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by Clare Ward
You can hear them coming, coming, coming.... The never ending shuffle of people headed for the church is relentless. As you spy on the road from the basement in the little church, all you can see is an endless line of shoes. It’s funny even the sound of them seems to bear a kind of heaviness. The shoes are all very different; big ones, flat ones, thick, long and just plain tiny ones, but they have a heaviness to their step, as if they longed for lightness and freedom. You hear those people at the front of the line whispering with expectation. "I’ve been walking for four days to get here," one says to another. "This is my fifth visit," the other replies. What’s going on? What is it that’s so special about this church and its priest, Father John? He’s nothing to look at. He’s tall, scrawny and clumsy. No one can question his kindness and warmth, but why are so many people coming to this church. To him? What’s special here? Wait! Here comes someone out of the church. You hear their steps approach. They sound different from the ones going in--"clip, clip, clip"--kind of free. The shoes stop close by you and the man shouts out confidently, "God loves me. He has forgiven me my sins. He has made me clean. God bless Fr. John! I have never met a priest like him!" With that the line pushes and shoves even more expectantly. God loves me? He can forgive my sins? All this through going to talk to Fr. John in the confessional. I want to be in the same shoes as that forgiven man too.
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