the rain is falling
Father O’Slaughten was the Preacher of our settlement. He was the one man who stood for everything our community would become. Everyone saw him as the foundation of our town and he bore the weight very well. However, there were times when his position took more of a toll than anyone knew.
His job was a great joy at the birth of newborns and their christenings. Everyone loved him at weddings celebrations. He was the rock of the community during Dead Sons Day.
It always seemed to rain during funerals. Even in Latter year, when the snows fell deeply on our town. At the head of each procession Father O’Slaughten could be seen solemnly chanting his prayers.
He always looked forlorn and older somehow, and try as I might, I could not stop watching him, as the funeral party went by. I was confused and enthralled by this man.
He sat at a coffee shop, under an umbrella one day, not long after a funeral. He sipped his coffee and cleaned his glasses as the people went by about their affairs. I had to stop and talk to him.
He had the waitress bring me a glass of milk and before he would answer my questions, he had to know how my life was going. He was very congenial and always polite, which made me feel at ease around him.
I asked him why it was that he always looked so sad when he buried the dead and his answer was not what I had expected.
”You see my boy, I have been here longer than most of the people that live here now. I’ve been there when they were born, married and eventually died. I know far too many people who live in this town, and far too many of them are like my family, so when they die, it’s like I’m losing part of myself.”
”Do you have any family of your own?” I asked him.
”My job demands that I have no relations. You see god demands that his messengers be pure of mind and body. And although I have no children, this town is full of children that I have, in a sense, raised spiritually. For me that is more than enough.”
Sadly not more than two months later, Father O’Slaughten died in his sleep. The entire town came out of their houses at the hour when the sun was highest in the sky and began to pray.
It was raining and cold, a miserable time, but no sooner than when the prayers were offered up, the clouds opened up and a single ray of sunshine touched the fathers house. Everyone saw it as a sign that god was listening and taking one of his children home.
The venders opened their doors to the public and makeshift umbrellas were put up in the main streets, for a spontaneous party in honor of the priest. The town ate and drank and prayed and sang hymns. Finding hope in the rain, we began to understand that the best of us had not met his end, but began a new journey.
The procession came down the street as it had before only this time the townsfolk led the way singing. It was the first time in my memory that a funeral was not so very sad. I was swept up in the march and led to the hilltop, just above the clouds, where we laid him to rest overlooking his town.
Months later the new priest came to our home with a gift for me. We sat on the stoop and I opened the small box he had brought. Inside was a picture of me when I was born with my parents and the Father standing all around. He was smiling.
Also in the box was a picture of the Father and me just after my baptism and a small bit of cloth, it was the rag he held over my face when I went under the water.
At the bottom of the box was a beet up, ragged looking bible. It was the one he had opened several times to tell us what god wanted from us and how we should live for so many years.
I opened it and there was an inscription inside:
I want you to have this no matter what you grow up to be, because you came to me on a rainy day looking for hope in the rain.
Hope in the rain.
For most people rainy days are a reason to show their fears. It’s a reason to wallow and dwell on the bad things that always seem to happen to you. I listen to the music of the rain. I hear the hidden songs that combine with the cleansing of the earth, so that when the sun comes out on a fresh new world, we can once again move on with our petty little lives.
I’ve learned to call it Hope in the Rain.