Orgy of Souls

By the time Communion ended Samuel felt like himself once more. Those who came to him for guidance expected a man of absolute unquestioning faith. They expected Samuel’s word to be the word of God given a human voice. He owed them no less.

Samuel took several long moments before entering the confessional. He stared at the stained glass windows painted with scenes of Moses bringing the Ten Commandments down from the mount, the virgin birth, Jesus being crucified and then rising from death as the living God to save all of mankind from sin. As it always did, The Savior’s sacrifice brought tears to his eyes.

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son…” Samuel whispered softly as he stared at the large crucifix that stood behind the pulpit and imagined what agonies Jesus must have endured. It seemed a sin to question His love after such a sacrifice. For whatever reason God had chosen to test him, he would not fail Him. Father Samuel entered the confessional; minutes later the door slid open on the other side of the screen.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been three days since my last confession.”

Samuel recognized the voice. Mrs. Lucy had been best friends with his grandmother and had actively participated in raising him. She had even spanked him on more than one occasion. She was already old when Samuel was born, so he had a hard time imagining the hard-drinking, pot-smoking, free-loving party girl his grandmother had told him about, the one who spent night after night in the jazz and blues clubs that dotted the waterfront back in those days. He sometimes had to stifle a chuckle as he tried to picture it. Now she was one of the most pious and faithful women he knew, attending church almost every day. He’d heard the worst of her sins long ago, and some had indeed raised his eyebrows. Her confessions now ran toward the pedestrian, stealing an apple pie recipe from a television show and passing it off as her own, coveting Ms. Cicily’s new hat, speaking too harshly to the mailman when he delivered the mail late on the day her social security check was due. Samuel listened to it all patiently then gave Ms. Lucy her penance.

Some of the confessions Father Samuel heard were more interesting. He heard the usual adulterous thoughts (too many of them acted upon), petty thefts, cheating on taxes, lying, coveting, hating. Occasionally, he received a confession that tested his faith and some that made him want to rip open the confessional door and beat the hell out of the bastard on the other side. A man sauntered in to confess to repeatedly raping both his son and his daughter along with several other neighborhood children. Samuel had urged the man to seek counseling and made confessing to the police part of his penance. He never heard from the guy again.

Today was not nearly so dramatic. Aside from one woman’s confession of smoking crack and using methamphetamines while her husband was at work and she watched the kids, the confessions were all pretty mundane. Then he heard a familiar voice from the other side of the confessional.

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

He had been about to correct the man when he placed the voice. “Samson?”

“Shh. You’re not supposed to say my name. Isn’t that breaking the sanctity of the confessional or something?”

“You’re doing that just by being in here. You’re not Catholic anymore. You don’t even call yourself a Christian.”

“Just because I’m not particularly fond of God doesn’t mean I don’t believe in him. Who would I blame for all the crap in the world if God did not exist?”

“This is a confessional, Samson. Are you here to confess or just to poke fun at my beliefs? You could have waited ‘til Thanksgiving dinner for that. Why break a tradition?”

“Why all the hostility today?”

“I’m sorry. It’s been a hard day.” Samuel stifled a sigh and rubbed his temples.

“You not feeling well? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

“No. Thank you, but no. I’m okay.”

“Good, good. I’m always here for you, you know?”

“I know, Samson. I know. You’ve always been solid that way.”

The ensuing silence was more uncomfortable than he would have imagined. Samuel knew how hard it was for Samson to see him suffer. His illness seemed to affect his brother more than it did him. Still, he didn’t want Samson to come back to the church just to make his dying brother happy. He hoped that his brother had genuinely come back because he’d finally felt the love of God within him. He was, of course, wrong on both counts.

“I do have something to confess.”

The seriousness in his voice made Samuel pause. A powerful dread crept over him. Father Samuel lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe you should talk to one of the other priests.”

“You won’t hear my confession?”

“I just don’t know if it’s right. I’m your brother. It feels like, I don’t know, a conflict of interest. Besides, in order for confession to mean anything, you must have a penitent heart.”