this is quite unfinished, partly because thinking about it takes me to a place i don't like to visit. it represents some of my reactions to learning that one of the priests in the church i grew up in was accused and convicted of child molestation. i had always suspected that the Catholic church couldn't be the only one guilty of robbing their children of innocence, and that our church had secrets of its own. i did not expect this particular priest to be involved. the thoughts are mine, but some of the language harkens back to phrases used in the church when i was growing up.
the soul deserves intercession. whatever crimes have been conceived by the mind and committed by the body, the soul was born innocent and has entertained no evil. when the body dies, the soul returns to God, and it should be cleansed of the stains laid upon it by the body.
sometimes it feels like another lifetime, pictures in a storybook, tales told to frighten children. in that place, in that time, i am a child. i see the others, the betrayed. i hear their cries, their suffering, their anger.
the anger is mine. it wells up from a place deep within, a more profound place than any of this world. i feel it, i know it, i wield it like an ancient blade.
there is a man, his face is downcast, his name is dishonored. there is no power in his bones, his is the face of shame. he was to protect them, but in the name of God his hand wrought in them pain, tears, and death. these words, warning, wisdom, are for him.
small child, marred, scarred,
used, abused, debased, defaced
by a father, by a friend,
by a stranger, by a priest,
by you, forcefully forgotten,
pushed away, down into the darkness.
holy warrior, fearless and just,
protector, defender, avenger
marked by the years, the tears,
how hard it is for him to forgive
an epic struggle, a daily battle
that the warrior cannot win.
the warrior in me calls for your blood
his cry is like thunder, it's hard to hear
the soft, soothing voice coming from
within, behind, beside, beneath
chanting forgiveness, reminding me
it's not my place to judge or to convict.
(...)
Joel
7 February 2003