Chapter Seven

The mystery of Christ is among you. Your hope of glory.

 Collossians 1:27

Tuesday 4 September: “Forgive me Father for I have sinned . . .”

It had been three days since the Bob Young attack and Father Sebastian felt his whole world was subsumed in sin. And he was tired. Tired of trying to think himself out of this maze he was in. The confessional should be a refuge. Most priests regard this little box as a safe place, a place where you thought of the troubles of others, where your own failings were of less significance. Like other men, fear of failure was an issue for Father Sebastian. This uniquely male burden was something he, as a priest, could empathise with. His latest confessant was male. Men confessed less frequently than women. Far less frequently. Men don't listen to what they do not want to hear. He recognised that in himself and noticed it in other men and would often be more patient with the men of the parish. At least their sins were not dull. It took a pretty powerful motive to drive a man to the confessional. Male sins were invariably sexual. This man was no exception.

“I have sinned Father.”

“In what way, my son?”

“I have committed a homosexual act Father.”

Seb was taken off guard and responded clumsily. “You have had sex with another man?”

There was a pause long enough to boil a kettle. Seb said nothing. Eventually the disembodied voice responded, "Uh huh," then added, “Yes Father,” and after a pause. "Is it a sin, being gay I mean?"

It was Seb's turn to hesitate. "In the eyes of the church, yes. Being gay is a sin. In the eyes of today's world, no, not these days. But in the eyes of God? Who can read the mind of God?"

"But you speak for God; so Father, have I sinned?"

Seb wanted to equivocate. But he knew that would help no one. So firmly if reluctantly, he responded. "Yes, you have sinned. However, there is penance indeed in your coming forward. This cannot be easy for you."

There was no response so Father Seb remained quiet, waiting a moment without saying anything else. Then added, "But tell me - are you married?” This was no familiar communicant but Father Sebastian half thought he recognised the voice, and the half-thought disturbed him. Which was what prompted the question.

"Yessir," the voice responded. Then added, “Yes Father.”

And Seb sighed. “St Paul tells us many things. He tells us that women should cover their heads in church but most modern women here in Springfield do not. Does that make them sinners?”

The disembodied voice took a second to reply. “No Father,” he said.

“On the other hand, were one of these same women to enter an adulterous relationship with another person, would they have sinned?”

“Yes Father.”

“So it is with you. Promiscuous sex is always wrong. Adulterous sex is doubly wrong for you break a vow before God. You understand that?”

“Yes Father.”

“So of all your sins I absolve you, but for your adultery, and for that alone, I expect an act of real contrition and penance?”

“What am I to do?”

And Father Sebastian at last recognised the man’s voice, and that recognition saddened him. He paused, wondering how to make the punishment fit the crime, for this man was not long married.

And Sebastian was careful to keep his voice warm and round lest he seem like he was judging the other. Even though that was precisely what he was doing, what he was here to do. But absolution had to be well done, not clouded by emotion, since it was, or so Father Sebastian believed, underwritten by God. To absolve another of their sins was to take on the mantle, the very persona, of Christ. Nothing made a deeper mark in people than sin. Nothing was more cleansing than absolution. “You will set aside a day, my child, at your own time, anytime, but a complete day. Can you do that?”

“Yes Father.”

“Give that day entirely to God in prayer, and in refection. Commit that day to God. Will you attempt to do that?”

"Uh huh," he said, “I will do it Father.”

“Then I absolve you. Go. You are completely forgiven."

And Father Sebastian allowed himself a time of quiet before the next confessant. He needed space to think and to pray. Taking confession drained him, the way other priests were drained by the act of celebrating communion. For in Father Sebastian's view, the act of being confessor was one in which you dispensed more than life, for confession enabled absolution which in turn enabled immortality.

And Father Sebastian listened a moment longer to the silent echoes of the footsteps, as pretty Trish Hartnett’s husband, Sean, walked slowly away.