On Her Knees 4

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

Maria knelt in humble penance in the confessional next to me. She marked the sign of the cross on her heart as she spoke.

"In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. My last confession was one week ago."

It was nothing out of the ordinary. Maria's Reconciliation had begun the same way at the same time on the same day every week ever since she was old enough to accept the Lord Jesus Christ into her heart. We had a standing appointment, and my child in Christ was steady as the rock of Gibraltar in her faith and devotion to the Holy Father.

"As always, Maria, you are most welcome in this house of God. It's good to see you."

I saw my parishioner's soft smile through the screened hatch that connected us. I faithfully made the sign of the cross over my own heart, and got to work.

"Here's what I got today: 'You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.' That's Luke 10:27."

I always gave Maria scriptures about love. She was full of it, and I was convinced that God was using her as a special envoy to spread kindness and peace in a troubled world. At least, that was often the role she played in my life. I looked forward to the time we shared in the confessional, and she regularly left me with a feeling of renewed hope and purpose.

There is no doubt about it. Although I held a deep and profound love for all of the people in my flock, Maria had a special place in my heart.

And my faith.

"I'm glad to see you survived another week of doing God's work in the trenches. What have you been up to?"

Over the years, Maria and I had become very informal in the Sacrament of Penance. Plain and simple, there just wasn't much serious stuff to talk about. Maria was a good girl. Sure, she wrestled with the same issues that any pretty, young teen faced in her journey to become a woman of God, but Maria was not easily tempted or swayed from the path of righteousness. Her weekly list of sins usually amounted to a spattering of unkind thoughts, modestly selfish desires, and a stray curse word here and there.

"Confess to me your sins, my child, so that I might grant you forgiveness and peace found only in the Grace of God."

Actually, I often got a kick out of convincing the sweet, shy girl to repeat her foul language out loud during her confession. I told her I had to know exactly what she said so I could assign the appropriate act of contrition. Her face turned beet read whenever she said "Fuck" in my presence.

But I could tell today was different. Today, Maria had something to confess.

And she had just turned eighteen.

"Father, I don't know how to say this, but I'm afraid I have fallen from that very grace you're talking about - the sacred grace of the Father's Son that guides and protects me in my times of trouble and temptation."

She caught me off guard. This was not what I was expecting. I squinted to get a better look at the young woman seeking my guidance. Kneeling with her head lifted toward heaven, Maria's delicate palms were pressed together in a gesture of prayer. Her long, straight black hair flowed down over her shoulders. Her make-up was modest. Her clothes were conservative, and her dark, brown eyes were deep and soulful.

Tears were streaming down her face. He thin, pink lips were slightly parted and trembling.

I had never seen Maria so sad.

And afraid.

"It's okay, my child. God is omniscient. He already knows what you're about to say. Whatever happened, I'm sure we can figure it out together."

I heard a sniffle. I saw Maria's head hang in shame.

"I know God will forgive me, Father, but I'm not sure you will be able to do the same, once you've heard what I've done."

I paused. I said nothing. Sometimes silence was the best way to bring the sins to the surface.

Maria cleared her throat, wiped her eyes, and began.

"I still don't really understand what happened. I sat with Peter Donavon on the school bus yesterday just like every other day. We were talking about what we wanted to do after we graduate from high school next month."

I felt a hollow pit in my stomach. Maria rarely talked about boys. That was one of the things I loved about her. I didn't like were this discussion was leading. Not one bit.

"Go on," I said, as calmly as possible.

"He told me that he was getting a full scholarship to play baseball and study engineering at John Hopkins University. He was very excited about it, and rightly so. He comes from a very poor family, and without the scholarship, he said, he would not have been able to continue his education."

Maria had stopped crying. She was beginning to feel more comfortable. I had seen it a million times before. The sacred seal of the confessional has a way of loosening people up. The only problem was that I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the rest of the story.

"Of course, I thanked God right then and there, and I invited Peter to say a little prayer with me, which he did. Peter is very good at giving glory to Jesus whenever he wins a game. He always tells the newspapers that his ability to throw a baseball is a gift from God, and that he plans to use this gift to create new opportunities and make a better life for his family and other poor, black children in our community."

Yes. I knew Peter. I had heard plenty of the boy's confessions over the years too. Sure, he was a good boy at heart, but he was also a horny, little bastard. For all of his blessings from God, he certainly had a hard time keeping his penis in his pants.

"And then Peter asked about my plans, and I told him that I was starting the Process of Discernment as soon final exams were over. I told him I wanted to become a nun."

I winced. I guessed at Peter's reaction. Maria confirmed my suspicion.

"I couldn't believe it. Peter was a jerk. He laughed out loud. Really loud. He laughed right in my face, and it really hurt my feelings."

Yep.

"We have been friends for so long, and I don't know why I never talked to him about my faith before this. I think I was ashamed. I think I was afraid of being ridiculed."

I sighed.

"Is that your sin, my dear? Not standing strong in your faith in Jesus Christ and doubting your conviction that God has called you to serve him in a greater purpose?"

Maria nodded. "That's one of them."

Oh, boy. I thought I had dodged a bullet. Okay, one sin at a time.

"I see."

I smiled good-heartedly.

"Fear not, my child. After all, you're not the first disciple of Christ to fall prey to pride and weakness at the moment of testing. In fact, as you very well know, our very church was founded by the man who denounced our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ three times for fear of being persecuted. If you ask me, you have two more gaffs to go before you become as bad as him."

Maria's heart lightened, and the comfort she found in my words warmed my heart.

"That's right! I had forgotten that Saint Peter was the first Holy Father."

Although I dreaded the answer, I asked the next question anyway.

"What else do you wish to confess, Maria?"

There was a long pause. Again, I waited for the silence to do its thing.

"Well..."

This was the thing she really didn't want to tell me. She was just warming me up with the lapse of faith and confidence stuff.

"Please speak freely, Maria. There is nothing beyond God's power to forgive."

"Well, it didn't end there."

"Go on."

"When Peter stopped laughing, he started asking me questions."

"What did he say?"

"Well, he asked me if I hated men. He asked me if I was a carpet muncher."

"Hmmm."

"I didn't know what a carpet muncher was, so I asked him. He said it was a woman who liked to have sex with other women. He said it was a woman who didn't like dicks."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him that I loved everyone equally. I told him I didn't care if people were male or female or black or white or yellow or purple. I told him that one day I hoped to be married to the Son of God and the only manifest body I was interested in was the body of Christ's church."

Good answer.

"And how did Peter take that?"

Silence.

Lots of silence.

And then a soft, broken voice. Whenever Maria was this sad, her Hispanic accent colored her words.

"He said, 'How do you really know you don't like dick if you've never fucked one?' And then he opened his pants and pulled out his penis."

Oh, boy.

"He said, 'Go ahead and touch it. Maybe it will help you know for sure that the Sisterhood is really the right path for you.' Father, I was embarrassed. I was humiliated. I nearly died on the spot. Luckily we were in the very back seat of the bus, and no one was paying attention to us."

Yep. It was as bad as I thought. Peter would also be saying a few extra Hail Marys next time I saw him.

"I knew it was wrong. I knew that I was being tempted by the sins of the flesh, but when I looked at my friend Peter and I saw how lonely he was and how much he really, really wanted to feel the kindness of my hand on his penis, I felt sorry for him. And then I realized that I really did want to touch his penis. It was all big and black and angry and swollen, and it looked like it was causing Peter a great deal of agony."

Jesus Christ. That was the last thing I wanted to hear that day.

"So, I searched my soul, and I listened for God, and there was no doubt about it. I really did want to know what Peter would feel like in my hands, and I also realized that I very much wanted to ease my friend's suffering."

Even my mind was stunned into silence at that point.

"So, I reached out my fingers and gently touched the pink, helmut-ty thing at the end of his shaft."

"The glans penis."

Somehow, I thought applying the medical terms to Maria's story would sterilize it, make it cleaner, less dirty.

It didn't help at all.

"And the sound Peter made as I began to rub my hand along the length of his manhood made everything crystal clear. All of sudden, I knew what to do. Everything was alright. Father, I know it sounds silly, but cupping my finger's around Peter's willy was a holy experience. It was like Peter's moans and groans and sighs were a chorus of heavenly angels telling me I was doing God's good work."

"Doing God's work?" I asked.

"Who else, other than God, could make a person feel so much divine joy and pleasure?"

Interesting. To tell you the truth, I was starting to feel a little "divine pleasure" myself. Luckily, I was a trained professional. My disciplined, internal voice automatically started canting:

Hail Mary, full of grace.

Our Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou among women,

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb,

Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of God,

pray for us sinners,

now and at the hour of our death.

Amen.

Damn it! I knew praying was the right thing to do, but it was a bad choice of prayers. Why in the world did the church fathers have to throw in that line about a virgin's womb? Great. Now I was thinking about the Mother of God's female parts ... AND Maria's soft hand on Peter's big, black dick.

As I reigned in my wayward thoughts, Maria kept talking.

"It didn't take long. I knew God was working a miracle through me, and I let him guide my hands. I let him work through me in His own way on His own timeline."

I couldn't take my eyes of the tender hands in front of me, still pressed together in formal prayer and penance.

"For the first time in my life, Father, I was filled with the Holy Spirit. For the first time in my life, I understood what religion was all about. With one hand sliding up and down Peter's penis, I opened my heart and my soul for the Divine to consume me, and before I knew it, my other hand was gently cradling Peter's scrotum and tickling his testes."

I nodded. I was beginning to feel a touch of the Holy Spirit too.

"That was when the choir of heavenly bodies really got loud. Peter was begging me not to stop at the top of his lungs, but the Lord God Almighty in his wisdom and absolute power had deafened the other kids' ears and blinded their eyes to the rapture Peter and I were experiencing."

It was a miracle.

"And then it happened."

"What happened?"

"Peter blessed me with the holy seed of life."

I sighed.

"It was very hot and sticky, and it was all over my hands. I didn't know what else to do with it, but then I remembered what Jesus said at the last supper."

I felt like I was being tested.

"Let me guess. 'While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread and blessed it. Then he broke it in pieces and handed it to the disciples, saying, 'Take this and eat it. This is my body. And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of it; For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins.' - Matthew 26:26-28."

Maria nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes. Exactly! There I was, covered with the seed of life, and I thought to myself, our Savior Jesus Christ is the Lord of Life. So, it only seemed natural. I swallowed the sacred gift Peter had so generously blessed me with."

I was in trouble.

"At first, I didn't like the taste. It was bitter and salty, but then I remembered that nasty parsley at the interfaith Passover dinner. I realized I wasn't swallowing ejaculate. I was swallowing Peter's suffering. I was swallowing the tears of humanity. The bitter seed in my mouth was a holy reminder that my role as God's servant is to ease suffering wherever I find it."

I no longer had control. I wasn't sure if I was an instrument of God or a tool of the Devil, but I knew for certain that unknown powers greater than me were in a desperate battle for my soul.

"And then I licked all of the suffering off Peter's penis. I consumed it all until there was no more load for my friend to bear."

Then, it was my turn to say something. Maria, my sweet, innocent child of God, had finished her sordid tale of vile perversion. Only it wasn't so sordid or vile or perverted. In the wake of her sinful acts of the flesh, Maria had come to me for absolution. Only her acts were not sinful and they were not based in the primal, selfish needs of the flesh.

They were a true expression of her kind, generous heart.

Now the silence was working against me.

"Please, Father, can you tell me how much trouble I'm in?"

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. I issued a humble, silent prayer to the Holy Father for guidance, and when I finally spoke, I am convinced it was Him speaking through me, for I quoted a verse I had not thought of for years and years.

And, as I spoke, I knew God was right.

"Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, Love is the fulfilling of the Law. Romans 13:10."

After 37 years as a devoted priest in the Holy Roman Catholic Church, I was finally experiencing my very own state of rapture, and as if the Lord himself was moving my hands and my legs and my body, I stood up from my wooden bench, lifted the screen that separated me from my confessor looked deep into Maria's kind, brown eyes.

My simple declaration of faith was humble and honest.

"I am suffering too," I said.

And I lifted my robe high to expose my hard, aching cock. It had been years since anyone had touched it, including me. I stood and waited and prayed for a miracle.

I did not have to wait long. Moved by grace and compassion, Maria reached her small hand through the portal, took hold of my organ, and pulled it toward her.

It was holy. It was sacred. It was divine.

I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was being touched by the loving hand of God.

"Let mutual love continue," I quoted. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers for by doing that, some have entertained angels without knowing it. Hebrews 13:1."

The kindness and the mercy continued for several minutes. While Maria moved her up and down the length of my rod in elegant service, the Lord and his host of angels continued to speak through me to the vessel of love on her knees before me. I pressed my face and my body flat against the wall of the confessional and breathed in the scent of oiled wood. In my mind, the partition became a floor, and I was prostrate before my Lord in all his glory.

And all the while, little Maria continued to stroke my flesh with the softness of His holy Grace and the firmness of His Authority.

That is when it happened for me. Without warning or expectation, the passion of Christ filled me.

And His passion spilled out my swollen member onto the waiting face of the angel below.

My suffering. My sorrow. My fear. My doubt.

Eventually, Maria swallowed it all.

And I had my answer. I was healed. So was Maria, my precious child of God. There was no sin to forgive.

We both ended with the sign of the cross.

"Give thanks to the Lord for He is good."

"For His mercy endures forever."

Amen.

***

The next week, I offered Maria the Sacrament of Penance in my office. It was a nice change. The confessional booth was already being use by a "walk-in" and one of my ordained brothers, and sitting in the pews was just too darn public.

Maria didn't seem to mind. She knelt humbly on the prayer bench below the holy crucifix and began her Reconciliation with a pure and open heart. I smiled at the beautiful, young, Latino woman offering herself to the Lord God Our Savior for judgement and consideration.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

I couldn't help but notice something had changed in my young parishioner. There was a fresh, rosy glow to her cheeks, and her smile conveyed the quiet peace of one who had come face to face with the Divine and lived to talk about it.

But there was something more. In addition to the vibrant life radiating from this woman of God, she was wearing a new wardrobe, one that accentuated the womanly curves and bumps and natural beauty that the Almighty had chosen to bless her with.

"In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. My last confession was one week ago."

The short, pleated skirt; the nylon stockings with the black lace at the top of her thin, tan thighs; the high heels; the luscious hair pulled back into a pony tail so her face was open and exposed; the tight t-shirt with no bra that hugged her small, boyish chest but prominently featured her large, swollen nipples - all of those adjustments were not an arrogant display of hubris or pride. They were not an advertisement for sin and debauchery.

They were a celebration of God's wondrous work.

I stood behind my parishioner and took comfort in her steadfast obedience to God and her devout commitment to serving His people. I had been looking forward to her confession all week, and for the first time, seeing her pray to our father on her knees in front of me, I appreciated how the Lord had sculpted Maria's bottom in perfect form of a simple heart.

I smiled and thanked God. I greeted Maria in my professional capacity as a man of the cloth.

"Don't you realize that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, who lives in you and was given to you by God? You do not belong to yourself. 1 Corinthians 6:19."

Then I greeted her as a friend.

"How have you been, my child? I have spent many hours thinking and praying about you since our last meeting."

Maria spoke without turning her head. Her eyes were fixed on the broken body of Christ nailed to the cross above her.

"It has certainly been a week full of miracles and ministry, but the truth is, I have been struggling, Father. I have been questioning. I have been doubting. I have done my best to answer my calling and follow the will of God, but I think I'm messing it all up."

I comforted the young woman with a hand on her shoulder. I caressed it lovingly.