About an hour into the sermon, Father Reverend Griffith suddenly declared boisterously, “My dearest Brothers and Sisters in Christ, our sister village Il’amore is in mortal danger! The Devil himself has been poisoning some of our Family in Christ’s minds! He has been plaguing them with unforgivable sins, a treacherous moment in our time! It’s so dire that Father Wyll has reached out to me and is asking for urgent prayer.”

“What is going on?” asked Sister Phoebe as she fiddled with her veil, her gray eyes on the ground.

“There are faggots roaming around in Il’amore,” Father Reverend Griffith spat, and Brother Nir’s blood turned into ice. “It’s a nightmare. I couldn’t believe my ears when Father Wyll told me. That poor man…I can’t believe that he has to deal with such monstrosities. My Brothers and Sisters, let’s pray over our sister village, Il’amore. They need God’s Grace more than ever now. Does anyone want to lead the first prayer?” Father Reverend Griffith asked, his icy gray eyes scanning over his disciples. Despite Brother Zion and Brother Josiah raising their hands to lead the prayer, Father Reverend was staring at Brother Nir. Brother Nir had a bad feeling where this was going. “Brother Nir? Would you like to start off?”

Brother Nir couldn’t breathe, his chest going tight as his throat went deathly dry. Did Father Reverend find out? Or was God punishing him? His heart was thundering in his chest as he ran his sweaty palms down his cassock. The others were looking at him—were they judging him? Did they figure it out, too? This was bad, so bad. If they knew that he was a homosexual and he was not living the life of celibacy, he was going to be exiled, or even publicly beaten, or worse—publicly executed. He could be hanged, decapitated, or even quartered. Hell, the last public execution was just last summer where a young married man was found sleeping with an unmarried woman. The man was stoned to death while the woman was hanged.

Brother Nir felt disgusted when he saw the young woman being hanged, the thick rope wrapped around her slender neck, slowly choking her to death. She made a horrible, wet choking noise, eyes bulging and watering as her limbs swung weakly while her body swayed from the gallow. It couldn’t have been any longer than five minutes but those five minutes were excruciating to watch.

He was suddenly brought back to the present when Deacon Ira nudged him, giving him a stern look, and he blinked, looking at Father Reverend Griffith. He tugged on the sleeve of his cassock, folding and unfolding its cuff.

“What’s wrong, Brother Nir? Surely, you’re not supporting this, are you?” Father Reverend asked, voice dropping low as he fisted Brother Nir’s collar. “Does the Devil have your cursed tongue? Have you strayed far from Our Heavenly Father’s Holy Light? Speak, you whoreson!” He shook Brother Nir hard.

“N-no, Father Reverend,” Brother Nir choked out. “I-I would n-never support s-such a thing.” He stammered, voice cracking. “I—uh…I’ll s-say a prayer…over Il’amore.” He weakly relented.

Father Reverend let Brother Nir go, causing him to stumble over his own feet. He snapped at Brother Nir, “Good. After all, you know what happens to liars and faggots, don’t you?” His icy gray eyes looked over his wire spectacle, challenging Brother Nir.

“‘Lying lips are abomination to the LORD: but they that deal truly are his delight’. ‘...neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind/…shall inherit the kingdom of God’. ‘...no whoremonger, nor unclean person, not covetous man…hath any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God’.” Brother Nir recited warily. It was automatic to recite—the words had already left his lips before he could even finish processing what he had said.

“That’s right, Brother Nir,” Father Reverend Griffith praised him sarcastically. “Good to know you’re paying attention to what I preach. Now, why don’t you say a prayer, would you?”

Shaking out his hands, Brother Nir gave a short nod and swallowed hard. He cleared his throat and began reciting prayers for Il’amore. Despite saying prayers of intercession, and having the words flow naturally, in the depths of Brother Nir’s mind, a hollow, numbing feeling was bothering him. It felt wrong, almost, as if the words he were saying were lies—but he knew they weren’t lies. After all, these were God’s Words he was using. God’s Words were the truth, nothing but the truth, so why was it leaving an acerbic taste in the back of his throat?

After he finished the prayer, he had to sit down, head spinning. Sister Ruth looked concerned for him, her baby blue eyes wide and fearful. Sister Ruth placed the back of her hand on Brother Nir’s forehead and gasped, “Father Reverend, Brother Nir is burning up!”

“Is he now?” Father Reverend Griffith asked, pushing Sister Ruth aside to press his knuckles against Brother Nir’s cheek. “Fascinating. You are burning up. Are you sick, Brother Nir?”

Brother Nir frantically shook his head. “N-no, Father, I’m not.” He insisted. “I’m not one to fall ill so easily. It’s nothing.”

“‘e ought to see the Physician,” remarked Elder Herde as he gestured his cane at Brother Nir. “We don’t need ‘im to get us sick, eh?” He scowled, causing the wrinkles in his face to squeeze more.

“Ay!” chined in Elder Joyce as she tightened her veil. “Young ‘uns think they’re fine but you know how they are! Arrogant fools. If the lad’s sick, we ought to send him to the Physician.”

Brother Nir held his hands up in defense. “Whoa, wait. I’m fine. Honest.” He looked at Father Reverend. “If I was sick, I would have gone to the Physician by now.” He stood up from the pew, yet only to have his knees buckle under him and give out. If Deaconess Naomi hadn’t moved fast enough, he would have face planted straight into the cold floor.

As Deaconess Naomi tried to help Brother Nir in an upright position, Brother Nir’s stomach seized and he retched, narrowly missing Deaconess Naomi’s dark navy dress. Rather than bile being projected out of Brother Nir’s mouth, blood came spewing out, splattering the cold ground.

There was a disquieted silence as Brother Nir coughed and struggled to catch his breath, chest heaving. Once Brother Nir caught his breath, everyone immediately dispersed from him, giving him a wide radius of space.

“Red Fever!” called out Elder Sadie, her finger trembling as she pointed to Brother Nir.

“He’s Tainted!” screamed Sister Photine.

“He’s cursed!” Brother Zakaryah gasped, withdrawing his cross, holding it out arm’s length in front of him.

“Calm down!” Father Reverend Griffith boomed, and the screaming and chattering fell silent. The man was fuming, trembling with uncontrollable rage. “Brother Nir, what did you do? Why did you lie? Why have you sinned? Don’t you know you’re supposed to repent and ask for God’s forgiveness? Yet you chose to wrongfully enter such holy grounds and utter such imprecations in God’s House? How did you become so impure? What possessed you? I think we need to perform an exorcism.”

Brother Nir’s head was reeling. Red Fever? Tainted? Cursed? Exorcism? None of this made sense. There was no way. He wasn’t ill nor cursed. He wasn’t Tainted, and nor was he possessed by the Devil. So why was everyone acting like this?

“I had set up a protection spell over Sa-Dame Rebekah,” Father Reverend Griffith continued in a low voice. “If anyone were to tell a lie, they would be automatically Tainted. It seems as if those effects are taking place. What are your lies, Brother Nir? Or, should I even call you that?” Father Reverend Griffith spat. “You’re no longer Brother Nir, but Armanos, isn’t that right?” His voice was harsh. “You were nothing but a failure from the start. I should have never let you step foot into Sa-Dame Rebekah. I revoke you of your Holy name until you confess your sins.”

It was as if he stepped on a live wire—a bolt of pain ran up his body and he collapsed hard onto the ground, gasping. His name—his Holy name—was stripped from him and he was now no longer a Christ follower. Armanos stared at Father Reverend Griffith, a pleading look in his eyes.

“Father…please. I’m sorry—” he began but was cut off when Father Reverend Griffith backhanded him, causing him to fall to the ground. The man yelled, “Wrong! Again!”

“Father, please, I was wrong—” Armanos began again, but Father Reverend Griffith struck him again, snapping, “Incorrect! Again!”

“Sire, I didn’t mean to—,” another backhand slap to his face. “Wait, give me a chance—?” Again, another backhand slap to his face. “Father Reverend, please hear me out—.” The man slapped him.

Father Reverend Griffith wiped his hand over a cloth, sneering in disgust. “You son of a bitch, it isn’t that hard to say. What do you say when you have sinned?”

Armanos closed his eyes, breathing shallow. His cheek was stinging from Father Reverend Griffith’s slaps and his ears were ringing. He shook his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears before he said steadily, “Dear Lord, I know I have sinned and fallen short of Your Glory. I am sorry for my sins, and I ask for Your forgiveness. I believe that Jesus is Your Son and that Christ died on the cross for my sins. I believe Jesus is Lord and rose from the dead. I accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior. Wash away the wrong I’ve done and create in me a new heart.” He looked up at Father Reverend Griffith. “I accept any punishment for my sins. I atone for falling into the ways of the world and turning my back on Our Heavenly Father. I have sinned and focused on the flesh’s desire rather than the spirit’s.”

“So, tell me, Armanos, what are your sins?” Father Reverend Griffith asked softly as he kneeled to Armanos’s height, grabbing his jaw.