An Advent Story - Part 3 (Aaron Achartz)

The hinges on the wooden door groaned. The morning light shone into the sanctuary from the eastern stained glass windows, casting spots of color which shimmered across the pews and aisles.

The church stood quiet. Empty. He sighed softly under his breath.

He crept forward, his boots echoing and leaving clumps of slushy snow on the flagstone floor. Every instinct told him to keep the silence here. He was grateful for a moment alone with his thoughts. He sat, as a good Lutheran, a few rows back from the front.

He closed his eyes. The sunlight warmed his face, even after going through the stained glass windows. He felt a trace of calm blow through him.

"I don't know if I can do this," he murmured. "I don't feel strong enough. Any way you could help?"

A side door opened. Joe opened his left eye. A man with gray hair shuffled over towards him.

"Excuse me, the service isn't until noon." The man stopped as he got a better look. "Joe?"

"Hey, Pastor Gabe." Joe gave a forced grin.

“That is you.” The pastor shuffled over and sat at the end of the pew. "What are you doing here?"

"I came back to talk to my father."

The pastor raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I can't believe I'm here either." Joe pulled out a photo of Josh and held it out. "But I'm here for him. He changed my view on family."

"A baby can bring about big changes." Gabe patted Joe’s shoulder. "This is a good thing, Joe. Reconciliation will bring healing."

"Maybe." Joe rested his head against the palm of his hand. "If I can bring myself to face him."

"Because?" Pastor Gabe asked.

Joe glanced sideways at him. "You know why."

"Yes. But I want to hear your point of view."

"Because I let him down. Ruined his reputation. Destroyed a beloved town icon." Joe looked up at him. "I saw it, by the way, on the drive in last night. There's still an empty spot in the square."

The older man remained silent, simply listening.

"I just don't think that he'll forgive me."

"No."

Joe glanced over. "What do you mean, no? You think that he won’t, or that he shouldn’t?"

“I think that he should and will,” Gabe said. "But you're not worried that he won't forgive you. You cannot forgive yourself."

Joe blinked several times. "Excuse me? How- what makes you think that?"

Gabe shrugged. "The way you talk. You blame yourself."

"Well, I am to blame."

Gabe stared up at the stained glass windows. "Are you sorry for it?"

"Of course!" Joe said. "Every day I think about it." His mind raced. "It eats away at me. I think about my choices, my mistakes. Anytime there's any happiness in my life, I'm pulled back down by my regrets." He was crying now. He wiped his eyes with the back of hand.

"God has forgiven you," Gabe said. "Already, long ago."

"How can I know that?"

"He sent his son. Kind of, you know, the point of today."

Joe couldn't help but give a chuckle. "Yeah, I suppose."

"And I know that his death has forgiven anything that you, or I, or anyone has done wrong."

"That's why I came back," Joe said. "I need to prove how sorry I really am. How can I do that?"

"For your father, I can't say." He gestured to the cross. "But for God, it is already done. You need not prove anything. You are forgiven."

Joe shook his head. "You're awful certain of that."

"What about your son?" Gabe asked.

"Josh?"

"What would you do to protect him?"

"Anything. Everything."

"If God, omnipotent and all powerful, sent his son as a helpless infant to die for your sins, think about how much that must mean he loves you."

"I-" Joe couldn't think of anything to say.

"The hardest thing in the world is to forgive ourselves. But we must do it, because God already has, and he wants us to live our lives in the fullness of his love."

Gabe stood up, placing a hand on Joe's shoulder again.

"Pastor, thanks." Joe looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. "I... I think I can do this."

"Take all the time you need." He gestured to the side door. "I'll be in my office if you need to talk more."

Joe simply nodded.

The morning sun slowly moved the stained glass colors across the flagstones. Joe's cheeks had dried by the time he stood and left the church.

The drive only took twelve minutes. He parked next to the old red pickup and walked up the wooden steps, each step familiar.

Joe took a deep breath. He knocked on the door.

A short, broad-shoulder man opened the door. Thinning gray hair lay neatly under an old black and yellow baseball cap.  A blue gingham shirt was neatly pressed with a folded handkerchief in the front pocket. Narrowed brown eyes squinted out into the bright sunshine.

"Hello, father."