The doors open, people come in droves, some walking, some running.Vitales are set out, coffee is poured as news and nods are exchanged. People mingle and hug one another.
A signal is given and everybody goes into a main room. Music starts to play and people stand up and start to sing. Standing up and looking around, many have scars on their bodies, some have slash marks on their faces, chests, legs, stomachs. There is a corner where a group of persons are washing and wrapping wounds, quietly soothing when someone cries out in pain. The music stops, people sit. The room is very quiet, the group understands that this is a safe place, the outside of the building is surrounded by their enemies. But now, they do not fight, they rest.
Walking to the front of the room, a man hobbles on crutches. He is the teacher, and undisputed leader. He has a long scar from his ear to his chin, a claw that grazed too deep. He is the most battered of the individuals in this tribe. Speaking softly, he begins to teach, his voice inspiring the congregation by nature. Some weep, others nod their approval. When he finishes, he addresses the people as a whole. He encourages them to keep fighting, that their struggle is not in vain. He fiercely reminds them of the promise, the victories and the risks taken. He bows his head, lifts it, and leaves the main room.
People stand up, more animated than before. Some go to the corner to receive healing. Many go to the doors. A silence falls. The tribe sharpens their weapons. Soldiers, they draw their swords, their axes, their bows. They can see the enemy behind the translucent doors. Those outside the door have been waiting hungrily, claws extended. The teacher comes to front of the group. He draws his weapon, issuing a cry to battle. The doors open. And they charge.
This is Church.Through my eyes.
Over and out.
Love,
Cailin
P.S.
What's your opinion?
Comment, or give me a
link to your blog where
you talked about church
or how much you hate church.
Whatever! Kay, bye.
