There is a man whose name I didn't know but whose words I'll never forget. A nameless face among a crowd of nameless faces, distinct only by his words of inspiring wisdom. It was a Sunday morning, the Lords morning.
             A gathering of faithful Catholics filled the church with the same solemn obligation like to many Sundays before. That day we were told that the priest was away, therefore volunteer speakers would be responsible for the days mass. It was a pretty ordinary thing so I knew what to expect. A few people discussed a particular passage of the bible they felt carried significance in their lives. Some brought forth stories they believed strengthened their faith in the Bible and reassured their belief in God. After twenty minutes or so the coordinator asked for any last volunteers for the day. Being only ten years old I prayed that no one would volunteer. I was steadily becoming uneasy, and could hardly remain seated. Yet to my disappointment one last hand arose from the crowd. A man I had never seen in church before, and so far, gone all day without noticing, stood from his seat and made his way to the alter.
             Now maybe it was bad lighting, or just childish imagination, but to this day I would almost swear the light itself feared his face. Every beautiful flicker of the candle that so dared the revealed the color of his eyes or the features or his face, seemed to shrivel and fall to his heals. Not to say he was a frightening man, but more like a familiar one. Like a man you've seen a thousand times but only just looked at. Through the shadows he appeared no more than thirty or thirty-five, yet carried with him the look of a man who'd seen many hard days.
             "Why are you here?" he asked after reaching the podium. His voice was strong but fluid. So strong in fact, it was as if he was talking to me directly.
             "Why are you here...the question of question
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