Faith

                (A church.  FATHER DAVIS sits in a pew.  KATHY enters, sees him, takes him in.  She sits.)

KATHY:  Hello Father.

FATHER DAVIS:  Katherine.

KATHY:  You never call me Kathy.

FATHER DAVIS:  I had an aunt named Kathy once.

KATHY:  And?

FATHER DAVIS:  I wasn’t very fond of her.

KATHY:  You never told me that.

FATHER DAVIS:  I keep my cards close.

KATHY:  Always have.  Not like that other priest.

FATHER DAVIS:  What other one?

KATHY:  The young one.

FATHER DAVIS:  Oh.  Father Ryan.

KATHY:  Every sneeze gets a sermon.

FATHER DAVIS:  You’re too hard on people, Katherine.

KATHY:  You sound like Bill.

FATHER DAVIS:  I miss Bill.

KATHY:  Don’t we all?

FATHER DAVIS:  I give you a lot of credit Katherine.  Losing a spouse isn’t easy.  Especially like that.

KATHY:  Like what?  He was shoveling the walkway.  He had a heart attack and dropped dead.  He wasn’t torn apart by gorillas.

FATHER DAVIS:  Sudden death is difficult for some people.

KATHY:  I’m glad it happened fast.  All my life I dreaded the idea of sitting in some hospital room while the love of my life wasted away in some bed.  Nope.  Not for me.  Bill was good.  When it was his time, he went.  No fuss.  Oh sure, I cried about it, but I wasn’t lacking for anything.  I didn’t need some sort of grand deathbed ‘I love you.’  I knew he loved me.  And he knew I loved him.  And that was that.  No unfinished business.

FATHER DAVIS:  Aside from the mistess.

KATHY:  Yeah, aside from that.

FATHER DAVIS:  Katherine, are you here because of the comet?

KATHY:  No.  I’m here to check on you.

FATHER DAVIS:  Thank you.  That’s very sweet.  Although, I have to admit, I was hoping you were here for spiritual guidance.

KATHY:  Father, the world’s about to end.  I don’t need to be ready for it.  It’s going to happen if I’m ready for it or not.

FATHER DAVIS:  Aren’t you surprised?

KATHY:  No.  Why?  Are you?

FATHER DAVIS:  Yes.

KATHY:  Did they not cover Revelations in seminary school?

FATHER DAVIS:  I…Right.

KATHY:  Everything ends, Father.  I don’t see why the world should be any different.

FATHER DAVIS:  It just seems…hard to understand the meaning of it.  The point.

KATHY:  Maybe the point is now we all get to go to Heaven.  Together.  All at once.  That’s a nice thought.

FATHER DAVIS:  Is that what you believe?

KATHY:  Oh, hell no.  But it’s a nice thought.

FATHER DAVIS:  I’m going to be honest with you, Katherine.  I feel as if…my faith has been shaken.

KATHY:  And you’re going to give me spiritual advice?

FATHER DAVIS:  This isn’t the way I would expect things to end.  There’s nothing poetic or appropriate about it.  A comet’s going to hit the earth and we’re all going to die in some fiery explosion or tidal wave or something.  And nobody’s going to be saved.  All of humanity’s history is leading up to a moment of shock and horror.  And the endless deaths of billions of people.  And it just seems…I can’t reconcile it.  Not any of it.  I always thought that the point of religion and faith was to find the beauty in the everyday experience.  To find appreciation.  To believe that things do happen for a reason.  What do you always hear me say in church?  That you do matter.  That there’s a reason you’re here.  So what was that reason?  So we could all die?  I’m not a stupid man.  I don’t discount science.  But the pure scientific coldness of all this just…hurts me.  I don’t know a better word for it.  It hurts me.

KATHY:  Father…My husband died on a sidewalk on a cold day holding a shovel and a beer.  The last call he made on his phone was to that mistress you mentioned, which means his last words didn’t go to me, but went to another woman who he probably loved at least a little bit.  There wasn’t anything poetic about that death either, but his life…His life was poetry.  In an everyday way like you said, but still—it was really lovely.  Death isn’t a beautiful thing, Father, that’s why we all work so hard at life, isn’t it?

                (FATHER DAVIS looks out at his church.)

FATHER DAVIS:  Yes, Katherine.

                (A moment.)

Yes.

                (KATHY takes his hand.)

KATHY:  You know, we might be fine.  They’re saying the damn thing could go right past us and into the sun and that’d be that.

FATHER DAVIS:  Didn’t they say it was only a twenty percent chance?

KATHY:  (Shrugs.)  It’s still a chance.

FATHER DAVIS:  You’re right.

KATHY:  Gotta unshake your faith, Father.  Just until you know which way the dice is going to land.

FATHER DAVIS:  I’m trying, Katherine.  God knows I’m trying.

KATHY:  Well, if it’s all right with you, I’ll sit here and try with you.

FATHER DAVIS:  That would be nice.

KATHY:  Should we sing a hymn or something?

FATHER DAVIS:  Katherine, I’ve heard you sing in choir.

KATHY:  And?

FATHER DAVIS:  And Lord says silence is golden.

KATHY:  The Lord says that?

FATHER DAVIS:  Through me, Katherine, he says it through me.

                (She smiles.)

KATHY:  Then we’ll just sit quietly and see what happens.

FATHER DAVIS:  That’s all we can do.

KATHY:  Amen, Father.  Amen.

                (And so they sit.)