Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
A new Acolyte - 1. Chapter 1
Jim cussed as the traffic refused to let him make a left hand turn into the parking lot. He wondered if someone he knew would see him turning into this place. It's not like this feeling, this need could be acknowledged anywhere else, especially to friends, neighbors or family.
Jim was a recent convert and though his baptism had not taken place here. He felt he would be welcomed... still if his friends saw him. Oh well, traffic had cleared, no point in changing his mind now.
As he pulled into the parking lot he turned his radio off and listened to the granite pebbles shift under his tires. He looked around in the parking lot to see if he recognized any of the vehicles. There were more than a few members in attendance. There was a cable installation truck, a phone repair truck and several trucks with ladders and construction tools in the back. Numerous cars of all makes models and price ranges. Yep most likely services were being held even as he put his pickup into park.
He had cash for the offering, but left his wallet under the seat. He checked to make sure he took nothing but the cash and his keys. He was eager to once again take the sacrament.
As he walked across the crunching stones he hit his remote to be sure the truck was locked. The chirp made him cuss because it wasn't silent, Jim didn't want attention just yet.
Inside an usher greeted him and accepted his offering. Then a buzzer announced his entrance into the inner sanctum. He waited just inside until his eyes adjusted to the dimmed interior. He stepped over to a wall that held frescoes in a large case. These frescoes showed saints and profhets of the new religion in various acts of prayer, thanksgiving and contrition. Some were being punished even tortured for their beliefs. Some were embracing their fellow man and sharing the love of the gospel. Jim noticed and somehow thought it proper that these men were in various stages of undress.
Once his eyes adjusted he looked around. There were two lines of individual confessionals. One could enter and sit in solitude while the lives of the prophets were reinacted on small sreeens. Or one could commune with his fellow suplicant through a specially arranged hole. On ones knees the hole was face high.
If one preferred there was a larger sanctum in which chairs were arranged in rows for the viewing of the acts of prophets on a large theater screen. Here brothers engaged one another in testifying to the holy spirit. Jim had witnessed the glory and cried out “Oh God! Oh God! On more than one occaion he had helped another see the light and heard the ecstatic cry of “Jesus Christ!”
Jim walked around the confessionals and even checked a couple that had doors half opened. He noticed that these men had a different approach to genuflecting. That made the motion for him to enter and join them... But Jim had a more oral or vocal approach in mind. He knew that he needed someone to pray with but he had not been moved by the men he had thus far seen. Jim was a patient man.
He knew that the chaple and the inner sanctum were open all night and he would find the companion he prayed for. The one he would pray with would most likely be a blue collar average looking guy with a friendly face. Those drew him closer to God than just about any other.
As he waited, he thought about how women might be jealous if they knew of this church. Husbands, fathers, grandfathers, uncles, brothers, cousins and sons all came here to pray. Whether it was in the middle of the day, late at night or early morning hours they came. Whenever two or more gathered there would be prayer and offerings with sometimes shouts of “God, I'm coming”.
Today however Jim w
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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