Chapel

Friends and Readers,

I’ve only posted two other selections from Human Unforgiven, the prequel to the Adam Kinde mysteries which takes place when Adam was an adolescent—the account of Flash torturing an angel, and the account of Adam’s unforgivable sin.

Today’s scene comes from the early pages in the novel, giving us a deeper sense of the world young Adam inhabited.

“The primary task of any state religion is to control the worldview of the populace—a task that was greatly simplified because all media during that period were owned and operated by the clergy. And tremendous care was taken in the training of those clergy to cement the desired worldview in their minds.”

Lillian Trublood, The Dynamics of Deception: Indoctrination Method and Practice During the Short Domination

There’s something about ritual that puts you in a different place. For just a moment, as I entered the chapel, I forgot about Dolores and Flash and my unforgivable sin.

I had entered that space hundreds of times since I first came to seminary, and just walking in the door awakened a kind of composite memory in me of all those experiences.

It may have been the scent of old wood and candle smoke, or the cool, quiet air, or the music. Tom Brown, an older student and an accomplished musician, was playing the hymn for entering on his harmonica up front, and the high, sweet notes echoed in the vast space above us.

But I think it was also some homier and plainer things: the threadbare rug on the floor just inside the entrance, the subdued voices of the students in the pews, the watchful eyes of the teachers monitoring our entrance.

I made my way to my seat, traced a circle on the front of my Bible, and the first hymn appeared on its surface, matching the number on the hymn board that hung to the right of the pulpit.

That was another of the mysteries of the seminary—like Dr. Thomas’ walk across the lake. The hymn board was a throw-back to the Dark Age, a sort of frame with grooved spaces to hold wooden cards with numbers on them. Each time we had chapel, someone (I suppose it was Pastor Dean) manually changed the cards so that the board displayed a list of the hymns we’d be singing. He did the same for the scripture board on the other side, which displayed the verse references for the sermon.

Like Dr. Thomas’ walk across the lake, there was no practical reason for him to go to all that trouble. Every student had a Bible which displayed the correct hymns and scripture, so the point of those boards escaped me.

Like I said: a mystery.

We stood to sing the first hymn, and Pastor Dean opened with prayer. It was a Thursday, so the youngest class filed forward then, for the blessing of their Bibles. After the second hymn he called three of the oldest boys forward for a culmination ceremony.

They were being ordained to the seminary proper, to their final studies toward ministry.

The three came and knelt on the step to the platform, and Pastor Dean turned his back to us and faced the cabinet which hangs on the wall behind the pulpit. It contains the lamp and the sword—the two symbols of the seminary.

He made the same sign of the stone you use on your Bible, and the cabinet door swung open. He took the oil lamp in one hand and the sword in the other and carried them to the communion table in front of the pulpit, where he laid the sword.

He then lit the lamp, stepped forward, dipped a finger in the oil, and touched it to the first boy’s forehead, anointing him with the oil of the spirit.

He did this to each of them, then put the lamp on the table. Then, lifting the two-edged sword of the word, he tapped each of them on each shoulder.

This was done in complete silence, and we all hardly breathed while it was happening. One day we would be kneeling where those boys were now, and the solemnity of the moment was not lost on any of us.

We sang the third hymn, and it was time for the sermon.

Dr. Thadeus Miller was preaching on Thursdays that month.