we gather in this sanctuary
beneath the willow’s shade
with doubts we dare not name

and truths not yet displayed 

whatever faith has shaped you

whatever you have lost
you are welcomed here
no matter the cost

whoever walks beside you
whomever you hold dear
no judge resides in this church
no hatred lingers here

Christ’s Church raises his worn hands, palms open, as if offering nothing and everything at once. The small congregation, filled with many different beliefs, sits in stillness. 

The old Church of the Weeping Willow has stood for generations. The branches of the ancient tree stretch over the threshold of the Hills of Hope, though now withered by the rise of the Ridge of Revelation. Its roots run deep into the soil, reaching depths where something hidden awaits, destined to be claimed, reshaped, and carried far beyond the quiet valley. 

Christ’s Church continues: 

we are born in love, not guilt

no debt we must repay

no shadow cast at birth

to wash our souls away

no throne above demands

a sacrifice of pain

no heaven waits as prize

no hell to fear or gain

the sacred lives among us

in reason and in care

in every act of mercy

we choose to make things fair

we do not seek a ruler

beyond the human view

the good we hope to find

is what we choose to do

After the service, Bodhi’s family return to their home in a religiously progressive suburb of the Hills. As a boy, Bodhi displays early signs of devotion including serving as an altar boy. He wants to believe in God to provide shelter from his mind’s brewing storm, but has questions:

dear god above

are you really there

i try to be good

i try to care

they say you can see me

and hear what i do

so why do i feel alone

so far away from you

if you made the world

and made me too

then why do i wonder

what is true