A Dark Winter Night

CHAPTER II: The Dark Church

I still forcefully went on, each step was agonizing to my weak feet already.

Each lamp post seemed the same from the other, their frail and flickering light was no match against the darkness the sky has set. They were like lit match sticks already on the distance, they did not illuminate the road but instead they only did cast creepy glows that made the scenario much more uninviting.

I passed by their park, both the lake and the fountain seemed like crystals shimmering in the darkness due to the frozen water. There were also lamp posts and snowy benches, the trees were already grotesque beams I could not make out. Nonetheless, I was so absorbed by the thought of me coming home that I did not notice that I already passed by the colossal basilica of St. Matthew across the street, without any definite reason, I stopped and stared at the old Church's facade.

Just then, I realized how faded and old was the structure already, the bell towers already damaged by time and the large wooden doors covered in snow, but still clearly rotten by wars it had witnessed.

I could still hear the choir practicing inside the church, and I could still clearly see that a few people were praying inside it. I am not a very religious person or anyone very spiritual but I believe in God, but these times, I am already enveloped in hopelessness that sometimes I already question His existence and love.

The basilica was quite dark and gloomy on the outside, but it was quite solemn and bright in the inside, it seemed like a blurry castle because of the snow. Without thinking, not a second thought struck me that I must go home right away, I marched slowly towards the Church's tall iron gates, I stood there rather stiffly, I suddenly became more sober and I asked myself

"What am I doing here? I must go home already!"

But, there was warmth that I deeply longed and yearned that I only found inside the basilica. I walked towards once more closer to the basilica, there stood a large relief of the Apostle, St. Matthew, it suddenly reminded me of my childhood.

Mother used to tell me "My child, if ever you feel ashamed to return to God after you have done something wrong. Always remember St. Matthew who immediately gave up his sinful life to follow Christ"

Of Course, I did not really understood it very much back then and even until now, I just couldn't see how God could accept us again even if we have hurt Him many times already.

Sometimes, I even think that God has abandoned me and never will accept me again, I am too sinful, I guess. I walked past the relief and proceeded to the Church's great wooden doors, they depicted angels and saints and a young man holding the gospel, the symbol of St. Matthew. I started to ascend the Basilica's stairs, I right away felt warmth that came from nowhere, the Church was lit with thousands of candles. The sweet Latin chants of the choir still resounding through the hall, the fast recital of people praying, the flickering of the candles and the howling winds of Winter were the only sounds that emitted from where I stood right now. It was quite a peculiar feeling, I suppose,

"Have I been here?" I muttered to myself.

It was a feeling of elation and nostalgia, then suddenly I remembered. I saw a much younger me, standing just a few miles in front of me, facing and kneeling before the altar, where there was a large coffin, it laid there the stiff body of my Father. This church was where my father's funeral was held! Of course, I did not recognize right away, I was only about 5 years old when my father died and I was only left with a mother to take care.

Sorrow flooded my entire heart, how could have I forgotten? The church that I passed by almost every day was where the greatest tragedy of my childhood happened. I fell to the ground uncontrollably and wailed "Father, forgive me!",

I suppose it disturbed people praying but I kept on sobbing unbearably. Mother always enforced to me that Father was already happy in heaven but no matter what, I never believed her, heaven was only a fairy tale for children who were afraid of death, I always say.

I laid there on the ground like a vulnerable child without anyone to protect me, the cold solid ground was not very welcoming and the strong winds that blew from the doorsteps only made me tremble more. I became silent once again, I stood up, and I walked towards the altar, it was a magnificent and golden altar. I sat by the first pew and rested myself, I suddenly looked up and I just wanted to stare at the crucifix on the altar.

It was a large one, depicting a bloody body of Jesus as He hung from it, I just wanted to look at it. It was the most comforting thing I have seen the whole day, till I soon became drowsy.

The inviting warmth of the lights of the altar candles seemed so comfortable compared to the bitter cold outside; the aroma of the scented candles surrounded the air as if asking me to sleep and rest for a while and I willingly agreed.

I closed my eyes and laid there on the pew, just wanting to rest, the day has been quite taxing for me. I knew it was the church and I am not supposed to sleep here, but the serenity was something nowhere to be found.

What happened next was quite unexpected.