Confession

This is Brooklyn of the 1940s, when Saturday is Hassidic shops close, and Catholics go to confession. St. Leonard’s, Hank’s church, is dark inside. Just the sides of the church are lighted where the three-part confession boxes are. The priest sits in the middle and there is a wooden screen door that he slides open and shut on either side of him. When he finishes with one confession he slides the screen shut, turns to the other side, and slides that screen open, and another confession begins.

 

There were lines of around ten on each side. Hank dreaded what he had to confess. He chose Father Murphy because he was the easiest of the priests. Still he was scared. How could he tell Father Murphy? What could he say? Hank said ten Hail Marys, so he could confess it right. Maybe he could be forgiven without having to go into the box and tell him? Hank moved closer to the head of the line and wondered what the people were confessing. Their sins couldn’t be as bad as his. He watched them as they got out of the box and went to the altar to kneel and say their penance, trying to figure out how many Our Fathers and Hail Marys they had to say. How many would he get? Or maybe his penance would be worse? But the worst thing was what Father Murphy would say to him. Sometimes the priests talked loud and everybody could hear. Then everybody would look at Hank as he came out. It would kill him. Maybe they’ll kick him out of the church? Maybe he should beat it and come back another Saturday? But he knew he was in a state of mortal sin, and that if he should die he would go straight down to hell. So he had to stay in line. Maybe he should go to another church where they didn’t know him? Confess there and come back and confess a few venial sins to Father Murphy? But if he went to another church the priest would then know why he hadn’t confessed in his own church. Maybe he wouldn’t give Hank absolution and maybe he’d him to go to his own church and his own priest? Then when he’d go back to Father Murphy and told him he’d be madder than hell. There is a long confession going on inside. Good. But next one is already him. Oh my God!

 

Hank likes being a Catholic. He’s a good Catholic—an altar boy. He serves Mass, often with Father Murphy even.  He goes to St Leonard’s Catholic School. He’s in the fourth grade. He loves getting up early in the morning and walking to church for the six-o-clock mass. The morning streets are different streets. The sweepers are out and they wash the streets with those big circular brushes under the body of their trucks. And everything is fresh and wet and clean. Why did he have to ruin everything with his lousy sins?

 

Maybe they won’t let him have Holy Communion anymore? That would be terrible. He loves Holy Communion. To have u Signuruzzu (an affectionate Sicilian term for the baby Lord Jesus) enter his body and then he would become completely pure. He loved putting on his surplice before serving at Mass. He loved ringing the little bells when Father Murphy raised the host. He loved Passion Week when all the saints were hidden behind purple cloths. He loved the quiet of the church and the smell of the incense in the early morning. His house was always busy and loud and smelled of garlic. Nobody shouted at him in Church. Nobody hit him in church. Nobody knocked him on the ground and rubbed his knuckles against the sidewalk until they bled. Nobody made him take back a rejected loaf of bread to the grocery store. How many times had he served Mass for Father Murphy! Now he has to tell him. It’s his turn. He has to go in. He can still leave. Too late. He enters the box. He’s stuck. Now Father Murphy is hearing the confession of the person on the other side. Then when he finishes he’ll slide the wooden window and he’s next. O God, Let me have more time, he prayed. The window swishes open.

 

“Bless me Father for I have sinned. I haven’t been to confession for a month or so.”

“Why so long,” said Father Murphy’s kind voice. Yes, it was kind. Does he know it’s Hank? Hank’s voice? Does he know who’s confessing?

 

“I couldn’t.”

 

“Why not?” Hank had no answer. His tongue jammed in his dry mouth. He couldn’t open it. Maybe it was stuck? Maybe he wouldn’t be able to talk? Maybe? “Tell me son. Is it so bad?” Father Murphy-kindness again.

“Yes, Father, real bad.”

 

“It can’t ever be bad enough for Christ’s love,” said Father. “You know that don’t you?”

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

“So whatever it is, if you are truly sorry, Christ will forgive.”

 

“O yes, Father. I’m sorry. Very very sorry.” Silence. Father Murphy waited.

 

“Father,” he said, “I did acts of impurity.” It started to come out.

 

“Yes son. How many times?”

“A lot Father. I cant remember how many. A lot.”

 

“Every day?”

 

“Oh yes, Father, every day. Sometimes, two or three times a day—maybe some days not so much.”

 

“Anything else?” said Father Murphy.

“I did impure things with my friends.”

 

“Are your friends boys or a girls?”

 

“Both, Father.”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“I can't, Father. It’s too awful. I don’t know how to say it.”

 

“Just take your time,” said Father, “and tell me everything.”

 

“Everything?”

 

“Yes, everything. Don’t leave anything out.”

 

And then it came out. Hank told Father Murphy, “Sex happened when I wasn’t expecting it. Like that afternoon when Tony and I were walking together after school. Tony said, “Let’s go visit some new friends of mine.”

 

“O.K. I said. Who are they?”

 

“A couple of girls and boy are they great.”

“O.K., I said again, then let’s go!”

 

“So we went a few blocks up Lorimer Street to a house I didn’t know. We rang the door buzzer and the buzzer buzzed back and the door opened. And we went upstairs. We climbed up two flights of stairs and Tony knocked on a door and a girl opened it. And there was another girl inside. And we were all alone in the house and we sat on the floor and began playing spin the bottle and we kissed a lot whenever the bottle stopped and pointed at two of us, the nearest boy and the nearest girl. And we did lots of kissing. And then we played strip poker. We played until we were all naked.”

 

Then Hank told Father Murphy all about the sexual explorations and discoveries they made. The touching and feeling and playing with one another. About how the boys explored the bodies of the girls and touched them all over and how the girls explored their bodies and touched them all over.

 

Hank said, “And that was all of it, Father. There’s nothing more.”

 

Father Murphy felt an arousal. He couldn’t believe it. Why was this happening to me? He knew there were priests who struggled with their bursting sexuality and that some of them had sex with little boys. But he shrank from such acts. It can’t happen to me he said to himself. It won’t happen to me he said to himself.

 

“Are you sure there’s nothing more to tell me?” There was an edge to Father Murphy’s voice.

 

“No, Father.” Hank felt he was in deep trouble.

 

A long pause. A deep sigh came from Father Murphy. Then he said, “Son you’ve committed many grave mortal sins. Not only have you sinned against your own body but also you’ve sinned against the bodies of others. You’ve abused yourself and you’ve abused others. And you have to stop it. Right now your soul is in such a dangerous state that you could go straight to Hell. The things you’ve done are the works of the Devil himself. Do you know that abusing yourself will affect you for the rest of your life? You can permanently injure yourself if you don’t stop. So you must stop. You can’t be a good Catholic and do these things.”

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

“Are you sorry for all the things you have done?”

 

“Oh yes, Father, it’s killing me.”

 

“You must come to confession every Saturday from now on. You must come to me and to me only. You must go to mass every day for a month. You must say the Stations of the Cross once every week. And right now you must go up to the altar and say fifty Our Fathers and fifty Hail Marys.”

 

“Yes Father. Thank you Father.” Father Murphy then raised his hands and said the magic Latin words.

 

Hank was so relieved when he left the confession box. He went straight to the altar and with tears of joy began his grateful recitation of the Our Fathers and Hail Marys. He now had a clean slate. His heart and soul were pure again. He was so happy to be forgiven that he even threw in a few extra Our Fathers and Hail Marys.

 

*

 

Father Murphy heard confessions until eight o clock. And ninety-five percent of them were about sex. Hank’s confession hit him the most. Of course he knew it was Hank. He knew by the voice and the way he talked. Hank had served mass for him many times. How was he going to face Hank now after he had heard all this? What was more disturbing was his arousal while Hank was describing the sex explorations with the girls. It reminded him so much of his own childhood. Now it was happening again. Now Hank was reliving and reviving Father Murphy’s sexual life when he was a kid. And now Father Murphy was erecting again with the memory of the story Hank had told him and of his own childhood and of his own confused present state. This is crazy, thought Father Murphy.

 

He walked down to the altar. The church was empty. At last alone. He knelt at the altar and looked up at the huge crucifix hanging on the wall behind the altar. He looked at the bleeding, dying Christ, and prayed for his forgiveness. He decided to do the same penance he gave Hank and said fifty Our Fathers and fifty Hail Marys. Then he threw in a few extra. He made the sign of the cross, rose and went into one of the side rooms. He took off his habit and put on his civilian clothes. Of course, all black, with the usual starched white rolled collar.

 

He slowly walked out of the church, locked up, and headed for the nearest diner and cup of coffee. He sat down, drinking his coffee, took out his breviary and mentally recited the evening office. But his mind was not on the prayers in the book. He thought of King Claudius who tried to pray but couldn’t saying, “My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: words without thoughts never to heaven go.” How often, Father Murphy sadly thought have I said these words? He gave a deep sigh, paid for his coffee, rose and went to the rectory of the church where he had a small apartment. He was tired. He was weary. He wanted to go straight to bed and just sleep sleep sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come. He tossed and turned. He reached down but pulled his hand back. What was he doing he thought? He always had a hard time after hearing confessions. He realized that he hated hearing confessions. He loved being a priest. He loved everything about it, except the hearing of confessions. He loved the singing of the old Latin hymns. He especially loved “Tantum Ergo,” and “Panis Angelicum.” He loved the lifting up of the host when Christ entered into it. He loved the holidays, especially Easter and Christmas. Maybe he could find another post? Maybe he could do something that didn’t have confessions? Like a desk job in the Diocese office. But then that wouldn’t be being a priest. That would be being a clerk. And he was a priest.

 

He knew there was trouble with priests. It began in the Seminary even on the first day when all those young men, many of whom weren’t even shaving their faces yet, arrived. He was one of them. And he saw how some of the men were looking at each other flirtatiously, as one would look at a girl. And he didn’t understand quite what was going on. He asked one of his friends about it. His friend smirked, “They're queers.”

 

“Queers? What’s that?”

 

“They do it with boys. Where have you been?”

 

Then it hit him. Then he saw that there was a lot of it going on in the Seminary. He saw that even some of the older Priests, who taught at the Seminary, had a special relationship with some of the younger boys.

And then when they graduated and became priests and were assigned to a parish it would continue. Confession was usually the way it started. The priests easily got to know which boys or girls were ripe. And once it started some

priests even made sex slaves of children like Hank and Tony. He knew he could easily turn Hank’s confession to feed his own sexual needs. Father Murphy tossed and turned. He got out of bed, knelt beside it and prayed long into the night. One Our Father after the other. Over and Over again. But nothing happened. Once again like Claudius. Finally, tired, he got into bed again. And sleep came.

 

Next morning his bed and pajamas were wet. The same morning, a few blocks away, in another house, Hank’s bed and pajamas were dry.

 

May 27, 2009