God Is In The Details
Flash fiction
I slammed my fist on the pulpit, the deep thud echoing through the room. Some of the people flinched. I let a pause settle and tried to look into as many faces as I could. I noticed there were only one or two seats in the back that were unfilled and made a mental note to tell Father Stevens about it later. He would be pleased.
“This isn’t old-fashioned,” I boomed, “New is not needed when you’re talking about something as old as time.“ I heard a couple of ‘Amens’ ring out. It’s not ‘the old way,’ it’s the way.” A few heads nodded and a middle-aged woman in the front row proclaimed ‘Yes!’ while she held up a hand. A baby started to cry in the middle of the sanctuary. The mother got up, cheeks flushed, and rushed the baby out the back, shushing along the way.
I looked up towards the ceiling, raising my hands for dramatic effect like I was taught. The long sleeves of my dark green robe fell back against my body. The light shone in the stained glass windows. I heard the pianist get in place behind me. I used my expression I saved for deep reverence and counted to five in my head. When I was done, I lowered my hands and clasped them in front of me. I caught the gaze of several other church members.
“Let us pray,” I said solemnly, bowing my head. A few delicate notes on the piano started behind me. Someone coughed…
