Part One of...I'm not sure how many. 2 or 3.

The fountain at Saint Mark’s Episcopal Church was about 20 feet long and 10 feet wide. It was made of huge stones piled into a rough mound. The top was covered with soil and sprouted a variety of ferns and other plants. Soil was packed into crevices between the rocks as well, so plants grew up and down the sides of the fountain. At three places, springs of water flowed out of the rocks and trickled down toward a moat-like pond that circled the base.

Foy ran his hand along the bottom of the pond, pulling up a mulch of leaves and debris. He worked his way around the fountain slowly, cleaning the pond and pulling weeds. He had been attending Saint Mark’s for a few months. He liked sitting at the fountain after the worship service and did so most Sundays. One Sunday he removed some dead leaves from the pond. A few Sundays later he couldn’t resist pulling a few weeds. Soon after Roy, the groundskeeper, noticed him and wandered over to chat. Before he knew it Foy was in charge of basic fountain maintenance. He came most Sundays. Sometimes he went to the worship service. Other times he went straight to the fountain and worked peacefully with the sounds of hymns wafting into the courtyard. The people of Saint Mark’s begin to notice him and often stopped to say hello.

Sometimes, when the last of the worshippers had departed, Reverend Parker stopped by. He was the only person at Saint Mark’s who knew Foy used to be a priest, and he enjoyed the chance to talk shop.

“Larry, what I don’t get is, I used to see people reading Joshua and Judges. And they seemed to be enjoying themselves. And I’d be like, waiting for them to, I don’t know, SCREAM or something. Or throw their Bible away in horror. Or burst into tears and say, ‘There is no God.’”

“I know, it’s…”

“I mean, God told them to kill EVERYONE. Men, women, babies, puppies, kittens… did they have cats back then? For pets?”

“I think they might have, maybe. I know they did in Egypt.”

“Well anyway, kittens if they had them, puppies, everything that drew breath God said to kill. Technically, I guess, they even should have killed the bugs.”

Larry folded a blade of grass, put it between his thumbs, and blew on it, hoping it would whistle. It didn’t work.

“Huh, I used to be able to do that. Maybe they did kill the bugs.”

Foy had a blade of grass and was trying to put it between his thumbs. He spoke without looking up. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe they killed the bugs too. At Jericho.”

“Killed the bugs? How’re you gonna do that?”

“I don’t know. Fire?”

Foy looked away and scratched his lip, thinking about this. Then he shrugged.

Larry put another blade of grass between his thumbs and blew harder. The blade popped out and floated to the ground. They both watched it.

“And yet,” said Larry, “When people read that story, all they want to talk about is how everyone marched around and the walls came tumbling down. It’s a Sunday school story.”

Foy put his fingertips against his temples, squinted, and pressed. “Forget it. I don’t even want to talk about it. That’s why I got out of the ministry.”

“Bullshit, you got out because you couldn’t take it anymore, you wuss.”

Foy laughed. “That’s true too.”

Foy pulled a quarter out of the fountain and held it up.

“What do people think this is, a wishing well? I swear if there’s water anywhere you have people throwing money into it. Maybe you’re not giving them enough hope with your sermons and they’re looking to hedge their bets.”

“Here’s the deal: As long as you’re cleaning the fountain, you keep whatever you find in there. Roy is big time happy that you’re cleaning it now. He didn’t particularly care for doing it.”

“Yeah, well I never liked doing anything I got paid for. And THAT, by the way, is why I got out of the ministry.”

“I thought you got out of the ministry because your wife left and you wanted to run off to New Orleans and see the hootchie girls.”

Foy laughed and threw an acorn at him. “You dumbass!”

“Every time you tell me why you left the ministry it’s always something different.”

“Yeah, well it was complicated.”

Foy stood up and stretched.

“So why did you leave the ministry? Really.”

Foy sat back down. “I don’t know. I don’t even remember. It seems like a long time ago.”

“So what’s it like out there?”

Foy meticulously plucked five blades of grass from the ground and laid them in his left palm. He turned his head around, looking at them from different angles.

“I was at a tent revival once, and the preacher said…”

“Wait, you were at a TENT revival?”

“Sure, I was a Baptist before, remember? We practically lived in tents. There was a big sign that said, ‘Holy Ghost Revival.’”

“No shit? You didn’t preach in a tent did you?”

“No, too bad because that would have been a great story. I was 18 and counseling the sinners that came down the aisle to give their hearts to Jesus.”

“Wow, that is SO Elmer Gantry. I thought those old time revivals went out in the 20s.”

“Well, the 20s lasted until the 80s in Texas. Anyway this preacher said the saddest verse in the Bible was Luke 16:23, from the Rich Man and Lazarus. ‘And in hell he lifted up his eyes, being in torment, and saw Abraham far off in heaven with Lazarus in his bosom.’”

“That’s what it’s like out there? Like being in hell? Seems a bit harsh.”

“What? No, I was already thinking about the tent preacher. What’d you say?"

“What’s it like out there, not being a minister, not being in here?”

“Oh yeah. Confusing. Very hard to figure out the way things work. No, that’s not it. Very hard to figure out how you work within the confines of the way things work and have always worked, just in the regular world and all. Because it ain’t like here.”

“For example.”

“Okay, you know how you have to like everyone in your church?”

“No you don’t.”

“I know you don’t, but you can’t walk around saying ‘I hate Mrs. McGillicutty, that bitch.’ You have to at least like her in public, right? And even more than that because you’re her pastor. So you have to kind of make yourself like her. For real. I mean, the lying asshole preachers that can just smile and pretend, they’re just…talking haircuts anyway. But you’re not like that. So you’ll try to like Mrs. McGilicutty. Love her even.”

“I guess.”

“Look, how many people do you truly dislike at Saint Mark’s? I mean really just can’t stand them.”

“Currently? No one. Wait…yeah, no one. Not right now.”

“And there’s like 500 people here. Who likes 500 people? You take your average person and put them with 500 people and there’s at least 50 people they won’t like. 8 or 10 they would kill if they could get away with it. And there you are just smiling and liking everyone. Happy happy Larry. You’re paid to like people. And once you get paid to do something you shouldn’t get paid to do, it spoils something inside of you, and then you can’t tell the difference anymore.”

“So you’re saying ministers are prostitutes?”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe…a little. Unintentionally of course. I mean, we didn’t plan it or anything.”

“Wait a minute. First, there’s such a thing as professional behavior, and that doesn’t mean…also we’re not paid to like people. We’re paid to tell the truth and proclaim the truth.”

“Yeah, I went to seminary and learned all that shit too. You and I both know it doesn't work like that. They pay you, and you're supposed to love them and care for them. And yes, tell the truth, at least all the truth they can take without firing your ass.”

“Well, I think I know the difference between my own relationships - the people I love, and my job - my CALLING. Which is, yes, to love people and care for them. But I know the difference.”

“Do you? Because that’s what it’s like out there. Out there in the world is where you find out if you know the difference.”

rlp

part two coming soon...
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