I stiffened. I felt like I had been Trojan Horsed. Infiltrated by an agent of God under the guise of concerned friendship. I had an image of Christ, like a virus, entering through a mucous membrane and replicating through my bloodstream until my defences were overwhelmed and I was converted. I cleared my throat and told Cass that no, I had not considered this invitation. Never, in our eight years of friendship, had she ever asked me this question. I understood, in that moment, that some dynamic between us had forever shifted, forever broken, for her to be doing so now. And I realized that she must see me now as being in a place of weakness that she had never seen me in before.

I want to tell you that I lit a candle for you after the service this morning, she said with tenderness. I’ve been praying for you.

I looked down into my cup, and took a deep breath. Do you not see how your prayers and candles deny me agency over my own condition? I asked.

She said no, she didn’t see that at all. She told me prayer was actually about reclaiming agency in our lives.

I looked back up at her. Say I was to tell you that I was happy now, I said. Truly happy. You would say that was God’s doing, and once again a man would get all the credit for my hard work.

She laughed a little at this. I told her that I didn’t see suffering as a test, or a punishment, or a destiny to be fulfilled. I told her that I had found an unparalleled sublimity in The Hum; a pure and rapturous transfer of energy between the Earth and myself, my body, which she might call God or grace or the divine, but which for me needed no label or language. A mystery that I was only just beginning to grasp.