Imade's POV.
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"Then again brethren, let me remind you, let us not be drunk in wine. Wine can represent any sin, be it adultery, masturbation, lies. Let's look at it this way, too much wine can lead to intoxication, a lack of awareness, a lack of consciousness, a state of absence. So does sin, your "wine" can cause your state of mind to be impure..."
The pastor's words settled in my head, as the thoughts in my head began to form questions. I had questions, and for the first time since a month I started attending this fellowship, I raised my hand.
THIRD PERSON POV
Imade’s gaze shifted from the polished wooden pulpit to the stained glass windows, their kaleidoscope of colors casting fragmented patterns on the worn pews. The congregation hung on the pastor’s every word, their eyes wide, pupils dilated like the rim of a wine glass.
Her hand trembled as she raised it higher eventually, the gesture both hesitant and defiant. The pastor, a man with graying temples and a voice that carried the weight of centuries, acknowledged her. His eyes, deep-set and knowing, bore into hers. Imade cleared her throat, her words tentative yet insistent.
“Reverend,” she began, “If sin is like being drunk on wine, causing confusion and clouded judgment, what about those rare moments when we suddenly see things clearly? When we catch a glimpse of a deeper, divine truth hidden beneath life’s chaos we glimpse the divine order beneath the chaos?”
The congregation shifted, their breaths held, as if awaiting revelation. Imade’s mind raced, weaving threads of theology, philosophy, and existential yearning. She thought of the poets who penned verses in moonlight, and the philosophers who grappled with theories until their pen ran dry.
The pastor leaned forward, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ah, my dear Imade,” he said, his voice a river of wisdom, “you’ve touched upon the heart of it. Sin, like wine, can intoxicate or illuminate. It depends on the vessel—the seeker’s intent, the depth of their thirst.”
Imade’s pulse quickened. “And what if,” she ventured, “our ‘wine’ is not merely sin but also curiosity? What if our questioning, our relentless pursuit of truth leads us to revelation?”
The pastor’s smile was enigmatic. “Curiosity,” he murmured, “the elixir that awakens inactive souls. It, too, can intoxicate, but unlike wine, it leaves no hangover. It leads us to explore things beyond what we already know.”
Imade felt herself thinking, her thoughts swirled like a storm, full of questions and contradictions.
“But, Reverend,” Imade pressed on, her voice steady now, “what if clarity itself becomes our sin? What if the pursuit of truth blinds us to the beauty of mystery? Are we not, then, intoxicated by our own enlightenment?”
The pastor’s gaze softened as he moved towards her. “Imade,” he said, “you are a seeker, But remember this: even the brightest stars need the darkness to shine. Seek clarity, yes, but do not forsake wonder.
Imade’s breath caught. She felt the weight of centuries in the pastor’s eyes. And in that charged silence, he leaned closer, his voice a whisper.
“See me after church,” he said.
YOU ARE READING
FULLFILED
Romance"There are still a few men who love desperately, and I am one of them, Imade."
