Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 33)
Chapter 12
Cindy Bradford
Spring came and so did new doubts. Patrick’s studies were not going as he had thought. The more he learned, the more he questioned. One night over dinner while Father Shaun was telling him a story, the inner battle took full control.
“Patrick, I know that it is the obligation of the priest to keep complete confidence about confessions. I won’t reveal names, but I must talk about this to someone because it is heavy on my mind.”
The two men had had many spirited conversations, and although they had disagreed on several issues, they had always remained close. In spite of their friendship, Father Shaun had never confided in Patrick.
“You are going to be a priest, Patrick, and you will more than likely have the same dilemma, so tell me what you would do. Today, I had a parishioner from another church, a boy about fourteen come to me with a story. He said he wanted to talk with me, for me to listen, but that he expected no answers. He just had to talk; he did not know what he was going to do, if anything. His priest has been molesting him. It has been going on for awhile. Apparently, it started when the boy was quite young. The boy wants it to stop, but he does not know how to do that. He said his parents would never allow him to quit going to church. Patrick, I am afraid he will come back, but the next time he will want me to do more than listen. He is going to want advice and although I have been at this a long time, I do not know what to tell him. If I suggest he tell his parents and they confront the priest I am afraid they will say I told the boy to tell. That would be terrible for me. I do not think the church would look kindly on me. But on the other hand, I feel so badly for this boy. I am really surprised he came to me. I think he came in an effort to be cleansed, but I did not help him. I would think he would have lost faith in any priest if that were happening, but he did come and he will be back; it is too troubling for him. I know he will.”
Sitting there in silence, Patrick could feel his face turning red from the anger raging deep inside of him.
“What would you do, Patrick?”
For a long time Patrick didn’t speak. Hesitantly, he said, “I would have to offer to help the boy, to go with him to his parents, whatever it took to stop the sickness.”
“But Patrick,” Father Shaun said, obviously flustered and not really wanting that to be Patrick’s answer. “Think about the consequences. The church is not going to want to hear that or accept that. The officials would think I was bringing great harm to the church. They would want me to be quiet.”
“What about the boy, Father Shaun?” Patrick demanded his voice louder than he meant it to be.
“I know, I know, but he is just one. This could be explosive over one boy.”
“If there is one, there are others.”
“Maybe not.”
“But maybe so.”
“Patrick, the stakes are so high. I know this priest. He has major ties with the Vatican. He has received the Pope’s blessing many times. There are rumors he is in line to become a cardinal one day. I wish the boy had never come to me,” the priest said, sighing.
Suddenly wanting to be alone, Patrick interrupted, “I need to study. I wish I could say what you want to hear, but I can’t.” He stood and gathered his belongings.
“Thanks for listening to me, Patrick. You will not say anything, will you?”
“I don’t know this boy, the parish or the priest. He didn’t come to me,” he said in a constrained voice.
The restaurant was closing as the two men walked out into the night. Although it was almost April, there was still a chill in the air and the sweat on Patrick’s chest made it seem even colder when the wind blew against him. At the corner when they parted, Patrick suddenly felt cold, alone and more confused than ever. He lie awake into the night thinking, contemplating his life.
May brought the semester to a close, but no closure for Patrick as he continued to struggle with his thoughts. He needed to get away from Rome for a few days so he did what he always did when he felt this way; he took refuge at Stefano and Carmella’s.
Upon returning to Rome, he felt better, following rest, good food and lengthy conversations with his two Tuscan friends. He began to look forward to his job at St. Peter’s as a docent and tour leader. Because he loved going to the Basilica and thought it was one of the most beautiful structures anywhere, he was excited to be able to share it with people from all over the world.
A week later he saw Father Shaun who Patrick had not had an opportunity to talk with since their visit in April.
“Why don’t we have dinner tonight, Patrick? Are you free?” the priest asked.
“Yes, that would be nice.”
“I’ll meet you at the Lorenzo Trattoria at 6:00 p.m. if that’s agreeable with you.”
Because he had gone directly from St. Peter’s, Patrick was early to the trattoria so he ordered a glass of vino della casa and waited.
Seeing his friend, the priest, he stood to greet him.
“How was your first day at the Basilica?”
“It was good. I’m still learning some of the history, especially about the Papal Crypt and the sub crypt. I do several different tours so it might take a few days to get used to the timing and schedules.”
“Patrick, I don’t think even those of us who have been here many years know everything about the Basilica and museums. It is a fascinating place. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, and probably the greatest creation of Rome’s Renaissance.”
“You have completed your first year of schooling,” Father Shaun said, more as a statement than a question.
“Yes. Is the first the most difficult?”
“I found them all to be about the same, different courses, but similar pressures,” the priest stated.
“Would you like to order?” the waiter asked.
“I’ll have the spaghetti alla carbonara and an espresso.”
“I’ll have the same but no espresso,” Patrick said.
The two men sat for awhile watching the tourists and locals walk by the small restaurant. Located near the Spanish Steps, the area was always crowded with street performers, artists, kids playing soccer and young couples hand in hand.
“The azaleas are about over I see,” Patrick said wistfully.
“Yes, but I believe during this April and May, they were the prettiest I have seen them in years.”
“It is definitely heating up. I wasn’t here much of the last summer, so June is new to me.”
“Just wait until August. You know almost every shop closes the last two weeks of August because it is so hot. Everyone goes off to the beach. If you are going to be here, it is a good thing you have your scooter; the buses run only on a limited basis.”
“I did arrive here last August, and I agree, this is not the place one wants to be in that heat.” Pausing, to change the subject, he continued, “I must ask, did the young boy who you mentioned at our last dinner come back?”
“No, I never saw him again. I really worried that I would,” the priest said, looking relieved.
“I had hoped he would, because he must have been hurting,” Patrick said quickly.
The priest frowned and looked squarely at Patrick, “You are young and have much to learn about the church, Patrick. It is powerful. I told you–it is all encompassing, absolute power.”
“Yes, and as the saying goes…. ‘Absolute power corrupts absolutely!’
The waiter brought their food and the two men ate without talking. When he brought the check, Father Shaun took it and said, “I’ll get this, and I really must be going. I’ll see you at mass, Patrick.”
“Yes, and thank you for dinner. I didn’t mean to offend you, I just feel strongly,” his voice trailing off.
“Every man has to follow his own course, Patrick.”
And live with himself, Patrick thought, but he didn’t reply.
“Goodnight Father Shaun.”
“Goodnight Patrick.”
Patrick ordered another wine and watched the throngs of people heading to a free concert. He could not clear his mind from thinking about the young boy. “The demons he will fight,” Patrick said, under his breath.
≈≈≈
As the summer and fall semesters drew on, Patrick knew his days of pursuing the priesthood were numbered. The only time he was happy was while he worked at St. Peter’s. The visitors were friendly and humble asking questions whether they were Protestant or Catholic. When he worked in the Vatican museums and the Sistine Chapel, he found himself continuing to be awestruck by the beauty of the art and grandeur of the Renaissance, but his heart was heavy and no matter how hard he prayed or how many questions he asked, he could find no peace. He was on an endless and useless journey that had taken him to a dead end. For all these years, he had wanted to believe that this is where he belonged, that this was his calling. Now he realized he had misinterpreted the signs. He had given it his heart and mind, and it had eaten at his soul; he had been robbed, again. He could never be enough to change the Church. He could never loosen the clutches of the Vatican. He would never be strong enough to right the wrongs of this powerful force. His only choice was to completely divorce himself of its hold and to play no role in its webbed effect. He would be the Church’s spider no more. He had to flee. He had to get peace.