The Joining

When the pastor closed his eyes and raised his arms to send the benediction over the congregation, Marcie kept her head up. She wasn't surprised at his sincerity; his eyes were closed as he chanted the prayer, blessing them. The rest of them could bow their heads and close their eyes if they wanted, but Marcie needed to look at him as long as she could. She only had these stolen moments, during the service, all out in plain sight. She wanted to burn his image in her mind to carry her through the week, at least until choir practice on Thursday. They would be together then. Marcie would find a way. She had to find a way to deal with the burning within her. She watched the play of candlelight against few silver strands in his thick black hair and wondered what it would be like to run her long nails, painted rainy day red, through it. Then he opened his eyes at "amen" and looked straight at her, the two of them alone in the sanctuary filled with parishioners. That blessing was only hers. She licked her lips and repeated "amen." So be it, she thought. She smiled to her pew mates, and gathered her bag. "Shall we go to brunch?" she asked her husband. **** Tim McGraw played from the portable cd player Steve kept with him as he laid out the vestments for communion on the altar. Halos of candlelight danced around the room, almost in time with the backbeat, and Steve hummed the songs full of sin and heartbreak that had been his first calling. The only place to play his guitar when he was a kid was the church youth group. One thing led to another before he found himself graduating from Seminary instead of playing the clubs in Austin or Beale Street or Nashville. The members of the small town choirs he'd directed appreciated it when he treated them, and himself, to his own version of salvation. He reasoned that everyone needed a break from hymns once in a while, and Steve enjoyed the way the music wrapped around them. It had tremendous power. Sometimes he even saw tears in their eyes. Communion was a once w a month ritual at his new church, and the small Appalachian community flocked to it. The celebration had become so popular that Steve added a Friday night service. When someone knelt at his altar, he felt like he was finally doing what he'd been called for. Those moments made it easier for him to face the more difficult aspects of his ministry. Family counseling was quickly becoming a problem. How could he help people whose lives were so messed up? Domestic violence, drug abuse, adulteryall seemed to be commonplace in the town and it seemed so peaceful when he'd first arrived. Steve prayed often about it, but his prayers seemed to be answered with more need. The number of sessions scheduled for counseling were increasing, exponentially. Most of them seemed to be with middle aged, attractive, married women. He sighed and remembered Job. At least he could give them a safe place to talk. But he was starting to feel like they lived country-western lyrics. ****** Marcie had watched from the shadows of the narthex and enjoyed the mood her pastor had created in the sanctuary. Candles, sexy music, and even wine. Her mission wasn't just going to be easy, it was going to be fun. Choir practice had broken up early, ending with Steve's rendition of Great Balls of Fire, tongue in cheek. The older women had laughed, but Marcie understood what it was to burn. From her place in the shadows, she waited until the last of the singers left, put on her "tormented wife" look, unbuttoned the top three buttons on her silk blouse and slouched a bit. Her caring pastor wouldn't be able to resist. "Uh, Pastor? Are you busy, or could we... talk?" Steve nearly dropped the tiny communion cups. "Marcie!" he shouted. "Oh, I'm sorry! You startled me!" Marcie felt the glow of lust rise up from her belly. He was gorgeous and she was ready. "I guess I should have called...I'll ... come back another time." A single glistening tear rolled down her cheek. She'd practiced it for days. "It's just that things are so bad..." "No, no, please, come in. I can finish this later." "I'd be happy to help you." Marcie sighed. "I really don't want to go home yet. He...he's been drinking today." Steve looked at the poor woman and wondered what kind of man would treat such a creature so badly. Beautiful and sensitive, with laughter, the few times he'd heard her laugh, like the song of a canary. The sadness in her eyes gripped him. It made him want to protect her. To save her. "There is really very little left to do. We'll pour the wine—er, the grape juice, before the service tomorrow." "This wine?" Marcie asked as she unscrewed the tin cap. "No don't...! Yes, I don't suppose grape juice needs to breathe, or that air will hurt it." he laughed. She filled the chalice used for the blessing full. "Do you think I could have my own private communion, here, tonight, where I can really experience the rapture of it all? It would be so much more meaningful for me than it would be in service, with him, tomorrow? Is that allowed? I mean, are there rules for when a pastor can do that?" Steve looked into her deep violet eyes. "No, the Pastor has discretion. The rules are of divine origin when it comes to salvation." Marcie ran her tongue across her full upper lip, outlined in a color that matched the liquid in the cup. "Would the pastor exercise some discretion?" She held out her hand. He took it, and she dropped to her knees. He held his hands around the cup and murmured the words he knew so well. "This is my blood…" "Wait." Marcie gazed into his eyes. "At service, the pastor always communes first. Don't you have to be in a state of grace to grant it?" "What do you mean?" "You drink first." Steve nodded. That was the normal course of things, and he found himself needing to pay attention. The thoughts that were nagging at the back of his brain were not as pure as they should have been. He raised the chalice to his lips and drank. He sputtered at the taste of the fluid. It was too thick to be juice, and didn't have the flavor of wine either. It tasted more of iron, or copper. "Blood of my body," Marcie smiled, and laced her fingers around Steve's. She guided the cup to her own mouth then, and drank deeply of the thick warm fluid. She tilted the cup away from her mouth, and let it drop to the floor of the vestibule. She slid her hands on top of his, and ran her ruby nails along the pulse of his wrist. As she gazed into the green eyes, they started to cloud. She smiled as she felt the first serpent slide from the sleeves of her blouse, its fluorescent stare fixed on the pulsing vein of Steve's wrist. The snake wrapped around their interlaced hands, coiling them together, a loose spring stretched taut. It fangs grazed along Marcie's wrists, opening the pink scars that extended beyond her cuffs with a single gash of its sharp teeth. The snake took one more turn around their arms before sinking the sharp points into Steve's veins. Then it coiled tight, binding them wrist to wrist. The blood dripped from where they joined, and excess spilled onto the floor where the chalice had dropped. As the hot fresh blood splashed into the puddle, it sizzled. Steve spoke, his speech thick and slurred as though he'd been drinking strong liquor for hours. "Who are you?" Her reply was in a language not spoken in a thousand years. Their blood commingled until the beat of his heart was the same slow rhythm of hers, and Steve calmed, a sense of completion draping over him the way the robes of ministry that he'd never been able to wear couldn't. The second and third snakes slithered from her left and right pant cuffs, and slowly coiled around each leg, his to her. Hers to his. There was no denying his arousal as they were bound together, and the snakes heads met at their waists, and the light fabric of his summer suit was no challenge for the sharp teeth of the snakes. Marcie's own clothing seemed to have melted. "It's in the Bible, Pastor." Steve felt his body react to her soft skin laced close to his own. The completion of their joining would be simple, with no help from the snakes. -emd- As the basis for their belief, those who handle serpents cite Mark 16:17-18: "And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; they shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick and they shall recover."