A Beautiful Sin (7 page)

“Okay. I’ll give it a try.”

Later that afternoon, after our food settled down to our ankles, she convinced me to go for a run. As we ran, Macie suggested again I should toss my fears of Kent to the wind and confront him.

“He can’t hurt you anymore.”

I looked at her and stubbed the toe of my shoe on a crack in the sidewalk. She had to grab my arm to keep me from biting the concrete. Once the world was back on its axis, I said, “Says who?”

“Huh?”

“Who says Kent can’t hurt me anymore? He’s still a brutish asshole and still has that cop status he can throw in my face.”

“Maybe. But would he, knowing you’ve established yourself on your own now?”

“Mace, that wouldn’t stop him and you damn well know it. Why do you think Kathy is still with him?”

“You have a point.”

This discussion was beginning to give me a headache. Or perhaps it was the fact I was so out of shape that the simple act of breathing was like climbing Mt. Everest.

“I think I’m gonna head home to lick my wounds. I’m dying.”

“Okay. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“An hour? What the hell are you? A machine?”

“Haven, this was supposed to be therapeutic for you, so you could talk about your uncle. It wasn’t supposed to kill you.” And she broke down laughing at me.

I flipped her off and headed for home.

By that night I crashed, exhausted from the run. My intentions were to wake up early and text my aunt, but I didn’t wake until after eleven. It was so late, I had to scramble to make it to the gallery by noon.

Wretchedness filled me, like it always did. Being in the sacristy had thrown me back to the beginning all those years ago. The dreams I tried for years to expunge nailed me harder than the leather strap I used for penance. That had sufficed for so long, but not anymore. More physical exertion would be necessary for me to work out my demons, along with my frustrations. I needed to increase my daily workouts with weights and find a place to hang my punching bag so I could take it out on that. With the move, I’d missed a few, and that hadn’t helped at all.

A light tap on my door preceded Bill’s voice. “Canaan, are you feeling better?”

I cleared my throat as I got to my feet. “Somewhat. I’m not sure what got me.”

I opened the door to let him in.

“You look a bit peaked. Probably a virus.” He sighed. His expression conveyed his sympathy for me. “I hate to tell you, but I failed to mention it last night with everything else I had to fill you in on. Today is our turn for the soup kitchen. I’m getting ready to go say early Mass. I think it’s best you stay here for the morning.”

Nodding, I said, “If you think so. I should probably clean the sacristy bathroom.”

He waved a hand. “I’ll handle it. Just get to feeling better soon. And the soup kitchen is off limits too. If you’re contagious that could cause an epidemic. Maybe even Mass this evening. Giving out Communion would spread it as well. You need to rest. I’ll be back later.”

“Thank you.”

The only problem with being shut in my room was it allowed my unoccupied mind to fill with unimpeded thoughts of the lessons Father O’Brien taught me about sin. I lay in bed assaulted with the memories of the first one. I could almost feel his hands on me. My shame then was still unimaginable. The sounds he made during his mini homily to me about how it was my beauty that made me a sinner by creating temptation in others, caused my nausea to return with a vengeance. He had to plant the seeds of righteousness into my very soul so I could be cleansed, or so he said. As I begged him to stop the pain, he reminded me that Jesus himself endured suffering in order to save our souls.

I blinked away the memory, forcing back the bile, still wanting to hide from everyone, especially my face, which turned heads even to this day. Women and even some men gave me ungodly glances despite my collar. I was unworthy of their attention and didn’t want it. Lust was something I learned to fear because I saw it every time
he
looked at me. I was afraid everyone knew my secret and my sin, even my parents. I hated myself as I got out the leather, in need of pain to dull my thoughts and pay the price for the debt I continued to owe my Lord for being that sinner.

On my knees in front of the crucifix, I prayed for assistance from God the Holy Father on this new journey of mine and that He would absolve my sins, every one of them. I begged Jesus our Savior to forgive me, and I repented once again, and I asked the Holy Spirit to help guide me in the truth of things. How was I to guide others when I could barely function myself?

I was certain the Almighty had a purpose for me, but I wished he’d soon show me what it was. My belief in Him was as strong as it ever had been, and I would never give up on Him. But it was my patience that was wearing thin.

Later in the day, I convinced Bill that I was sure whatever had gotten a hold of me must’ve passed because no other incident occurred. I felt confident I could say the five-thirty Mass, but if he could be on call, just in case, that would be great. He agreed. With great trepidation, I made my way to the sacristy around four thirty. I wanted to get there early to give myself a few extra minutes so I could chase away my demons.

When I entered, it wasn’t as bad as the first time, though it was surely no walk in the park. The odor of the place was what seemed to throw me for a loop. It wasn’t necessarily the incense, either.

It didn’t take me long to figure out what it was. I could smell
him
. Violent shudders tore through my body, almost propelling me back out the door. I prayed for strength, knowing he was gone and couldn’t hurt me anymore.

After long seconds, I opened my eyes. The vestments were already laid out and neatly arranged in perfect order, as I knew they would be. It took another few moments to get my feet unglued from my spot. With slow careful steps, I made it to the prayer station, the one I had abhorred for so many years. I vowed then that it would become a place of new meaning for me. In that moment, I knew what I had to do. I fell to my knees and, for the first time ever, said a prayer of forgiveness, not just for me but for Father O’Brien. I’d long since learned that his method of teaching and punishment wasn’t wholly right. But it didn’t absolve me of being a sinner.

I left the sacristy having survived, and maybe one day I could make peace with the room that had broken me. I went to check the altar, ensuring that everything was in its place for the epistle and gospel. I wanted to have the missal prepared as well, so I checked to see if everything was as I wanted it. When I was satisfied, I checked the time and saw that it was already five o’clock. That meant the lead altar server would arrive soon. It was time to stick my head in and introduce myself. When I did, I was surprised, which I shouldn’t have been, to see the server was a girl. She gave me a toothy grin glowing in neon braces. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and grinned back.

“I’m Father Canaan, the new priest.” I stuck my hand out.

“I’m Shelby. I’m the lead server today, so I hope I don’t screw things up for you, Father.” She giggled.

Her joy reminded me of how I’d felt my first time being an altar server. My smile slipped as I remembered how all of that enthusiasm had been stolen from me by one act. I managed to work the curve back to my lips before I spoke as Shelby didn’t deserve the shadows that still lived in my heart.

“I’m sure you’ll do great. I have to admit, I’m just a little nervous. You’ll have to help me out.” She nodded. “If you ensure I have the water, wine, and communion wafers when I need them, then hopefully
I
won’t mess up.”

I gave her a conspiratorial smile.

“What about the bells?”

“See? You’re already a winner. We can’t forget to ring the bells during the consecration. And I know you won’t,” I said with a wink.

“You know, Father, you’re young for a priest. I thought you had to be old to be one.”

I laughed at her frankness. “No, not all of us are ready for the nursing home.”

“That’s good. Everyone will be happy to see you, then.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“‘Cuz Father O’Brien was a little like Kanye West. You know, never liked to have any fun. Always grumpy like. Never smiling. You look like you’re more fun. You actually laugh.”

Youth and ignorance were bliss. And I was glad I actually knew who Kanye was. “I hope so. At least I think I like to have fun.”

“Cool. Well, I’ll see you around the narthex.”

My raised brows let her know I hadn’t any idea what on earth she was talking about.

“You know, right before Mass?”

“Oh! Gotcha! And, Shelby. I’m counting on you to help me make my first Mass a success.”

It was time to get dressed. Most people, even Catholics, didn’t realize the ritual involved in donning the vestments. But I loved this part or so I had until I opened the door to the sacristy. I held my breath and waited for the anxiety to pass. I pushed through it because the garments awaited me and I didn’t have much time.

I walked straight to the bathroom sink and while I washed my hands I prayed out loud. “Give virtue to my hands, O Lord, that being cleansed from all stain I might serve you with purity of mind and body.”

Once my hands were cleansed, I placed the alb—the long white robe—over my head, and let it fall to my feet. Saying the required prayers, I continued to place each article of clothing carefully and reverently on my body. The stole—a long slender decorated band of cloth—came next. It was a symbol of the Yoke of Christ and was always adorned with a cross. I wrapped the cincture—a rope-like belt—around my waist, tying it tightly over the stole, and I said the prayer, “Gird me, O Lord, with the girdle of purity, and extinguish in me all evil desires, that the virtue of chastity may abide in me.” This was the symbol of chastity. And last came the chasuble—the colorful poncho-like outer garment that can be ornate in some churches. Holy Cross’s were beautiful but not very fancy, which I liked. This symbolized charity and also the Yoke of Christ.

I was ready to celebrate my first Mass as associate pastor at Holy Cross. Leaving the sacristy, I joined the altar servers in the narthex, chuckling to myself as I remembered what Shelby had said.

“Everyone ready?” I asked.

“Yes, Father.”

“Lead the way then.” The first server walked into the aisle, cueing the music, which was modern Christian music for this contemporary Mass. I started singing along, as I knew these songs from the contemporary Masses at Notre Dame.

Participation was excellent and my introductory homily went smoothly. I saw the interest in the faces of the congregation. It was the same on Sunday. Mom and Dad stopped by the rectory early Sunday afternoon and brought us dinner, including dessert.

As I settled into my new role, the rest of the week was without incident. Or so I thought. It was Saturday afternoon, and I had just wrapped up listening to the good people of Holy Cross confess their sins to me. Over half of them were young kids whose parents had brought them in, I was sure, and they confessed silly things that made me smile. Arguments between siblings were probably at the top of the list, then came lying, followed by disobedience. I absolved them of their sins, doled out the usual Hail Marys and Our Fathers for penance, and sent them on their way.

As I left the confessional, I caught a glimpse of blond hair out of the corner of my eye. The fact that it was blond wasn’t what I noticed. It was that it was the palest of blondes I’d ever seen. Then I realized from her profile it was the young woman who’d come to the sacristy door on the first day I was there with Bill—on the day I ran out because I was ill. A shadow of a memory passed through my mind, but fled quicker than I could put a finger on it. I watched her as she carefully lit a vigil light and then prayed for a moment. When she finished, she stood and turned.

It’s been said that priests are immune to beauty. I say whoever came up with that statement was a blind fool. The woman possessed the rare type of beauty that one never forgets, and I’d come across attractive people throughout my life, but never one that gave me pause. Not noticing her that day was proof of how affected I’d been by a return to that room. I shook myself out of those thoughts as God was the only beauty I could allow myself to admire. Instead, I went to speak to her, to apologize for my rapid departure, only I never got the chance.

“It
is
you. You’re Canaan Sullivan, aren’t you?”

Smiling, I said, “Yes,” as I reached out to shake her hand.

She ignored it and unleashed a fury I’d never experienced before.

“How dare you call yourself a priest? A man of God?”

Her disdain for me made me hesitate, as I was confused by her ire. Words I wondered myself a million times made me unable to hold her glare. I glanced about in search of an escape or to see if anyone had witnessed the exchange. Only I found we were alone as embarrassment infused me with heat.

“No one is perfect, but I’ve given my life in service of our Lord.”

Her expressive eyes narrowed. “Of course you did, with your holier than thou attitude.”