This story is not mine. I am only telling it because I seem to be the only one willing to tell it. Maybe I'm the only one capable. The story appeared in one or two editions of local newspapers, but no copy of those manuscripts remains for you to verify my words. This will have to be a matter of trust between us. Faith would probably be a better word for it, but I'll get to that soon enough.
I live a mile or two outside a small town in central Kansas. Have for most of my life. I am still young, and that frightens me greatly. I still have a long time to live with the memories of that bright, fiery summer in the year of our Lord, 2001. As long as I do live, I hope never to see man rise again to those destructive heights. I feel that I will.
It was May. The sun was still a pale yellow imprint over the eastern edge of sprouting fields and softly rolling hills. The shafts of light pierced through the peaked windows of the First Lutheran church, promising that the pleasant warmth of the morning would soon begin its change into the angry red heat of midday. I was sitting in the third pew from the back, feeling a little dozy with the heat. The words of the honorable Rev. Stein droned on into the gathering daylight like a squadron of bullflies over a pigsty. I conveniently tuned out the preacher's baritone buzzing and focused on the back of Laura's head, her long, soft auburn hair flashing red and gold whenever she shifted in the sunlight.
It was a hypnotic view.
She must have felt me watching her, because she turned to look over her shoulder at me. I hurriedly looked down and pretended to read from the passage the reverend was preaching on, but my Bible was closed, as usual, and I felt heat rise up in my cheeks. She couldn't have seen me... could she? I thought, trying to will the blood out of my face. I peered over the top of the pew in front of me. Her hair was now pulled forward over one shoulder, exposing the whiteness of her neck to the early morning rays. She had seen me and was making sure I got a really good look. I almost turned into a Pentecostal right then and there (can I get a hallelujah?), but I held my seat and my breath until I thought I would pass out. When I breathed again I was more or less under control. Then I was struck with a thought I couldn't get rid of; could I get her to look again? This could be difficult, I thought. What would happen if her father-
"No man can look on the face of God and live."
The preacher's deep voice cut through my thoughts like a chainsaw, sending a bolt of electricity into my gut. I looked up, startled into complete attention. The balding, overweight reverend leaned forward over the decrepit pulpit and continued in the same sleepy tones.
"The very sight of God is too great for the mind of man to take in. Even a miniscule part of Him, if glimpsed, even for the tiniest of moments, would be enough to drive the wisest man insane. God can not be comprehended in His entirety, so he has left us His Word, and has given us the holy injunction..."
His voice faded again to that lulling drone as my mind ran over those words again and again, looking for some significance that touched me deeper than the words themselves could do. No man can look on the face of God and live, huh? Why should those words sound to me like the tolling of so many death-knells? Actually, why would I even notice them at all, given my hypnotized state at the time...? Maybe it was the Spirit of God talking to me... maybe not. I'm not saying that I don't believe it's possible, but I think that (for the most part, anyway) mankind is incapable of hearing the voice of God, even if anyone was really listening anymore. I think we've lost that.
When Laura smiled over her shoulder at me again five minutes later, I hardly noticed.
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