The Congregation

Reverend Brown slowly trudged up the moss-covered steps to his church. The slanted stained glass windows leered down at him, a constant mockery of his feeble existence. The man continued his upward climb, attempting to ignore the contemptuously scrutinizing look that seemed to crown the building in the faint morning light. The man hated the church, with its pointed roof and gaping windows. The man hated his congregation, with their two-faced lies and glorified ideals about their god.
The heavy door creaked in dismay as the reverend turned the tarnished bronze knob leading to the rectory. The musty smell of parchment and ink greeted him as he sat down at his desk to gather his belongings for the service. As he continued shuffling his papers, murmured voices floated along the corridors, betraying the arrival of a few early callers. Heaving a sigh of dissatisfaction, Reverend Brown began his seemingly interminable walk to the pulpit.

* * *

“ ‘The people of the ruler who will come will destroy the city and the sanctuary. The end will come like a flood. War will continue until the end, and desolations have been decreed.’” The reverend’s voice rang out clear and bell-like into the congregation. A few hushed murmurs ensued, but the reverend brushed them aside and continued with his sermon, his proud face upturned to the heavens, while his mortal eyes wandered lazily amidst the pews in front of him. Liars, he thought, all two-faced liars, bound for damnation and the fiery wrath of their god. A short, dry laugh escaped his lips, and several confused faces turned towards his, only to be hastily dropped downward as their beloved reverend’s voice regained its strength and continued with the sermon.
Reverend Brown’s pulse began to quicken as he neared the end, as it did every Sunday. Only this time, the beating of his blood was echoed eerily across the room. Puzzled, he stopped abruptly and cocked his head to catch the sharp throbbing that seemed to envelope the church. And suddenly, his pulse began to race that of the mysterious instrument that engendered the reverberant beat as he recognized the echoed report of muskets and the stench of burning torches. It wouldn’t be long now before soldiers, uniforms bright and gaudy in the pure morning light, would be visible amongst the mocking windows of the despised church.
The pounding of the drums mingled with the screams of the congregation as they began to flow like water to the doors of the church. Only the Reverend Brown walked calmly to the door, a secret smile flickering upon his face, like fire licking deadwood on a cold night. Smoke began to drift lazily from the church, as flames roared furiously beneath it, splintering the heavy door, and cracking the slanted windows with a triumphant scream.
And still the Reverend continued walking, his face a mask of cold delight as the ash-blackened skeleton of his church reared up behind him.