The Sign of Jonah 

Mark had Mathew 12:48-32 stuck in his heart all week. He'd walk past the brutalist architecture, the sad people, the stray animals; all hopeless, ugly, and cold, and think about Jonah, Nineveh, the pharisees, and the communists. Then he would think how he was not the right person for the job. 

How he wasn't brave or charismatic. Which would bring his thoughts back to Jonah. 

Mark walked unmolested into the worst of the ghettos where prostitutes sold themselves and addicts shot up with needles. As long as he didn't make eye contact, he didn't think they even saw him.

He walked right into the old subway tunnels. For an inexplicable reason, even criminals didn't come down here. It was filled with remnants from the past. Old and broken stained glass windows, religious art torn or charred, crosses, bibles, and more. 

The belly of the whale.

And whether it took three days or three generations God was asking him to bring the church back to the surface. 

He picked up his Bible and thought about the words he'd been too cowardly to say over the last week. 

"He was pierced for our sins, crushed for our inequities, by his wounds we are healed "

Did anybody even remember?

Did he remember?

He picked up some old brown robes he wore back when he was Brother Mark and not random man. All the others were gone, sent to the camps. 

It was not safe to be Brother Mark. It was not safe to be Jonah. 

But time was wasting, and he had to either find his courage or join the heroine addicts out on the streets.

He slipped the robes on over his tee shirt, clutched the Bible to his chest, took one last look around his secret church, and walked out into Nineveh.

The Secret Chapel 

I loved the warm sunshine and there wasn't often enough light inside to properly darn father's worn socks. He wore out his socks so quickly with all his calls on his ill or need parishioners. 

"Darning another sock, Essi?" Called a voice. 

I looked up from my darning. 

The childish nickname had stuck, though only one person besides my parents was allowed to call me that.  

Jakke was striding up the green hill, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. He never seemed to understand why father couldn't simply purchase new socks. Vicars never made much money. And what father did make often went to those in need. 

I ought to be calling Jakke something more appropriate to his station, or at least Jacques, but he always insisted I call him by his pet name and he had father's permission. At least until Jakke came of age. I sighed. 

"What is it, Jakke?" I asked. 

"An adventure!" He grinned. "Can you keep a secret?" 

"You know I can't keep any secrets from father." I scolded.

"Not him! Everyone else! But you have to tell him he can't tell!" He wagged his finger. 

"You know I can't tell father to do anything." I replied, putting father's sock into my bag.

Jakke sighed a little, being used to have his own way. "Alright, then. I'll appeal to him directly."

He took my hand. "Come on, Essi!" 

He tugged me to my feet and we set off down the grassy hill and among the tall trees. Through the dark and sunny wood.

I held back when I saw where he had led me. 

The ruins of the old manor house loomed above us, ivy clinging to the crumbling stone walls. 

"That's the old ruins where the wicked duke lived!" I protested, digging in my heels.

"Yes," he said eagerly. "and I've found something! No one will believe it."

Curiously, I let him lead me on.

"What wouldn't anyone believe?" I asked. 

"You'll see!" Not another word would he say. 

He led me through the crumbling remains of a hall, I looked all about us. Jakke had been here many times I knew, but I had never been here. There half hidden under a large stone, was an open trapdoor. 

Jakke released my hand and began fishing about in his satchel. "I dug this out this morning! Then I had to run back for some candles and some flint." 

The opening was a black hole. My hands felt shaky. Cold air drifted out of it. A passage, but to where? The morning sun revealed some rough stairs, but then all vanished into darkness.

"You're not going down there, are you?" I asked.

He pulled out a candle and passed it to me. "We are going down there." 

"WE?" I nearly shrieked. 

He frowned at me. 

"Oh Pooh! You're scared just like all girls!" He scoffed, folding his arms. 

What other girls had he been with? Typically he had no patience for them. 

"I am not!" I protested.

I bit my lip, thinking quickly. 

"I'm just worried we'll get lost and miss tea." 

"No fear!" That fearlessness was back in his eyes. "I'll have you back in time for tea." 

He struggled to get the tinder to light. My skin was clammy. Turn back! Turn back! But I couldn't lose Jakke yet! It was too soon! 

He lit the candle and then took it from me. I wanted to ask for a candle, but candles were expensive. One light would have to be enough. 

The stones steps were rough and uncut.Trembling, I took his hand, and we descended. 

We followed the steep stairs down, down, down. The stairs were narrow and uneven. The air grew steadily colder.

I don't know what I would have done if Jakke had fallen, happily that didn't happen. My throat was tight and I had to clear it a little to talk. 

"How much further, Jakke?" I whispered, clutching his arm. 

"Not so tight!" He protested, trying to pry my fingers free. 

I crept down the stairs behind him. 

We reached a level passage and walked forward to a thick wooden door. My heart was pounding. 

"Don't let's open it, Jakke! No telling what's behind it!" I appealed. 

"Nothing living that long." He frowned at me. "Your father says there's no dragons to fight so a fellow must be grateful for what adventure he can find."

He strained to turn the key. I hoped the key was too rusty to turn. But it wasn't. It screeched and I bit my lip. He braced himself, strained, then threw open the door. Jakke grinned at me, delighting in his strength. 

Stale air threatened to choke us. Then we both peered into the chamber. 

I squeaked. The wall and floor were all stone. The circle of light around us was so small. Jakke drew me forward, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. I clung to him as frightened as a child. 

In the weak candle light, we passed row after row of wooden pews, layered with the dust of years. The air was heavy and the cold seeped into my bones. I shivered. 

We came to a little altar draped with once white fabric. 

Jakke looked at me and whispered, "It's a church, but why down here? Why not out where you can see out?" 

"Don't you remember the stories? The Duke’s father kept the old faith after the king forbade it,” I whispered. "So the Duke's father built this in secret." Weakly, I gestured about us. "So he could worship."

He made a soft sound of understanding. 

"It's from the days of persecution!" I whispered. 

"And we found it!" He whispered but there was triumph in his voice. 

He had cob webs in his blond hair as he grinned at me. 

My lips tugged into a reluctant smile. "You found it, Jakke." 

He shook his head. "I went no further than the opening of the passage. I needed a candle and I couldn't have a proper adventure with you, Essi." 

"Me?" I nearly laughed. "What did you need me for?" 

"Your father always says one can't have a proper adventure alone." He replied, looking around the place again. 

I watched Jakke wander slowly about the little chapel. Then he bent down behind the altar and straightened up, holding something in his hand. 

"What is that?" I whispered. 

He held out the candle to me. "I'm not certain." 

I took the candle. He opened the small book and began leafing through it. 

"It's a prayer book." He said. 

I leaned over his shoulder, trying to read the faint writing. He closed it and held it out to me. 

"Take it. The Vicar will find it interesting." He said. 

My heart sang. "Thank you." 

"You think he will like this place?" He asked, taking the candle from me. 

"I'm not certain." I glanced about as we headed back towards the stairs. 

"But I know he will want to see it." 

"I'll be happy to show it to him when he has time." Jakke said. 

I smiled. 

The way up felt easy. God's warm sunlight grew brighter and brighter. The fresh air guttered the candle. I slipped. 

Jakke caught my wrist. "Careful now!" 

His strong grip hurt, but not as much as tumbling down the uneven stairs would have. 

"Thank you." 

"It's no trouble." Jakke said.

Then we were out into the warm sunshine. We blinked in the light. As we descended the hill, I saw the village below us. Smoke coming from the chimneys. 

The hidden church seemed like a dream. I glanced behind us at the ruins of the manor. Had I dreamed it? 

"Did you like the adventure?" Jakke asked, pausi

ng. 

I smiled at that uncertainty in his usually confident eyes.

"Yes." I said without knowing why. 

He grinned. 

He Who Has Eyes, Let Him See

My eyelids peel themselves apart too slowly. A shaky hand rises to my sore eyes and rubs crust out of the corners. My body feels heavy, the way it does when I’ve slept too long on the couch. I feel sticky, slick with sweat. I try to sit up, but a wave of nausea crashes over me, forcing me to lay back down and collect myself. Even though my eyes are open, I can’t quite figure out where I am, or what I am looking at. After a minute of groaning, I pull myself up and hold onto my legs to stop myself from falling back. I turn my head left, then right, hearing cracks in my spine like a glowstick. Adjusting to the dim light, I start to make out shapes and colors. Everything is cast in a sickening dull yellow shade. There’s a light source somewhere, but I can’t find it. My hands reach out and I grab the first thing that seems sturdy. A pew? Hauling myself up, I finally can make out a semblance of where I am. Rows of pews line in front of and behind me. They are dusty, rickety and chipped. In front of me, a pulpit stands. A cross-like figure is mounted on the wall behind. My head tilts. It looks off…the horizontal beam is too low, almost making it look like a plus sign and not the Holy Cross. 

The scent of must and mildew fills my nose. I can hear water dripping somewhere, but a scan of the room doesn’t reveal its source. I turn around to find the exit door, but I only find rows upon rows of the broken down pews. This must be a large church. 

The idea of church leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I go, like most. I even volunteer. I do all the things I am supposed to do, and yet the Big Man and I aren’t really getting along. He’s been very quiet with me lately. Don’t get me started on the people in the church. That’s the one nice thing about this strange place. There are no people around. 

I feel my strength start to rise, causing me to take a step. Though I can’t see the exit door, it has to exist. One step becomes two, then four, then before I know it, I am walking without holding onto the pews. While walking, I rebraid my hair which feels like stale straw now. I pass pew after pew and still, I can’t see the door. I don’t even see the welcome room come into view. I start to feel a rising sense of anxiety. My gut twists, my hands start to sweat. Nobody wants to be stuck, but being stuck in a church of all places is the worst. My walking turns to running and still, no sign of a change. 

And then I see him. 

A male figure sits in the middle of one of the pews. I stop and stare at him. 

“Hello?” My voice is rough and raw, but audible. 

The man doesn’t move. Either he can’t hear me or he doesn’t care. He just stares forward. I lean back a little to look at his face. 

“OH MY GOSH!” I yelp, my voice echoing. I cover my mouth immediately. His face…or lack thereof is completely vacant. I can see hints of where facial features used to be, but it’s all blended in saggy sickly gray skin. I can see his shoulders move slightly so I know he is breathing…but does that mean he’s alive? 

My feet take off again, this time with a rapid purpose. I have to get out of here. The yellow lighting, the moldy smell, the nonexistent temperature- I’m suffocating, choking on air that I can’t feel. I know God and I aren’t doing well, but my voice cries out anyway. 

“JESUS” 

GASP. 

My eyes fly open, my body jerks back. I’m seated in a pew next to my friend. The colors are warm. I feel the air conditioning. I look up and I’m met with Pastor Donavan preaching his Sunday homily. 

“You okay?” My friend whispers, “You sorta blanked out there.” 

“Y-yeah..” I mumbled. 

Pastor Donavan motioned with his arms. His bold voice sounded through the walls. “God has not hidden from you!” He preaches. “He has not hidden His church. You attend church, act in the way you think you have to, and yet you are running with no end!.” Is he speaking to me? 

I look around and two pews behind me, I see him. The man with the sickly skin. He sits hunched forward, his eyes ahead. He isn’t looking at anything. My mind flashes to the endless yellowing church. 

Pastor Donavan repeats. “The church is not hidden! You just don’t have the eyes to see.” 

The Church on the Lake

The fisherman steered the boat towards the middle of the lake, which seemed to him to be asleep. On the other hand, there were many waves in the fisherman's soul and they constantly flooded his mind. "Not one will come...fear has squeezed us tight...and the new procurator is just waiting for an opportunity to throw us in prison."

The fisherman reached where he had intended and left the oars. Then he began to gather the net in his hands and when he had gathered it all, he stood up and with a strong movement threw it to the right of the boat. And then he sat down again and stared at the distant shore. Until everything began to seem the same to him, and he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, voices could be heard behind him:

„Matthew woke up... and he will have to wonder.“

„How did you know that he was not sleeping, since he did not move at all.“

„He is breathing more often, that is why.“

And the fisherman turned and looked at them sternly, and said:

„You sneak in like thieves, that's why I didn't notice you, Barsav.“

„I think you were fast asleep, Matthew.“

And they all laughed, and the newcomers were three and had just thrown their nets near their boats.

„If the procurator sees us now, he will call us and then beat us with rods and put us in prison for a long time.“ - said the youngest, named Mark.

„God will protect us and it will not happen as you say.“ - the oldest, Joseph, did not agree.

„We will see what will happen, and let's not waste time and pray.“ - said Matthew. „And let's stand with our backs to each other, so that if the procurator appears, he will not say that we are not fishing.“

And they all stood with their backs to each other and prayed. Then Barsava sang a song quietly, and the others continued with him. Later they began to talk about other matters and spoke more wisely than they usually spoke to each other. And so they discussed and pondered for a long time, until finally Matthew proposed another song. And after it, he said:

„We are grateful to God that we have gathered again, brothers. On the water or in the fire, we must not stop meeting together. Thus said our Lord, and thus we will do, without fear.“

„And…“ – Marco intervened. „The procurator came.“

And indeed, a dozen Roman soldiers appeared on the shore of the lake, along with one who seemed more prominent than them. From afar they saw that he was waving to them to go ashore.

„Shall we then take out the nets?“ – Marco asked again. „And if they are empty, the procurator will say that we are meeting for the Way.“

„If God has decided to hand us over to him, we will draw up empty nets. May it be his will, brothers.“

And they all lifted up the nets as one and began to pull them in. They pulled for a while, but they also began to shout at each other.

„It is heavy with fish and not for one person alone.“ – said Matthew.

So said the other three, whose faces were full of big smiles, and from whose eyes peeped joy and gratitude. So they began to help each other until finally they had drawn up all the nets. Then they set off for the shore, where the procurator and the soldiers did not seem as strict as they had a moment ago. And the disciples knew that God had given them more time and that by some miracle or another, His church would not cease to gather.

*

The Silent Church Comes to Life

I stand at the head of the stone steps leading to a church building, surrounded by trees and overgrown bushes. The building looms before me. “Lord, what am I doing here, and why is this building so silent?” I pray aloud.

“Go down the steps and open the doors.” The silent whisper in my soul gives me pause.

I hear my name on the wings of the wind. “Anna, come inside and pray with me.”

I don’t recognize the voice, but the whisper is inviting, not urgent.

I take one hesitant step after another, holding on to the cool metal railing for support.

The stones are worn smooth, as though hundreds, maybe thousands of feet have crossed this path before, but no longer tread these stairs.

I place both feet on solid ground, and tiptoe to the door. I place my hand on the doorknob, pausing to listen. I hear nothing but an eerie silence. I open the door, and turn on the light in the Vestibule.

The building is empty and dark. I walk through the small church, turning on all the lights and opening the blinds and curtains in the sanctuary to allow the sunlight to shine through.

The organ sits silent. I’m drawn to this instrument, though I’ve not played a piano or keyboard in years. I sit down at the organ and place my feet on the pedals and my hands on the keys.

A melody filles the empty room. I hum along as I play, praying that the light and the music will draw the people to come and worship.

A noise from behind me stops me in my tracks. “Hello? Is someone there?” I turn as a gentleman makes his way into the room.

“Excuse me miss, but no one is allowed in this building.” The gray bearded man with stooped shoulders stops in front of me.

“I’m sorry, sir. The Lord brought me here. I just want to bring this church building back to life.” I give him a quiet smile.

“I understand, but this church has been closed down for years. The fire martial told us this building was unsafe for us to have our services here, so we moved to a larger building across the street. If you’d like to come worship with us on Sunday, you’re more than welcome.” He sits on a pew in the front row and scribbles the address of the new church on an old worn-out notepad.

I stand and take the sheet of paper from him while I introduce myself.

“Forgive me Miss Anna, I’m Fred Dietrich, the founding pastor of this church. I was one of the first charter members to open these doors.”

“It’s nice to meet you. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to come here and pray. Maybe play the organ sometime? The beauty of this old building draws me and I feel a stirring in my spirit to open the door and let some light in from time to time.”

I turn back to the organ and let my fingers glide across the keys while my feet play the peddles.

“You Make lovely music, Miss Anna. And if Pastor Austin has no problem with it, I don’t see a reason why you can’t let a little heavenly light and sound filter into this lovely old building.”

The sound of footsteps coming from the church entrance stops the music once again.

“Here he comes now.” Mr. Dietrich hoists himself off the pew with the help of his cane, and hobbles over to the sanctuary door to greet the young man dressed in a business suit and tie. “Greetings, Pastor Austin. Come inside. I’d like you to meet a new young lady who’s been led into our midst by the Holy Spirit.”

“And who is our nice visitor?” The pastor steps in and stands beside the organ where I sit waiting for inspiration to play once more.

I introduce myself as I shake Pastor Austin’s hand. “It’s nice to make your acquaintance.” I stand, waiting for permission to be seated and play the organ once more.

“You make beautiful music. It lets in a bit of the Heavenly light this building used to be filled with, before we moved to the church across the street.” He takes a seat on the front pew and I reclaim my seat on the organ bench.

“Do you mind if I come in here to pray and play the organ once and a while?” My voice shakes a bit as I ask the question. Where is the boldness I received from God when I came into this building.

“I’d love to have you come and play here and at our church. You can come in and pray every day if you wish. Let me give you my number, so you can text me when you’re on your way. If the door’s locked and I’m not here, Fred lives in the parsonage behind the building. All you have to do is call his name and he’ll come open the door.” He writes his phone number on   a different sheet of paper, and I put the number in my phone for future reference. “I would say you could go around back, but the shrubs haven’t been pruned for years. I think it’s time I get our landscaping team on it. We need to stop hiding this building and invite people to come in and pray whenever they like.” Pastor Austin gets to his feet and strolls back to the door. “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

I rise from the organ bench and shake Mr. Dietrich’s hand once more. “It was nice chatting with you fine fellas and playing the organ, but I’ll be late for work if I don’t leave now.”

He shakes my hand and wishes me well. “God bless you, Sister anna,” he calls as I mosey out the door.