1Hi, all! I wrote this one-shot because I want to distinguish between religion and spirituality. All people have spirituality and the ability to be in awe of things. But, not all people have a religion they profess to believe in. I used to be very religious and very, very Catholic. As I've gotten older (and hopefully wiser) I have realized that you don't necessarily have to believe in what other people say about God or the meaning of life. I think that believing in something, anything is infinitely more useful. Being hopeful and having beliefs about the meaning of life, as well as a personal creed is important to me. This story is dedicated to a friend of mine who is going through a lifetime crisis. He has lost his faith in something greater and despises religion because of the people who practice it. To be totally honest, the people who call themselves Christian poorly represent Christianity. But it is just as well. We were not made to be perfect. Faith happens when the religious people you know who had all the answers fail you, and you still believe in the message. At least, that's what I think.
Hate the sin and not the sinner... Those that ruin religion for the rest of us shouldn't be allowed to destroy our beliefs or faith.
Disclaimer: I do not own this spectacular series! T_T
And it feels now
Just like heaven's coming down
Your soul shakes free
As its conscience hits the ground
These signs, this fate
Takes a path you didn't choose
Stay Strong, Keep Faith
There is a change that's
Coming through...
"Heaven Coming Down" by The Tea Party
Faith
Sometimes when he sits and thinks about God, the universe, purpose, and the wheres, whys, and hows of life, all he draws is a massive blank.
And when he runs past the monument engraved with generations of leaders all dead, he can't help but wonder why he wants that for himself. The legacy, the fame, the fear, the fact that he was the best… Time marches on. They were all the best. And then they all became memories.
When he sits sullenly atop the rigid roof, stares past the spire topped with a cross, and into the sun shining behind it, he cries. Because he can hear the sermon. And as long as that sermon is about God, he will never fail to cry. A priest once saw him sitting in that nearby tree, early one Sunday morning.
He doesn't know why. He just knows that somehow, the words, the faith, the hope, the desperation filtering away from the straining bodies within the church elicit his sympathy.
A priest once saw him sitting in that nearby tree, early one Sunday morning.
The night before was a rainstorm which brought destructive winds, lighting, and a downpour of rain that soaked the world and washed away everything but the scent of earth.
It felt so good. The world was clean, so clean if only for a moment. Naruto ran through the storm, raging with it, breathing in the chaos, the liberation it brought. And he screamed and yelled. He fought the elements, rejoicing in his loss. This was bigger and stronger than him. This he could prove.
He cheered at every cut, bruise, stain, and sting. At nature's ability to tame people. To make them collapse exhaustedly in the boughs of an old cherry tree by a darkened church.
A priest once saw him sitting in that nearby tree, early one Sunday morning.
That night he never really slept. It was the sound of church bells ringing that snapped him awake. More awake, he tells himself. Because his heart still beats too fast from running, the thrill of freedom. The illusion of it, anyway.
And just that illusion was powerful enough to make him feel powerful enough. To know that he was elemental, somewhere inside him, he belonged to the wind.
Reality woke him up. A churchyard. Rigidly maintained beds, manicured lawn, and a severe silhouette striking and cutting deep black against the too blue sky and the brilliant white of mammoth clouds. No white-wash could glow like the clouds. Couldn't even compete.
The threat of structure, order imposed almost unnaturally. The promise of purpose. Reasons, explanations of things that can't be explained. Not by human minds. Not by anything that can or would speak truthfully to a human mind. This he knows.
A priest once saw him sitting in that nearby tree, early one Sunday morning.
Naruto runs away from the neat lines and the false white structure of the church that strikes black against the brilliant clouds.
He doesn't think of the priest's surprise to see the figure of a child (muddy, wet, stained in streaks of obsidian, a halo of untamed blond hair, gleaming red demon eyes, soaked in the blood of innocents, and bathed in the sins of thousands, but infinitely more pure) roll out of the treetops and twist onto all fours.
Naruto won't go into the shriek the altar boy made as the kid… the same age as him pulled his trousers up and dashed like Hell back into the congregation. He won't recall the specific curse muttered from spiteful lips.
Naruto won't remember the steps he took to get there…
But he will remember slowly rising to his feet on the stiff edge of the beautiful dark roof. He will remember walking to the spire and holding the gleaming metal cross in his hands. And he will remember very slowly, very precisely bending it back behind the spire, hidden. Hidden like all of the secrets in this village he wanted to lead. Hidden like the demon sealed within him. Hidden like all the innocence of a child.
And he methodically plucks the rod from its sheath, turns, and sinks into the shadows of the trees to await the next Sunday. The sharp pointed end is dull compared to the multitude of kunai and shuriken he owns. Duller still compared to his claws and fangs. But, oddly, more appropriate.
Every time Naruto hears the chorus of uplifting voices, a choir of angels singing faith and love and trust and charity into the stagnant air suspended within, he cries. Each sweet, strong word elicits a new sob. Naruto doesn't know the whys behind this. But he suspects that it's not the power of God humbling his soul or whatever that pedophile kept preaching.
He suspects he cries because deep down he is really, really sad. Sad, afraid, and empty.
Because deep down,
In his bones,
He knows.
It's not true.
Yosh! All done! This fic isn't really written for the purpose of making anyone angry. What is true for one person is false for another.
A person can have morals and spirituality without actually believing in anything else. (In my opinion, this is good, since God is supposed to be the embodiment of moral justice. In an indirect way, they still believe in God. Sort of. C:)