A Test of Faith

Jeremy sat, crouched alone at the mouth of the cave that he had lived in for … was it a moon, a season, a year, or always? With a stick he reopened the stigmata-like wounds on his hands and feet. The distant sensation that doing this brought had long become a welcome distraction from the almost suffocatingly empty pain and weariness that his fasting was causing him. In the distance, smoke rose high into the sky from below where the villagers were presumably preparing their dinner. Jeremy’s thoughts once again returned to days long since past: He and his brethren would have just enjoyed the deep satisfaction of breakfasting on warm onion soup after yet another long day working in the hot sun to establish their new dwellings. The dormitories were built. The kitchen and hall that they were now sitting in, served well to produce sufficient sustenance and a venue in which to socialise. All that was still wanting in their new home was the garden. Granted, it was adequate for their present, modest needs, but in order to fulfil the common dream of providing food, shelter and, most importantly, guidance to the surrounding villages’ elderly, poor, prosecuted and unfit, the commune’s garden would require at least another four moons’ worth of labour.
‘Brothers and sisters,’ interjected Matthew over the relaxed chatter from around the table. ‘Again, it has pleased God to permit us another day working freely for His greater glory.’
‘Amen,’ muttered the congregation agreeably.
‘But, let us not therefore become lax in our devotion to Him. I remind you again that Lord Cunningham persists with his angered demands that we pay tax to his estate and I have heard today from one of our many sympathisers that the very same church in which the majority of us were born and raised has recently joined Lord Campbell in the campaign against us by denouncing our cause as heretical to the congregation of yesterday’s sermon. Let us not forget the fate of our not so distant neighbours and martyrs. In solidarity with them and as a show of devotion to our Lord and Saviour, let us once again open the wounds that bind us together. Imitatio Christi. ’
With this Jeremy, Matthew and their companions again scratched and picked at the wounds on the back of their hands and the tops of their feet until the blood flowed freely.
‘Jeremy, would you be so kind as to recite to us the life and death of Saint Gearoid?’ Matthew requested, whereupon Jeremy recounted the trials of Saint Gearoid’s forty years spent alone in the desert, his down coming into Basheba to preach the word of God, his rapidly growing disciples, and his subsequent imprisonment, torture and final martyrdom. When Jeremy had finished, Matthew once again took the floor.
‘It is in contemplating the commendable lives of Saints like Gearoid that we begin to appreciate just how ill prepared we are for the many trials of faith that the Lord may ask of us. Let us not be guilty of the arrogance of Peter or we will unwittingly undermined our cause, for although we all may well be slaughtered before or after our garden is ready to feed those in need, even in death our steadfastness and resolve to the devotion of the Lord will feed the hearts of thousands like us to finally overthrow the greed of false idols like Campbell.’
‘Amen,’ resounded the common word of commitment once again, and Jeremy’s hand unconsciously moved to touch the wound on the other; the sharp pain drawing him back from his reverie.
Saint Jeremy silently stood and retreated into his isolated cave to sleep the best his vacuous belly would allow. He would remain ready for them.