular shape, almost inhuman-like, with no other indicators of expression. Her face without wrinkles but eyelids contorted into such an unnatural form.
