Hail Mary

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”

Mary bowed her head in shame, wispy locks of silver-blonde hair brushing across her pale, hollow face. Hidden within the aged confessional box, her fragile features were hidden to all; nevertheless, her cheeks grew red as she recalled her shortcomings of the previous week. She lived a simple life and strived to do right by her God day by day, but still she found herself missing a nightly prayer now and again or turning up her nose as she passed a scantily-clad woman on the street. Mary did her best, but she was only a person. She could never quite make her life right.

As she aired her shortcomings, a weight was lifted from Mary’s shoulders. At last, she could breathe deeply once again. On the other side of the screen, she knew Reverend Francis was listening, nodding along, his eyes as patient and as gentle as always, and his forgiving presence encouraged her to speak until all her sins were laid bare. The kind Reverend would never judge her for her words; he would see to it that she repaid her grievances in full.

Once she had recounted every moment of shame, every failure and flaw, Mary was a new woman. She sat up tall in the box, her shoulders back, her head held high, and a thin smile crossed her lips. “Please, father, how might I atone?”

After a lifetime of services at St. Paul’s, Mary knew the routine well by now. Reverend Francis was always just and fair to his congregation. He’d assign her a number of prayers to recite, or indicate a few passages for her to study as she sought forgiveness, and she’d be born anew, free to pursue a life in service to her lord and savior. No longer would she feel shame for her misdeeds, for she’d be redeemed in His eyes. His was the only judgement she feared.

But Reverend Francis’s command was an unusual one that week, and that caught her off-guard. Instead of the usual Hail Mary’s, the clergyman said simply: “Help me to prepare for the afternoon’s service. Then, all will be forgiven.”

As far as redemption went, the request sounded to be a lame attempt. It didn’t take much to prepare for a service, from what she knew. Surely she deserved a stronger sentence? Mary stepped out of the confession chamber, her head cocked to the side with interest and confusion. The Reverend emerged from the opposite end of the wooden box, his warm, gentle grin as wide as always. “I’m afraid Mr. Lopez can’t help today,” he explained briefly. “I will need some aid preparing communion for today’s service.”

“And then I’ll be forgiven?”

“Indeed, Ms. Connor. I would appreciate the help, if you can spare the time.”

She hadn’t planned on remaining at the church all morning; she had errands to run in town - dry cleaning to collect, a long overdue hair appointment to attend - but none of that could compare to the forgiveness Reverend Francis offered. She agreed instantly. The dry cleaning could wait until tomorrow, and if this is what God asked of her, what choice did she have?

Reverend Francis led Mary to a small room behind his altar, chatting away as he unlocked the door. “I really do appreciate this. Mr. Lopez has always been more than happy to help out, so you can imagine my worry when I learned he wouldn’t be able today. You’ve met him, haven’t you? You’ve both been in attendance for so long now.”

Mary nodded. While she’d never spoken to the man before, Reverend Francis had always spoken so highly of Mr. Lopez that it was difficult not to take notice. He was young, in maybe his early twenties, but devout enough to never miss a service and kind enough to volunteer his free time to St. Paul’s. No one had a bad thing to say about Mr. Lopez.

“In any case, we’ll certainly manage. We’ve such a lovely community at St. Paul’s.” Reverend Francis entered the room, holding the door open behind him for Mary, and then turned his attention to a cluttered cabinet against the wall. Papers, torn books, and unlabeled boxes were stacked high and proud, filling the entire unit with little space to spare. Mary had never been inside the storage space before, but she’d caught glimpses of it when Reverend Francis scuttled in and out of the door after each service. In a way, she felt as though she were special, being invited into the private quarters. Not just anyone entered this room: just the reverend, the holy Mr. Lopez, and now, Ms. Mary Connor.

As she basked in the warmth that ran through her veins, Reverend Francis busied himself pulling boxes from the shelves and dropping them on a plastic table opposite the cabinet. Inside, dozens of styrofoam cups were stacked tightly, along with a few bottles of communion wine.  Reverend Francis frowned at the pile.

“Just as I thought - we have no more wafers. Yes, this is why I asked for your help today.” Reverend Francis reached beneath the table. With a great deal of grunting and groaning, he managed to retrieve a large, black trash bag and place it on the table, his face turning bright red in the process. “Can’t go without wafers, can we?” he chuckled, wiping his brow.

“I suppose not.”

“No, no, it simply wouldn’t do. But you understand how important these traditions are, don’t you, Mary?”

Mary bit her lip as Reverend Francis watched on. “I… do. I believe I do. Though not as well as you do, I suppose… I’ve still got much to learn..”

“You’re a good girl, Mary,” Reverend Francis replied, patting her shoulder in comfort. Her skin remained warm long after the gesture was done. “You’ve not missed mass for - What, three decades? Four? You understand the importance of faith. That’s why I’ve come to you.”

“I appreciate your kindness, Reverend,” Mary answered shyly, bowing her head. “I certainly aim to do my best.”

“And that’s all any of us can do.” The Reverend opened the black trash bag; at once, a putrid, pungent odor wafted through the air, causing Mary to gag on the spot. The Reverend was unbothered by the scent, though, and peeled back the bag as Mary watched on in disgust.

Behind several layers of black plastic, the stiff, pale body of Mr. Lopez lay on display, unmoving and unblinking as Reverend Francis continued his work. Mary’s mouth dropped. “Is that-”

“Jesús Lopez, yes.” A long, sharpened blade was now in Reverend Francis’s hands, though where he retrieved such a tool, Mary couldn’t imagine. With deft and precision, Reverend Francis began to slice slivers of skin from the body as though it were soft butter. “A terrible matter. But, see, it occurred to me sometime last night that we had run out of wafers last week and, silly me, I had forgotten to order a new selection. You can imagine the predicament I was in.”

Speechless, Mary stared into Mr. Lopez’s empty brown eyes, her stomach lurching. Beside his head, a second blade glistened beneath a single fluorescent bulb, and it dawned on her then that this blade was for her. “You want my help? With this? But… Why? Why are you doing this?”

“It’s my job to do right by my congregation, Mary,” Reverend Francis explained calmly, never taking his eyes off the body as he carved. “And the communion must be consumed. I can’t allow my flock to lose their way due to my own failures. I want you all to know the glory of God.”

“By…” She swallowed back a wave of nausea. “By eating him?”

“We’ve always fed on the body of Christ. Perhaps I’ve gotten a bit… creative about the Jesus in question this week. But what choice is there? There’s no time to order wafers now, and the lord is counting on me! Wouldn’t you do anything for God?”

Mary shivered as she considered the concept. But Reverend Francis had never led her wrong before, had he? She trusted the man. She trusted God. And it was hardly her position to question her shepherd’s commands, no matter how horrid or gruesome they might seem to her average human mind.

With a shaky hand, Mary lifted the spare knife from the table and began cutting away at the body. One way or another, she would see to it that the congregation received their communion. After all, she was Mary Connor, and Mary Connor would never let her God down.