The Monument of Pride: A Cautionary Tale

Disclaimer:

This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The story is not intended to mock, defame, or portray any individual or group in a negative light. The ideas and events depicted are the product of the author’s imagination, and any similarities to real-life situations are unintended and coincidental.

The Monument of Pride: A Cautionary Tale

In the sun-drenched city of Destin, Florida, nestled amidst the serene waves of the Emerald Coast, stood a modest church built nearly three decades ago. It was more than just a building; it was a sanctuary for a small community of Malayali immigrants who had found a new home far from Kerala. The church, with its simple architecture, had been a witness to countless prayers, weddings, baptisms, and funerals—a true haven for the faithful.

The Dream of a Grand Project

As the years passed, the church's leadership began to dream of something grander. They envisioned the Jubilee Project, a grand plan to mark the 25th anniversary of the church with a gesture of monumental significance. The project would be twofold: the construction of a large recreation center to draw the younger generation closer and the expansion of the church building itself. The proposed facilities included additional office rooms, an expanded restroom, and a new hall for gatherings. The church secretary, Mr. Mathew, was the driving force behind this ambitious vision. He believed that this project would not only honor the legacy of his father, who had been instrumental in building the church 25 years ago, but also ensure that his own son would be recognized as the man who led the community into a new era.

However, the cost of this dream was staggering—three to four million dollars. Yet, Mr. Mathew and his son, Thomas, pressed on, confident in their ability to raise the necessary funds. They believed it was their family's legacy to complete what had been started years ago. For them, the Jubilee Project was more than just a construction endeavor; it was a matter of pride.

### The Struggles Begin

Years passed, and despite numerous fundraising efforts, the progress was slow. The children who had once eagerly awaited the recreation center had grown up and drifted away, their lives now too busy for the church they once loved. Thomas, who had taken over much of the planning from his father, was undeterred. He pushed harder, often clashing with other members of the church’s executive committee who questioned the feasibility of the project.

One evening, during a heated church executive committee meeting, one of the elders voiced his concerns. "Mr. Mathew," he began cautiously, "we've been trying to raise funds for years, and yet we are nowhere near our goal. Is this project truly for the benefit of the community, or is it more about...personal pride?"

Thomas bristled at the implication, but his father, always the diplomat, replied, "This project is for the future of our children. It’s not about us, but about ensuring that our church remains relevant for the next generation."

The committee was divided. Some shared the elder's concerns, while others remained loyal to Mr. Mathew, trusting his vision. But doubts began to creep into the minds of the congregation. As the years rolled on, the urgency of the project waned, and many questioned why it was so important to complete this expensive undertaking.

 The Pandemic and the Downfall

Three years ago, a new vicar took charge. He was a man of action, determined to breathe life into the dormant project. Under his guidance, the plans began to move forward with renewed vigor. But just as things seemed to be picking up, the world was struck by the COVID-19 pandemic. The prices of materials soared, and the project, already ambitious, became even more daunting.

Faced with these new challenges, the church's general body met and decided to scale down the project. The estimated cost had now ballooned to five or six million dollars, and some whispered that it could go even higher. In one particularly tense general body meeting, the vicar addressed the congregation.

"We must reconsider our priorities," he said solemnly. "This project is noble, but we must ask ourselves if it is worth the burden it will place on our community."

But Mr. Mathew and his son were adamant. "We've come too far to turn back now," Thomas argued. "This church was built by my father, and I will not let his legacy be forgotten. This recreation center will be built, no matter the cost."

The church secretary and his son continued to push the project forward, even as the financial strain began to show. Banks were reluctant to lend money to a church whose income barely covered its expenses. After much negotiation, they finally secured a loan, but at a high interest rate that only added to the mounting pressure.

### The Monument of Hubris

As the loan repayments loomed, the burden of the project weighed heavily on the congregation. The vicar, now residing in the parsonage attached to the church, had a fall that resulted in a broken arm. The incident was one in a series of misfortunes that seemed to plague the project. A few months earlier, just as the previous vicar was preparing to leave, the parsonage had been burgled. A newly purchased safe box, meant to secure important documents, was stolen. Whispers of curses and bad omens filled the air, casting a shadow of doubt over the once hopeful project.

The church’s finances were stretched thin. The general body meetings became more contentious, with members openly questioning the wisdom of continuing the project. The tension between Mr. Mathew’s family and the rest of the congregation grew palpable.

Eventually, the worst fears were realized. Despite all efforts, the funds ran out, and the half-built recreation center stood as a stark reminder of the community’s dashed hopes. The bank, seeing no other option, began proceedings to repossess the church. The news hit the congregation like a thunderbolt. Their beloved sanctuary, which had once been a beacon of hope, was now at risk of being taken away.

The final general body meeting was a somber affair. Mr. Mathew and his son sat in the front, their faces a mix of defiance and regret. The vicar spoke softly, his words heavy with the weight of their shared loss.

"We must remember," he said, "that our faith is not in buildings or in our name, but in God. Let us not be consumed by the desire for more, but instead, let us focus on what truly matters—our community, our faith, and our love for one another."

But it was too late. The church was lost. The once vibrant community was left without a home, their dreams of a grand recreation center reduced to an unfinished monument. The half-built structure became a symbol of what had gone wrong—a testament to the dangers of letting pride and ambition overshadow the simple, yet profound, faith that had brought them together in the first place.

The Lesson for the Future

As the congregation dispersed, the story of the Jubilee Project became a parable within the community—a story of the dangers of letting personal pride take precedence over the collective good. The legacy that Mr. Mathew had so desperately wanted to build for his son had become a cautionary tale.

Years later, when people passed by the skeletal remains of the recreation center, they would remember the church that once stood there and the lessons it had taught them. They would remember that faith is not built on brick and mortar, but on the love and support of a community. And they would remember that the pursuit of grandeur, when fueled by pride, can lead not to glory, but to downfall.

The half-built construction, now weathered and overgrown, stood as a monument—not to the vision of a grand future, but to the importance of humility and the dangers of letting one family's pride take precedence over the needs of the many.