Altar
(In the feint light, we see a person lying on top of a large rectangle, center stage. From off stage, we hear a shuffling, a key in a lock, and a door opening. A man enters. He turns on a light, revealing a crucifix on the wall behind the altar, where the person sleeps. The man takes off his jacket and adjusts his collar. He his FATHER MIKE. Father Mike notices the person on the altar and is briefly startled, then approaches carefully.)

FATHER MIKE: Excuse me?

(The person, GARY, mumbles something and shifts around. He is scruffy but well-dressed, cradling a backpack in his arms.)

FATHER MIKE: Hello? Young man?

GARY: Yeah? Can I help you?

FATHER MIKE: How did you get in here?

(Gary stretches and sits up, lights a cigarette, takes a drag.)

GARY: Through the window.

FATHER MIKE: Which window?

GARY: The broken one. You know, the one where Jesus was leaning over and accepting the cross?

FATHER MIKE: You broke a stained glass window?

GARY: Whoa, hold on, *I* didn't break it. Last night, some kids were playing ball over in the lot. (takes a baseball out of his backpack) This one kid, huge, must have been Samoan, sent this thing all the way to the confessional. You want to keep it for evidence?

FATHER MIKE: I'm calling the police. (starts walking toward the other room)

GARY: Wait. (Father Mike turns) You can use my cell if you want (Gary takes a cell phone out of his backpack.)

FATHER MIKE (stops, considers): Are you in need of ... a place to stay? Because we can arrange that, we have resources in the church. That is, of course, providing that you promise to pay for the damage.

GARY: I told you, I didn't--

FATHER MIKE: And please put that thing out.

(Gary snubs his cigarette on the altar.)

GARY: I was waiting for you to say something about that. You're not very attentive, are you?

FATHER MIKE: I don't think you're in a place to judge right now.

GARY: I used to be an altar boy. Did I tell you that? Yeah, in the second grade, it was mandatory. The funny thing is, this is what reminded me of being an altar boy, I heard "Shot to the Heart" on the radio yesterday. You know that song? Bon Jovi? (Father Mike shakes his head) Anyway, my buddy Carl and I were on altar duty together, and on the walk between the school and the church, he was always singing that song. (sings) Shot to the heart, and you're to blame, baby---

FATHER MIKE: We should really get you out of here--

GARY (singing):--You give love a bad name. (pause) Man, my back is killing me. How do you people sleep on these things every night?

FATHER MIKE: We don't, actually, sleep on the altar.

GARY: Did you always want to be a priest?

FATHER MIKE: No.

GARY: Well?

FATHER MIKE: What?

GARY: You don't just say, "No, I didn't always want to be a priest," and leave it like that. Now I'm trying to figure out what you were like as a kid, what kind of dreams you gave up.

FATHER MIKE: You're rather presumptive, you know that? You make it sound like I'm disappointed with my life. But look at you, breaking into a place of worship, sleeping on an altar. I don't need advice from a criminal and a vagrant, thank you very much.

GARY: I'm not homeless. And aren't you a little quick to throw the first stone?

FATHER MIKE: You don't know the first thing about that scripture.

GARY: Oh yeah? Wasn't Jesus all about the meek and the needy? You better watch out, Father. I'm going to inherit the earth. And if you're not nice to me now, don't expect any handouts when I'm king of the meek people.

FATHER MIKE: Jesus forgives you, but he doesn't absolve you of responsibility. Your life is your own to create, and like everyone else, you can answer the Lord's calling, or you can ignore it. Just see how far it gets you.

GARY: You Jesuits and your Kirkegaard.

FATHER MIKE: You came here with an agenda, didn't you?

GARY: You're always trying that Jesuit rhetoric. But don't think I'm going to let you off the hook. What did you want to be as a kid?

FATHER: A painter.

GARY: Like Van Gogh?

FATHER: Something like that.

GARY: Yes! That's what I'm talking about. And if you and I were sitting here, and you were a painter, even if you weren't that good at it, I would admire you a lot more. Art, man. Beauty. That's where God is for me. Have you ever been to a U2 concert? I saw them last summer at the Gorge, and when they did, "Bullet the Blue Sky," I honestly felt like I left my body.

FATHER MIKE: The Lord has many ways to reach us.

(pause)

GARY: Why did you give up?

FATHER MIKE: What?

GARY: I'm guessing you don't even paint anymore.

FATHER MIKE: No.

GARY: Why not?

FATHER MIKE: What about you?

GARY: Hey, I said I'm not letting you--

FATHER MIKE: You don't believe in the church anymore, you've given up on God. Is that what this is about?

GARY: I asked you first--

FATHER MIKE: You're looking for some sort of perverse redemption by spitting in my face. Well, you're not going to get it here.

(Gary hops off of the altar, approaches Father Mike.)

GARY: Hey, this isn't as simple as that. I'm not just another glib atheist, and I don't have anything against the church as a whole, all right? Just certain principles. And if you were paying attention before, you'd know that I do believe in God. Maybe not the same God you worship, but yeah, that's what I'm trying to say. For me, God isn't dead. He's buried alive.

FATHER MIKE: I think you're just a punk who's read a couple of books.

(Gary gets right in Father Mike's face.)

GARY: Hey, what gives you the right--

FATHER MIKE: You step back.

GARY: Why? That's what this little dance is about. You think you're going to save a sinner, and I'm just trying to get you to confess something for a change. So? What'll it be, Father? You think this collar gives you some sort of--

(As Gary touches the collar, Father mike grabs his arm, twists it into a lock.)

GARY: Holy shit, where did you learn that?

FATHER MIKE: I've had about enough of you. Now you can get out before mass starts, or I can break your arm and have you thrown in jail. I don't need your lecture. Whatever it is your seeking, you're not going to find it here. Understood?

GARY: All right, all right, shit. Just let go, I won't do anything. Promise.

(Father Mike lets go. Gary cradles his arm, walks over to the altar and grabs his bag. He starts to walk out, then stops, turns.)

GARY: You don't recognize me, do you?

(Pause.)

FATHER MIKE: No. I can't say I do.

(Pause.)

GARY: Funny. I thought you would.

(Gary exits.)

(Fade out)



© copyright Jeremy Richards 2002