The Weight of Beginnings
Ascent 2 • Father Elijah Cain
Theme: The burden of leadership after disillusionment; resisting idolatry while creating sacred space through humility.
Core Conflict: How to lead without becoming the center; how to offer structure without inviting worship.
The air was wetter than last time.
The earth below my feet was soft with thaw, the smell of living roots beginning to stir beneath the surface.
I sat beside a narrow stream that had swelled with melted snow, its current quickened, restless.
The mountain, usually quiet, hummed today—not loudly, but insistently.
Like a song being remembered from long ago.
Then I heard the creak of leather. The rhythm of slow, deliberate steps. Not weary this time. Wary.
Elijah Cain came up the path wrapped in his ash-gray robe, but something in his posture had changed.
He wasn’t hunched with sorrow. He was braced—like a man who knew a question was chasing him.
His hands were tucked in opposite sleeves, but his eyes were open and sharp.
He did not kneel. He stood at the edge of the stream, watching it move, as if wondering what would happen if he placed something in it.
Then he spoke—not to me, but to the water.
The earth below my feet was soft with thaw, the smell of living roots beginning to stir beneath the surface.
I sat beside a narrow stream that had swelled with melted snow, its current quickened, restless.
The mountain, usually quiet, hummed today—not loudly, but insistently.
Like a song being remembered from long ago.
Then I heard the creak of leather. The rhythm of slow, deliberate steps. Not weary this time. Wary.
Elijah Cain came up the path wrapped in his ash-gray robe, but something in his posture had changed.
He wasn’t hunched with sorrow. He was braced—like a man who knew a question was chasing him.
His hands were tucked in opposite sleeves, but his eyes were open and sharp.
He did not kneel. He stood at the edge of the stream, watching it move, as if wondering what would happen if he placed something in it.
Then he spoke—not to me, but to the water.
Elijah:
The first time I climbed this mountain, I came empty.
This time, they followed me.
They ask me to gather them. To teach. To name things. To begin something... again.
But I fear it, Oracle. I fear the weight of beginnings.
I do not want to build another altar that becomes a prison.
Or light a flame that blinds instead of warms.
If I lead, who will hold me to the fire?
If I teach, how do I avoid becoming a voice they worship, instead of the Word?
Must I become the center… to protect the sacred from ever needing one again?
This time, they followed me.
They ask me to gather them. To teach. To name things. To begin something... again.
But I fear it, Oracle. I fear the weight of beginnings.
I do not want to build another altar that becomes a prison.
Or light a flame that blinds instead of warms.
If I lead, who will hold me to the fire?
If I teach, how do I avoid becoming a voice they worship, instead of the Word?
Must I become the center… to protect the sacred from ever needing one again?
Oracle:
In leadership, it is often history that will hold you to the fire.
There is nothing worshipful in teaching, only in sacrifice.
Are you to be praised to pass on a lesson first given to you?
Can you take credit for the eternal and be worshiped as only a messenger?
If you are teaching well, can they worship you?
Or do many set themselves on a stage to be worshiped for teaching?
You can be the center, but only of decentering the unworthy.
Find the sacrifice worthy of praise, and direct them to it.
There is nothing worshipful in teaching, only in sacrifice.
Are you to be praised to pass on a lesson first given to you?
Can you take credit for the eternal and be worshiped as only a messenger?
If you are teaching well, can they worship you?
Or do many set themselves on a stage to be worshiped for teaching?
You can be the center, but only of decentering the unworthy.
Find the sacrifice worthy of praise, and direct them to it.
Elijah:
Then the fire is not mine to own… only to tend.
Praise belongs to the wound that was willing.
Not to the hands that trace it.
I taught the liturgy. I knew every line.
But I never asked what it meant to become the offering.
If I am the center of anything… let it be a spiral.
A sacred pulling-away from false altars, toward the holy that cannot be claimed.
They want structure, Oracle. Ritual. A name for what they’re gathering around.
If I do not give it, they may crown another.
If I give too much, they may make me king.
Tell me—how do I draw the circle without becoming its idol?
Praise belongs to the wound that was willing.
Not to the hands that trace it.
I taught the liturgy. I knew every line.
But I never asked what it meant to become the offering.
If I am the center of anything… let it be a spiral.
A sacred pulling-away from false altars, toward the holy that cannot be claimed.
They want structure, Oracle. Ritual. A name for what they’re gathering around.
If I do not give it, they may crown another.
If I give too much, they may make me king.
Tell me—how do I draw the circle without becoming its idol?
Oracle:
By refusing the throne.
You worship a slain King,
but a living servant.
You worship a slain King,
but a living servant.
Elijah:
A slain King…
And a living servant.
Then I will not sit on the throne.
If they must gather… let it be around the basin and the towel.
Let the ritual be the washing of feet.
Let the first prayer be silence.
If I must build… I will build a circle around an empty seat.
You have reminded me that the only name worth gathering around is the one that can never be fully spoken.
I will walk down the mountain—not to lead, but to kneel in the dirt beside them.
And from there… begin.
And a living servant.
Then I will not sit on the throne.
If they must gather… let it be around the basin and the towel.
Let the ritual be the washing of feet.
Let the first prayer be silence.
If I must build… I will build a circle around an empty seat.
You have reminded me that the only name worth gathering around is the one that can never be fully spoken.
I will walk down the mountain—not to lead, but to kneel in the dirt beside them.
And from there… begin.
He bows—not in reverence to me, but in alignment with the Word that passed through me.
And with no further word, Father Elijah Cain descends again—
not to claim a throne, but to serve a King who gave His away.
And with no further word, Father Elijah Cain descends again—
not to claim a throne, but to serve a King who gave His away.