Confession

          confession 

“Let us start with a prayer, Miss St. James — heavenly Father, lend your favor and blessings to your loyal servants as we conduct Melody’s first holy confession and reconciliation; in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.”

     “How long will this take, Father?”

     “I’d normally say, ‘as long as it needs to,’ Miss St. James, but we do want to get to all of your classmates today, don’t we?”

     “Fire away then.”

     “Have you enjoyed going through the booklet with your class?”

     “Not as much as I thought I might; it’s always a little strange for me because I’m different than my classmates, Father.”

     “In what way, Miss St. James?”

     “You see, I’m the only one ‘on the spectrum.’”

     “God affords unique gifts, that we might serve him just as uniquely.”

     “Ayup.”

     “Are you here free and of your own will to confess your sins, Miss St. James?”

     “In the movies, you’d be the bad guy.”

     “And why is that, pray tell?”

     “Because I’m the little kid, and you’re a man dressed in black.”

     “Well, now that’s a point of view. Melody, are you prepared to confess your sins today?”

     “Ayup, I wrote’em all down here so that I’d not forget — this is the niftiest thing, getting to sin and be forgiven just like that; I told Mother I’d like to come very often.”

     “Well, that’s not precisely how I’d approach —”

     “I kicked my older brother Mitchell in his privates last week. Do I keep going, or do we stop after each sin?”

     “Uh, just go ahead and read off what you have, and then we can unpack it after.”

     “Yup, okay, so I kicked Mitchell in the nuts. Before that, maybe last month, I set fire to our shed —”

     “You set it on fire, you say?”

     “I love fire, Father. The colors, smells, how things disappear later, just into the wind. That shed is gone.”

     “Was anyone hurt, Melody?”

     “I thought you wanted me to finish my list.”

     “Proceed.”

     “Ayup, okay, I yelled at my teacher and called her a retard. And she said that was a word that we weren’t allowed to use, and I said I thought it was a word that other people couldn’t call me — my teacher cried and left school.”

     “Did you say you were sorry, Melody?”

     “Father, I thought —”

     “Yes, yes. Go on”

     “I ate too much at my Aunt’s birthday party, then threw up all over my dress.”

     “Okay, is that all?”

     “No, one more. On Valentine’s Day, I got in trouble for walking out on the pond ice with my 3-year-old neighbor. They said I put her in danger, but I know how thick it’s gotta be, Father.”

     “Heavens me, Melody. Okay, there are sins, and there are mistakes. There are things that you do, knowing that they’re wrong, and still do them. And there are mistakes and accidents, which are not sins, as they aren’t done purposefully. Do you understand?”

     “Ayup.”

     “I’m going to guess that you knew it was wrong to injure your brother, destroy property, and insult your teacher, yes?”

     “Well, he had it coming, and so did she, and I do love fire, Father.”

     “Melody —”

     “Yes, I knew it was wrong.”

     “On the other hand, you may not have realized you were overindulging at the party, didn’t want or mean to dirty your dress, and would never purposefully harm the neighbor child, isn’t that right?”

     “Ayup.”

     “Great, we’re getting somewhere. But, before I levy your penance, can we talk about how you might handle your frustrations in the future?”

     “I already talked to my mother about Mitchell, my father about the shed, and my counselor about the retard thing, but I don’t mind tellin' you, Father. What they all said was sorta the same — I need to walk away, take deep and slow breaths, then come back after I’ve calmed down.”

     “That’s good advice, isn’t it? Exit before acting, then see how different you feel upon returning a bit later.”

     “Ayup.”

     “Very good then. Let’s discuss your penance.”

     “Don’t I get to ask any questions?”

     “We are on a rather tight schedule, Melody, but sure, what would you like to know?”

     “When I grow up, can I be a priest like you?”

     “Well, you can be a sister. A nun, that is.”

     “But not a priest, not a boss?”

     “I don’t know if I’d call myself the boss of anything, Melody, but no, you couldn’t be a Catholic priest.”

     “Who can?”

     “Pious men, who through a long and arduous journey come to love, then marry the church.”

     “Marry the church?”

     “Yes, I didn’t take a wife; I married the church.”

     “That’s weird, Father. Don’t you get lonely? I mean, sometimes my dad and mom get, I don’t know, frisky.”

     “I see what you mean; no, the holy spirit fills me with all the passion I could ask for.”

     “Next question, my brother Mitchell, who I like even though I kicked him, is gay. So he won’t come to church anymore.”

     “I’m sorry to hear that, Melody.”

     “He says that he’d rather not be TOL-ER-HATED.”

     “Are you talking about ‘tolerance’?”

     “Mitchell says you ‘tolerate’ a yappy dog, not a person.”

     “I understand. What Mitchell should know is that God loves him. That the church wants him to draw nearer to Jesus and his teachings and practice chastity, just as I have.”

     “Chass-Tisty?”

     “To remain chaste…it’s a bit like what we discussed a moment ago. For instance, as a priest, I remain chaste as I have married the church.”

     “What you mean is that Mitchell shouldn’t get frisky like Mom and Dad sometimes do, and he should marry a building —”

    “Well, Melody, I’d put it a bit differently —”

     “Now, I can’t be a priest because I'm a girl. But can Mitchell?”

     “I don’t know that we should be talking about such things, Melody.”

     “Are you not comfortable, Father?”

     “It’s not that, no, it’s just that…okay, let me try to answer that last bit. If your brother is a homosexual, and it is deep-rooted, then no, he shouldn’t become a priest.”

     “You mean like if he was a really-really loud gay?”

     “Let me explain it this way —”

     “That’s okay, Father. I’ve got a couple more questions, and we’re on a schedule, remember?”

     “Are Unicorns real?”

     “I wish they were, Melody, but alas —”

     “Wrong, says in the bible that God is strong as a unicorn, Father. I wonder if he’s as pretty, though.”

     “That’s what is called an analogy, and there are many in the good book. The Bible includes many ancient parables, or stories, meant to teach us something but needn’t be believed word for word.”

     “Do you ever wonder if these other things aren’t just old made-up stuff, too? Ya know stories that say girls can’t do this, or gay boys can’t do that, or priests have to marry buildings and not get frisky?”

     “Melody, don’t you think it’s time we get to your penance?”

     “Sure, just one more question, Father. Do you know what the + stands for?”

     “The what?”

     “The + in LGBTQ+.”

     “I can’t say that I do, Melody. Do you?”

     “Mitchell says it’s like a symbol for what we don’t know about yet, and when we do know about it, we can add it, not TOL-ER-HATE it.”

     “That’s helpful to know, Melody. It really is.”

     “Father?”

     “Yes, child.”

     “Let me know if you ever want to talk about your sins sometime; I promise not to give you any penance. What you and the good book say can be our little secret.”

END