Therapy Bits

Every Sunday morning, Mara sat at the back of St. Elias Church, notebook in hand, eyes fixed on the lector.

He was an older man with a voice like warm gravel, reading scripture with a calm authority that made even the disinterested listen. But Mara wasn’t here for religion. She was here for him.

For months, she scribbled down the way he paused before sacred names, the faint tremble when he said “forgive,” the way he closed his eyes after the final line, like it cost him something. She didn’t know his name. He never stayed after the service.

One Sunday, the lector didn’t appear. A younger man took his place, stumbling over verses, rushing through the last psalm.

Afterward, Mara asked the priest, “Where’s the lector?”

The priest hesitated, then said simply, “He’s done. He passed last week.”

Mara walked home in silence, notebook clutched to her chest. That night, she opened it and read his cadences aloud, mimicking every rise and fall.

When the next Sunday came, she stood where he once had.

She wasn’t perfect, but when she reached the end, she paused like he did, closed her eyes, and whispered the final word:

“Amen.”

RDP Sunday: done

Lector – Word of the Day Challenge