Short Story / Simple Sermon (Analysis)
Once, upon Sunday’s best given sunshine, Henry Delroy collapsed exhausted into cold, cascading water. An hour church service had punched holes in his best sustainable sermon. Each vibrant cantos rolled from a deep souled universe as if coming from a well supplied spiritual well, and for the entire time he was in awe at the power of his unprepared message. Now, outside the foundations of bleached white, wooden church, mere feet to a sparkling creek that snaked into and out of Montana plains, Henry collapsed.
His body smacked into the shallow creek with a horrible clap, yet he retained a decimal of composure breathing water into over strained lungs. He was happy.
“Henry!” a small voice rose up from beyond cotton filled ears; but, instinctively, Henry knew he had frightened her. He expected this to happen, this shock. She, his mother, had no idea what he had been through. She hadn’t felt the raw essence of the Holy Ghost, a pitching, rolling ship of love, compassion and indescribable divineness; a thing of love, beauty and almost poignant veracity.
Rolling over, Henry smiled. It was that smile that calmed his mother’s storm. The whole affair had been shocking to her, as most everything Henry did these days shocked her. He was becoming an apostle. Her son was evolving into an instrument of God; a fact that filled her heart with both joy and dread.
“How’s that for a surprise ending?” Henry yelled. “I bet you never saw that coming did you Mom?
“What a crazy fool, you thought. ‘What an obsessed man of God’ you screamed inside your head. And you were right! You were right! Mom, I feel the power of the Lord running marathons in my veins! I feel the light filling me, taking over where a mind has no place being, and I am so happy He has picked me! Amen and Hallelujah!”
“Henry, please come out of the water. You nearly killed yourself on the rocks this time!”
Henry looked left to the one hundred fifty or so large stones he had planted as a child, some twenty years ago. And in his mind’s eye he saw it, that time, as a clouded, foggy memory. Reaching a hand out from the water he managed to reach one of the largest stones, a fifty pound chunk of hardened granite (he supposed). It was quite clearly a stone he could have brained himself on; an easy target for a head consumed with energetic love of God.
“A miracle. I never saw it!” His voice spoke softly beyond the audible range of his mother’s hearing.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just talking to God ‘s all. Just having me a little talk with God.”
“Well, why don’t you come out and talk to him on land? You’re gonna get yourself sick.”
“You’re the Doc, Mom. You’re always lookin’ out for me.”
“I am.” She said, her mind jumping through thirty years of Henry’s life. In it she saw broken bones, dead pets and crying brothers, but always she saw Happy Henry smiling.
But that’s the miracle! He always smiled, dumb-like. Simple.
“Come on.” She held out her hands and motioned inward.
“Where are we off too?”
“Supper.”
“Good gracious, yes!” Henry breathed.
In twin arcing leaps he was on the shores of the mighty Montana creek -- called Sherman’s creek by the locals, though no one alive knew why -- and into the arms of his mother.
Cool drops of Montana moisture slipped over the edge of Henry’s protruding belly, making puddles around him, though several inches beyond his belted waste. His gray pants, a black flecked pattern throughout, gripped his legs like a second skin; and where the cuff ended white socks and blue canvass sneakers prevailed.
“Mom? Do you think they understood me?”
“Yes. I think they did. I’m sure they did.” And as she said this Henry’s sermon played itself back to her, a recording encapsulated in memory.
She saw him, Henry, retorting through swollen tongue, a familiar broad ace and Down’s eyes. She heard, again, a simple speech pattern with limited vocabulary drowning out crying babies and boisterous inattentive children. Each member of the congregation smiled politely at Henry. Each pair of eyes watched him speak volumes about divine guidance and miraculous love through outstretched, waving arms and stamping feet. And yet, though he was somewhat confused at times, his message retained a crystal clear morality to it.
His equanimity stunned everyone in the end, when he spoke one clear phrase:
“Let’s love all of us under Heaven.”
But then they saw the messenger and disregarded the message. They knew that all children have wished for world wide love and compassion. And though the Lord breathed eloquent words to the same effect it has remained a dream to be prayed for; another command from heaven to be discarded.
Our Lord is not convenient!
“Can we eat now? God’s made me hungry.”
She tapped his stomach with a soft pat, sighing heartily at the thought of another day with Henry, her ever pleasant boy in a man’s body.
“I bet he has!”
“Did you like my sermon, Mom?”
“Best I ever heard.”
“God loved me today. He helped me preach!”
“God loves you every day, Henry. You’re the only one with common sense left on the planet.”
“Ah, Mom! Stop it!” He smiled.
Loni and Henry Delroy walked arm in arm together through clouds of dark humored souls. And as each person passed by they felt warm hands grasp their hearts, and enlivenment enter unto them. Smiles lifted their faces toward heaven, led by a man’s simple sermon.
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I, like you, am not a religious person. But I have tears in my eyes. Sometimes the power of belief and conviction is enough to move people. This story is moving. There were a couple of points where the story was a bit hard to follow, but I thought that might have been intentional, to let the reader understand how difficult communication can be between people without disabilities and those with disabilities. It might be helpful to clear this up a little bit, but overall I really like the story.
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