Communion Chapter 1 “The blessing of the Lord go with you, my son.” “And so it shall be.” Philip Exeter cupped his hands and received the small wafer, cradling it gently as he guided it towards his mouth. Reverend Jacobs smiled down upon him, leaning close, and for a brief second, Philip found himself in shadow. Philip nestled into this circle of black as if it were the life–giving warmth of the Lord himself. A tear sprang to his eye as he swallowed the communion and stood, blinking in the glaring lights of the cathedral. “Philip.” “Reverend.” The two nodded and Philip returned to his seat. The choir reached a crescendo, and Philip stepped carefully across the padded carpet, imagining that every note, every sound, every rustle of air was for him. There were no accidents in life. “This moment, it is for thee,” murmured Philip and squeezed Joanne's leg softly. She smiled, grabbed his hand and held on tightly. His pulse skipped a step to synch up with hers, and in their union, Philip saw God. “Please stand,” said the Reverend. An hour could have passed, or a second. Philip reached his arm around Joanne and helped hoist her to an upright position. His hand unconsciously snaked out, rubbing her belly, sending energy to his firstborn. His son. His future. “Please join me in 'Lord, Thou Art My Savior.'” There was no rustling of paper, no whispered confusions. Only purity of voice. Single-minded purpose. Direction. Life. Intent. Philip sang out loudly and traced the path of the wafer down his throat and into his stomach, where it sat with a contented weight. The siren blared against their ears, and for the briefest of moments, Philip truly believed that God was speaking back, answering their song. Klaxons shrieked in the temple and the halogen lights began their warning strobes. Reverend Jacobs slowly put down his arms, opened his eyes, and stepped to the microphone. “Everyone, it appears we have a category 4 heat tornado approaching. You know what to do. The Lord is with you. Please assume your appropriate stations and go about your lives knowing that you are chosen.” The congregation, still standing, still unmoving, said, “We are chosen.” “You are holy.” “We are holy.” “This life is created for you.” “This life is created for me.” “This moment is yours to receive.” “This moment is mine to receive.” “Go forward now, and serve the Lord in everything you do. Every waking breath you take is in glory and honor of Him.” “Amen,” said Philip as he grabbed Joanne's arm and led her into the aisle. The crowd parted for the two of them, giving way to the obvious pregnancy. She was due in less than a month, and her belly had grown to nearly unimaginable proportions. Philip kept one hand tightly wrapped around her arm, the other firmly placed on her stomach as the two wound through the orderly exodus from the hall. The door was momentarily clogged, and Philip risked a look back. The entering and exiting view of the main cathedral of Dominion always left him awestruck. The minute gold gilding, the towering statues of Saint Jerome and St. Paul, the millions of tiny diamonds encrusting the altar...it was an act of worship simply to be in that room. Another set of chills poured through Philip and he imagined for a second that he was living in the shadow of Reverend Jacobs. It was a comforting thought. Holiness was something that could not be taught. It either was, or it wasn't. “Come on, honey,” said Joanne. Philip jerked himself back to the present and strode forward, walking with a purpose to his crisis station. The enemy never won. Philip was chosen. So were they all.