Bill Franks - Jesuit

Father Rafferty stood, at last recovering from the immediate impact of the Jesuit, and shaking the strong hand proffered. He, too, liked the firmness of the handshake, confirming his long-held belief that a lot could be drawn from the simple, timeworn greeting.

“Hello, Brother. What brings you to this part of the world?” he asked.

Ignatious told him briefly about his mission within the new role the Holy Pope himself had ordered, and that he was here today to seek out anyone who may benefit from his brand of counselling. He also offered to hear confessions and, if required, administer Holy Communion on the Sunday.

Father Rafferty was delighted with the visit and the intriguing mission. No doubt there were several parishioners who would benefit from a meeting with the Jesuit. He immediately invited Ignatious to stay for a light lunch and evening meal, giving them a chance to talk.

Ignatious readily agreed. He looked forward to a decent meal, which he felt certain the priest would be able to offer — prepared and cooked by someone else, of course, — perhaps the industrious lady earlier encountered. Father Rafferty led the Jesuit through a connecting door and into the recently built accommodation attached to the church.

Salad sandwiches were soon provided for lunch and they were, indeed, supplied by the cleaning lady, who turned out to be a Mrs. Bertha Collingswood, personal help to the good Father, who sorted his mail, cleaned, laundered and cooked for him.

A widow, she had lived through a childless marriage to Kenneth, who had died from cancer of the bowel two years ago. Although she’d dearly wished for children, she had enjoyed a mostly happy life with Kenneth, none-the-less. Her memories remained with her and helped to sustain, as did the work she happily carried out for the priest, free of charge. She would be preparing the evening meal, pleased to have a guest, especially one such as this.

The parish priest quickly warmed to the Jesuit, still bathed in the ‘glow’ of the holy man, and suggested he take some confession this very afternoon. The confessional times were posted as being from 2pm to 3.30pm, and there were usually a reasonable number of people attending, normally around twenty or so in total. Ignatious graciously accepted the offer.

At five minutes to two, the priest escorted Ignatious into the church where they observed a gathering of around a dozen people knelt in the pews awaiting confession. As always, women outnumbered men; on this occasion there were nine females and only three males. Of these, there were five schoolgirls and one schoolboy. It wasn’t as though women sinned more than men, it was more a case that women were more open with their sins and problems and were also able to admit to themselves that they had transgressed. Males seemed more obstinate and ready to pretend that any sinful behaviour was not really sinful.

“Parishioners,” Father Rafferty announced to the smattering of people. “I would like your attention please.” His words echoed around the spacious building, the design accentuating the acoustic value.

“I would like to introduce to you an eminent visitor to our humble parish.” Ignatious cast a sidelong glance at the priest at the description of ‘eminent.’ “He has travelled the world to spread the word of God, visiting many unknown and dangerous areas in the past, being undaunted by his task. A Jesuit priest, he is named Brother Ignatious Saviour. The name Ignatious is a truly venerable one, being the name of the founder of that fine and dedicated branch of Catholicism. The good Brother has graciously offered to take confessions this afternoon and you may visit him in confessional box two. I urge you to attend for his special brand of advice whilst receiving the Lords penance.”

Father Rafferty then raised his arms wide and pronounced: “Go in peace and may the Lord God bless you all.” With that, he turned to Ignatious, smiling. “Please, Brother, take booth two; I will take booth one as is my usual custom,” he said in a whisper, the words carrying over the intently listening congregation. The men of God walked briskly to their respective confessional boxes and closed the doors.

For several minutes, the parishioners sat, looking in the direction of where the two priests had stood, each feeling the strange compelling aura of Brother Saviour. Then, one of the women stood and, with head bowed respectfully, shuffled along to the narrow benches arranged before the booths.

She went immediately to booth two, entered and knelt. In front of her was a crucifix bearing a plaster model of Jesus, draped with injured hands nailed to the cross, crown of thorns above thin trickles of blood that covered the forehead, an incredibly sad expression in the eyes; eyes that looked into the very soul of the sinner before Him. The cruel, open wound in the side looked so real, it was sure to bleed soon.

Mary Stewart, bowed her head again, unable to take the penetrating eyes, as she clasped her hands, leaning them on the small shelf placed beneath the crucifix. She was a wicked sinner, not fit to be in the presence of her Saviour. Her eye caught the slight movement of the shadowy figure to her right, behind the grey, closely meshed screen. Another presence began to flow through her, an almost tangible sensation. Brother Ignatious Saviour had turned to her, unable to see the miserable woman clearly, but his effect a touch more pronounced than that of the plaster figure on the wall. Father. Father. Please. Take me! Do as you will! Rape me! Scourge me! Cover me with your blessing! Mary was shocked at the terrible thoughts that had entered her mind — without knocking!

“Yes, my child.” The warm, comforting voice of the Jesuit floated to her. “I will hear your confession.”

Mary clutched the string of Rosary Beads tightly, so much so that they were in danger of snapping. She blessed herself, making a hurried and practiced sign of the cross, kissing the small silver crucifix that dangled from the end.

“Father forgive me, for I have sinned,” she began, using the words drummed into her from early childhood. “I am a sinner, an unworthy and wretched person.”

“We are all sinners, my daughter. God is all forgiving. You should not fear his wrath; it will not touch you. He has knowledge of all the frailties of Man.” The soothing voice melted over Mary. “Tell me now; in what way have you sinned?”

Mary had never before felt so able to speak; to confess her innermost secrets. “Father, I am 40 years old and am happily married. Married for twenty-three years — no children, unfortunately. I have never been unfaithful and, as far as I know, neither has my husband, Michael.”

“As it should be,” interposed the Jesuit.

“Yes, Father. Quite. But…. but.” Mary paused. It was a struggle to admit her sin. She took a deep breath. This man would wring everything from her. “Well. Last week, I had a visit from an old friend. Someone I had worked with in a Bank before she left to go with her parents to live in Worcestershire. We were always very close; she sometimes would come out dancing or whatever, with Michael and myself.”

“Go on, child.”

Outside the confessional, the short pew had filled with five other persons, four of which were female, waiting patiently to tell the holy man of their transgressions. Under the pretext of deep prayer, eyes closed, heads bowed, hands clasped, to a person their ears were straining to catch the low but audible words of the unsuspecting Mary. What unspeakable thing has she done?

Mary went on: “Last Wednesday…. no it would be Thursday; I know it was Thursday, as that’s the day I check my Lottery ticket. I don’t want to know immediately, if I’m a winner. I’d checked it with Jacqui, that’s my friend, and I didn’t win. Someone wins every time so…”