It had been a long time.
The hiatus not by choice.
The Messenger had been very patient. Opportunities hard – impossible – to come by.
Patience finally rewarded.
Hope Church near Harmony was small, yet aesthetically pleasing, white and clean, with three attractive stained-glass windows of contemporary design, a triptych worthy of a grander church.
One of the windows was under repair of some kind this evening.
Someone up a ladder inside, visible through the cross in the center section.
Lights already out, he killed the engine, coasted down the slope to the rear of the church, quietly pulled up the handbrake, got out and opened the tailgate, then walked around to the front and went silently inside.
Not so much as a squeak from the door.
And no one else in there.
No need for the Messenger to tell him what to do.
It had been so long, and he was hungry for it, and here it was, like an invitation.
He approached the foot of the ladder.
The man at work on the stained glass was young, listening to music through ear phones, immersed in his intricate labor.
‘As the shaking of an olive tree,’ the Messenger quoted from Isaiah inside the head of the man standing below.
Not one to tolerate being left out, the Messenger.
No tree here, just a ladder.
So he shook that instead.