<hr/><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/00/Fatherortega.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Father Esteban Ortega<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>None<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 14th, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>St. Martin's Chapel<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Open<br/><hr/><br/><acronym title="”Thanks be to God!”">“Ite, missa est!”</acronym>In a hundred other Catholic churches, the final words of the Father and the traditional blessing would have marked the end of the Catholic mass.  Indeed - there were a few staunch Catholics who left after the blessing, but many of those who attended stayed after.<br/><br/>A few hours of Latin, hymnals, and communion was an important ritual, but Father Ortega had amended a small tradition to the conclusion of his services.  By Catholic tradition, the introductory rites, Liturgy of the Word, Liturgy of the Eucharist, communion and the final concluding rite were all in Latin - but few of the frontiersfolk that had settled Gomorra spoke Latin, more than a few words and phrases repeated often enough in church.  The sermons, prescribed by a distant Vatican and written out to the letter, day by day, from a council of Cardinals oceans away didn’t always serve the people of Gomorra.<br/><br/>Father Ortega did.  Above all else, the Father was a man intent upon serving the needs of Gomorra, and though some of the church-goers attended on the basis of deeply held belief, many more simply feared for their souls and what might befall them if they didn’t show and sit through the penance of being in church.<br/><br/>But the St. Martin’s Chapel was not a traditional Catholic church in one regard - for after the hours of indulgence and patience, after the final blessing, Ortega did not retreat from the pulpit.  He didn’t retire under the final hymnal - he joined in, his voice strong and weathered and joyous if not overburdened with musical talent.<br/><br/>Then he remained, and he opened his bible, and he read.<br/><br/>“Psalmus David. Dominus regit me, et nihil mihi deerit:<br/>In loco pascuæ ibi me collocavit. Super aquam refectionis educavit me:<br/>Animam meam convertit. Deduxit me super semitas iustitiæ, propter nomen suum.<br/>Nam, et si ambulavero in medio umbræ mortis, non timebo mala: quoniam tu mecum es. Virga tua, et baculus tuus: ipsa me consolata sunt.<br/>Parasti in conspectu meo mensam, adversus eos, qui tribulant me. Impinguasti in oleo caput meum: et calix meus inebrians quam præclarus est!<br/>Et misericordia tua subsequetur me omnibus diebus vitæ meæ: et ut inhabitem in domo Domini, in longitudinem dierum.”<br/><br/>Much like the rest of the service, few among the parishioners knew precisely what had been spoken, and so Ortega closed his Bible, and carried it, and walked down from the pulpit.<br/><br/>“A Psalm of David. The Lord directs me, and nothing will be lacking to me.<br/>He has settled me here, in a place of pasture. He has led me out to the water of refreshment.<br/>He has converted my soul. He has led me away on the paths of justice, for the sake of his name.<br/>For, even if I should walk in the midst of the shadow of death, I will fear no evils. For you are with me. Your rod and your staff, they have given me consolation.<br/>You have prepared a table in my sight, opposite those who trouble me. You have anointed my head with oil, and my cup, which inebriates me, how brilliant it is!<br/>And your mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and so may I dwell in the house of the Lord for length of days.”<br/><br/>His voice was calm, and soft, at first.  It rose as he spoke, gathering strength, eyes and ears attentive now as he repeated the words in a language the people understood.  After the words had settled, he gave a small smile.<br/><br/>“This may seem a strange time, a strange place to talk about the water of refreshment.  Gomorra does not see many pastures.  But these mines, though they do not bear the fruit of the field, still bear the fruit of our brow.  These people - their souls still need conversion.  They need to be led away, on the paths of justice.  For the sake of His name.”<br/><br/>His brow was furrowed, and he paced slowly before the congregation.<br/><br/>“And I know, not one of you sets foot in Gomorra, or in the Maze, or into a mineshaft without<em>knowing</em>in your hearts you are in the midst of the shadow of death.”<br/><br/>There was foot stomping, a few nods of agreement, quiet murmurs that went through the crowd.<br/><br/>“So I ask you to fear no evil.  I ask you to take consolation in the His rod and staff, and know that the Heavenly Father - he is a<em>good</em>shepherd.  I know you have faced death.  I know your hearts have been touched by fear, by the deaths of those you have known for years or for hours.  By the darkness which descended upon a place meant to sooth our most troubled minds.”<br/><br/>His worn features looked out over the crowd, compassionate and kind.  He touched shoulders as he walked.  “He has prepared a table, in my sight, opposite those... who trouble me.”  He turned and looked towards the walls.  “Not far from here, men sleep in huddled tents and dream of the silver and gold they might send back to their homes, their families.   Across the table - men who dream of<em>industry</em>and<em>wealth.</em>On both their backs, a table has been built.  Not far from here, wealthy men and women who were scions of the South sit across the table from men who build machines that fly through the air like the angels themselves.  One dreams of a better past, and one of a better future, but they both sit at the table the Lord has prepared.  Not far from here, new people arrive in Gomorra - and not far from here, we bury those who’ve shed their blood for it.  But they all sit - here, at the same table.”<br/><br/>He lowered his head, and there was a small smile.  “And here, He anoints our head, and He anoints our cups.  Here, where we all sit, united at one table.  Quam præclarus est.  How brilliant it is.”<br/><br/>He drew a slow breath, leaning against a parishioner’s shoulder.  “Some among you have lost those you love.   Some have never come to see the silver, the gold, the ghostrock.  But the Lord’s mercy - it is meant for every man and woman at His table.  Ask His forgiveness, and you shall receive it.  Ask His forgiveness, ask His mercy - and show His mercy in kind, and you will<em>dwell</em>in<em>His</em>house!  For the length of days - when every face you know, when every person you have ever cherished is blown to dust upon the wind - you will dwell in<em>His</em>house.  That is His mercy,” he said.  “No matter who you have buried, by earth or by sea, no matter what side of the table you sit upon - you will dwell in His house.  So I ask you - take His mercy into your hearts.  Do not fear the shadow of death, do not fear evil - for his rod, and his staff, they will protect you.  His mercy will lift you up.  He will anoint every head at this table, and every cup.”<br/><br/>He smiled, his face filled with joy, and spread his hands.<br/><br/><acronym title="”Thanks be to God!”">“Ite, missa est!”</acronym>