Hunters Ch. 05

"God only chooses the appointment. Sometimes the chosen is unable to cope with the appointment, but all are worthy, otherwise God wouldn't have put them there." Max sighed deeply and the priest continued after a short pause. "In the Bible, and throughout nearly all of Christian literature, the faithful are referred to as 'the flock' and either God or Jesus are referred to as 'shepherds.' I have never like this description, do you know why?"

"No father," Max said softly.

"Because sheep are stupid. They are some of the most ignorant, arrogant, and herd-dependent animals that God has gifted us with," the priest said. Max laughed a little. "Did you know that when trying to wrangle and move sheep, they will sometimes get themselves stuck in the barbed wire fences instead of going to shelter or food? Sometimes you can hit them in the head with a board and they'll just keep on walking straight and unfazed as the day is long. I don't like to think of people like that. I prefer to think of them as people, living quietly in their mud huts and tiny brick houses. Some people have been chosen by the community to do certain things; collect taxes, administer the laws, and keep the peace. Other people have been gifted with great skill in pottery, writing, carpentry, or metal working. Then there's the other class of people; the protectors. They keep every danger away from their people that they can. They fight off the lions and they keep the people of their village safe. Sometimes, my son, the protectors have to go far from home to protect your people, and sometimes that can have consequences."

"I don't know what your past has led you to do to get where you are," the priest continued, "but I do know that if God thought that you had done some great injustice or that you had chosen the incorrect path, you'd either be dead or someplace radically different from where you are now. The events of your past have made you the person you are and have given you the tools to be the person you will be. Some people are just people; they go to work, they do a job, and they go home. Some people are craftsmen and artisans. Some people are kings and queens or presidents. Others protect that way of life. The point is, my son, that you are fulfilling your role to the best of your ability as you're traveling in your path. When you get to your appointment, you will know it; life will just feel right some how. It's the blissful feeling of belonging somewhere."

That thought hit Max like a truck. He never really felt that he "belonged" when he was in the Marines. He was beyond being a good Marine, and he had the silver, brass, and gold to prove it. But in all that time, he didn't make any friends. He had people that he trusted with his life, and in turn they trusted him with theirs, but you never got too close to people in the service; you never knew when you would be holding their body as they bled out into the mud. The only thing he came out of the service with was enemies. His stories never started with "I had a friend who…" They were always beginning with "I knew this guy that…" It was only until recently that he had actually made friends again, and for the first time in 8 years he felt like he was home.

"I think I know what you're talking about," Max said in a heavy sigh. He considered a thousand memories flashing before his eyes about the last two years. Freedom, happiness, friendship, and belonging were constantly feelings he came up with when these pictures flashed through his mind. His family had become a rag-tag group that was half pirate and half mechanic. His home was where ever he was happy, and he was happy where he belonged. Max stood up in the confessional and went to open the door.

"Have I helped you find the path again, my son?" asked the priest. Max smiled and opened the door. He walked out into the great cathedral, feeling small among the gothic pillars of black granite. The rest of the church was empty, save for a few pigeons that had gotten in through the bell tower. Light streamed down through the gray interior of the church through the colored windows, making ornate patterns on the floor and over the pews. The gold and ivory statuary in the massive hall of worship glistened with the pinks and reds and greens of the diffused light of the setting sun streaming through the stained glass. The sounds of Max's feet on the carpet as he walked out through the main doors of the church were muffled until he hit the marble flooring of the entry. He walked through the massive oak doors and out into the sunlight.

The sounds of the world, kept out by the stone walls of the temple, returned to Max with the blinding light of the late-afternoon sun. After his eyes adjusted, he looked around and saw Anders sitting on the steps leading up into the cathedral, throwing handfuls of rice to the pigeons. Max chuckled a little and Anders turned to look at him, her hair fanning out for a second.

"Ready to go?" she asked, still sitting.

"Yeah, yeah I think I am."