The Lord's Prayer

Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name... The prayer jumps into my head, the old words coming back to me easily. I am holding onto the old man’s hand. Sitting there next to him, the disturbing sound of his arrhythmic breath, I am reminded of something I saw when I went to a science museum in grade school. In a glass case along a wall, there were these magnificent sleeves of natural glass called Fulgurites. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven... They were long and snaking, thinning into points at the end. Over millennia, they had broken into many shorter fragments, but were arranged in the case to resemble wholeness. Every so often, the sleeve branched out daintily like twigs on a branch 

Or veins, emptied of blood. 

The little plaque next to the display case told me they were fossilized lightning. The delicate, glimmering things had once been sand in an ancient time on an ancient beach, until the electric force of a lightning bolt had melted little grains into something solid. The remnants of ages old strength lay in that case, preserved but no longer strong. It was as if the lightning itself had a skeleton. Give us this day our daily bread…

This man whose hand I hold, he too is broken. He is my father. Once, just the right look from him had caused hot fear to percolate up my spine like coffee. Now he lies in a hospital bed, a fragile and powerless thing, thinner than the sheets that swaddle him. The fear comes from him now. I can feel it washing over me like steam. I can feel his fear of death and of hell. 

His eyelids slowly fall open to me. Their blue is startling when surrounded by the reddish orange that tints the white of his eye. The color of his iris is light and crystalline, one that would fit better in the eye of a baby than of a man if it weren't cracked and milky like antique glass. He looks up at me through sagging and bulbous eyelids, and I feel the plea that is coming from him. I feel the words of my childhood: Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. 

In church when I was a boy, those words were strangely compelling. Above the pastor, head bowed in prayer, was a massive stained glass of a man nailed to wood. The expression absolute pain on his face was one that haunted me. I remember the day I learned it was Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. With hundreds of hushed voices speaking the traditional plea in unison, its sibilance took on a suddenly eerie, serpentine sound. The words seemed to elevate, and all the voices became one. I imagined our prayer sent up to heaven, then a foggy place in my mind where all was made of clouds and a faceless God sat in a huge throne made of gold. And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. I then looked at my father, at his perfectly greasy black hair and pressed Sunday suit. I realized he was only mouthing the words, and remembered that I was only one voice, one unimpressive and tiny voice.

Now, with our locked eyes, the man is in my debt. He begs forgiveness, realizing his sins on his deathbed. With locked eyes, I give him absolution. I forgive him for my childhood, for my brothers and sisters, and for my mother. I forgive him the world, as if it were enough to set him right. 

Now the old man is crying. It is a pitiful sight, that of an old man broken down. The power has been stripped from him, and he can no longer gather up the strength to hold back the tears. His face crumples up like a baby’s and his chin trembles. Gurgles of sound come from his throat, and I find that he is not the strong, impassable man who took reign over my household. He is still the baby he was born, a lamb who strives to have the strength and courage of the lion he is not. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the pillow. Tears slowly run down the ruts and valleys in his aged face. The blip goes flat, and a nurse rushes in. Still, I hold the man’s hand. For thine is the kingdom, and the valley, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.

Reviews

[Kandy]

Incredible! This story is so touching. I almost felt like crying. I loved that you broke the prayer into pieces. It puts extra emphasis on it, almost like showing it in a new light even though I've heard it a thousand times. Your analogy of the old sand and the old man was great. I didn't find anything wrong. Excellent Job.

[boyinblue]

:(
Beautiful...but thanks for making me sad...(tear*)