THE DEVILS CONFESSION

Father Peronni is hearing confessions in his church on a rain soaked afternoon. He is about to hear a most unusual confession.

  The church doors remained open, the rain pouring down as hard as anyone had ever seen. Sheets of rain lashed the limestone walls of the gothic structure. Large water pellets battered the ancient slate roof making a thunderous applause echo throughout the high vaulted ceiling. Some of the people sat in the back rows for shelter from the elements, waiting for the

rain to stop before going about their daily routine. Others, seated near the front were praying for their intentions with lighted candles. Intentions! Heal sickness! Alleviate poverty! Lift chronic illness! Mend hearts! Console mourning! Change of ways! Protection from harm! Defy inevitable death! There were as many candles as intentions. Few thanked for what they already had.

   Those seeking forgiveness sat in the middle rows of seats half way up the aisle, near the confession boxes. Some of them meditated on their sins before queuing for confession. Some people had written notes on little pieces of paper to help the remember their sins. The children usually told the same sins as the last time. It was their obligation to go and confess even if they had committed no sin. After all, what sin could a child commit?

     He seemed to appear through the rain as if levitating. His body formed out of the mist and spray of rain. The tall cloak hooded figure paused just outside the entrance on the porch. Looking up he examined the tiny gargoyles in the architecture protecting the entrance. Further in two large statues of saints flanked the water font. His rain soaked boots seemed to steam and sizzle off the flagstone floor of the church. The people sheltering near the entrance pulled back from the stranger not knowing why. Their instinct perhaps. Something deep inside them made them uneasy, making them retreat, avoiding eye contact with the hooded stranger. They fell silent in his presence.

    A mist emanated from his clothing as his cloak seemed to dry off. Slowly he walked up the aisle towards the altar, pausing briefly to look sideways at the small number of people waiting their turn for confession. They seemed to shrivel away from him, sensing his awesome ability to instill trepidation.

    He continued until he reached the altar then stopped to glare at the image of a crucified christ suspended from the ceiling. Above the life size cross, a candle flickered in the tabernacle. A beacon to the faithful, telling them that holy spirit was present. He did not feel its presence. All he smelled was incense, fear and superstition. All he saw was idols and images of a redundant God. All he heard was suffering in the minds ofmillions.

    His boot steps echoed unnaturally loud as he made his way to the brass candelabra. Picking up a candle, rolling it in his fingers, he pressed it into its holder. Holding the wick between his middle finger and thumb, he clicked his fingers, lighting the candle. A group of old women knelt in prayer behind him, blessed themselves before hurrying to another seat on the opposite side of the aisle. He concentrated on the flame of the candle, his finger tips dancing on the flame as if tapping the keys on a piano. Turning on his heels, he quickly made his way back up the side of the church under the paintings of the stations of the cross. Stopping at confession box he

glared at those waiting their turn. Again they shriveled back away from him. They dared not stare at the dark hole in the hood of his cloak for fear of what they might see. He swung into the seat. Kneeling, he prepared himself.

    Father Peronni listened to the little boy’s sins? it mildly amused him to hear what the innocent child considered to be his sins. Not lending his toys to his brother. Eating chocolate from his mothers cupboard. Splashing on his fathers after shave. Not washing his hands after going to the toilet. After a long and seemingly never ending list of misdemeanors, father Peronni interrupted the boy.

    “Danny.” Whispered the priest.

    “Yes father.” Came the cowering reply.

    “I think I have all your sins by now.”

    “But I still have a few more on my list.” Replied the boy. A piece of paper rustled in the darkness.

    “God will forgive you for those too. How many sins have you got?”

    “Twelve father.”

    “Good! For your sins I want you say twelve Hail Mary’s and one our father and don’t commit those sins again. You got that Danny.”

     “Yeah father.”

    Father Peronni loosened the rosary beads wrapped around his fingers, the tiny crucifix fell to his lap. Delicately picking it up he made the sign of the cross over himself before giving a blessing to the boy  “....now go in peace and may the spirit of God go with you. Amen!”

    He closed the shutter, turned to the opposite side and slid back the panel on the lattice. He immediately sensed the presence. His instincts cautioned him. He peered into the darkness of the confessional unsure if there was someone there. The cloak brushed against the grille.

    “In the name of the father, the son and the holy spirit. May God the father bless you. Now son you may confess your sins.”

    An uneasy silence followed. Father Peronni waited. His hand began to tremble. He did not know why.

    “How...did you know I was a male? I could have been female.” The voice asked slowly and lowly almost growling.

    Father Peronni paused as the voice in the confessional had done,carefully weighing up his reply.

    “Years of experience. I Guess.”

    “Hmmph.” Came the reply somewhere between a snort and a grunt.

    “Do you wish to confess your sins son?” Said the priest?”

     “Are you a holy man, father?” Asked the voice.

     “I am a priest, if that's what you are looking for.

      ”But are you a holy man?” said the voice again.

      “I believe in God.”

        “Many men have believed in God yet went on to do evil acts. Great evil in fact. How many men have killed in the name of your God, Father? Countless thousands have killed and been killed in the name one God or another. How many jews were let down by their God while they faced persecution from the Nazis. So how can you believe, in your God.”

        Father Peronni paused, considering the mind of the man in the confessional with him. Was he a mad man? A criminal or just a confused soul seeking answers, drawing him into a philosophical argument.

        “Have you sins to confess son?” Asked the priest.

        “You did not answer my question. How can you believe in your God when so

many have died for him and in his name?”

        “Your obviously an intelligent man. The simplest answer to your question is that I am a humble servant of my God and his people. I am here to serve him though his sacraments of baptism, mass, communion, confession, wedding unions, and of course funeral services. I need no proof or direct intervention from God to know he exists. Just as I know that evil does exist and that servants like me are here to address that balance. Does that answer your question?”

        He sat in silence contemplating the answer given to him. The priest knew he was there, The stranger drew a sharp breath, holding it before letting it out.

        “Perhaps you are a holy man after all.”

        “Do you need to confess.”

        “Yes!”

        “I’m ready to listen.”

        “How do I start father?”

        “How long since your last confession?”

        “A little over two thousand years father.”

        “Two..two..years.” Stammered the priest not exactly sure he heard him right.

        “Two thousand years.” Said the hoarse voice placing his knotted claw like hand on the timber sill just below the confessional grille. Father Peronni recoiled slightly at the sight of the yellow nailed talons on the ends of the bark like fingers.”

        “What sin do you want to confess?” Asked the priest.

        “All of them.” Came the reply from the face pressed close to the metal divide. A goat like eye stared in at the priest.

        “I have to ask this. Is this some kind prank or joke?” Asked the priest.

        “What does your heart of hearts tell you father Peronni? I thought you needed no proof to believe in evil.”

        Father Peronni contemplated his situation, quickly deciding to play along with the individual in the confessional booth.

        “Why do you need confession?” He asked.

        “Two thousand years ago, I was a young Roman soldier. I drove the nails into a man’s wrists and feet, nailing and lashing him to a cross. Its ironic that a symbol of Roman punishment, torture and victory has become to many people today a symbol of worship and sometimes hope.

        He was the last man I nailed to a cross. All of us that performed that cruel act were struck down with leprosy when he died. We became outcasts from our legion and the general populace. Some of my fellow soldiers went to the leper colony but the lepers were gone, allegedly cured and saved by the man we nailed to the cross. I refused to believe what they believed, in him. I made sacrifices to my Gods, but they did not answer me. After many days I decided to go out into the desert. To walk in the sun and heat. To go without food and water until I died.

        I wandered for three days disorientated by de-hydration and heat. I collapsed, unable to move any further, wishing death upon my rotting body.Then  A vision appeared to me. I dreamt that the man I crucified came to me giving me water. I cursed him to his face, spitting the a mouthful of water in his eyes. He never flinched. Instead he said. ”You will be my greatest apostle. You will spread my word far and wide for longer than any other. When you are ready to drink from my cup you may enter the kingdom of heaven.”

        “I cursed him again, summoning demons to take his soul. In my rage I collapsed and became unconscious. When I woke I was no longer thirsty. My flesh was no longer rotting but changed. My skin felt and looked like the bark of an olive tree, my finger nails were like claws on an eagle, two tiny horns protruded from my head like the God Pan that I worshipped, my feet were cloven. I had no hunger, no thirst, no feeling on my skin, no pain. I could no longer enjoy food, wine, women, life.”         

    The stranger paused as if remembering, his gaze falling on the floor. Father Peronni weighed the man’s story in his mind. He wondered if it was a man he was dealing with or possibly a demon. His faith allowed him to believe in the incredible, the good of God. His training also allowed him believe that beings like this man could exist too. If God was credible, so were all the opposites.

        “What did you after that?” Asked the priest.

        “I vowed to destroy every Jew and every follower and believer in this man. I returned to my legion, explained my appearance as a gift from the God,Pan, and that he charged me with killing all followers of the cult of this Jesus. For hundreds of years I chased them down, tortured and killed them, yet they grew in number, spreading in every direction. When Rome succumbed to their beliefs, I was an outcast again. A devil. The Devil! Legends and lies spread about me, they gave me many names in many languages, stories of my evil spread throughout the world. Over the centuries I traveled the world seeking allies. To the northern tribes, the eastern kingdoms. I nearly succeeded with Khan. Still their cult grew, expanding in every direction. For some time I posed as a priest working within Rome, trying to destroy it from within. I influenced Torquemada's inquisitions, the bourgeois debauchery of the Popes, crusades of

hate. I created factions within their beliefs, turned brother against brother but no matter how many died, more and more believed. I made empires rise and saw them fall as they over stretched their greed.

        Enraged at my failures, I came to hate all men, all races, all colours and creeds. I would destroy them all. I used revolution against those that failed me in France. In the guise of brotherhood I created atheism. Before atheism they were called ignorants or savages. I gave non belief a title, a prestige, a respectability. My new followers did not have to believe in me, they just did not have to believe. No God! No Devil! My atheists would be the new religion. The revolutionaries failed me. I had to wait to meet the right man. I sowed seed in Karl Marx. Nurtured it with Lenin, watched it bloom with Stalin. The fascists Franco, Mussolini and Hitler would be the catalysts in my new revolution but their timing was wrong. Like impatient children, they could not wait, they needed the power of the atom, but acted too early. 

        I watched two new empires rise out of the ashes of Europe. For decades I tried to get them to push the button. I failed, so far. After two thousand years, I give up. I want to drink from his cup, to enter the kingdom of heaven. He was right. My actions made me his greatest apostle. I did more to spread his word than any of his apostles. I spread fear, chasing them to his arms. I thought I was the wolf to his flock. I was more like his shepherd, his instrument in converting people to his beliefs.”

        He drew a deep sigh.

        “You still there father.”

        “Yes.”

        “Did I bore you.”

        “No! Not at all.”

        “What do we do next.”

        “You confess your sins.”

        “I thought I did that.”

        “Not really. You told me your life story.”

        “You want to hear my sins.”

        “That's what you do at confession. You tell me all your sins, then I decide what penance you should do.”

        “Look father. I have committed all seven deadly sins and broken all ten commandments so many times that we could be sitting here another two thousand years listing each and every one of my individual offenses.”

        “I get the message. Have you ever been baptized into our faith.”

        “No! Do I have to be?” Said the Devil puzzled.

        “To receive the sacraments you first must be baptized into the church.”

                               *

        At the baptismal font, father Peronni performed the ceremony with great grace and grave sincerity. Questions and doubts  flashed across his mind as to whether he should be doing this, whether any priest should be doing this. He brushed them aside and continued as a professional should. The ceremony was finished without any flash of lightning or claps of thunder. The ground did not split and the church did not fall. It just continued to rain. Tens of thousands of tiny pellets of wet tapping on the roof of the old gothic building.

        “I don’t feel any different.” Said the Devil.

        “Maybe we should take the next step and you should receive Holy

Communion.” suggested father Peronni.

        “Yes maybe we should.” replied the Devil.

        “You must understand that when taking Holy Communion, that the bread or wafer undergoes a transmutation into the body of Christ and that the wine we drink becomes the blood of Christ. You must believe this.”

        “Father, I have lived for over two thousand years. A curse not a blessing. I can believe many things for I have seen many things. It is not such a great leap of faith to believe what you ask me to believe.”

        As with the baptism, there was no great cataclysm when he took the bread and body of christ and ate it, nor when he drank the consecrated wine. It did not burn him nor hurt him, the wafer tasted like wafer, the wine like

wine, yet he believed, for he knew.

        They sat in silence together facing the altar. Waiting for a sign from the divine for what to do next. Their eyes roaming aimlessly over the altar, the statues, objects of idolatry, candelabra, flowers, the sacristy.

       “I did not hate him. It was just my turn to nail someone to the cross, as I had nailed dozens of others. I hated him afterwards when I got leprosy, when I became what I am. I hated those who followed him in is teachings. Rome was made to fight armies of spear, sword and shield. Not men of cloth, kindness and care. Rome wanted domination but his teachings offered salvation in the afterlife. I suppose that made it easier for them to be martyred. They almost welcomed it. I was in the colosseum when they fed the Christians to the lions, tortured and killed them. No matter what method Rome used, it had no weapon for his

words, his teachings, his message.

        I won’t be a necessary evil anymore.. I just won’t do it.” He said standing up abruptly, turning back down the aisle, making for the doors.

        “I’ve got it.” Yelled father Peronni, stopping him in his tracks.

        “Got what?”

        “Your penance for your sins. I have not given you your penance for your

sins.” 

    He came back and sat beside the priest.’

        “I know none of your prayers Father.”

        “Not all penance is given in prayer.”

        “What do you have in mind?”

        Father Peronni considered his situation carefully.

        “I think I know what he wants you do.”

        “What?”

        “I think he wants you to continue exactly as you have been doing for the last two thousand years. He told you in the desert that you would be his greatest disciple. Without you he might have no believers, no flock. You said it yourself.”

        “I won’t do it anymore. I’m tired. Its like pouring water on a fire but the flames keep getting higher.”

       “For your penance....” Started the priest.

        “No!” Said the devil wide eyed and frightened.

        “.....I want you to wander the earth....”

        “Stop it! Don’t do this to me.” he said his temper rising.

        “....for two thousand years....”

        “For God’s sake father. Don’t do this.”

        “....harming no one. I want you to spread God’s message of peace to as many people as possible in as many faiths as there are on this planet. To the Christian, the Jew, the Muslim, the Hindu, the Buddhist. Where there is war I want you to bring peace. Where there is famine I want you to bring food. Where there is tyranny I want to bring harmony. You will right what is wrong and bring love where there is hate.

        You carry this message forth to all men. Only then may your sins be absolved. Now go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” Said father Peronni, making the sign of the cross before him.

        The devil’s eyes stared into through him. He let out a weary groan.

        “I should have known when you gave that kid ten hail mary’s and one our father for hiding his brothers toys that you were a tough one.”

        “What did you expect from a Jesuit?”

        “A whole lot of Hail Marys, whatever they are?” Snorted the devil.”

        “Would you have preferred one thousand years of hail Marys and one thousand years of our fathers instead.”

        The devil looked sideways at the priest and began to make his way back down the aisle towards the doors of the church.

        “We are each our own Devil, and we make this world our Hell.” He said.

        “That sounds like something George Bernard Shaw would say.” Said thepriest.

        “Oscar Wilde actually.” Called back the Devil before stepping into the rain, his cloak pulled up around him as he dissolved into the darkness.

THE END