“Faith is standing in the darkness, and a hand is there, and we take it.”

-Frederick Buecher, The Magnificent Defeat

The man praying was known to be very spiritual. I am usually suspicious of such people, which really means that I am jealous of them. But I could tell he was really talking to God and I liked the sound it made. He prayed for the evening and for the band. He was getting worked-up and so was everybody else, except for me, of course. I don’t expect to get excited these days, it’s been so long. Still, I was listening as best I could in-between my inevitable self-conscious thoughts. He paced the room as he spoke, touching each of my friends for a moment, a blessing and a sign of brotherhood. I closed my eyes, dreading the awkward, intentional feeling of a stranger’s hand on me. His voiced swelled and broke as he spoke of the presence that would fill the room that night, which I was sure I would not feel. And, not for the first time in my life, I started to think that there is something really wrong with me, started to wonder what I’d done. Now he drew his blessing to a close. I heard him stop beside the last of my friends for a moment and then leave our circle. It was only right, I thought, that I should be forgotten, like Esau asking, “Is there no blessing left for me?” But then he came to me and I felt the weight on my back, like a warm wind, like Beuchner’s “hand in the dark.” My heart reached out and took it.