Nathan Rae returns to the podcast and this time we talk about what’s going on. We talk about making movies, and what he wants to do, and then we do travel stories as both of us have travelled quite a bit and we talked.
Recorded at a Starbucks, hence the music.
At the bottom is an excerpt from Nathan’s latest releast Moriah, as circumstances made it so he couldn’t read it online. It’s at the bottom, courtesy of Wordhoney Magazine. Have a read and let Nathan know what you think of it.
Nathan Raymond Rae
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Moriah
Written by Nathan Raymond Rae
The barefoot woman by the river said her name was Moriah, and that she was the spirit of a church.
Not in the spirit. Not from the church. The actual living personality of Moriah Chapel down on 99th Street.
After Kayla Edgell heard those words, she nodded politely and made a mental note to avoid this part of the trail from now on. She had come to get some exercise and maybe clear her head from all the stress she was facing in studying for her third-year biology exams at the university. But she never counted on coming across such a strange person wearing a sun hat sitting on a bench, humming an aimless tune, seemingly indifferent to everything but the wind around her until she opened her eyes and looked straight at Kayla with a smile.
“Oh, goodness gracious! Kayla! I’m so glad to finally meet you!”
Kayla stopped short. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
“Maybe. I’m Moriah Chapel. I’m the spirit of the church on 99th street.”
Kayla gave an insincere smile. “OK, Moriah. The spirit of a church. That’s different.”
Then Moriah laughed, and a pigeon landed on her shoulder like it had done a hundred times before. She motioned for it to come down to her lap, and once it began to settle, she started stroking the bird’s wing.
“I’m not as different as you might think,” Moriah replied. “I’ve just stayed awake longer than most.”
“Are there other churches like you walking around in human bodies?” Kayla asked with a hint of dry sarcasm.
“Oh yes, there are indeed others!” Moriah assured her new friend. “And sometimes we go out for brunch! There’s Saint Andrew’s down the hill, ninety years old and stones wearing away, but still feeding people every week with the Word. But then there’s Trinity North. I fear she’s become entranced with spectacle, and she’s not giving her people what they need. I’m not even sure if Jesus even visits her anymore.”
“You’re saying that Jesus visits churches?” Kayla scoffed.
“Of course he does!” Moriah exclaimed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It just depends on who’s home.”
“And your home is…a church?”
“Well, it’s more than just a home. It’s who I am. I’m the part of it that stayed when people came and went. When they praised during worship, when they cried for repentance and revival at the altar, and when children laughed and played during Sunday School, all those people shaped who I am today.”
Kayla scanned the woman’s face for a hint of irony, but Moriah’s eyes sparkled with absolute sincerity.
“So, you’re a ghost?” Kayla asked.
“No, silly.” Moriah leaned closer, taking care not to disturb the pigeon. “Ghosts are what’s left after death. I’m what happens when there’s too much life in one place to stay put.”
Kayla shifted her balance uncomfortably, unsure of whether to be unnerved or impressed. “So, what does Jesus do when he visits your church?”
“Sometimes he comes just to sit and talk.” Moriah said, her gaze drifting upward through the leaves of the nearby trees. “Sometimes we dance together. Once he helped me mop the floors and told me it reminded him of washing feet.” She laughed in delight at the memory.
“And what do you do when he’s not around?”
Moriah smiled, soft and knowing. “I do what I’m doing right now. I enjoy his Father’s creation. I’m not lonely. Not really. But I still like meeting new people. People like you.”
“You called out to me like you knew me.”
“Not at the time. Not intimately. But Jesus mentioned we’d be crossing paths, and when I saw you, I knew that this was it.”
“Why was Jesus talking to you about me?”
“I think he wants you to be my guest.”
“You talk about this like it’s actually happening.” Kayla raised her voice in disbelief. “Like you’re in a relationship with an imaginary friend. Doesn’t this sound-?”
“Impossible?” Moriah tilted her head.
For a moment, silence settled between them, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the soft coo of the pigeon still resting on Moriah’s lap.
“So, what’s Jesus like, then?” Kayla asked, half-mocking, half-genuine.
Moriah didn’t hesitate.
“He’s patient,” She said. “Not like ‘waiting in line’ patient. More like…he lets people be slow, and wrong, and afraid, and still stays close. His presence doesn’t always make sense. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it heals. But it never leaves the room.”
Kayla looked down at the path, suddenly too aware of how still the world had gone around them.
“You talk like you’re in love with him.” She observed.
“I am.” Moriah replied. She looked at Kayla, trying to read something written under her skin. “You ask a lot of questions in your heart. Ones you’ve never said out loud.”
“Okay, that’s enough.” Kayla said with irritation, turning around and walking away. “Whatever game this is, I’m not playing.”
Moriah stood then, brushing off her dress, and the pigeon flew up and circled above them before disappearing into the branches.
“You don’t have to play.” Moriah said, looking over her shoulder to Kayla as she walked back home on the trail. “But you are invited.”
“To what?”
“Come tomorrow morning. Moriah Chapel. You’ll know where to sit.”
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