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The Lesser of Two Evils

Phil Temples

    Father Jack McKinnis walked into the large urban cathedral and approached the confessionals near the front and off to the side. He knew that Bishop O’Malley would be accepting confessions that day. He felt more comfortable confessing to O’Malley than to one of the nearby diocese priests. O’Malley was a God-fearing, but pragmatic man of the cloth. He would understand Jack’s needs and temptations.
    It was McKinnis’ fifth assignment in a little over seven years, and the priest of twenty years could not fathom why God (and the Church) punished him with the frequent transfers. All he wanted was to put down roots in a friendly community and have deep, lasting relationships.
    The door slid open and the shadow of Bishop O’Malley appeared on the other side of the screen mesh.
    “Bless me Father, for I have sinned.
It has been... um... six months since my last confession.”
    O’Malley replied, “Hello, Jack. Gosh, it has been awhile, hasn’t it?”
    “Yes. I’m sorry, it’s just that sometimes I get so wrapped up in administering to the needs of my flock I forget that I, too, need a little help from God.”
    “I understand. What would you like to confess?”
    Jack explained that he had “fallen off the wagon” recently and was drinking excessively. He admitted that he gave a sermon the week before last while he was under the influence.
He might have slurred his words a few times.
    Jack explained that there was an AA meeting he could attend, but the town was much too small to expect anonymity there. O’Malley told him that it would be important to find another meeting—perhaps in the city—and attend regularly.
    “You realize, Jack, the source of much of your unhappiness—the frequent transfers and the like—are a direct result of your alcoholism.”
    Jack did not respond to the veiled reference. O’Malley sighed.
    “Well, I could have you say a hundred Hail Marys, but I’d prefer you make a promise to me, yourself, and the Creator to address your shortcomings in the very immediate future. I believe in you, Jack. I expect regular progress reports from you.
Run along now.”
    The bishop slammed the confession window shut and left the box; Jack gave pause to his comments.
    It’s true! He thought. It’s my fault. I have no one else to blame. The frequent transfers are punishment for my transgressions. I’ve robbed myself of a stable life.
    Jack remained in the confessional for another ten minutes before getting up to leave. As he walked past the hall Jack heard anguished cries emanating from the sacristy. Concerned that O’Malley might be experiencing some sort of medical emergency he opened the door and peered inside. O’Malley seemed perfectly okay. It was simply one of the altar boys stimulating him to climax.

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