The Reverend

A Fantasy | Part IV

On May 19 my latest book, Unseen Existences, was released. Unfortunately the book does not have the concluding Fantasy that I intended, so I am publishing it here.

(Here are the links for Part I, Part II, and Part III.)

The Reverend

A Fantasy

IV

The Reverend waited a long time for the woman to return. When at last she did, he said,

“I’ve been here by myself for a long time, and I’ve thought about some things. I admit I made some mistakes. I’ve learned my lesson. I’m ready to leave now. Please show me the way out.”

“What was your . . . mistake?” Kwanita asked.

“I should have first preached the gospel to your people and given your tribe a chance to repent. I was too rash.”

She shook her head slowly and then said,

“Your words are not plain words. What you mean is you should have preached to us before you killed us. You would have preached, and we would have died. You have learned nothing yet. You speak much about the Elect and the damned. You call your people Elect and my people damned. You are very proud. You say you know the Light, but you do not walk in the Light. The Great Spirit shows no partiality to the nations. Everyone who fears the Great Spirit and does what is right is accepted by him. The Great Spirit sent his Son into the world to save the world, not to condemn it. Your words are condemning words, not saving words. They are words of Darkness, not words of Light. If you use your Holy Book to hate, you can never come into the Light. Eternal life is found in Light and Love. You must learn this.”

The Reverend closed his eyes and said,

“Alright. I’ve learned it. I’m sorry. I’ve been punished enough. Please show me the way out.”

“Do you think you are being punished?”

“Yes. I’ve been punished for my mistakes. Now, I beg you, show me the way out of here!”

She stood up and said,

“Punishment is not why you are here. You can come into the Light when you can come into the Light. When you can love, you will walk in the Light.”

Then Kwanita turned and disappeared into the woods. For the first time the Reverend did not try to follow the Indian woman.

. . . . . . .

The Reverend thought about the words that Kwanita had spoken to him for a very long time—for she did not return for a very long time. He could not say how long. There was nothing for the Reverend to do but to wait in the smoky twilight of the burnt Pequot village and ponder. He no longer tried to leave the clearing; he just sat and thought about what the Indian woman had said about Light and Love. Light and Love. Light and Love . . .

. . . . . . .

After an eon (or was it really only an instant?) Kwanita returned to the clearing, and when she did the Reverend said nothing to her. The Pequot and the Puritan sat in silence for a long time. At last the Reverend said softly,

“Tell me how you died.”

“A man called the Captain shot me with a musket.”

She turned her head and pointed to her right temple. There was a small, round white scar on her tawny skin.

“I’ve never noticed that before,” the Reverend said and winced.

“It is now only a very small scar,” she whispered. “It no longer causes me pain. Even the memory of it brings me no pain. In the Light there is no more pain, no more sorrow, no more crying, no more death. The former things have passed away. All things are made well now. I wear the scar like I wear my necklace of shells. It is part of my story; it is part of who I am. I am a Pequot woman who lived and died and came into the Light. Now all is Love. All things lost are made good again.”

Kwanita leaned closer and peered into the Reverend’s eyes and said,

“For me there is no pain in my scar; but I can see it causes you pain.”

It was true. When the Reverend looked at the small white scar on her right temple, he felt a sharp pain in his own right temple. He tried to avoid looking at that part of her face. Again they sat in silence for a long time.

At last the Reverend asked, “Why do you keep coming to me?”

“I have told you, the Light sent me to you.”

“So you have to come to me,” the Reverend said, as he lowered his eyes.

“No. I do not have to come to you. The Light asked me if I wanted to help you, and I said I would like to try. And the Light said, ‘Go to him.’”

“I’m in hell, aren’t I?” said the Reverend.

“You are here. You are in the bitter memory of the place that was once the village of my people. You are in the place you helped to make. You and your people tore a hole in the Light and made Darkness and now you are in it. You have fallen into the pit that you have dug. You are stranded on the edge of the outer Darkness.”

“I’m damned.”

“Yes, you are,” she said sadly.

The Reverend was quiet for a long while and then said,

“You once told me that I belong to the Elect, but now you agree that I am damned.”

“I also told you there are many things you do not understand. You are elect. You are damned. There is a you that is elect. There is a you that is damned. There is a you that is known. There is a you that is unknown. To leave this place you must find the you that is elect. You must find the you that is known by the Light.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” he moaned, and for the first time since coming to the endless twilight the Reverend wept. Kwanita touched him gently on the shoulder and then slipped into the woods.

This time the Reverend despaired of ever seeing Kwanita again, or of ever leaving the awful place in the interminable twilight.

. . . . . . .

Eventually though the Indian woman did return. She said nothing; she just sat with the Reverend in her usual place. They sat in silence for a long time. Finally the Reverend spoke and said,

“Tell me again what your name means.”

“In the Pequot tongue Kwanita means God-Is-Gracious.”

“God was gracious,” the Reverend replied bitterly.

“God is gracious,” she insisted.

For an even longer time the Pequot and the Puritan sat together in silence.

“Kwanita, I need to tell you something.”

It was the first time the Reverend had addressed her by name. The Indian woman who looked both old and young, now looked mostly young. She said nothing but looked steadily at the Reverend. He heaved a big sigh and said,

“I was wrong. I was proud. I was stupid. That night I spent in prayer I was convinced that God wanted my people to kill your people. I believed it because I wanted to believe it. And I made the Bible say what I wanted to believe. I made God in my own image. I wanted to believe that I and my people were elect, and that you and your people were damned. Heathens. Savages. But that was not true. We were the savages. We were the murderers. What we did was evil. What I did was evil.”

Kwanita listened silently and said nothing.

The Reverend continued,

“When I was in the Light, the man I saw in the mirror was telling lies. I was a lie. I am not a Reverend; I am only a great sinner. When I said, ‘Praise be to God that on that day we sent six hundred heathen souls to hell!’—that was a lie, that was a great sin. We did not send six hundred heathen souls to hell. I sent my own soul to hell.”

The Reverend turned toward Kwanita and said,

“I cannot undo the evil I helped create, all I can do is ask you to forgive me . . . if you can.”

After a moment, Kwanita said,

“I can forgive you; I do forgive you; I have forgiven you. And there is One who can undo all the evils that sin has caused. The Great Spirit sent his Son into the world to save the world. The Light of the world will restore all things. The Great Spirit is willing that none should perish. The Light is gracious. But we must come to the Light in the way of truth.”

Then Kwanita stood to her feet, lifted her hands, looked toward the sky, and began to pray in the Pequot language.

Kiyawun wámi wucshák Manto, qá yaqi nákum mus kuputukimun.

The Reverend did not understand her words, but her prayer said this:

“We all come from God, and to him we will return.”

She prayed like this for a long time. When Kwanita ended her prayer, she looked at the Reverend and said,

“I think you are ready to leave this place. Follow me. I will be your guide.”

The Reverend, crying softly, said,

“I cannot. I’ve tried so many times before, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot follow you.”

“You are now ready,” Kwanita said, and walked toward the woods.

The Reverend followed her without a word. And this time he was able to follow his guide for a very long way—much farther than ever before. But eventually he began to falter and fall behind his guide—the distance between Kwanita and the Reverend kept increasing. He called out to her to slow down, to wait, but she never spoke, she never slowed, she never turned; she just kept walking until, as every other time, she disappeared into the distance.

. . . . . . .

The Reverend was utterly devastated. Undone. He could not follow his guide. He knew this had been his last chance, and now with the disappearance of Kwanita every trace of hope had vanished. He stood in the dark forest utterly alone and wept bitterly. Through his tears he wrenched a mournful prayer from the very depths of his tortured soul:

“God, be merciful to me a sinner.”

. . . . . . .

More time passed—it seemed an immense amount of time. And then . . . he thought he saw something. A tiny speck of silver Light far, far away in the gloomy forest. A tiny shining diamond in the vast dark distance.

He was so tired, wearier than he had ever been, but he began to move toward the pinpoint of Light. And very slowly, almost imperceptibly, the tiny Light grew a little bit brighter, a little bit larger, a little bit closer.

Through his unimaginable weariness the Reverend pressed on. He had never walked so far. It felt like he walked a thousand miles through the dark forest, always moving toward the small patch of Light he could see in front of him.

The past was receding. Every step took him further from the black hole that had held him for so long. He kept going—always moving toward the Light that grew steadily brighter and larger.

. . . . . . .

The Reverend was now a pilgrim, not a Puritan pilgrim, but a true pilgrim. He was a pilgrim pressing on toward the Light. His long journey was a pilgrimage of the soul.

The Reverend remembered a verse from the book of Proverbs.

“The path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.”

This verse became his refrain, his song of ascents. He repeated it over and over—“the Light shineth more and more unto the perfect day.”

. . . . . . .

At last, after his long struggle through the shadowy forest, after his long pilgrimage away from the black hole on the edge of the outer Darkness . . . the Reverend finally reached the edge of the Light.

His peregrination of salvation was nearly complete. He needed only to take one final step.

He stood at the threshold of the Light. He could see nothing in the Light. All was brightness and blinding Light. The Reverend prayed one more time,

“God, be merciful to me a sinner.”

With that he took a deep breath and stepped into the Light.

For an instant there was nothing but pure Light and sheer silence.

And then a great and melodious Voice spoke.

“I know you. Welcome home.”

The End.