[WP] Those who can’t do teach. An atheist leads a religious service and does a better job than the priest—to both their bewilderment.

The Shadows of St. Peter’s

Ethan Brooks had never been a religious man. Growing up in a small town, he had attended St. Peter’s Church every Sunday, like everyone else, because it was simply what people did. His parents, devout and loving, had instilled in him a belief that one could always find comfort in faith. But as the years wore on, the routines of Sunday morning masses, the hymns, the prayers, all began to feel empty. The words became mechanical, and what had once been a comforting practice turned into a ritual that no longer made sense to him.

By the time he was in college, Ethan had drifted away from the faith completely. He no longer saw the point in pretending. His mind had sharpened, and he could no longer reconcile the beliefs of his childhood with the rational world that had opened up before him. He was an atheist, and for the first time, he felt free.

Still, something about the church kept drawing him back. The tall, looming spires of St. Peter’s Church remained a constant in his life. Whenever he passed by, he would pause for a moment, gazing at the intricate stained-glass windows, at the bell tower that always seemed to chime on the hour, and wonder if perhaps he was missing something. But no matter how many times he tried to return, his heart never seemed to find its way back.

One fateful evening, while passing by St. Peter’s, Ethan received an unexpected phone call. He recognized the number—Father O'Malley, the elderly priest who had been a fixture of the town for as long as he could remember. Ethan hadn’t spoken to him in years, not since he left home after high school, but Father O'Malley had always been a kind and steady presence.

"Ethan, I hope I’m not interrupting," the voice on the other end said. "I hate to trouble you, but we’re short-handed tonight. Would you be willing to help out with the evening mass? The assistant I rely on is sick, and I could really use someone to fill in."

Ethan hesitated. The very idea of stepping back into a church service made him uneasy. He hadn’t participated in a mass in years, and the thought of going back into that world was almost absurd. Yet something within him stirred. A deep-rooted sense of obligation, perhaps. Or maybe it was the old connection to the place that had never fully left him.

“I suppose I could come by,” Ethan replied, unsure if he even remembered what to do.

“Thank you, Ethan,” Father O'Malley said, his voice warm with relief. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

When Ethan arrived at St. Peter’s that evening, the church felt strangely familiar, yet foreign. The stone walls seemed even colder than he remembered, and the flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the pews. The high arches of the ceiling, the smell of incense, the low murmur of parishioners—it was all the same, yet it felt out of place in his life now. He couldn’t shake the sensation that the building itself was a relic, frozen in time while the world outside moved on.

Father O'Malley was waiting for him at the entrance. His white hair had thinned with age, but his sharp blue eyes were still as piercing as ever. Despite his advanced years, there was a gentle strength in the way he stood.

“Good to see you, Ethan,” the priest said, his voice always steady and reassuring. “Come on in. I’m sure you remember the steps.”

Ethan nodded, though he wasn’t so sure. The ritual was still there, the prayers and the responses, the hymns and chants. But how could he know them now, after so many years? Would he even remember the words?

As he walked toward the altar, the familiar weight of the robe felt odd against his shoulders. The flickering light from the candles, the cool air, the hum of distant voices—it all wrapped around him like a memory, a distant echo. The service began, and he found himself reciting the words mechanically at first, trying to recall the prayers and responses. But as the minutes passed, something strange began to happen. The words felt different. They didn’t seem to be coming from his mind anymore—they felt like they were coming from somewhere deeper. His voice rang clear and steady, the words carrying an emotion he couldn’t place.

Father O'Malley stood at the back of the church, watching him with an intensity that was hard to ignore. The priest’s gaze lingered on him longer than usual, a mix of admiration and curiosity crossing his features. Ethan’s voice was steady, but there was something about it that struck him as unfamiliar. The words seemed to hold a weight that O'Malley had never heard before—words that made the air feel charged with energy.

After the mass, Father O'Malley walked over to Ethan, his expression unreadable.

“You did well tonight,” O'Malley said, his voice surprisingly soft. “Better than I expected.”

Ethan blinked in confusion. “I just followed the script, Father.”

But O'Malley shook his head. “No, Ethan. It wasn’t just that. You made the words alive. You spoke them with such... sincerity. It felt as if you were living them.”

Ethan swallowed hard. “I don’t know what to say.”

O'Malley regarded him for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “You’ve changed,” he said softly.

Over the following weeks, Ethan found himself returning to St. Peter’s more frequently. He had initially planned to avoid the church altogether, but the connection he felt to it now was undeniable. Each time he stood at the altar, something within him shifted. The words of the mass didn’t just pass through him—they seemed to course through his veins. He could feel the weight of the prayers, the history of the church, the countless souls who had walked these halls before him.

Father O'Malley began to take notice, too. He invited Ethan to join him in preparing for the services, and their conversations grew longer. The priest would often sit with him after mass, discussing theology, philosophy, and history. There was an unspoken understanding between them that both men could not articulate, but neither could deny.

Ethan found himself drawn to O'Malley in a way that both confused and intrigued him. At first, he tried to dismiss it as a passing connection, a product of the strange energy in the church. But the more time he spent with O'Malley, the more undeniable the pull became. The priest, with his wisdom and gentleness, seemed to possess a calm that Ethan had never encountered before. There was a quiet strength in him, a kind of serenity that Ethan longed to understand.

At the same time, Father O'Malley was experiencing a shift of his own. He had taken vows long ago, sworn to a life of celibacy, but there was something about Ethan—something in the way he spoke, the way he stood at the altar—that stirred something inside O'Malley. He had never considered another man in that way, but when he looked at Ethan, he felt a connection that went beyond the priesthood, beyond his vows.

There were moments, fleeting and brief, when their eyes met, and the world seemed to still. But both men were too afraid to acknowledge the gravity of those moments. Father O'Malley had lived his life in service to the church, and Ethan had long ago rejected the faith. They couldn’t both be right in their feelings, could they?

Then, one evening, as the last notes of a hymn drifted into silence, something shifted. The air grew thicker, heavier. Ethan and O'Malley were alone in the church, the soft hum of the evening breeze the only sound. Ethan turned to O'Malley, his pulse quickening. The priest’s gaze lingered on him, and for the first time, neither of them spoke.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” O'Malley confessed quietly. “You’ve... changed something in me. I can’t explain it, but when I see you—when I hear your voice—I feel as though I’m seeing things differently.”

Ethan’s breath caught in his throat. “Father…”

Before he could say more, their lips met. It was a kiss—soft, tentative, full of confusion and longing. But it was also electric, a release of all the things they hadn’t dared to acknowledge.

For a long moment, they were lost in it, until Father O'Malley pulled away, his face flushed with conflict. “I... I shouldn’t have done that. I took vows. I swore an oath.”

Ethan nodded, his own heart pounding in his chest. “I know,” he whispered. “But I can’t deny it anymore.”

"I don't understand," said Alex, "How could you, a faithless non-believer, hope to Shepherd this flock?" A glazed ray of light landed on the shoulders of a man in black.

"I am not faithless!" Said Mark. "I spent years, engaging with each, & every one of them. I am privy to their closest secrets, yet still a friendly stranger."

Alex held up her hand to silence him. "There is more to leadership, than going through the motions of society - to inspire secondhand, and to teach, without talking."

Alex paced down the rows of empty pews. "Without the Lord, could you accomplish as such? I don't think so, unlike me."

Mark shook his head. "So you believe a certain charisma is more important than the social bonds we forge together?" He returned to the pulpit.

Alex turned towards the main door. "I believe, that in these past two weeks, the bonds I made are just as strong as the ones you cherish." She paused as she gripped the handle. "Although, I suppose it can be fun, playing as the preacher."

This is a really interesting and bold prompt, I had to comment on it right away! As a reader I'd love to see how an Atheist would pull this off, how they'd connect to the congregation and how their approach differs from a priest. Who knows the priest could even pick up a technique or two.

Edit: formatting

What a shitty phrase. Acting like pedagogy isn’t a thing and teachers spend years learning techniques for teaching different age groups just fall into the job.