Great Affirmation | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Great Affirmation | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
07/15/25
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Old Gregory lay back against the jagged stone porch of the worship center and let a smile escape through his grungy beard. The Spirit was stirring. Little Mane O’Connell was at it again inside St. Corbin’s chapel. The lad was no taller than Gregory’s sagging belt buckle and hardly able to blow out the eight candles on his cake, but when he fired off an “Amen,” the whole choir couldn’t have packed more punch.

The Irish name, Mane, meant ‘great’, and the Amen rose greatly. Hymns and homilies drew an occasional nod from some, and a deeper, longer nod from others, catching up on rest. But when Mane got amening, heads perked up.

Old Gregory hitched his torn trousers and slipped into the back pew. It had been two decades since he’d left after his boy died. Nothing caught his ear apart from hearing Honey Sue give up her ways and spout off about the wee lad.

Deacon Sullivan gave him a frown, but turned back to the revival. “Amen!” the lad in the dark curls bellowed, as he tiptoed on the wooden bench. Mrs. O’Connell clamped on the boy’s elbow and gently pulled him down, spreading looks of apology to those who glanced her way.

Truth be told, Gregory could tell half of those around looked with admiration.

“Mane, hush a wee bit, love,” his mother tried to whisper.

“But Mam, the preacher said Jesus saves! He’s holding daddy for us. Tell me it’s so.”

“It’s so,” Mrs. O’Connell said.

The scent of old wood and beeswax polish filled the air, and Gregory took in the sight he’d missed for so long. Dust motes floated in the sunbeams streaming through the stained-glass window, red, gold, and indigo hues dancing like angels. Jesus was still there, where he’d always been, getting baptized with the Spirit coming down like a dove, sharing the last meal before his death, stretched out on the cross, still looking with that love.

The air was cool. Gregory slipped off his shoes. The stone floor was solid under his soles. So many stories, secrets, prayers, and tears had been released here.

Reverend Glynn was a new voice since Gregory’s last pilgrimage that week before the accident. He seemed to appreciate the amens and turned toward little Mane. “As I was saying, Christ bore our sins on that rugged cross…”

“Amen!” Mane said, struggling to his feet again with hands raised. “Amen!”

A few chuckles rippled through young and old alike. Old lady Burns, usually a grumbler on disruptions, glanced at the boy with a hint of a smile. The boy noticed and beamed, lifting his hands higher.

But then the reverend slowed, his voice thick with emotion. “Some of you have come today with heavy hearts. The night’s been dark. The pathway hard. Maybe you haven’t got a tear left to shed… Jesus is still near.”

The boy lowered his arms, folding his hands in front. He lowered his eyes, but his whispered “amen,” filled with feeling, floated through the heaviness.

The silence filtered into the corner of every heart.

The message finished, and Old Gregory made his way forward, stopping as Reverend Glynn knelt beside little Mane. “Why do you say Amen, Mane?” he asked.

The boy glanced back at Gregory and then lowered his eyes. “Because when you say something good about Jesus, I want the sky to hear. My daddy’s there. I want him to know I know where he is.”

Tears blurred in Old Gregory’s eyes.

“Then let you’re amens sound,” Reverend Glynn said. “The good Lord himself needs to know that there are still those here who believe he’s here, doing good in the middle of all our darkness.”

The tears flowed down Old Gregory’s face before he could stop them. He kneeled in the aisle beside the Reverend. “What happened to your daddy, son?” he asked.

The boy looked at him and smiled. “He went fishing and met the Fisher of Men. They walked on the waves together right up to heaven. All they found was an empty boat.”

“I lost my boy in those same waters,” Old Gregory said. “I’m here, too, Rev. I’m going to be saying Amen ‘cause I want my boy to know I know he’s in a good place.”

Reverend Glynn wrapped an arm around the vagabond and the fatherless. “Heaven will be leaning in every week, men. There isn’t a sound the angels like to hear more than amen.”

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