A Revelation for Some

“You call yourself a man of faith; I call myself a man of truth.”

“And do you find your truth comforting?”

“I find my truth realistic.”

“What is real to you?”

“This comet; it’s coming down to wipe out our existence and it is real and true because we will be able to see its consequences.”

“But if it has been delivered by the grace of God’s will then is God’s will not real?”

“If that is the reason it is going to destroy us, then there will be no proof. The only thing proven so far is the comet. The will of god does not carry with it any proof.”

“No proof that you know of.”

“You neither. You cannot prove that God exists. That is why your calling is referred to as faith.”

The two men are sitting on a wooden porch. Its white paint curls up at the sun. The younger man, sitting across from the Priest has five empty beer cans at his feet. The Priest is sitting on the edge of an Adirondack chair with a squint in his eye. He periodically rubs his chin with his palm after her talks.

“What do you believe will happen to you when this murderous rock hits our Earth?”

“I don’t need to believe anything. I know what’s real; what is real is that it will hit us and we will vaporize in particles of matter and our consciousness will cease to exist.”

“To you that is real?”

“To me it is the truth.”

“What else do you know to be true?”

“I know our sun altered the orbit of this giant piece of ice and rock, enough to direct it to our world. And when it hits it will do so with the power of ten thousand nuclear warheads. Water, air and dirt will vaporize along with us. That is true. That is real.”

“What about the people of our world? What about their souls?”

“The people will be consumed by the inferno. They will burn and disintegrate and become decomposed flesh and bone. We will all become just another grain of sand that litters the universe, anonymous among the rest; floating around aimlessly.”

“But what will become of the matter? What will become of the little particles that we’ve become?”

“It will sit for millions upon billions of years eventually being collected by a large celestial body.”

The Priest pauses and looks off into the long track of grass separating the house from the road. He notices bugs dancing on blades of grass, flies clinging to feces and birds fluttering along the driveway. There is a clean aroma floating about. A scent only Mother Nature can provide.

“These little particles… They will eventually be reborn into something new?”

“It’s possible.”

“These particles, how big are they?”

“They are small.”

“But they are large enough to carry with them our souls?”

“I only deal in truths, Priest. You cannot prove to me there is a soul. I can show you a grain of sand, I can show you particles of matter, but you cannot show me the soul.”

“I cannot prove to you that the meteor is going to hit the Earth yet you believe it.”

“No. You’re right. But a scientist could, and a scientist has. They have calculated that it is indeed on a crash course for the Earth.”

“You believe this science without understanding it?”

“There are people that study this subject their entire lives and they understand it better than I ever could. I believe them. I trust them.”

“I study, day in and day out, the work of god. Do you not trust me?”

“Can you prove anything about God, to me, the way a physics professor could prove the trajectory of comets?”

“First, I would have to ask, would you even understand the professor as he explains his proof to you?”

“I could with time and a laymen’s explanation.”

“And you could understand my proof with time as well.”

“I don’t think so. I need real proof. Can you offer me real proof?”

“I can.”

“Then do it.”

“You must first believe John.”
“But I need proof to believe. Once again we are at a crossroads, priest.”

“The only crossroad you are at is one with the almighty. Have you ever supposed that he has sent this rock only to test the faith of the human race? …To test the faith of all his children.”

“I believe what Dr. Jens Grunewald has said publicly. That there are millions and millions of rogue objects flying throughout space and it was only a matter of time before one connected with our world.”

“What if I told you, this meteor was not going to hit Earth?”

“Then once again I would ask you to offer me proof of this.”
“But the proof you need can only be achieved by faith. This is what I need you to understand.”

“I am to believe that if I choose to acknowledge God that this will somehow save our world?”
“Not just you; everyone. I am on a mission to spread faith, in this final hour, to people who have given up.”

“Why aren’t you with your parishioners, Priest? You should be spreading the word to them. We only have minutes left and you are sitting here with me on my porch trying to force a cat a bath.”

“They have heard my words many times. My goal is to affect someone who is empty of faith. My brethren all over the world are doing the same. We are going to stop our destruction. We believe God has chosen to test mankind’s faith and should people agree to submit to his will, He will be merciful.”

“You are saying that if we all have faith in this final hour God will spare us?”

“That is precisely what I am saying.”

“And if there is a void of believers and our world comes to an end, what happens to God’s few followers?”

“They will be delivered to him in salvation.”
“It sounds like a winning strategy all around.”

“It is not a strategy. It is the realization of how fragile we are and that something almighty gave us our life, and we should be thankful for it.”

“And if god doesn’t exist?”

“That is a big ‘if’.”

“You are steadfast in your conviction. I like it. I’d like to know where it comes from.”

“It comes from God.”

“Your confidence doesn’t come from faith alone, Priest. From something tangible I figure. Something witnessed firsthand perhaps?”

“Should it matter where or how I developed my faith? My friends and I are not asking for a specific belief. We are encouraging people of various faith and people of no faith at all to believe in a high power, a creator, to offer their lives in humility.”

“But to do so I need something tangible to provoke such faith.”

“Is the meteor not tangible?”

“And what if you are wrong? What if you are wrong about all of it? You are just sitting here with a neighbour you barely ever talk to when you could have had a few last minutes with your followers or your family or someone; anyone. I don’t even know you.”

“If I am wrong we will become, as you so eloquently put it, just another grain of sand and the sand won’t care who it spent its last minutes with.”

John pauses for a moment and takes a swig of beer. The Priest is just penetrating with persistence. Eyeing him down and looking straight through him like he isn’t even there.

“You make it sound so simple. Offer my life which, is already forsaken, for the opportunity to continue it.”

“This isn’t a barter John this is you offering your life whether or not our world is destroyed. Whether or not your intellectual mind tells you what you are doing makes sense.”

“I should just believe?”

“Have faith.”

“How do I do that?”

“Pray with me.”

The priest lowers his head and whispers words which he believes will carry far above the clouds, off into an indescribable place; travelling throughout the universe, past the comet, past the sun and past all the other planets in our solar system.

            With the Priest’s message another travels beside it: a message from John, a message of submission to his creator. John knows not if this message will travel anywhere at all. He has seen studies on the power brain waves have. He has heard of different theories of brainwaves being able to travel long distance. But he doesn’t question himself this time, he just relaxes, not knowing where the message travels, but knowing that he did in fact send it. He casts aside his analytical thoughts and just goes with it. He gives in. He folds.

      The two men sit outside on the porch of John’s Colonial style home. A warm, bright summer sun beats down over them. Drops of sweat fall off the can of beer in John’s hand. There is a shadow encroaching on the land. There are flares of red, yellow and grey developing high into the atmosphere. As fast as the looming doom approaches, sound builds up around it. The beer can falls from John’s hand and the two men cover their ears and watch while a ceramic mug crashes from handrail of the porch. The shattered pieces look strikingly like humanity’s future.

      John reaches over the arm rest of his wooden chair and grips the hand of the priest. The tender hand is of an age that would be his father’s, if he were still alive. For a moment, he feels his father’s presence beside him. Now he is just waiting for the inevitable.

      The furious fire burning throughout the sky begins to dim. A loud rumble develops, louder than anything any human ears have ever heard. Both men shield themselves with their palms and hold tight. Grey ash falls to the ground like oversized snowflakes and the primeval roar of sound shakes the ashen crumbs as they hit the Earth. The porch wobbles and both men can feel the vibrations running through them.

      A greater shadow now envelops the Earth, a shadow created by dust and debris. The shaking dissipates and with it the ungodly noise.

      John and the priest both uncover their ears and search off into the distance.

      “It’s gone.” John declares.

      “By the grace of God it has passed us. God bless us all.”  The priest immediately adds.

      “We are alive!”

      “We are, by the hand of God we are alive.”

      “No, Priest. You don’t get it. We’re alive. Dr. Grunewald was wrong. This meteor was never going to hit the Earth. He miscalculated. We went through all of this just because of a physicist’s miscalculation!”

      “A miscalculation?”

      “Can you believe we did that for nothing? All the praying and our contemplation of death; it was all for nothing.”

      “No... Your right.” The Priest muses. “What a strange effect fear has on us.”

      The priest pulls a fedora that had been rolled up and crammed into the back of his pants pocket; he unfolds it, brushes it against his side and places it on his head. Then, he leaves John and his quant wooden porch. He is off to see his followers to revel in good fortune.