A Single Blade

Rays of light gushed through stained glass windows and illuminated the inside of the small sanctuary. Short burgundy carpet extended along the floor of the room and hard wooden pews, the kind that made little children squirm, were lined in rows. Everyone sat in still anticipation waiting for the pastor to take his podium and begin his sermon, but one man who sat three rows back from the front looked as though he didn’t belong. He was not as well shaven as the rest of the men in the congregation and he sat slouched over, with his head turned down and slightly to the right, as if he were staring at something on the floor.

The preacher noticed him as he took front and center behind his large podium, the same podium he’d stood behind the last fifteen years. He had never seen this man before and he figured he was probably a drunk. Perhaps this was a good opportunity to get a save though, maybe this thought wasn’t entirely as holy as a preacher’s should be but he couldn’t help it. The pastor looked at this man as a car salesman must look when a young teenage girl waltzes onto his lot. With everything his lungs could muster he began to bellow out the God inspired sermon he had prepared the previous night. His words thundered, especially on the words, “God”, and, “Jesus,” whenever they came up.

The disheveled looking man in the third row never seemed to take notice of anything the preacher was saying, however. He continued to stare down towards the floor, as if all the answers he were searching for in life could be found in the dark red carpeting. His tie was leaning to the right because of the way he sat, his collar was sticking up awkwardly, and his hair, although rather short, was tangled in dark brown disarray.

“Yes, he must be a drunk, but I’ll get to him,” thought the minister. Seeing that his words were not penetrating into the man’s soul, he intensified his speech. He spoke louder, made gestures more emphatically, and began moving back and forth across the stage where he preached. By now his face was red from exertion and sweat was dripping down his temple and forehead. His graying hair was soaked with perspiration. He was practically screaming every word now, and the congregation, who saw him preach every Sunday, now noticed the difference in his demeanor. They were all glued to his every word; the thought among them was that this was a special sermon. God was really moving in the church this week; they felt lucky to witness this.

“I was a sinner just like all of you,” The preacher was saying, “And then I found God! I found God to be a savior! I found him to be a protector! Most of all, I found God to be a friend!”

After proclaiming these words a glimmer of pride could be seen in the preacher’s eyes. He felt he had delivered and felt no one could be a non-believer after this performance. Then the pastor added one more thing.

“Now I ask all of you here today, who is God?”

It was a rhetorical question and one the pastor never expected to be answered. However, after these words were said one man in the third row stood up. He was no longer staring at the floor but instead directly at the pastor who stood behind the podium.

“God is a kid…sitting on a bed…staring up at a ceiling fan.”

His voice broke a little as he said it, his stare at the preacher showed weariness but also a hint of anger. Everyone in the church was silent, and then the man continued.

“He picks one blade to fix his gaze on and follows it around and around. Then he takes it away in the blink of an eye. He leaves the other blades there to spin on like nothing happened, if they can. Only that’s not true. He doesn’t pick one blade to take away. He picks one blade to leave spinning. One blade left trying to figure out if this can even be considered a ceiling fan anymore.”

The man smiled a little at his interpretation of God.

“Yeah, God is a kid with a slingshot, with dead-on aim, staring up at a ceiling fan. Picking them off one by one.”

For a moment all was silent in the church as everyone tried to comprehend what the man just said. The preacher began to quote scripture but before he even got a very good start the man began shuffling out of the third row pew. Apparently he had found all the salvation he needed in his own words. He shoved open the large doors at the back of the room and stepped into the warm Sunday morning sunshine. The last words he heard from the sanctuary were, “In Exodus 14…” He didn’t particularly care what came next. He pulled a lighter out of his jacket pocket and lit up a cigarette. His wife had always hated it when he smoked, especially around their son. She thought he was setting a bad example, but that didn’t matter now.

For a moment he stood in front of the church and looked out. He didn’t really know where to go. He took a long puff of his cigarette and started to walk towards the highway. He didn’t know if he was headed for a new ending or an old beginning.

He was walking the concrete parking lot of the church when he looked down and saw a single blade of grass. Perhaps it had been mowed down and flung to the spot where it lay, he didn’t know, but he smiled a little when he saw it. Soon his smile faded away though and was replaced by determination. He held his cigarette between his lips. The sole of his shoe trampled the single blade as he walked on.