Page 71 of Priest (Priest 1)
“But then I realized that the danger of preaching this was that you might walk out of this building today with an image of God as a small and narrow god—a god as small and narrow as that gate. I realized that you could walk out of here and believe—really and truly believe—that if you fail once, if you slip and act like the messy, flawed human that you are, that God doesn’t want you.”
The congregation was silent. I was treading outside of normal Catholic territory here and they knew it, but I wasn’t afraid. In fact, I felt more at peace than I ever had delivering a homily.
“The Jesus of Mark’s Gospel is a strange god. He is terse, enigmatic, inscrutable. His teachings are stark and relentlessly demanding. He talks about things we would consider either miraculous or insane—speaking in tongues, handling snakes, drinking poisons. And yet, he is also the same god we encounter in Matthew 22, who tells us that the greatest commandments—the only rules we need to abide by—are loving God with all of our hearts and all of our souls and all of our minds, and loving our neighbors as ourselves.
“So which Jesus is right? What rubric should we use when we’re confronted by challenge and change? Do we focus on pruning out all evil, or do we focus on growing love?”
I stepped out behind the lectern, needing to move as I talked, as I thought my way through what I wanted to say.
“I think the answer is that we follow this call from Mark to live righteously, but the caveat being that we have to redefine righteousness for ourselves. What is a righteous life? It is a life where you love God and love your neighbor. Jesus tells us how to love in the Gospel of St. John—there is no greater love than to lay your life for your friends. And Jesus showed us that love when He laid down His own life. For us. His friends.”
I looked up and met Poppy’s eyes, and I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged on my mouth. She was so beautiful, even now when her forehead was wrinkled and she was biting her lip in what looked like worry.
“God is bigger than our sins. God wants you as you are—stumbling, sinning, confused. All He asks of us is love—love for Him, love for others, and love for ourselves. He asks us to lay down our lives—not to live like ascetics, devoid of any pleasure or joy, but to give Him our lives so that he may increase our joy and increase our love.”
I stared out at their upturned faces, reading their faces, which ranged from pensive to inspired to downright doubtful.
That was okay—I was going to model this sermon for them. This afternoon, I was going to call Bishop Bove and lay down my own life. I would resign from the clergy. And then I would find Poppy and I would ask her to marry me.
I would live my life awash with love, just as God had intended.
“This won’t come easy to us Catholics. In a way, it’s easier to dwell on sin and guilt than it is to dwell on love and forgiveness—especially love and forgiveness for yourself. But that’s what’s been promised to us, and I for one, will not refuse God’s promise of a full, love-filled life. Will you?”
I stepped back behind the lectern, exhaling with relief. I’d said what I needed to say.
And now it was time to lay down my life.
I couldn’t find Poppy after Mass, but that was okay. I wanted to call the bishop right away, while my mind and spirit were certain. I wanted to move forward, I wanted to explore this new life, and I wanted to start exploring it right the hell now.
It wasn’t until I was actually dialing Bishop Bove’s number that the full, complex reality of what I was doing sank in.
I would be leaving the congregation in a lurch—they would need visiting priests until they could find a new one to stay at St. Margaret’s. Worse, I was echoing the departure o
f my predecessor. Yes, I was leaving to marry, not because I was being arrested, but still. Would it feel the same to my parishioners?
No more work at panels and conventions, crusading for purity in the clergy. No more work in Lizzy’s name, on Lizzy’s behalf. No more youth groups and men’s groups, no more pancake breakfasts.
Was I really ready to give all that up for a life with Poppy?
For the first time, the answer was a definitive yes. Because I wouldn’t really be giving all that up. I would find ways to serve as a layperson; I would do God’s work in other ways and other places.
Bishop Bove didn’t answer—it was still early in the afternoon, and he could be wrapped up with his congregation after Mass. Part of me knew that I should wait, should speak with him personally, rather than leave a message, but I couldn’t wait, couldn’t even think about waiting; even though there would be more conversations involved than just this voicemail, I still wanted to start the process before I went to Poppy. I wanted to come to her as a free man, able to offer my heart completely and without reservation.
As soon as I heard the tone, I started speaking. I tried to keep my message brief, direct, because it was impossible to explain everything clearly without also delving into my sins and broken vows, and that at least, I really would rather not do on a voicemail.
After I finished leaving my thirty second resignation, I hung up and stared at the wall of my bedroom for a minute. I’d done it. It was really happening.
I was done being a priest.
I didn’t have a ring, and on my salary, I couldn’t go out and buy one, but I did go to the rectory garden to pick a bouquet of anemones, all snow white petals and jet-black middles, and tied the stems together with yarn from the Sunday School room. The flowers were elegant without being flashy, just like her, and I stared at them as I crossed the park to her house, my heart in my throat.
What would I say? How would I say it? Should I get down on one knee or is that something they only did in the movies? Should I wait until I could afford a ring? Or at least had more than unemployment on my horizon?
I knew that she loved me, that she wanted a future with me, but what if I was moving too fast? What if instead of an ecstatic yes, I got a no? Or—almost worse—an I don’t know?
I took a deep breath. Surely, this is what all men dealt with when they prepared to propose. It was just that I hadn’t ever thought a proposal was in my future, at least not for the last six years, and so I hadn’t even considered how I would do it or what I would say.
Please let her say yes, I prayed. Please, please, please.
