Remoy Philip

writer. creator. producer.

Simply ,'Amen'




There were no pews. Rows of cushioned back chairs colored a light blue sat in rows. In between was a narrow path that lead to a small stepped pulpit. The floors were carpeted. Next to stain-glass windows of the apostles raising their hands were two flat screen monitors that displayed old words from an even older text. A middle-aged man wearing a blue t-shirt played guitar. A young girl, with brown hair, stood next to him and sang with a sweet voice. A boy toward the back played drums, and his head bobbed smartly to the rhythm as he played. I watched as young boys stomped their feet as an unnamable feeling went through them and a smile pushed up into their lips as they sang. Then the preacher, not young but neither old, began to speak. He wore a simple blue colored oxford shirt and his pants hung straight down from his midsection. He spoke about what it took to be His and how different that was from simply just following. He spoke casually and occasionally was self-deprecating. Laughter echoed. Then he spoke about graciousness and what it took to give up everything. Some people in the congregation smiled. Others nodded and said, 'Amen.' Occasionally children squealed and cried and their mothers soon led them by the hand out of the room. Just outside, to the south of the old cathedral, there is a small pond. It is squarish and the water shimmers silver. Flocks of birds float while ducks squawk loudly. Families watch with smiles while bread is shared between the hands of parents and children alike. Cars pass by and no one honks. Between the families and the church, stands many crooked old graves. Headstones made of stone and granite built centuries ago have English surnames carved out of them. Old tools were used. An iron chisel held in the grip of a well trained man. A body lies nearby decaying and elsewhere, not far, a family grieves. And there in the same place, hundred of years prior, with the same stain-glass windows, tinted grey because of soot and smoke, men and women will bow their heads and pray, and a man will offer them all truth in the form of gracious words. And somewhere standing with hands raised, with the feelings of hope and posterity, someone will answer simply, 'Amen.'