Unspoken Hardships

The bells can be heard from several miles away. They echo loudly through the streets of a tiny town, each ring followed immediately by another. Fine people in fine clothing rush towards the chimes, followers answering the call of a master. The sun light forces itself through the stain glass windows inside the white church. The son straightens his tie as he walks through the front door, his mother trailing behind him. He pauses and waits for her while she hangs up her coat and scarf.

“Don’t you want to hang yours up?” she asks, insistently.

“No, I’ll keep it on. It’s always cold in there.”

“The body heat will keep you warm. You really should hang it up. You’ll look more presentable.”

“I’m not worried about looking presentable,” he turned away from her to make his way to into the chapel. The mother’s disappointment ran deeper than a coat. She scanned the room looking for a distraction and eventually, fell upon one, dressed in elegant green robes.

“Good morning Father, how are you?” she beamed, outstretching her hand.

“Very well this morning, very well. And where is your young man?” she lifts a finger to point past the old man’s shoulder. Her son stood, handsome and tall, in the doorway that separated the lobby from the chapel.

“He’s eager to start mass, I suppose,” she smiled.

“Indeed, good man,” the priest nodded approvingly, “Peace be with you both.” Relieved, she returned the sentiment and walked in the direction of her son, towards the baptismal font. They stood shoulder to shoulder, in front of a detailed crucifix. The blood that trickled down the body of christ appeared so brightly in both their eyes.

“I never liked these.”

“That’s because you don’t have a grasp on what they truly mean,” the mother replied, her voice low, as not to disturb the kneelers and their prayers.

“Maybe I don’t like what it means,” the burning incense was irritating his nose and he now felt the gaze of the kneelers pressing up against him.

She shut her eyes in desperation to escape her son’s crippling words, “I can’t hear you talk this way anymore, especially not in His house.”

“I didn’t want to come.” With this comment, the mother pulled her son out of the chapel, back into the lobby. The last of the church bells had chimed, Father and his listeners had made their way into the chapel, leaving the mother and son alone in the sun filled lobby.

“Why do you insist on making me the devil in this situation? I made you attend mass with me today because I believe you have lost sight of who you are. He will help you find the way back,” his mother said, begging him with her eyes. He knew this would happen and he had prepared himself for it, since the moment he knew.

“I know who I am, mom. You just refuse to see me for me. You are trying to make me the person that you want me to be. Someone ‘presentable’.”

“I’m not trying to change you! It’s a sin. You’re no longer on the path to heaven. What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t try to make you see that what you say you are, it’s just wrong.”

“What kind of mother would you be if you didn’t love your son unconditionally, the way that God tells us to love everyone?”

The water spilled over the baptismal font, the choral voices rang above the raters. A mother and her son sat next to each other in a wooden pew, on opposite ends of the world. As they each lifted the golden chalice to their lips, the bright bitter liquid made them think of a sacrifice. Heads bowed, they made their way back to the pew, each knowing they did not bare the strength to bleed.