He did his best, but he didn't make much out of it, the good preacher.
Every morning he started with a prayer, every evening he ended with a prayer.
All day long, he preached incessantly with an occasional hymn for...
If nobody saw it, he took a glass of the wine meant for the mass.
Oh well, what did it matter, the church remained empty for many years by now.
Only a few times a year he took confession.
He sat there with his head bowed, waiting to see what the "sinner" would come up with for a little attention from the man who could no longer preach, who lived long enough and knew too well that no man nor god has a monopoly on right, wrong, the truth or wisdom.
Prompt @mariannewest