He was The Father. There was no reflection for him. Neither sin nor good. He simply was.
The architecture was magnificent. Gothic sharpness pierced the sky with an eerily white shimmer. Too shiny and sleek. Too novel. The tips of the Holy House were barely visible in the clouds.
The Father breathed in the light air of the courtyard as he closed his eyes and took a step into the church. Heaviness settled on his shoulders. That was how God made himself known. It quickly dissipated as he opened his eyes to gaze upon the believers.
Translucent pods lined the tops of white benches, the light of the window murals shattering at their sharp corners, reflecting off their polished surfaces into a myriad of shards, a kaleidoscope to behold and marvel.
The pods were full yet again this Sunday. This town had many followers of God. Their bodies floated suspended in the liquid of the pods, colorful rays painting their bodies with faith.
The Father strode past the rows to the podium, barely sparing them a glance now. He walked up the steps of the podium to the Mirror Wall: a grand, tall reflection of all sins and goods of the world. Alas, not his. He was The Father. There was no reflection for him. He was neither sin nor good. He simply was.
He crossed himself to show the Lord his presence. The mirror immediately presented him with a wordy overlay, a list of all the believers gathered. Some were written in turquoise, some in gold, some whose names you couldn't even see.
He tapped through his usual routine.
First the reds.
As soon as he touched the name, a pod in the mirror glowed red. Suppressed rage. A tendency to drink his troubles away. Michael Stonesten had recently lost his child to God, yet he still believed. Still came to the Holy House every Sunday for healing.
The Father walked back to the rows, to the pod of one M. S. He kneeled at its base and crossed himself again. The dashboard appeared as a spectrum of colored names of chemicals on the side of the pod. This man had been granted a long list of healing options in exchange for his exemplary faith in God. The Father tapped on an opioid and an opaque white solution flowed into the pod's liquid from the bench underneath.
May God's grace soothe thy pain.