Thomasville

The Sevice

The wooden chapel was so crowded that the floorboards creaked as though they may snap under the weight. The parishioners joined in song, which placed their disparity on full display. Some sang with enthusiasm; others as if it was a chore. Voices were hoarse from the dusty air and, the singers would often lapse into fits of coughing. The misaligned chorus came to a close. Vocalists glared at each other as they took their seats.

Pastor Brady sat silently at the front of the church. His expression was stony, but sadness was apparent in his misty eyes. His glasses fogged and, he took them off to clean them on the fringe of his tattered garments. The old-man had not acquired a single new vestment since the death of his wife six years earlier, and he was starting to look shabby. Still, his pride and sentimentality meant that all offers of new clothing were rejected, not unkindly, of course.

He had been serving in Thomasville for the past thirty-five years. In that time, he had grown deeply attached to his community and the parishioners. The drought and subsequent mass exodus had taken a massive physical and mental toll on him. He adjusted himself in his chair, praying that when the time came, he could find the strength to stand. When the singing stopped, and all eyes turned to him, he ignored his pain and rose from the chair. He walked to the centre of the chapel and forced a smile on those gathered before him.

To witness true faith, you must have experienced uncertainty. To be filled with joy, you must experience despair, and to understand the nature of love, you must have felt heartbreak. God has blessed us by allowing us to suffer so that we may learn these lessons and join his kingdom. Those who mourn shall be comforted, but no man has the right to question the plans of God. The creations shall not judge the uncreated, and we should never allow ourselves to falter in our devotion and convictions to the almighty Lord.

My brothers and sisters; Although my convictions are unfaltering, my body is not. You may have noticed that, with age, I have become unable to perform duties that I once fulfilled with ease. Jesus Christ serves the people through those he appoints to in his lead church, and so I refuse to fail you and leave you without appropriate guidance.

He overflowed with sadness as he studied the crowd looking to see who remained. His once red hair had long turned grey and appeared to be falling out. He felt himself begin to shake and decided to cut his sermon short before he collapsed.

I have contacted a young Pastor by the name of Edwin Crabbe. He is the ideal candidate for my replacement.

A shock wave passed over the room as people struggled to understand what they had heard. Many of those born in Thomasville had never even attended a service held by a different Pastor. Others were quietly relieved and gladdened at the news that their elderly friend would be able to retire in peace and recuperate.

He is Godfearing, energetic and amicable. He will serve you well. His father and I were childhood friends and, I have known him since infancy. I have absolute confidence that you will grow to love and respect him, just as you have grown to love and respect me.

He returned to his chair in visible pain. He had tried to hide his condition from the congregants, even as it had become plain to see. It was when performing his clerical duties had become too much of a challenge that the elder relented, dropped the charade and stepped down. He was a devoted man, and he wanted to make sure that his community was adequately ministered to; Even at the expense of his livelihood.

Those in the crowd glanced worriedly at each other. Most of the parishioners had known the Pastor since their childhood. Losing him would be like losing a father figure and a dear friend. It was apparent he did not want people to worry about him as he dismissed their concerns and offers of aid. The elder was stubborn as a horse, and to argue with him would be an exercise in futility.

The church-goers began to leave the Sunday service. Two men approached Pastor Brady offering their arms to support him. He initially refused their help but quickly realized that he was too feeble to stand on his own and allowing them to assist him. He asked the young man to the right of him, Jack, can you get my son? Jack responded with a nod and retrieved George, who had been sitting alone in the back most pew.

George was hunched in what looked to be an uncomfortable position and was violently rocking himself, shaking the entire pew. Jack reached out his hand and spoke softly. George, we are going to bring you home in our wagon now. He did not react to the gesture, still trapped in his world.

Jack kept his tone reassuring and continued to hold his hand out. Remember our horses, George? You like horses. Come outside and see them. George grasped at Jack, and Jack led him to the wagon. George panicked when he could not see his father, but calmed when he saw his father ascending the stairs of the chapel. Jack watched George and let him pet the horses as his father helped Pastor Brady into the wagon.

The aged clergyman was settled into the cart and began coaxing George into the back of the wagon. Jack sat next to him. The rest of the ride was uneventful, and they soon approached the Brady homestead. It had been a beautiful little house, but since the death of Mrs. Brady, it had fallen into a state of disrepair. Jack ushered George off the wagon. His father helped the elder out of his seat and walked him to the door of his home.

Mr. Smithers spoke, you know if you ever need this place fixed up, I can tell Jack and Billie to- The cleric cut him off with a curt reply. That is unnecessary, William. Thank you, regardless. Mr. Smithers was unsure about how to proceed, and so he backed away abashedly. Together, Jack and William Sr. walked back to their cart. Both men wanted to help, but neither was sure how.