God's gift

What do you believe in ?

The moment his lips parted, he enchanted her with the story of God and religion, of faith and the intimate knowledge that, somewhere, up there, someone was watching over them. Call them angels, or God, guardians or guides, Marie, Jesus, Petrus or St Jean. And while his smooth voice led her to paths she had never considered – or mocked beforehand – Frances chose, this time, not to close her mind. She tried to bite her snarky comments about the bitterness of religion, relishing instead in the awed look that sometimes overcame father Tristan's features as he turned to the altar. To the light. Telling her that God had designs for all of them, greater than theirs, and that every trial that came our way had a purpose to cause them to grow.

To this, Frances eventually bristled, the intensity of her young years refusing to accept such a thing.

— "You mean to say that children dying of hunger, people being killed in wars, tortured, car accidents, babies loosing their parents are God's will ? How could he design such suffering ?"

Her indignation didn't rattle father Tristan and she observed as he seemed to gather his thoughts to answer truthfully. It probably wasn't the first time people expressed their doubts, and she felt bad for pushing so violently. Was she being disrespectful ?

— "I understand how such violence could turn someone away from God. Deep down, I just know that I am not privy to the heavens's plans for humanity, and unable to understand the full design. What if those deaths were necessary for people to understand the value of life ? What if humans only thrived to the light in darkness ?"

Puzzled, Frances cocked her head aside, willing her indignation to abate and her heart rate to even out. If she wanted to have an adult's discussion, perhaps it was time to try a change of point of view.

— "You mean, like a contrast ?"

Father Tristan squinted his eyes slightly, showing that he was reflecting on her analysis. She liked the way he took his time before answering, as if the now and then was the only thing on his mind. Or perhaps he was only giving her his full attention, as he would for every other parishioner coming his way. In any case, that strange slowness seemed to drape her shoulders in comfort, allowing Frances' full attention to delve on the theology debate. So when at last, her neighbour's smooth voice graced her ears again, Frances almost started.

— "Perhaps, yes. People have such potential for selfishness, just as much as for solidarity. But it expresses in difference circumstances"

Drawn into the debate again – her brain kickstarting full force - she lifted an ironic eyebrow.

— "I see your point. In hostile environment, the sense of community is mandatory. But that would mean that humans should be pressed in horrible places in order to show their better side ? That gives little faith into humanity"

Frances almost cringed; she was playing devil's advocate; she was the first to claim how little she believed in humanity. This world was crazy, lead by greedy men that didn't give a damn about others. But father Tristan didn't react to her rightful indignation, responding to hostility with a shrug.

— "Perhaps not. As I said before, I try to do my part, and leave the rest to God"

Did this man ever lose his temper ? Somehow, she didn't want to know... yet she couldn't prevent herself from digging a little further. It was the first time she faced a true believer that didn't shoot her arguments with a flick of his hand, and he knew what he was talking about. That man had studied religion after all.

— "Some things are just so inconsistent in religion..."

Amber eyes turned to her, honestly interested.

— "Such as ?"

Frances bit her lip, suddenly very aware that every single misgiving she had about religion was going to tumble from her lips. The gates were open, and she hope the priest would be able to contain its flow.

— "The inquisition ? Crusades. Heretics ? Burning witches that were in fact healers ? Accepting to kill a pregnant woman if she's less than three months along, when fundamentalists yell at doctors that accept abortion."

Eyes blazing, Frances realized that her chest was getting tight yet she continued.

— "Burning the Cathares because they believed differently... There's just so much there we should be ashamed of, so many horrors done in the name of religion"

Father Tristan accepted her anger, choosing to pin her with his intense gaze rather than avoid it. To acknowledge it rather than flee. And once he was sure she was finished, he kept his eyes strained upon her face. Frances took a deep breath in hopes of chasing away the strange weight that had settled on her chest, signaling that she was finally done with her rant. She was now fully available to hear the priest's answer, and hope she had not ruffled his feathers too strongly. The man, though, seemed perfectly calm as he responded:

— "There had been shameful things done in the name of religion. Times when Jesus's teachings were forgotten. My opinion is that people who choose to hurt others, no matter how, no matter in whose name, have lost their way."

Well. That was new. Mulling over his words - not truly an apology of his own organization, but close enough – Frances' eyebrows rose high upon her forehead as the priest's gaze turned to Marie.

— "I can't atone for this, but I do my best to welcome and care for believers."

— "I don't think there's much else that can be done anyway", Frances grumbled.

Her fake ill-humor called a very tiny smile to his lips, and she was surprised by the gleam in his eyes when he turned back to her.

— "And what do you believe in, Frances ?"

What did she believe in, truly ? Not in geology, physics and maths, that was for sure. Not in the so called elite of this world, for she now knew how twisted those were. Neither in the goodwill of politics and school teachers, nor in the profit they kept on trying to instill. No. After all those years of hard work to become an engineer, she realized that she didn't believe in high education anymore. True, it gave her the means to understand and analyze the worlds better than others... but it also showed her how cold and calculating those intelligent people were.

Where had humanity gone ? Was it empathy, or sympathy that she missed the most in this God forsaken shool ? Or truthfulness, maybe. Honour, perhaps. All those things long gone when money had seized the world, and the need to thrive and show your worth to the world replaced gentleness. So it wasn't too difficult, in the end, to respond father Tristan.

— "I believe in empathy, goodness of intentions. Of doing our best no matter the circumstances. I believe in wisdom, and taking care of those who are close to us."

The priest gave her a discreet smile, the slight change of expression brightening his face.

— "Then we are not so different. Most of those are principles are the core of Christianity."

Puzzled, Frances could only relent. He had her there.

— "You won this round, father Tristan", she breathed out.

The man only nodded.

— "It never is a matter of winning, but sharing. I am glad your questions were answered"

This evening, she left the church with the certitude that maybe, she wasn't such an atheist after all.