Margaret's Ark

of well-organized lunatics. I'm very, very sorry to say, my brothers and sisters in Christ, that lunatics, especially that many, are not so organized as to come out in public at the same moment and say the same thing. These people are not insane. They're normal people living mundane, spiritual lives. Others may have been sinners, perhaps even drug dealers, rapists, murderers. Who knows? One thing is for certain...”

He stood now between the two front pews. Those in the back craned their necks to see him. Nick lowered his voice again, fighting to remain calm and speak in a calm and natural voice, from his own heart and not some prefabricated evangelical tongue. “They are not crazy. They are not lying. Everything they're telling us is the truth.” He pointed behind him to the statue of Christ dying on the cross. “God's honest truth. The flood is coming. God wants us to live, and has given us a way to do just that.”

*     *     *

“Amen, amen, I say. Amen, God says.” Jack walked among the crowd, his motions jerky, like a beggar among the masses. His steps were uncertain, but his eyes, his gaze, pierced every heart he passed. People took an involuntary step back as he stumbled by them. But they listened. Oh, yes, he could see in their faces that they were listening. “For God himself has spoken, has shown all of you the way of your demise. Has warned us with these rains, that what He says through his prophet, which I utter to you now and forever is true. Amen, amen.”

He stopped, tried to remember the train of thought along which he'd been traveling. It was a good one, he knew that. He cursed his weak mind, his unworthiness to stand here and be the mouth of the Holy One.

The crowd sat wherever they could find a dry spot. Jack stood, motionless, now silent in their midst. He finally remembered what he was saying and resumed his sermon, his awkward gate punctuating the words.

“God does not pick and choose those he loves. The Lord Most High does not decide one man shall fall, while another shall live. We will all be with Him, in the glorious kingdom of light and love, if we fall to our knees and admit in silence and repentance the filth our lives have become. We must clean our souls and prepare for the day, soon, when He shall sweep His Mighty Arm across the world and gather our dead bodies up to him. He will burn the weeds, and pick the flowers. Repent now! Fall to your knees and beg Him to look down and see your shining light, before His gaze passes you by forever!”

He was shouting, waving his arms in random patterns - patterns he knew were guided by God's strings. Shreds of dirty white gauze, worked free from the plastic coating on his cast, sailed in the breeze as he moved.

A man in a business suit stood in front of him. He rolled his eyes when Jack looked at him, then walked away. Jack shouted after him but did not follow. “Do not turn your back to Heaven's word! There's so little time for you to be saved, for your soul to shine!”

To his glorious joy, he noticed a young man and woman deep in the crowd’s outer edges, fall to their knees and begin to pray. The sight, glimpsed through the restless bodies surrounding him, filled the preacher with energy. The Power of God. This Power slowly tore him apart, then rebuilt him as a stronger, more worthy child of the One Being.

He spun, smiled, and preached.

*     *     *

The parishioners of Holy Trinity in Arlington were restless this morning. Father McMillan stood behind the pulpit and spoke in a calm, reassuring voice. Unlike many of the younger priests emerging from the seminary these days, McMillan was not one to parade around the altar during his homily. Staying in one place allowed the people to focus, not be distracted from God's word as their priest wandered around like someone uncertain of what to do with himself.

The people were frightened. He saw it in their eyes. They needed comfort. “In today's gospel, we heard of Thomas’s doubt. He needed proof that the Lord had risen. We are preparing to celebrate the Ascension of Jesus into heaven. We will celebrate his glory in all its accouterments as He is lifted up. Like Thomas, Jesus Himself had doubted for that one moment in the garden, of what he was doing. Was it right? He followed the path laid before him and was rewarded by his Father in heaven. We should remember that in our own lives.”

People stopped fidgeting, were in fact paying more attention to his sermon than the priest was used to. McMillan knew why, knew they feared the past days' events. He understood that the worse thing a priest could do at this moment was to feed those fears. His sermon seemed to be heading of its own accord in that direction, however. Scanning his notes, he skipped the next few points.

“Our jobs seem pointless; perhaps the children were loud this morning, wanting more syrup on their pancakes.” He paused and smiled. The usual chuckles from the parents did not come. “Why do we do this... this everyday routine of life? Because it is God's will that we provide for our children. That we live our days not in one new adventure after another, but in normalcy, in the day-to-day victories that, as a whole, make a solid spiritual life.”

Normalcy . The key to calming the waters. The people were visibly calming. The soft look of contented listening crossed their faces. Boredom, perhaps. He hadn't been a priest all these years without accepting the inevitability of parishioner inattention. But he would rather they be bored than afraid. They should not be afraid. Not in church.

He continued, “Saint Malachy, in his days, wondered many of the same things.”

He would give them what they need, what they crave. Slow things down. Keep things simple. Do not let them become afraid, as he was afraid. “Many of the other saints and martyrs would turn to God and ask why....”

*     *     *

Some in the crowd talked loudly amongst themselves. Frightened sounds, angry words drifting over the people’s heads. Nick knew he’d lose control soon if he didn't keep talking.

The young priest stepped back onto the altar so everyone could see him raise his arms. The crowd silenced, save the sobbing of the older children - many of whom obviously understood what he was telling them.

They were going to die.

“I'm not trying to be a sensationalist,” Nick said, lowering his arms. “I'm not trying to scare you. I'm not trying to be a prophet like these other people, though they most truly are.” He put his hands flat against his chest. “What I am is your priest, the one you turn to, to learn the teachings of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the laws of Moses and the psalms of David. I took an oath,” he swallowed, pushed on, tears now falling down his face though he tried to keep any emotion from his words, lest it stop his sermon. Not this time. Not this one. “I swore to God that I would devote my life to His people. He brings you all before me. I swore to be unwavering in my devotion, to serve as the light which so many of you need to find God.

“How horrible if, when faced with something of this magnitude, I turned away from you, sinned against you by covering the truth. God has given us such strong and vivid signs.

“Even without taking anything else into consideration - think of the rain. Of the storm which appeared from nowhere. Think of its nature, raining over every land and leaving the seas at peace.

“It was a wake up call, my bothers and sisters. God is shouting from heaven for us to listen. He hates the sin and corruption, the violence and self-servicing materialism of the world. He's tired of being ignored, of being written off as an old-fashioned, old age concept. He's as real and tangible as you or I. More so, even. And He demands that we stop looking away, and look at Him! Even so, even with our apathy and ignorance and rebellion, He loves us and wants to give us as much time to give ourselves to Him as possible. The thief in the night is coming, my beloved ones, and the Lord is shouting for us to wake up and prepare!”

*     *     *

 Now and then someone shoved Jack aside if the preacher wandered too close. One burly man in a Red Sox jacket grabbed him by the collar of his long coat. Michael pushed his way easily through the crowd, but before he reached the skirmish, a police officer grabbed the man and pulled him away.

The cop looked familiar. Perhaps he’d been here before, listening to Jack’s sermon instead of catching bad guys. Maybe the cop knew there would be no more criminals in a short while.

“Okay, friend,” he said to the man in the jacket, “get going.” As soon as he was released, the man muttered the usual curses about the “loony” needing to be locked up. With a cop in his path, he stuffed his hands into his jacket and walked away.

Mitch Leary turned around to offer Jack advice on avoiding collisions with people, but the preacher was