To the Pastor, with Love

me@lau.blog.br (∼{l4u}) — Sat, 24 Mar 2018 09:00:00 -0300

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.

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To the Pastor, with Love