Thomas delivered his Sunday sermon without much enthusiasm. The folding chairs in his church were mostly empty and he could see as he spoke from the makeshift alter that a few of his parishioners were nodding off, and that at least one was scrolling his phone. He preached the Book of Jonah. He retold the tired tale he had told many times and concluded his sermon by saying in a voice that lacked both passion and conviction "God calls us all to be missionaries, to spread the word of love, peace, and redemption to those who do not know truth and light. And through Jonah, we see that God is merciful, that he will give us a second chance when we don't at first hear his calling."
Yet as Thomas spoke these recycled words he lamented how ineffective his words were. He had been the head of his church for thirty years; now he was the only preacher. Over the years he had seen his congregation shrink from a vibrant, spiritual community of several hundred to now just the odd ten or twenty who sometimes showed up on Sunday, and who rarely consulted with him during the week about spiritual or personal issues. He hadn't taken a confession or performed a wedding or a baptism in several years. And as the number of parishioners dwindled so did the weekly offerings, which eventually strained the church's finances so much that the original church building was sold and services were moved to a rented strip-mall storefront.
After his sermon, Thomas sat at the desk in his office when there was a knock at the door and a familiar voice.
"Hi Thomas. I just want to thank you for the inspiring service today."
"Hello, Margaret," Thomas replied, smiling and standing up behind his desk. "Nice to see you! Will you sit down for a while? Can I get you something to drink?"
Margaret was Thomas' age. They had gone to high school together, and Margaret had attended Thomas' church since he began his service after divinity school.
"Yes, tea would be nice," Margaret said as she sat down in the only other chair in Thomas' office. Thomas busied himself with renewed purpose, boiling water and gathering the tea and cups.
Sitting down again in his chair while the tea was steeping Thomas said, "I don't know, Margaret. No one seems to be inspired about much of anything these days, especially not about anything I have to offer, it doesn't seem."
"Yes, things are different than they used to be. But people hear you, Thomas. Some must hear you or they wouldn't come at all. I hear you."
"You've heard everything I have to say, Margaret, and nothing very inspiring I'm sure. But thank you for saying that." For a while, the two old friends gazed at each other without speaking. Thomas' mind flashed up a memory of the dance they shared at senior prom. Margaret was young and beautiful, way out of Thomas' league he knew. They had dated for a while, and even once had made love--his and her first--but Thomas cast all that aside when he decided he had heard God's calling.
"Tom, you do good work. It's society that's changed. When Mike was sick, you know he gathered a lot of strength from you. And you were such a comfort to Sally and Eleanore after he died. And to me too. I would not have known how to help my young children cope with their father's death. But you did. And if that's all you ever did, it would be enough."
"I guess... How are Sally and Eleanore?" Thomas asked.
"They are both doing great," replied Margaret with obvious pride. "Sally is finishing at Ohio State in marketing and Eleanore and her husband just told me they are pregnant again. I'm going to be a grandma a second time over!"
"Oh that is so great, Margaret. It's too bad that Mike isn't here to see what he helped make. With you he has left a legacy of two beautiful young ladies and now two grandkids. Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"
"Not yet. But I know they would like a girl, a sister for young Gregory."
The conversation lapsed again and the two sipped their tea. Thomas felt the familiar pang of being a single man, with no children to carry on his legacy. Lately, he had been thinking about this a lot. Thomas knew his death would be the end of the line. His congregation would briefly notice his passing, and except for Margaret, if she was still alive, he couldn't think of anyone who would attend his funeral.
"Don't say it Thomas." It was as if Margaret knew from his countenance what Thomas was going to say.
But Thomas said it anyways: "I wish I had not left you to serve the church, Maggie. You know that you have been the only constant in my life. I would have liked to have children, to leave a legacy, to matter to a family. Instead I thought I heard God's calling... but his call has led me to an empty life, Maggie, a life that is wrapping up without purpose or meaning."
Margaret did not reply. She leaned forward in her chair and with a reach placed her hand palm up on the desk. Thomas took her hand and held it gently.
"I'm sorry, Margaret. I shouldn't go on like that with you. It can't make you feel very good."
"It's okay Tom. I know what you mean," Margaret said.
Thomas felt Margaret's fingers slip from his when she pulled back her hand. He leaned back in his chair, took off his glasses, and rubbed his face with both hands. People who knew him found the face-rubbing habit a little odd but he found it calming, and didn't even notice when he did it. Margaret took a last sip of her tea, and said, "Well... I should be going. Tom, don't forsake the challenge of God's calling. You have have left a legacy, you have mattered to me and to a great many people. I'll see you next week."
"I guess," was all Thomas could manage in reply.
Late that evening at home Thomas could not nudge his mind away from depressing thoughts about his childless life. He recalled the gleam in Margaret's eyes when she spoke about her children and grandchildren.
What a miracle life was. The passing on of genes which carried from one generation to the next not only physical traits but sometimes even mannerisms and habits. A miracle Thomas would never know. In fact, as Thomas thought back on his life of service to the Lord and God, he had never seen even the simplest miracle. And now he was sitting alone in an empty apartment. He meant nothing to anyone, except possibly Margaret.
There is nothing miraculous about any of this, Thomas thought, my life is a dead end. Why go on? But how to do it... freezing to death doesn't sound bad. Or maybe drowning. But nothing left behind, nothing for anyone to clean up.
Thomas sat in his chair holding a picture of himself and his mother and father. The picture slipped from his hand, he rose from his chair, took off his clothes, and walked out the sliding glass door of his apartment into the woods across the parking lot. It was just above freezing but the ground was soft as he plodded steadily through the forest. He made his way through an opening in a fence that surrounded a large reservoir which provided drinking water for the City of Columbus and he was shivering uncontrollably when he found the place he was looking for. Without giving himself time to think---his decision, he realized, was made a long time ago---he walked as far as he could into a large swampy area, lay down on his back in the mud and silt, and slit his wrists with a razor blade.
Thomas looked beyond the leafless tree branches to the clear, star-filled sky. At first, he felt the numbing cold of the watery mud enveloping his naked body, but as his conciseness ebbed all physical sensations subsided and what remained in his oxygen-starved brain was a feeling of calm euphoria. The stars twinkled out with Thomas' last thought: Forgive me.
A year later, police officially closed as unsolved their investigation into Thomas' disappearance. The church closed and the space was renovated and rented to a company that sold mobile phones and accessories.
Ten years later, on Easter Sunday, Margaret and her daughters and grandchildren died when a tornado destroyed Margaret's home in Suburban Columbus.
One hundred years later, heavy rain began falling across the North American continent and the place where Thomas' remains rested undisturbed in thick mud was completely submerged.
One thousand years later, Earth's human population was ravaged by a novel virus which acted directly on an infected individual's DNA. Many survived the infection but were afterwards unable to produce viable offspring, and the human species went extinct.
One million years later, Earth was detected in orbit around Sol by beings from a planet orbiting the star that was once known as Rotanev in the constellation Delphinus.
Three million years later, Earth was the second home to a prosperous population of the beings from Rotanev. In the course of building a spaceport in the middle of the continental land mass they called Galurian (if the language they used were translated into the phonetics of early twenty-first century English), a nearly complete fossil specimen of one of Earth's early apparently intelligent species was removed from a deposit of hard, black rock and taken to a research laboratory nearby.
The beings in the lab had tried this experiment many times without success. They had extracted from the fossilized specimen a complex molecule which they had learned encoded the species' physical attributes and life processes. One being examined the fetus growing in a sack of nutrient- and oxygen-rich fluid. They had grown fetuses before but none had ever survived outside the sack. This one, however, seemed especially strong. It kicked its legs now and then, moved its arms as if testing nascent strength and coordination, and at times seemed to rub its face with its tiny hands.
With a dexterous three-fingered hand one of the beings guided an instrument that cut the fluid sack. As the fluid spilled onto the table the infant gasped its first breath and made a loud sound which would have startled the three beings tending him if they had appropriate sensory organs. The beings wrapped the infant tightly in a cloth-like material and placed it in a warm container. They made expressions of pride and satisfaction to one another. This one was special. This one would survive.