I sigh and take my clothes off of various ledges, progressively dressing myself as I move around the room. When I finish, I take a quick look around the small bathroom to see if I’ve left behind anything compromising such as blood stains or marks. I decide it’s all clean and walk out, heading into the opening of the seemingly abandoned chapel. 

It’s quite small and lined with old pews. I get a nice rustic vibe from the building. It feels close and personal and makes me feel a little bit calmer. In the front, there’s the altar, but it’s not extravagant, just a table with a cloth over it. There’s no organ or grand display of wealth. It's humble, and in all honesty, I think that’s what God wanted in the first place. I absolutely despise the huge cathedrals and golden chalices that people are so attracted to. God cares not for your riches or gold; He wants you as you are. 

I start to head out of the tiny old-fashioned church, but I’m stopped when I hear a voice. 

“Welcome!” it calls, and I spin around to find it.  

Walking down the aisle is a man wearing long robes colored white and green. He’s got dark gray hair that forms a wreath around the back of his head, and his eyes are warm. They don’t comfort me though because, frankly, I’m rather concerned as to where he even came from. I look around at the walls for some answer, a door or something, but there’s nothing, which makes me afraid. 

“I don’t think you’d welcome me if you knew who I was,” I tell him, but he doesn’t waver. 

“Everyone is welcome here,” he laughs. 

“Demons aren’t.” 

The older man pauses and sighs, “Aren’t we all demons?” 

I scrunch my nose up. “That doesn’t make any sense.” 

He shakes his head, looking up to the ceiling. “Don’t we all sin? Don’t we all think that we are bad people—demons even? It’s ironic, isn’t it? Those who believe they are blessed are the worst, and the ones who believe themselves to be sinful are the best. We can’t see our own faults of vanity or ignorance.” 

And he isn’t wrong.  

“Who are you?” I ask, my shoulders losing their tension. 

He smiles genially and walks forward toward me, holding out his hand to greet me. I take it, and we shake once. 

“My name is Father Mallory, and I am the preacher of St. Peter’s Episcopal Church, this here chapel,” Father introduces himself.  

I cringe and step away. “Look, I promise that I am definitely not welcome here, so I’ll show myself out.” 

Father Mallory laughs then swings his arm around to place his hand gently between my shoulder blades, and he starts to lead me down the center aisle of the church toward the altar. I glance behind us at the door, and I want to leave but the placement of his hand keeps me from turning back around. In the name of God, this man has trapped me with him. 

“And I will say it again,” he continues. “Everyone is welcome here because everyone is a child of God, and He loves everyone.” 

“He doesn’t love me,” I assure him, but he isn’t convinced. 

“Then He especially loves you.” 

I scowl. “You aren’t listening to me. I literally belong in Hell. God does not want me. I am the single most sinful person you could be talking to right now.” 

“We are all full of sin,” he counters obliviously, “even me. I’ve made plenty of mistakes myself—some that I’m not sure God will forgive.” 

Yeah, right. Like you’re on my level. 

“Have you ever killed someone?” I ask, trying to one-up him. 

He pauses and gives me a concerned glance but continues walking with me. “Well, no. Why? Have you?” 

I pause and realize that it might not be such a wise decision to confess my crimes to him. “… No.” 

He sighs, “Even if you have, God still loves you, you know?” 

I look at him like ‘Are you crazy?’, but he doesn’t seem to care. 

“He loves you just as much as He loves me,” he concludes. 

“Literally impossible. You’re a priest. I’m... Well, I’m me.” 

“Ah, but it is possible. He loves all of us, and it is you who is not listening. I have told you repeatedly that He loves everyone, but you keep denying this. Why? He loves us all regardless of what we’ve done. We are His children. A mother loves her son despite his mistakes just as the Lord loves us despite our sin,” he lectures me as he pushes my shoulder down, forcing me to sit beside him on the very front row of pews.  

“Right, yeah,” I doubt him, sarcastically asking, “And He loves me even if I’m a whore?” 

I expect him to start telling me off, but instead, he surprises me by responding, “Well, of course.” 

“If I lie and cheat?” 

“Yes.” 

“Even if I’ve broken quite possibly every one of the commandments?” 

“Yes.” 

“Even if I’m gay?” 

“Child, why do you keep asking questions when you already know the answer? He loves you through everything,” he confirms with a smile.  

The thought makes me pause for a moment. If He truly loves everyone despite their sin, could He love a demon, even if we’re made of sin? I’d never thought about it before. I was just told from a young age that we were cast out because He hated us. I was just told that He hated me, and that must be true, right? He must hate me because why else would He shun us? I’m a demon, not a human. I am not His child.  

“Why?” I ask aloud.  

“Why what?” 

“Why would He love me?” I clarify, and Father Mallory gapes at me, seeming defeated. 

“For the reasons I have been telling you!” he raises his voice dramatically then lowers it again. “He loves everyone, no matter how sinful. We are all bound to reject Him and sin, but we repent, and He forgives us because He loves us. All He asks for is your humility—your acknowledgment that what you did was wrong. You must know what that’s like. Don’t you love someone?” 

Brennan’s face comes to mind, and it reminds me of everything about him. I can see the smoke curling around his crown and lingering in his hair. I can smell his scent of whiskey and mint sitting on his skin, and my lips move without thinking, “Yes.” 

“And when he makes a mistake—when he accidentally hurts you—what do you do?” 

“I forgive him.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I love him.” 

“Why?” 

“Because he’s … I-I don’t know,” I admit looking down at the floor. 

“Exactly!” Father Mallory exclaims. “Do you get it now? He loves you regardless. There is no reason; it’s inherent, and He forgives you.” 

“But he doesn’t love me.” 

“How many times do I have to—” 

“No, the person I love, he doesn’t love me back.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

I pout, “He doesn’t give me any attention. He doesn’t care about me at all. He doesn’t care about anything.” 

“Well, it sounds like you’re in the same position as God. He loves you, and you haven’t given Him the time of day.” 

I don’t answer that. It’s too...  

I think it might be true.  

Father Mallory waits a couple of seconds and then says, “Have you ever tried doing something special for him?” 

I’m confused for a second. “Are we still talking about God here or...” 

Father Mallory laughs. “No, no. The man you love, have you tried doing something for him—something that would show how much you care? Perhaps he just doesn’t understand that you love him, just as you don’t seem to understand that God loves you.” 

I narrow my eyes at the priest. “Why are you helping me?” 

“It’s my job.” 

“Your job is to speak God’s word.” 

“My job is to serve God,” he corrects me, “and He wants me to help you. He put me in your path, didn’t He? He wants you to be happy.” 

I swallow nervously and nod. Then, Father Mallory stands up and turns to me with a genial expression.  

“Now,” he starts, “I want to invite you to mass on Sunday. I think it would serve you well. The service starts at ten.” 

I look up in surprise. “Really?” 

“We would love to have you.”