You're How I Pray

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Summary: Anakin doesn’t fuck with Catholicism, but he’ll attend church just for his mother. Turns out that church is more interesting than expected, due to the mouthwatering priest that gives the services.

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Anakin Skywalker has never believed in a god. In fact, he loathed organized religion. Anakin loved to be in control, and the church wanted to relinquish that from him. Everything about it made his skin crawl. The way that the clergy had absolute power over the congregation. That each thing coming from their mouths was gospel, and to question them was to question their god. He hated priests and bishops telling congregations their normal desires were sinful. Anakin’s highest authority in his life wasn’t some decrepit man in a smock, it was himself. He preferred things that way.

This fact became an unfortunate juxtaposition when looking at Anakin’s mother. Shmi Skywalker was a devout Christian who attended church every Sunday, baked cookies for youth group meetings, and always wore a delicate silver cross around her neck. Normally, this would be a queer atheist’s nightmare. Luckily for Anakin, she was the kind and forgiving Christian many pretend to be. She had always known that Anakin was different, and she took each revelation about him like a saint. She never forced him to attend church, or to hide his identity. She had never shown him anything but love, the way you imagine a Christian ought to be.

Due to his love for his mum, Anakin decided he would start attending service with her on special occasions. After being away at school for four years, Anakin desired a closer connection with his mother. His first step into the world of Catholicism was on Christmas Eve. Services were held in a regal Catholic church in the middle of the city, with stained glass windows and spires that were a mimic of classic gothic architecture. December had been cold and wet, and the Church grounds were covered in a mixture of snow and salt that created a dull slush. Trying his hardest not to slip, Anakin walked through the mush to the front of the church.

Standing by one of the many large wooden doors was a short old lady, with her grey hair in pin curls, dressed in what was likely her finest red gown. She held out a paper pamphlet to Anakin, with which he accepted. She gave him as wide of a smile as she could manage, and exclaimed,

“May God be with you!”

Anakin was unsure how to respond to that, so he didn’t. He gave the woman a closed smile and nod as he stepped through the open door. As he made his way to the church’s nave, he took the time to take it all in.

The apse of the building was elevated above the nave, with a pit in the centre for the choir and a podium in front for the speakers. In the apse’s rear sat a beautiful marble statue, in imitation of Baroque style. Anakin wasn’t familiar with the figures the statue depicted, but he couldn’t help but smile at the eroticism of the figures’ expressions.

Unlike the rest of the church, the nave wasn’t anything special. Dozens of rows of basic wooden pews decorated the nave, lined by the ambulatory on either side. The most glamorous piece of the church rested in the narthex: a faux-Rococo style organ. Elegant and excessive pastel swoops and curls framed the brass pipes and keys of the instrument. An older man with dull white hair sat at the bench in front of the organ, leafing through the pages of music that rested on the stand. The musician played a few warm up keys before stopping, alerting Anakin to hurry and find his mum.

Once Anakin had spotted his mother in a pew close to the front, he slid in next to her. She began to fuss over her son, but was interrupted by the sound of the organ beginning to play again. He braced himself for a long three hour service, as the choir processed to their pit and began to sing their way down the long list of hymns. Anakin’s eyes frequently wandered to read and re-read the pamphlet he was handed at the door. His eyes were drawn to a certain name, ‘Obi-Wan Kenobi’, who seemed to be presenting the majority of the service tonight.

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