Making a Difference

Posted on 30 Apr 2013 @ 3:09pm by Verity Thorne

1,341 words; about a 7 minute read

"Commander at the Roman Emperor's court, you chose to be also a soldier of Christ and dared to spread faith in the King of Kings, for which you were condemned to die. Your body proved strong and the executing arrows weak. So another means to kill you was chosen and you gave your life to the Lord."

Verity paused, looking across to the small painting of Saint Sebastian he had at his small, makeshift shrine in his quarters, his throat tight. "Twice martyred for your faith," he whispered the addition to the prayer that he always made. "May Soldiers be always as strong in their faith as their Patron Saint so clearly has been. Amen."

Verity became quiet for a long moment, even as he was recorded for his log. He always started the same way on his logs these days. A prayer to Saint Sebastian. It had become a tradition, or perhaps even a superstition.

Verity didn't look up though. He kept his gaze on his hands, taking a deep breath. "The same question keeps coming back to me," he finally started speaking to his recording log. "What am I doing here? Did I make the right choice in joining Starfleet?"

He shook his head, rubbing it with a tense hand to try and ease the throbbing pain in it. "No, I ended up here after other choices. I suppose the real question is; did I do the right thing, leaving the priesthood?"

Remaining silent for a long moment, his fingers absently played with the rosary beads wrapped around his hand. "No. I know that I had leave the priesthood. There really wasn't a choice in that, not after what happened. At the root of it, the real question is; why did I ever let myself lose everything over loving a man who just enjoyed the game? If I hadn't been so foolish, if I hadn't played the game, I would still be there. Serving as a priest. Making a difference."

"I don't really make a difference here," Verity gave a half felt smile at that, shaking his head as he finally glanced up to the screen. "Some people didn't even know there was a chaplaincy. Not many come and use the chaplaincy. People don't seem to feel the need. Some of those I do talk to seem to use it as a chance to challenge or question my own beliefs rather than talk about theirs. I always answer, in case it helps them. But I suspect some of them aren't questioning for that reason."

He rubbed the back of his aching neck, taking a deep breath. "I don't know if people avoid the chaplaincy because they think it's all about religion, or if it's seen as a second counselling service when many aren't fond of counsellors, or if they just don't need it. I'm trying to get the message out that we're not linked with the counsellors, that we're a relaxed, casual service and we don't keep medical records on people. And that people can come and talk about anything, not just religion. Spirituality, moral dilemmas in service, or just plain old getting things off the chest without having to go to a counsellor. I'm hoping that message is spreading. It's difficult, but I hope it's getting there."

Verity swallowed hard, frowning deeply, with pain. "I suppose, back in my parish, it was hard. It was a difficult parish. With many...unfortunate people. Every waking moment , there was something I was doing, some group I was running, or people I was helping, or supplies I was providing. Here - I wait in my office twiddling my thumbs just in case someone needs to chat. It feels - it feels like I'm not making a difference here. It feels - as if I am useless here."

He licked his lips, taking a sharp breath. "I don't know. I pray. I ask for guidance; am I in the right place, am I doing the right thing? I could have remained in London, and worked in those support groups for those people who needed help so badly as a civilian. I just - I couldn't stay there, not after what happened, I just wanted to get off Earth and be somewhere else, somewhere away from him, away from my family, away from so much constant work out in the streets and community that somedays I thought I would fall. Just - away. But was that the easy way out? Should I have stayed there, ridden that out, to end up being of more use as a civilian there than I am in Starfleet here?"

Verity shook his head before laughing softly, glancing to the screen with a small smile. "I miss my church," he admitted. "I have the holoprogramme for it here, but it's not the same. It's familiar, and warm, but it's missing the soul of the place."

Verity gave a heavy, shaking sigh, rubbing his temple as he thought it all through. "But then, there's Saint Sebastian," he looked over to the small painting of him at the shrine. "I have so many doubts about being here, about serving Starfleet, about whether I'm really doing anything and making a difference or just sitting here twiddling my thumbs. It feels like I've made bad and wrong choices and ended up here doing nothing, being of no use. But......"

Verity watched the painting of the martyred Saint with awe for a long moment. "Saint Sebastian has always been my Saint. I've known it, and felt it, all my life. Sebastiano has always been the one I pray to, he's always been the one I hold a shrine too. Always has been, for years and years. He's the Patron Saint of Soldiers. It held no relevance to me before, I wasn't a soldier, I was just a priest. And yet I kept the shrine to Sebastiano. He just felt right. And now, here I am. In Starfleet. Amongst soldiers. I had no reason to be pulled to Sebastiano before, and yet I was. It felt right. He felt right. And now, it fits now. He fits with where I am and what I'm doing now. Of all the doubts I have about what I'm doing - is he the sign that this is where I'm meant to be? My constant prayer to Saint Sebastian despite his not being a patron of anything in my life before - until now. Was it foretelling? Is it fate? Was my pull to Sebastiano over the years a sign to show me that I was meant to come here all along?"

Verity smiled, shaking his head as he laughed softly. "A man could go mad with so many questions and second guessing. I've relied on my gut instinct, and feelings and intuition my entire life. This is the first time I've really questioned it, apart from back then, with him. Maybe I'm just thinking and worrying too much. Over thinking it all. Maybe I should just go with the flow for now. Perhaps I will find out why I'm here and how to make a difference later."

He took a deep breath, smiling to the screen recording him, almost physically pulling himself back together. "So I'll be going ahead with putting together different social groups for the crew to attend, if they feel like it, every week, to get them interacting, and their heads away from the stress of duty, even if just for an hour a week. I don't know how popular they'll be, but I won't find out until I try, will I," he positively grinned at that, his eyes shining. "I'll run a choir, and an orchestra, and an amateur dramatic theatre group. I'll have a think about what else. I'd like to run one every day of the week if I can, so there's something for everyone. Apart from Sunday, of course," he said quietly, but with a gentle smile.

"Hopefully, by this time next month, I'll have more answers to my questions."

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