Who: Jonathan Crane, NPC!Preist (and anyone venturing near a church on Easter after Mass) Where: St. Paul Roman Catholic Church, Gotham, NJ When: Easter Sunday (April 08, 2012, before his date with Harley, forward dated) What: Jonathan pays his respects. Rating: PG - Religious Imagery and Themes
O Jesus, King, receive my supplication, and consider my supplication, as a pledge to You.
Jonathan made his way up the aisle of the nave, kneeling at the end of the pews, before the alter and the holy crucifixion of Christ, his head bowed. The silence that surrounded him pressed against his body, the parishioners long since gone after Easter Mass, even the priest and alter boys vanished off to do what they do to clean up after a major holiday.
For you, O living King, have gone forth and gone up, out of Hell, as Conqueror
It had been a year since he had set foot into a church, cutting that part of him out of his life for as long as he could, happily playing the reborn Atheist to the world around him, despite the pain in his chest with each moment he pretended a part of him wasn't breaking every time he ignore yet another religious observance that had once meant so much to him.
Woe to those who have rejected you; For, to evil spirits and demons, You are sorrow, to Satan and to Death,
No matter how much his devout Great-Grandmother had tried, she could never fully beat the religion out of him. He had no reason to keep his faith, no reason to trust and believe in a God that would allow that woman to be in control of his life...to allow him to keep living despite every prayer for it all just to end.
You are pain, To Sin and Hell, You are mourning.
And yet, buried deep down, hidden under years of torture and abuse...he still believed. He still trusted...and he still hurt.
Yet, joy has come today, for those who are born anew.
He raised his head to look up at the man on the cross above him, a tear sliding down his cheek. There was something about the act, the release of control to something greater then even him that broke him every time. Each moment he knelt in prayer, he could feel it filling him, compressing him, forcing him to bow under it's weight even as it broke him apart.
On this great day therefore, We give great glory to You, who died and is now alive,
In his darkest, most desperate moments, Jonathan imagined that the Spirit took those pieces, examined them, studied them...and found them wanting.
He had no illusions as to who he was and what he had and more then likely would do in his life. He knew where he stood on the Book of Life and just what would happen when the day of reckoning came.
The tears were flowing faster now, memories of past and present, deed and action flowing through him, pulling at him, begging for release. Jonathan buried his head in his hands, shoulders shaking as he cried, purging himself of all the pain, rage, HATE, despair that flowed through him. He felt broken, bleeding as he knelt there, sobbing in an empty church, the black lamb that had turned his back on God having judgment passed against him.
“Jonathan?” A soft voice came from behind him and Jonathan sucked in a screaming gasp, turning. Behind him stood the aging priest that had been there since Jonathan had first walked into the church when he eighteen and lost.
“I'm sorry, Father Samuel,” Jonathan said, dragging a sleeve across his eyes, more then likely ruining the ungodly expensive fabric with his tears.
The priest smiled, kneeling next to the man he considered one of his own, gently touching Jonathan's elbow, giving him strength. “You say that every year...and I will tell you the same I always do,” he said, using a wrinkled thumb to brush away a stray tear. “Never be sorry,” He placed a soft kiss against Jonathan's forehead before starting to help Jonathan stand only to suddenly stumble.
Jonathan tightened his hold on the man, supporting and steadying him. “Samuel?” he questioned, concerned as he lead the priest to the nearest pew, helping him sit.
“It's alright, Jonathan, just getting old. My knees aren't what they used to be,” he said, patting Jonathan's hand.
“That wasn't your knees, Samuel,” Jonathan said, dropping the honorific in his fear of losing the only father figure he had in his life. He had known Samuel for fifteen years, and while he may have attended church (barely) once a year, he saw the man at least once a month...
...until he had started running around as Scarecrow, too afraid to face the priest after that.
“Please...what's wrong?” he whispered, fingers trembling as he pushed open Samuel's alb to get to his shirt, unbuttoning it enough to slip his hand in, resting his hand over the man's heart, staring into the clouded brown eyes that were looking up at him.
“It's been a bit of a bad road, Jonathan,” Samuel said, and Jonathan finally realized that the older man was breathing heavily, panting just from the small action of having knelt next to him.
“When?”
Samuel coughed, struggling to get a proper breath. “Two months ago, Michael found me passed out on the floor in the kitchens,”
“Why didn't you tell me?” Jonathan cried, wanting to shake the man, crying again.
“We did, Jonathan. We left a message on your answering machine.” Samuel said, scolding the younger man with his words.
His answering machine. In his apartment. That he never went home to, just paid the rent on and occasionally stopped by long enough to grab a new weeks worth of clothing.
“Samuel, I'm so sorry,” Jonathan whispered, clutching at the man's clothing, burying his face in the priest's chest.
“It's alright my son, you're here now,” Samuel said, gently brushing his finger through Jonathan's hair. “It's alright, I'll be fine...I promise,” The words were hollow and they both knew it, but Jonathan sniffled, shifting his position, sitting next to Samuel on the pew, clinging to the older man's hand tightly as they both stared up at the Son of God above them, wondering how many more Easters they might have together.