Thursday, December 18, 2008
The Sinner.
“That’s fighting talk,” Jimmy growled, stabbing at the wooden grate with an unsteady finger
“Ah come on now Jimmy, I said I’m a pacifist” Father O’Brien responded reassuringly.
“What-ever,” Jimmy spluttered, the large quantities of beer he had consumed doing more of the thinking than the brain.
“Could we start again now Jimmy, I think I may have lost the thread here somewhere”
“What would you know about it? You sit there preaching to me all high and mighty, you wear that collar and you think you’re bleedin God”
Sensing that this was going to be difficult, Father O’Brien took a breath and glanced up to the ceiling hoping to muster strength from his faith
“Now I can assure you Jimmy that is not the case, I act as a guide if you like, a teacher maybe, a social worker when necessary perhaps, but God? I’m not God” He added with a wry laugh.
“I don’t know why I came here” Jimmy mumbled. Father O’Brien heard the fumbling of paper in pockets, some drunken cursing and the noise of a lighter firing into action. This was predictably followed by the waft of cigarette smoke. Father O’Brien, airing on the side of caution, decided to let the matter go.
“Honour and obey, ha, fat chance! What does the bible know, what do you know about it for that matter?”
“I can assure you Jimmy” The Priest snapped sternly “I am no different from you or any body else, the collar shouldn’t be seen as a barrier between us but as a sign of our friendship. The church is your salvation, it is a place of celebration in the community for everybody, and for some people,” he paused briefly, hoping to reach out to Jimmy, “It is the only place left for them to turn”
Jimmy didn’t answer and a little while passed in silence. Father O’Brien considered it a blessing and only hoped he hadn’t passed out or been sick. The last thing he could do with on a Saturday night was wrestling another drunken parishioner out while he scrubbed the confessional box into the wee small hours. It was such an unsavoury task and the vestry always seemed to carry the memory of it for a few days.
It was a problem, he knew, that was a symptom of a deprived northern town where alcohol was king. It also sometimes, like today, had the strange effect of bringing the drunken guilty to the church. But that was his task.
“I’m sorry Father.” Jimmy finally announced after a long pause, “Forgive me, for I have sinned”
“Well, that’s more like it now Jimmy.” Father O’Brien answered happy that he was finally getting into the swing of the old routine. He loved confessionals; it was truly one of the best parts of the Priesthood. What some housewives would give for a seat with him here at ringside; the things he heard were solid gold, real Woman’s Weekly stuff.
He made himself comfortable “James, in the eyes of Our Lord Jesus Christ, confess your sins so that you may be absolved.”
“I’m afraid I’ve done something terrible”
“Go on” Father O’Brien encouraged
“In your confessional box father” Jimmy continued.
Father O’Brien, took stock of the situation, pausing briefly to catch his breath.
The gut wrenching odour poured punishingly through the curtain indicating that Jimmy, who may be guilty of a great many offences, was evidently no liar.
It took a little while for Father O’Brien to gain spiritual guidance and stop his eyes from watering. Wistfully he clamped a folded napkin to his nose and lit the benediction oil.
“Jimmy” he spluttered, feeling shorter of breath by the minute “you have confessed your sins with God as your witness, and to gain absolution of your sins, for your penance” he gagged again for a second struggling to catch his breath “I give you nine hundred Our Fathers and nine hundred Hail Mary’s, to be completed outside of the church. You may now leave in Gods blessing”
Father O’Brien waited. There was no response from Jimmy until finally he heard shallow snores followed by a loud and familiar crash.
“That’s fighting talk,” Jimmy growled, stabbing at the wooden grate with an unsteady finger
“Ah come on now Jimmy, I said I’m a pacifist” Father O’Brien responded reassuringly.
“What-ever,” Jimmy spluttered, the large quantities of beer he had consumed doing more of the thinking than the brain.
“Could we start again now Jimmy, I think I may have lost the thread here somewhere”
“What would you know about it? You sit there preaching to me all high and mighty, you wear that collar and you think you’re bleedin God”
Sensing that this was going to be difficult, Father O’Brien took a breath and glanced up to the ceiling hoping to muster strength from his faith
“Now I can assure you Jimmy that is not the case, I act as a guide if you like, a teacher maybe, a social worker when necessary perhaps, but God? I’m not God” He added with a wry laugh.
“I don’t know why I came here” Jimmy mumbled. Father O’Brien heard the fumbling of paper in pockets, some drunken cursing and the noise of a lighter firing into action. This was predictably followed by the waft of cigarette smoke. Father O’Brien, airing on the side of caution, decided to let the matter go.
“Honour and obey, ha, fat chance! What does the bible know, what do you know about it for that matter?”
“I can assure you Jimmy” The Priest snapped sternly “I am no different from you or any body else, the collar shouldn’t be seen as a barrier between us but as a sign of our friendship. The church is your salvation, it is a place of celebration in the community for everybody, and for some people,” he paused briefly, hoping to reach out to Jimmy, “It is the only place left for them to turn”
Jimmy didn’t answer and a little while passed in silence. Father O’Brien considered it a blessing and only hoped he hadn’t passed out or been sick. The last thing he could do with on a Saturday night was wrestling another drunken parishioner out while he scrubbed the confessional box into the wee small hours. It was such an unsavoury task and the vestry always seemed to carry the memory of it for a few days.
It was a problem, he knew, that was a symptom of a deprived northern town where alcohol was king. It also sometimes, like today, had the strange effect of bringing the drunken guilty to the church. But that was his task.
“I’m sorry Father.” Jimmy finally announced after a long pause, “Forgive me, for I have sinned”
“Well, that’s more like it now Jimmy.” Father O’Brien answered happy that he was finally getting into the swing of the old routine. He loved confessionals; it was truly one of the best parts of the Priesthood. What some housewives would give for a seat with him here at ringside; the things he heard were solid gold, real Woman’s Weekly stuff.
He made himself comfortable “James, in the eyes of Our Lord Jesus Christ, confess your sins so that you may be absolved.”
“I’m afraid I’ve done something terrible”
“Go on” Father O’Brien encouraged
“In your confessional box father” Jimmy continued.
Father O’Brien, took stock of the situation, pausing briefly to catch his breath.
The gut wrenching odour poured punishingly through the curtain indicating that Jimmy, who may be guilty of a great many offences, was evidently no liar.
It took a little while for Father O’Brien to gain spiritual guidance and stop his eyes from watering. Wistfully he clamped a folded napkin to his nose and lit the benediction oil.
“Jimmy” he spluttered, feeling shorter of breath by the minute “you have confessed your sins with God as your witness, and to gain absolution of your sins, for your penance” he gagged again for a second struggling to catch his breath “I give you nine hundred Our Fathers and nine hundred Hail Mary’s, to be completed outside of the church. You may now leave in Gods blessing”
Father O’Brien waited. There was no response from Jimmy until finally he heard shallow snores followed by a loud and familiar crash.
# posted by aworthlessexistence @ 11:06 AM 
