Chapter Thirteen

I will say unto God my rock, Why hast thou forgotten me? Why go I mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?

 Psalm 42:9

Friday 14th September: And now of all times. Blast Bishop Patrick O'Malley. This was all he needed. Though the thought gave him pause. A blessing or a curse? Many would regard this as the supreme badge of merit to which a young priest could aspire. But Father Sebastian was not an ambitious man. An ambitious young priest might have reveled in the prospect of being chosen confessor to his bishop. Not Seb. Never Seb. He cared nothing but nothing for preferment. Why then had he entered the church?

Because God was a cogent reality. Dominating his existence. A statement in need of an answer. Like the prophet Samuel he had been called and had responded. And now this new call, confessor to his bishop. As if he was not laden with confessions enough.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."

David Sebastian was tempted to say, "Yes my child". But he restrained himself. This was no curtained confessional. This was the bishop's study and Bishop Patrick O'Malley was on his knees in front of a mere common-or-garden priest. Admittedly a common-or-garden priest in his best red-buttoned cassock. Father Sebastian knew how to rise to the occasion.

Seb noticed that the bishop had pinned a Claddagh to his lapel. An Irish good luck charm in the shape of a silver badge comprising the heart of Christ held by the hands of Mary and surmounted by the crown of God, representing, some say, love, friendship and loyalty. Characteristic of the man, thought Seb, to wear such an affectation. And, almost lamely but with every ounce of compassion he could muster, Father Sebastian said, "Yes Bishop. How have you sinned?"

And the bishop told him. Just like that. Boldly. Sweating. On his knees. The bishop to whom Father Seb owed allegiance, spat out his sin in short staccato sentences. And Father Sebastian found himself crying inside. Had it come to this? What penance then was worthy of the abominable crime? Or was it such a crime? Was he being homophobic? Maybe. But he could not but admit to himself that his shock would have been just as great had the bishop admitted to an affair with a married woman rather than a married man. Indeed, curiously, he realised with a start that he would have been rather more shocked if the bishop had admitted to a hetrosexual affair. Was this some sort of politically correct reverse-prejudice on his part? Seb found himself thinking of dear Angie and thinking this he thought, "There but for the grace of God", and he sighed. What penance for himself then? For our Lord tells us to seriously contemplate adultery is to commit adultery. To intend to, to plan to, to propose to commit a crime, is to commit that crime in spirit.

And the penance came unbidden to his lips, his language contrived, artificially formal, but it seemed appropriate somehow. "Bishop. Each morning for a year from this day forward, as you wake from bed, you will remove yourself to your chapel, prostrate yourself to the floor, and say, 'God I am your servant', three times. And having said that you will surrender yourself to the Blessed Mother and to her mercy. Can you do that?"

And the bishop, in answer, prostrated himself in front of Father Seb, and said, "I can do that Father."

And Seb lifted his bishop from the floor, kissed him on the forehead, and, intuitively sensing the need for extreme gravitas, he reverted to the old Latin form long abandoned by the church as he said, "My child, ego te absolvo." And then, having released the bishop from his sins, Father Seb added the formulaic words used by so many of his colleagues these days, except this time, for Seb at least, they were far from formulaic: "Pray for me for I also am a sinner." And then, immediately, Father Sebastian left the room, lest the bishop see the tears that had come unwanted to his eyes.