Fiction Series
The Corner of Something and Nothing
Chapter 5 — Somewhere South of Heaven
I remember the day I joined the Jesuits. So many years have passed and I don’t know if I actually believe in God anymore. I think I do; I want to believe, but my faith has been tested so many times I often struggle with the concept of an almighty, just, and loving Creator. I suppose it’s not for me to decide. Not for anybody besides me, at least.
Perhaps He does exist, but my doubt continues to grow. I get so angry when I see all the people that are in crisis. People are dying in the streets every day and I’m tasked to save them. At least that’s what the Jesuits want me to do, but my view of ‘saving’ and theirs are quite a bit different. If I save one out of ten, I’m lucky, and the order is happy. I work hard at it. I sacrifice and put myself at risk to help the less fortunate, to make a difference in their lives, and I fail more often than I succeed.
One out of ten. How pathetic! Don’t get me wrong, my heart rejoices for the ones I am able to make a difference for, but mourns for the ones I can’t. The mourning is near-constant while the rejoicing is barely there, the faint heartbeat that is able to keep me going. I do it because I hear people's constant cries for a savior. Isn’t that His job? The forgotten people of the streets, perhaps, are forgotten by God.
What makes things worse is that I have no one to talk to about all this. I had a conversation with the Archbishop of my Diocese and I’ve spoken to a fellow priest, who’s a friend and psychologist. Neither actually helped, they just provided their answers; ‘a crisis of faith is not unnormal, Father Carlló’, ‘the scripture says…’, ‘Refer to the Catechism’, ‘If you pray about it…’, ‘We need to get to the underlying issue, Father’.
That last one kills me. The underlying issue? Shrinks really piss me off sometimes. Whenever I hear that, I wanna scream. The underlying issue is, I’m not sure if I actually believe in God anymore. What good is a priest who has lost his faith? Hell with it! I guess it doesn’t matter. Let the psycho-analysts and bishops figure it out.
In the meantime, I’ll keep on helping the ones I can because it’s all I know. I’ll keep stumbling through daily prayers and mass and all the things that are a required part of daily life in the Jesuits. I still enjoy those things sometimes! I don’t much enjoy being a priest anymore. Mostly, I want to be alone.
I sit in my room at night, darkened more by my mood than the absence of light, and drown my sorrow and stress in a bottle of scotch while contemplating the mysteries of faith and the struggles of humanity. I am never able to make much sense of it all, and the only resulting success is that I fall farther from grace and deeper into depression.
Most mornings, I wake up hungover and unable to remember the night before. I drink to forget! The problem is, it doesn’t help me forget the shit I want to forget! Nothing helps anymore. Some priest I am! The lost leading the lost. Still, I try to focus on the ones I do save. It beats thinking about the alternative, that I’m somewhere south of Heaven. Far south!
A month or so back, I pulled a young woman out of the ghetto. She was forced, by a gang, to be a prostitute. The whole thing was a bit of a blur really. I left my room before it was late enough to start drinking. I ended up driving around for hours and somehow found myself over there. I hadn’t planned on going. No one plans on going to that hell hole. Anyway, I saw her on the street corner with her pimp and just pulled up like I was looking for some action.
Hell, I even paid! I gave the money to her pimp and was instructed to drive around the block until she was finished. When I rounded the corner, out of sight, I floored it and beat it out of there like I was being chased by the devil himself. I’m not saying this to brag. I mention it in passing because it’s still so vivid in my memory.
The last I heard, she was doing well. She’s in the women’s shelter that the diocese runs, and had even gotten a part-time job waiting tables at a local diner. I hope she makes it! She’s not out of the woods yet. That’s an easy lifestyle to fall back into if you’re not careful. It makes me shiver to think about it.
I find it funny how I remember that but can’t remember what I did a few nights ago. I’d gotten really drunk, and all I know is that I woke up in my clothes with my shoes still on. The odd thing is, there was grass and dirt on my shoes. It’s almost like I had gone for a jog in the park.
Speaking of the park. I heard there was a man found dead in the street right next to it the other day. Another one God couldn’t save, but I guess he was set free. That's morbid, wait!
Oh my God, NO!