Very much like these church furnishings, he was as inconspicuous as the window fixtures, his skin pallid as the walls and his face topped with a few wisps of hair was left as blank as the faces of the stone-cold saints by the deteriorating disease that appears to have drained the life out of him even before his time was up.
One Sunday I saw him and I said to myself, “This guy’s definitely a saint’s buddy, I bet his prayers go straight up to heaven.” That Sunday, he was strangely paler than his usual pallor and he was not walking; he was painstakingly dragging himself towards his favorite saint. I never saw him again after that Sunday.
On yet another Sunday, curious on what happened to the man, I asked one of the church regulars on the guy’s whereabouts. I have learned he had died the night of the last Sunday I saw him. I never found out what disease he had but from the looks of it he may have had a cancer of some sort. Whatever condition he may have had, what happened to the man had struck questions and doubts in my mind. Why was he denied of the miracle he had prayed for almost everyday? Was the saint, his buddy, too busy to hear out his sole supplication? Was it too much to ask for him to be eased of that agonizing pain that caused him to drag his feet just to go to church?
Yes. What happened to that man had caused an immense blow on my faith not on God but on the saints I take little notice of at church and I reiterate, my faith on God did not falter but doubts on these marble statues at church had launched a massive attack on my belief on what the church had introduced as ‘saints’. I stand by the basic principle that God can never be cruel and would never give false hope to Men.
These thoughts clouded my mind and covered my ears which caused me to not hear what was said during the service. The service ended and I remained sitting still, oblivious to the faint bustle of the leaving churchgoers. As I came to my senses, I