The Cross

The Cross 05 02 2010

In mass today I sat next to two dark haired ladies. They had an Italian look to them. Although pretty they had a stern look on their faces, as if it was hard for them to smile. They could have been twins. When I went to pull up the kneeler, there was a nail head sticking up, and I scraped my finger on it. The scratch formed a perfect cross on my index finger as it crossed a callused line on it.

There were two dark haired young men standing behind me, not in the pews, more than anything else they were a distraction to mass. When it came time to shake for the sign of peace one snarled at me and the other glared, apparently they were not there to make peace. You wonder what some people get out of religion.

Later after communion when it was a little more noisy I pulled out my keys and used the back end of one of them, the part that doesn’t come into contact with the tumblers of locks or switches to firmly press the nail head in so that it no longer stuck out and could scratch me or anyone else. A good man acted and evil no longer exists.

I looked at the two ladies on the right of me and I got a reserved smile from them. A louder man with a gruff voice who was singing seemed to sing a little more happily after that.

Copyright 2010 Thomas Paul Murphy