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DANTE
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
Sin.
A word that, until four years ago, was the definition of my life. Everything I stood for revolved around sin. I wasn’t the man of God I am today, even if I struggle daily with my faith. I knew the path I was on would lead to my death. After losing everyone I loved too early, my only chance to survive was to find a new calling.
Faith isn’t a constant. It’s a roller coaster ride, especially for a man as troubled as me.
“It’s been a week since my last confession.”
I sigh heavily, realizing it’s Elaine Masters. A regular confessor in my box, normally confessing trivial sins such as thinking of men other than her husband. It’s a sin to act but not to fantasize, not in my book. Many brothers would disagree with me, but it’s only human to imagine.
The hardest part of becoming a priest was giving up women. However, if I hadn’t changed my life when I did, I’d probably be dead. No one here in Fordhurst knows anything about my past, and that’s how I hope it’ll remain until I’m dead and buried.
The town’s population is minimal here, and their biggest problems normally extend to which school their kid will attend or who made the best cakes for the charity bake sale. It’s boring, but that’s exactly what I need.
“Father?” Elaine asks.
Shit.
I haven’t listened to her confession, but it doesn’t matter. Every week, I give her the same penance. Normally, I try to convince her that it isn’t a good enough reason to confess, but it doesn’t work. Today, I skip to the penance.
“For your penance, you must say ten hail Marys.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Please pray for the act of contrition, my child.”
Elaine starts the prayer, speaking it with little meaning. Sometimes, I wonder why the regular penitents bother since they clearly don’t regret their ‘sins.’ Confessionals have always been my biggest hate as a priest.
“I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
“Amen,” Elaine replies.
“Give thanks to the lord, for he is good,” I respond, going through the motions. Sometimes, I wonder why I turned down this path, but then I remember the dark and twisted man I was before this church.
“For his mercy endures forever,” Elaine recites.
“Go in peace,” I say, dismissing her from my confessional box.
“Thank you, Father.” I hear the door open, and she slips out. Hope coils through me that Elaine was the last penitent today. Three confessions today, and normally, that’s the most in one day in this town.
I’m about to leave the box when the door opens, and someone sits on the other side. All I hear is heavy breathing filling the box for a while. We’re taught to be patient with the penitent.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” a sweet voice echoes from the other side, one that I don’t recognize. “It’s been two years since my last confession.”
I sit up straighter, hearing that the confessor isn’t a regular at the confessional box. I clench my jaw, trying to ignore my urges as I wonder what body and face belong to such a sweet, innocent voice.
“These are my sins. I ran from my husband the evening after saying my vows. I broke the vows I made in the eyes of the lord.”
Ran from her husband.
It’s hardly a sin if the man harmed her, but then who defines what encompasses sin?
“Was this man cruel to you?” I ask.
“Does it matter, Father? Surely, it’s a sin to break a holy vow.”
“The circumstances do matter, my child. If he was abusive, then it’s only natural to run.” I wonder what this woman went through, placing my hand on the screen between us, longing to put a face to the voice.
