The Steeple

When I awoke I saw it, emerging from the humid mists of the dawn. It was as striking in silhouette as any Egyptian obelisk, or Persian Spire against the bleak white background of a cloudy sky. I did not yet know why it seemed so foreign to me. For my entire young life I have lived only two streets across from it, and yet only now did it even catch my eye. This derelict cathedral is one of seven churches within the boundaries of the town of Lindon. Lindon being only about a mile in total diameter, was populated by religious folk of many ages with some two thousand residents to call it home. Yet in all my life I had never seen a single soul pass between the bright red doors of this church. I had passed by it countless times in my childhood and youth, and always marveled at the masonry of its walls. It stood in stark contrast to the wooden sanctuaries and red brick temples, which were fed with healthy congregations each Sunday, for it was similarly fashioned to a cathedral. And although I had kept my eye on its chiseled limestone columns, and it's red painted front doors, my eyes had neglected to peer above me at its towering steeple. Seeing it as I do now It occurs to me that it has kept a silent vigil over these streets, leering down at its populace with an unblinking, relentless gaze. I wondered then what the eyes of the Nazarene, bound to the cross on its pinnacle, have seen.

The town wherein I have spent my life thus far is given to gossip of a trivial nature and matters not devoid of meaning often went unspoken of entirely. It could even be argued that anything of consequence was promptly (and perhaps intentionally) forgotten by the town, and any inconsequential trifle would indubitably be considered momentous. For example, it only took but two days for the town to forget the disappearance of an entire family of four who had lived in the town for three generations, and yet for two months the town could do nothing but discuss the scourge of rats coming in from the river. It seemed strange that as often as people gathered in idle chatter,

the church was never even so much as referenced. The populace seemed to move around the place and even stray cats did not rest in the shadow of the gothic shrine. Rambling as I am I must again repeat that it is baffling that I did not earlier notice how out of place it was. Every thing in Lindon seems so small, its architecture, it's projects, its businesses, even its families. The only things in this quaint riverside community of any notable size were its churchgoing populace, and a large and seemingly vacant cathedral.

I recall that on the Sunday I approached it with the intent to pass beyond its doors, I fully expected to find them locked. You can imagine my shock then at having been fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to find them unlocked. As I gripped the rusted black iron handles of the doors I found that the heavy oak moved with veritable ease, despite the loud screech emitted by the ill-maintained iron hinges. As I opened the door not a single ray of outside light permeated the unmitigated darkness of the church, the sun itself was rendered powerless against the dust and refuse of the forgotten sanctuary. The webs of generations of crawling arachnids spanned between tall candelabras and vast carven arches, now an impregnable fortress for the damp and dark. I breathed in the musty vapors of this grey and twilight hall, as my footfalls landed loudly on the hard wood floor. I passed the pews of carved wood and the old hymnals laid neatly upon the seats, and with every step an unsettling feeling crept over me, a nervousness so rarely felt in adult life. As I approached the altar and a large tarnished brass crucifix, I looked into the eyes of The Messiah and felt some faint sense of guilt, for his eyes seemed to speak me of a pain not only in body, but in spirit. The vast

incomprehensible burden of a wicked world. I lingered there for a moment, looking into the two open books at the foot of this cruel Roman device. The hymnal was opened to the hymn "His eye is on the sparrow", and my uneasiness waxed immensely as I read the following underlined words " I KNOW he watches me."

It was at this moment that I nearly lost my mind entirely for I heard a loud screech behind me, and as I turned to face what I wholeheartedly believed was the current landowner (though no one in town could say who that was), I instead came to face a procession of white robed people who seated themselves in the loft above the pews, where more had already filled the seats beneath. As they began the song I had read in the hymnal, I was touched immediately with the pacifying dulcet notes of a harmonious choir truly magnificent to hear! In that moment I cared not who they were or from whence they came I cared only how that blessed harmony washed over my senses flowing deep into my soul.

"I sing because I'm happy!"

"I sing because I'm free!"

And in that instant they were gone. And only one man sat in their place. There was a tangible vacancy in the silence their absence had created. This man was middle aged, clean shaven and well dressed in his sack coat and wide necktie with a golden watch chain dangling from his single breasted vest. I believed him to be the owner of the building at first. He began, "His eye is on the sparrow, So I know he watches me." My feelings of uneasiness rose to dizzying heights. "You don't like that thought, do you?" He said softly in a smooth yet profoundly grim tone. "You would think it would be a comfort to people to know they are watched," he sighed "To know they aren't alone. And yet the truth is they largely find it unbearable. They find their comfort in isolation where it is easy to hide their grave misdeeds and minor indiscretions altogether ." He arose and neared me slightly after leaving the pew, "It's convenient for them to lack accountability for their selfish ways. These lies they tell themselves, these and many more besides." He inched closer taking small slow steps, and each step found me more and more averted to the figure approaching me. "What a disgusting race we humans are. Selfish, vain, gullible, weak, and vile.." He halted his advance and a churlish grin now stretched over his thin face and dominated his seemingly darkened countenance. I was apparently frozen in place, despite every fiber of my being telling me to distance myself from this place and this man, I could not move in the least. As I started to speak he interrupted me saying, "I have walked the streets of this town countless times, and yet I find it interesting how few of you recognize me or my voice. But they have made many deals with me before, and bought things I have sold. Since you were curious enough to wander into this ABANDONED place, perhaps I can interest you in a more comprehensive tour." Without my will or my consent my body began to follow him through a back door. One foot in front of another I followed him down stairs that seemed to descend winding fathoms into the earth, past layers of stone and sediment. For what seemed like eons I followed him below until at last we came to a long hall of a mysterious black carven stone which seemed impossibly smooth. The hallway was vast in its width, with many other door ways feeding into this end of the hall, and even though I squinted I could not see its end for a thin vapor of acrid smoke permeated the entirety of the hall and the immensity of this place exceeded my ability to fully estimate. However, of its width I could only tell you this, it stretched on more than a mile to either side of the door through which I entered, and there was a door every few feet along the entire width of this end of the hall. Ahead of me were innumerable spires of the same inky stone and as the man led me through them I noticed that some were illuminated internally, while others were not. By the illumination of the spires I could assume that the stone of which this place was constructed was, to the best of my knowledge, a remarkably dark obsidian. We walked for many miles causing my feet to burn and ache, my perspiration soaking through my shirt, and yet not once did I slow in my path, nor did I ever see the man show any sign of fatigue or discomfort. How much time passed I could not tell, and although I tried to sleep or rest my body no longer obeyed my orders. At length we reached a pillar, carved with such detailed bas-reliefs as I have never seen before. One face among the many reliefs of this column, which stretched more than two stories above me, reappeared in each scene I glimpsed. I am horrified to this moment as I recall it, for I knew it to be my own face. These were records of all my mistakes. Lies I had told were etched word for word in the stone. Others portrayed me stealing various objects, with the misappropriated items at the center of the scenes. The hardest ones to look at were the ones with me passing by crowds of emaciated people, the needy and hungry, with my face looking on in calm indifference. Amidst these carvings it was evident that nothing was hidden, for all of these things I had indeed done and all were archived here in all their besplendored shamefulness. The man spoke now after his great silence, "I'm sure you know by now that these are YOUR sins. But just to further personalize your immortalized misdeeds we have added your name at the bottom." He looked up, "Your pillar is still in progress, but we still have time to complete it, it will be much taller before long. Yet it is merely a drop in the ocean of sins through which we now dive. Forward now, for my favorite part of the tour." The man led me on, past the forest of high columns to a gargantuan gate. Spanning the full height and breadth of the hall, the gate could not have been built by any human architect, for its size was so prodigious and colossal that every man made wonder might pass through it without ever touching any of its dimensions. The gate was etched with writings as archaic as cuneiform and hieroglyphics, and even runes and Ogham script adorned its surface. I managed to glimpse one passage written in English which read, "Wide is the path that leads to destruction". When we arrived at the center of the gate, the man turned to me smiling and produced from his hand a key. The curious object was peculiarly shaped and formed of a bright silvery metal, no larger than any typical key but different in form and ultimately function. Placing the key within the keyhole illuminated the vast verses on the door, and a slight turn of the key triggered a deafening combination of clanging and rumbling within the door as massive tumblers and weights shifted within. Once the process of its unlocking was finished, I could hear a faint drum pounding behind the door. The man, now turned away and, with what must have been inhuman strength, pulled the gate open wide enough for me to peer inside. As it opened, the gate released an Arctic wind so cold that my perspiration now froze my shirt immediately to my skin. Now looking within I saw nameless terrors. Sadistic punishments and foul tortures, all in orgiastic excess. Grotesque creatures of the most noxious form, and figures that were once human that now lacked nearly any semblance of their former selves. Malicious devices abounded and complex designs of murderous intent were visible as far as the eye could see. Grand temples covered with blasphemous idols, their steps covered with the blood, organs, and filth of the denizens dwelling within. The man now turned to me, the wild sadistic glee of bloodlust in his eyes, and reached for my throat.

From behind me there came a resounding roar as if a cry from the maw of a lion or bear, like the blast of a mighty horn, and a bearded man rushed from behind me colliding with the sinister man who reached out to claim me. The bearded man threw him to the ground and fell upon him as a predator would its prey, and tearing the flesh from the shaven mans face he revealed the hideous visage concealed beneath a false physiognomy. The hat which fell from his head revealed long and asymmetrical horns! With a single pull he rent the horns from this masquerading wretch, and then flung its body through the gates. The hordes within now rushed to its aide and sprinted wildly at the door with many cruel weapons in hand, and with a great heave he pushed the doors shut against the efforts of the enemy. He commanded me "Go now!" And so I did. I ran with all the life left within me, and made stride with every breath I could muster. A strange and favorable wind at my back guided me on, and I arrived only briefly near my column. There I saw that bearded man demolishing the column with his clenched fist, shattering the hardened volcanic glass with each blow. While the unfinished spire collapsed, I saw him bring his heel down upon my name at its base and destroy it thoroughly as I passed him. Running on, somehow revived in vitality and stamina, I wondered how he had arrived at the pillar before me. After an indeterminate amount of time I reached the wall of doors and chose one at random through which to escape, ascending with all haste up the mountain of stairs. When, at length I saw the light I could hear the singing of a choir and I heard "I know he watches me..". My heart swelled with joy and relief. When I entered the sanctuary I found it to be the same church from which I had came, it's interior now pierced with a gilded light and adorned with lit candles. The mustiness of this place was replaced with the faint aroma of incense and the brass crucifix gleamed before me. With open arms, the bearded man stood ahead of me, and I shall never forget the warmth of his presence. "I have watched you," He said with with a voice like a gentle breeze, "I have held vigil over you since the moment of your conception. I have kept you and cared for you. I have loved you as a father and stood beside you as a brother, I have served you as a one would a king. Would you embrace me now as your king? Would you love me now as I have you?" I leapt to him and he embraced me, I felt incomparable joy as he held me. But I wept bitterly for I knew I could not love him so well as he had loved me. After he dried my tears he told me I was forgiven, and he had suffered the pain I might've endured below. He whispered words of peace and resolve within my ear as he ascended into the light of the sun as it passed through the stained glass windows of that church. I remember that as I opened the doors of that church to go forth, they made not a sound and the sun beamed brightly down upon me.

Now I tell you this with all the assurance any man can possibly possess, for I entered that church an ignorant , and left that church as a wiser free man.