Chapter Fifteen

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

 John 3:16

Wednesday, 26th September: Sean Hartnett and Bishop Patrick O'Malley sat together in Bishop O'Malley's book-lined study downtown at St Matthews. They were watched over by volume upon volume of the lives of the saints and other weighty tomes. It was a cool, late-summer night and a log fire crackled in the grate. They faced one another, each sitting in a high-backed leather armchair, either side of the fireplace, a warm Bukhara hearthrug separating the space between them. The bishop had lain aside his cross. Even the heavy ring, symbol of his office, was not on his hand but rested, glinting, on the mantle shelf. The bishop's simple black cassock belied his status. His feet were bare. Sean wore a T-shirt. It emphasised his well muscled forearms, the product of hours working out at Westfield Health Centre, as much as of his labors as a carpenter.

They both sipped cocktails; stilettos again.

"Weren't you cold coming over here dressed like that?"

"Nah." Sean shrugged, his voice comfortable, even drowsy. "I don't feel the cold."

They had been talking of Father Sebastian, who lay in Mercy Hospital, run by Springfield's Sisters of Providence, lucky to be alive, the victim of a stabbing by an unknown assailant.

"Will he be OK?" asked Sean, returning without enthusiasm to the subject on everyone's mind.

"I believe so." The bishop nodded. He toyed with his drink. His face was flushed. "Who could have done such a thing?" he mused for the second time that night.

Sean stretched out in his chair and stared at the ceiling. Then he answered without much interest, "God knows. Some druggy maybe - after money - 'cause Father Sebastian had no enemies."

O'Malley bit at the thumbnail of his left hand. "I'm not so sure. Monseigneur Davidson says he thinks someone assaulted him a few days earlier. Seb's face was bruised. He said he'd fallen over." The bishop set aside his drink.

"You reckon?" Sean yawned, then took another sip from his glass. He didn't wait for a reply, "The whole fucken' church is talking about it."

The bishop sighed, got to his feet and poked at the fire. "All Springfield is talking about it. This place is evil when it comes to gossip. Set the germ of a salacious idea in a Springfield mind and it multiplies like bacteria in a petrie dish."

"Hey, I confessed to him you know."

The bishop was startled. He looked up from the fire, his piercing blue eyes seeking Sean's. "'Bout us?"

Sean drew his knees up, clasped his hands around them, and sat hunched forward, staring at the fire. "Naaa," He said slowly, "No. Not about us. Before us. About other men."

The Bishop returned to his chair. "Do you go with other men?"

"No Patrick. Not now." Sean stretched out his legs and leaned back in his chair. "But I know what it is to be lost. I've been bad. Seb told me what I was doing was adultery. N'he didn't seem so concerned about whether I was gay or not." He looked back at the bishop then. "Is it adultery Patrick?"

Bishop Patrick returned to his chair before answering. Then he replied, staring down into his drink. "Yes Sean, it is."

"Are there degrees in sin? Is what the man who stabbed Father Sebastian did worse than what we have done?"

The bishop looked up, but not at Sean. He stared into the fire. "Yes Sean. There are degrees in sin. There are greater sins than ours. Jesus tells us that to lead a child away from God is a great sin. And there are lesser sins. But adultery and murder, actual or attempted, are both mortal sins."

"Your answer stinks." Then more kindly, "Ranking adultery alongside murder's a bit steep," Sean added. "Is there no forgiveness then?"

"Of course there is. Christ forgave the woman taken in adultery as unhesitatingly as he forgave the thief on the cross. He taught forgiveness. His death was the ultimate act of forgiveness. He died for our sins, as a ransom price paid. He went to his death willingly that you and I should not die."

"And you and I, what the fuck's the hope for us if we keep on as we are? Is there forgiveness then?"

Bishop Patrick O'Malley continued to stare at the fire. "Yes Sean. For you there will always be forgiveness. But for me, a leader in the church? St Paul tells us that those who claim to be leaders are judged more harshly than other men. For me - I am no longer sure."

And now it was Sean's turn to get to his feet. He stepped across and reached out to comfort his friend, cradling the bishop's head against his chest, stroking the bishop's raven black hair in the full knowledge that this act of compassion would have consequences. And he didn't mind.