For The Love Of God

Chapter 1

Confession

God forgives only those who are truly sorry for their sins.

These words of his grandmothers always caused ripples in Brian’s mind like a circling shark as he waited for his weekly Confession. This week was no different. The door of the confessional box awaited him like the gaping jaws of a great white. As he rocked back and forth on his feet, reciting his sins over in his head, Brian was feeling very remorseful. 

I disobeyed my parents. 

I said three bad words.

I kicked and punched my brother Patrick. 

I broke my mother’s statue of Our Lady, hid it under my bed and haven’t told her yet. 

I cheated during my spelling test at school.

Brian knew there was one more sin that he had committed but just couldn’t remember it. He had written them down on a piece of paper, like always, learning them off by heart in the car on the way to the chapel. But now it had disappeared right out of his head. 

Slipping his hand into his pocket, he felt the paper, running his fingers over it a few times to see if it would jog his memory. However, that didn’t work.

He was certain he hadn’t stolen anything. Last week he had to admit to stealing a Custard Cream. His mother had warned him not to have any before dinner. Even though the Seventh Commandment – Thou shalt not steal – was ringing in his ears at the time, the temptation had been just too great. Custard Creams were his favourite biscuits. Stealing was always one of the hardest sins to confess – even harder than confessing to saying those terrible words that started with the letters ‘f’, ‘b’ and particularly ‘c’. 

With his fingers locked behind his back, he glanced at the doors of the two confessionals boxes – the place where the sins of the parish were laid bare. He then focused his attention on the huge circular stained-glass window behind the altar. In the centre was a multi-coloured Jesus, surrounded by his disciples, who were also in glorious technicolour. He had his arms outstretched, reaching out to His flock. Jesus didn’t look happy. No wonder, thought Brian – He was looking down at a chapel full of sinners. 

Saint Benedicts chapel was built in the late 19th century just after the Great Famine. The roof soared towards Heaven, dark wooden beams criss-crossing each other. Four arched stained-glass windows, on either side of the aisle, depicted various scenes from the Bible. Next to the benches in the chancel where the choristers sat, was a statue of Our Lady who looked down on the baptismal font. She was cradling the baby Jesus. 

The chapel was a place where the locals congregated every Sunday and Holy Days to pray and discuss the events of the past week. It was where rumours started, gossip seeping through the pews like a stench rising from a steaming cesspit; where Christening, Communions and Confirmations were celebrated and coffins passed through, making final journeys to the adjoining graveyard. Saint Benedicts was the beating heart of the community.

Usually Brian only had three or four sins to confess, but this week he seemed to have been busy sinning. It was only four days into 1985 and he had already committed six sins. On New Year’s Day he had promised God that he would walk away from the evils (and temptations) of the world. Somehow, he had managed to break that promise already.

His younger brother Michael was standing next to him picking his nose – as usual. Brian nudged him, gave him a reproachful look and in a hushed voice told him to stop. Michael immediately withdrew the guilty finger, wiping it on his new coat, leaving a greenish yellow trail across the front pocket. Brian did pick his nose, but never in public and certainly not in the chapel.