In the small quaint town of Heathgrow, the old church at the top of the hill was the center of everything. Painted white with stained glass windows, it stood guard over the town, a beacon of safety and a silent guardian. Every Sunday the bell would ring, and every family would come to find companionship, love and advice within its walls. Everyone was once baptized there, would get married there and would be laid to their final rest there. It was a constant unshaking fixture of faith and the town itself. And this Sunday the church was about to experience a shift. The old preacher Father Donovan, who had been the towns one and only preacher ever since he was twenty had finally grown too old and ill to hold his sermons and serve as an unwavering figure to the people of Heathgrow. He told the people to not be afraid, as the voice of doubt was the devil himself and that a new preacher, young and full of fervor and love for God would come take his place. So together they prayed that Father Donovan would return in good health and that the new preacher would reach the town safely and they swore to embrace him with open and loving arms.  

His arrival was heralded by the sudden appearance of a shiny white convertible. No one heard or saw him come, but everyone knew Father Donovan and his reluctance of owning anything other than the bare necessities. While this polished white convertible could be seen as an unnecessary show of wealth, no one expressed this thought out loud. Judge not, lest ye be judged- Matthew 7:1-5. And thus, any discussion of this car in a negative manner came to a swift and definite end. The first time he was seen in person was the afternoon just before Sunday. The Wordsworth family was on their way to the graveyard behind the church to bring flowers to the grave of their freshly deceased grandfather who had died peacefully in his sleep. There he stood, in a white just pressed dress shirt and brown tweed pants held up with suspenders. His shoes were polished to a finish too. As they approached, he took off his brimmed straw hat and smiled as he greeted them with a polite bow. He was young and his appearance tidy, face freshly shaved to a stubble. Despite their conversation being brief, the Wordsworth family was glad to report he was indeed a decent Christian man. He had immediately offered his condolences for their loss and even insisted on walking down the hill to the grave with them and Mary Wordsworth even swore that his eyes seemed to grow misty with compassion as he gave them a short blessing and assured them he was free to listen and offer assistance any time if they felt like they needed it.  

As Sunday finally came, everyone came to the church with extra vigor, eager to see this young well-mannered preacher for themselves. Every family came with offerings, mostly of homemade food or treats to truly welcome him to the community. Despite her resistance to the idea, Tilly Bakewell had been chosen by her mother to be the one to carry their offering, a beef casserole today. Which meant she had to be the one to hand it to the preacher. As she walked with her family towards the church, she looked down, despair settling in her stomach as the extremely unappetizing casserole seemed to stare back mockingly. Her mother was by no means a bad cook, but why on earth did she have to choose the worst looking dish out of all the dishes she knows how to make? Mary Wordsworth made and decorated an entire basket of muffins. Their next-door neighbor seared a steak. And here was Tilly, holding a beef casserole. “Don't look so sour, dear. It makes you look like an old maid.” Her mother said, noticing her obvious frown. “I'm not an old maid yet mother, I'm only twenty-two.” She responded, too occupied with her upcoming first impression to mind her manners. Her mother huffed and her father as usual remained silent.  

As they stepped over the doorstep of the church, Tilly stood on her tiptoes for a moment, attempting to catch a glance of the preacher through the crowd. But the crowd was too dense for now, with everyone crowding around him or leaving their offerings on the long table next to him. The stifling summer heat and the scent of so much food added nausea to the list of uncomfortable sensations within her and she swallowed a few times to stop herself from gagging. A few minutes of awkward shuffling later and it was finally their turn. Tilly kept her gaze to the floor, bowing with her mother as they both said: “God be with you.”  Her plan to keep this interaction brief and move to the table and to her seat as quickly as possible was thwarted however as she felt his hands brush against hers as the preacher took the casserole. Her gaze snapped to his brown eyes and the welcoming, slightly mischievous grin on his face as he examined both her and the casserole closely. She suddenly shivered despite the stifling heat, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze. “Smells heavenly.” He said, but the glint in his eyes seemed to be telling Tilly he was just as aware as she was that the casserole looked like a mess. As Tilly followed her family to their usual seats, she found herself thinking about his grin and the glint in his eye. She could never recall seeing a grin like that from a man, much less from someone meant to be a representative of God. She was certain of it now; this Sunday's sermon would be unlike any other.