Break up is never easy, even if you are a priest. Honest-to-God, it has not been easy knowing that Shiri walked out on me, and the reality of it makes it worse.
It’s hard to walk away, you know, especially when what you think of is the only thing that connected you to life itself. The crestfallen heart feels dejected as though life has conspired against it. Such times you become a philosopher, asking why, why had it to be you, seeking answers to nothing, like the fear of the unknown.
That’s what I have been feeling this week, and I am actually feeling right now. I listen to people’s dark lives in small claustrophobic confessionals, tell them that God’s grace is abundant and He’s gonna forgive them and absolve them of their sins, but no one has ever heard a dark part of me. NO ONE!
But right now I feel like I need to bare my dark life to someone. That’s what I wanted to tell Shiri, bare my tart-jaded side to her – but there is no one to hear me out, even to listen to me. When I go to confession, I tell my confessor, Monsignor Murdoch Minoque, a Kiltegan Priest from Ireland, what I want him to hear – fabricated sins.
Why I feel this way? I don’t know. It’s just a feeling deep inside me. I can’t be wrong my whole mortal life. I need to stop living a lie and come out clean, right?
Yesterday I was reading the Saturday Nation. There was one renegade bishop who had made headlines because his excommunication letter was long overdue – had come after ten years since he was defrocked. He had even refused to sign it. Now he has a family of five kids, beautiful kids, with his church sweetheart, a former nun. Well, many of us priests have lovers, even secret families. Despite the stern church stand this institution is crumbling, and the church is losing it. Lest Mother Church is robbed of her sons by the Angel of Death of the priesthood she has decided to contain them. It’s better half a loaf than no bread. What the Roman Catholic Church does is go on the defensive: Mother Church’s stand is there’s no room for married priests. What happen inside the walls of her heart is her secret.
UnChristlike behaviour ain’t in the Catholic Church only. How many times have we seen headlines being made by Imams, pastors and televangelists of their involvement in crimes against humanity such as murder, terrorism, extortion, human and drug trafficking, rape and paedophilia? I don’t need to chronicle it.
The autonomy of the church has deteriorated to an amorphous shape, and I am thinking I should say to hell with the nest of nincompoops and hypocrites. Living a double life is bad, but a wolf trapped in sheep’s body is worse. Well, I am a killer, Chayot HaKodesh (Jewish for The Holy Beasts) in the SMORC parlance, but I am thinking that time has come for me to come out clean. Would I be believed or would I be accused of seeking cheap publicity?
The more I think of this whole hypocritical mess I found myself in is the more I think that I wasn’t destined to live in palaces built by tithe and offertory to a God who never uses it.
We, the chosen few who never live to experience the pain of nursing a sick, never wipe the tears of a starving and malnourished child through the night to the break of the day, crawl with religious impunity. Not once has a child died in our arms and felt the pain of losing blood of our blood and bone of our bones. All we know to do is impose levies on the bereaved before we go to bury their faithful departed.
I think that I should walk out of this cocoon I found myself before Lucifer himself drags me to hell. I will find another life, start over again – it’s never too late to make amends. How I wish it was with Shiri, but I know I have got no place in that babe’s heart. I loved her, but I lost her.
I ain’t the person who hold onto something that much, but I don’t feel like I can let her go. Nonetheless, I must let go of her because nothing would ever convince her otherwise.
However, Shiri is the best I have ever had. Forever and for always!
©Vincent de Paul, 2015.
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