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Pastor Thomas is weary. He’s had to deal with the aftermath of a break in that resulted in all the tithe money disappearing, a couple in marriage counselling inches from strangling each other and a computer system that seems to take sick pleasure in crashing at the most inopportune moments. All he wants is his armchair and a good book, maybe a hot shower and then a long sleep. All in all he thinks he deserves it. Which is why he’s a little peeved to see a tall scraggly haired stranger wander into the church just as he’s readying to leave.
“Excuse me sir, can I help you?”
The man looks up. He’s tugging at the hem of his flannel shirt. His eyes are wide and unfocused as they find the pastor’s face. He hesitates, mouth working as if struggling to find the words. Finally he stutters out two words.
“Pray. Please”
Thomas’ heart softens. He cannot turn this man away. “The church is empty if you want to pray in there. Or there’s a prayer room in the back…”
He doesn’t finish his direction before the man has started forward, reaching for the stained glass doors into the sanctuary.
“Would you like me to pray with you?”
Pain flashes in his eyes before he manages a nod and says again “please”
So the Pastor does the only thing he can do. He sets his satchel down and follows this stranger into the house of God he loves so well.
The church is dim, any light managing to strain through the windows is coloured purples, reds and pinks. The man ignores the rows of chairs instead stumbling his way to the front and falling to his knees on the pulpit stairs. His head sinks, hair cloaking his face and desperate half formed words pour from him. The Pastor kneels beside him, head also bowed. He prays silently that this man will find peace, healing and rest. He thanks God that he knows this man’s name and situation, because he’s completely lost.
They stay like this for a few moments before Thomas hears a car pulling up. Fearing it is the men who first broke in, he quietly slips away and fishes his cell phone from his pocket. Headlights flicker and grow dark, a silhouetted man comes in the door. “Hello? Sam? Are you in here?”
Thomas sighs and puts his phone away. “Hello there”
The second man looks up, bright green eyes zeroing in on the pastor. His alertness falls into friendly calm but Thomas can see he is anxious.
“Evening padre. You see a big tall man come through here by any chance?”
“Why do you ask?” for all Thomas knows, this could be the man his desperate sanctuary seeker is running from.
“He’s my brother. He’s not quite right… mentally and I’m worried he’ll get himself hurt. He likes churches though. Please have you seen him?”
Thomas can discern no evil in the man so he nods. “I believe “Sam” is in the sanctuary, praying”
The smile is real this time and while the “thank God” may not be devout the sentiment is sincere.
“You and he are free to stay as long as you need. God’s house is house of comfort. Please don’t feel the need to pull him away.”
“Thank you padre.” The man clutches his hand
“Call me Thomas”
“Dean”
Thomas points Dean to the sanctuary doors and he quietly slips in. The pastor stands in the door way and watches this man. Watches him approach his brother like he’s some tiny wounded thing, not a hulking man with cords of muscle in every limb. Watches him reach a hand out, speak softly, move slowly. Watches him hold back when his brother flinches. Then with a breaking heart he watches Sam turn to his brother with shattered eyes and fall into him. Dean pulls him close. Thomas pulls away. There are some things too sacred even for pastors.
They leave a few moments later. He urges them to take sanctuary here any time they need to, even if they don’t come for a service. Dean smiles, takes the pamphlet and shakes his hand. But as Thomas watches their big dark car fade into the big dark night, he knows in his heart he will never see those two again. And it’s a crying shame.