Still Life for God #24: After Midnight Mass or Elegy for the End of the World by M.J. Young

Mouth dry from the Eucharist and out of step with myself from the hour I’m walking down the middle of the road, golden lane markers my guideline home. Things have changed and things will change but now I’m alone, organ music echoing in my head. I feel more at peace, meaning closer to You, under this cloud-thick sky than sitting in a pew. It’s something about being alone in grand spaces—empty churches, museums after hours, the world at early morning—as if this smalling sort of solitude demands Your attention. It’s Christmas, and I’m afraid we’re on a precipice. I don’t know what to do but continue down the lane marker. Last time, I stopped praying and waited, as if I could reintroduce myself to You once I got better. As if I had to get better. Every fourth step I take there’s a reflector. I don’t know when I started counting but I’m on twenty-three. I think I want to ask You something, but being out of practice makes praying hard. I stop and lower myself to the ground, the street rough under me, cold. To my left is a house with a cross in its yard, ten feet tall and wrapped in twinkle lights. I’m tired. My question is about suffering and how much we’re meant to give up. And why. It’s hard to imagine what the world is going to look like in four years. It’s hard even thinking past this coming stretch of Ordinary Time to Lent—what will I give up then? Will that be the start? I haven’t gotten off the road. I think I’m waiting for Your answer. Or maybe for twin headlights to send me home.

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​M.J. Young is a writer and MFA student at Florida International University, where he is the poetry editor of Gulf Stream Magazine. His poetry can be found or is forthcoming in Ninth Letter, The Penn Review, Vagabond City Lit, and elsewhere. In his free time he enjoys listening to Philip Glass and exploring bookstores. He can be found on Instagram @mjyoungwrites.