Longing

So I arrived there, at that temple whose floor was packed dirt, the seats were old school chairs, and the ceiling was the starry sky — certainly, there are no paintings or stained glass in the World that surpass that setting. My “beginning” of the Christian walk happened there, at the Tabuleiro Church; a remote neighborhood, unassisted and full of stories of violence. The pastor, a short potbellied man with a striking mustache and an out-of-tune voice, in whose resume he liked to emphasize the experience of having been a shepherd of real sheep. ...