“Confession offers a safe place for people to lay themselves bare without judgement. It’s not uncommon for people to reveal things that they would never tell another soul.”
“But what makes this different from talking to you out there? I could barely get the words out when we were sitting in the pews. What makes this shitty little box so special?”
A pitiful smile quirked the corner of Cantrell’s lips. He rested his head against the back of the booth. “If I had to guess, it’s the perceived anonymity. I am not supposed to know who’s on the other side of the booth, and if I do, I am bound by the rite of confession to keep whatever is said within these walls a secret until my dying breath.”
“That’s a little fucking morbid,” Illias scoffed.
“It is, isn’t it?” Cantrell recalled all the confessions he’s taken over the past several years since joining Revived Faith. All the good, bad, and ugly. Secrets, sins, and life stories. Through confession, he experienced a hundred lives. As long as he remained a priest, he supposed he would live a hundred more. “Though, there is beauty in it.”
“In hearing people bitch about their lives and tell you about all the awful things they’ve done?” Illas let out a rough laugh. “How so?”
“When a person comes to confess their sins, or to simply use confession as a way to talk about something that they havebeen holding on to, they are choosing to trust another person with their heart, their soul. Even if they trust no one, not even themselves.” Cantrell raised his rosary to eye level. A simple wooden necklace he got at the beginning of seminary. A symbol of his faith and devotion. His loyalty to God. “They trust me to bring them from the darkness and into the light.”
“Do you think everyone can be brought into the light?”
Cantrell remembered asking similar questions before he joined seminary. Back when his life was nothing but sin and filth. Before he learned that everyone was granted rebirth regardless of their wrongdoings. “I do.”
“Even those that hate their stepdad?” Illias sounded like a child, frightened that they were to be punished for something out of their control.
Cantrell wished he could comfort Illias. Offer a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on. “The Bible teaches us to respect our parents, but it also teaches that parents should respect their children in Colossians and Ephesians. So yes, even those that hate their father are capable of being forgiven by God so long as they seek absolution.”
“Guess that means I’ve done my part, then, huh?” Illias asked in a somewhat playful manner despite the rawness of his voice.
“You’ve done your part.”
Cantrell could feel the weight of the world on the breath Illias released. Like he was letting go of everything he held on to in a single breath. Perhaps he was.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this. I-I really needed this. To talk to someone, I mean.”
“I am more than happy to talk with you at any time, be it out there or in here,” Cantrell said and his heart jumped like he admitted something he should not have.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, again, Father.”
Before Cantrell could say another word, the confessional booth slid open and the sound of footsteps filled the nave. He stayed in the booth for a moment longer, conflicted as to whether he was successful in nurturing the relationship he was meant to have with Illias or not. Regardless, Cantrell prayed, rather selfishly, that Illias would visit again.
Chapter Six
Illias
“Fathers, provoke not your children to anger, lest they be discouraged.”
- Colossians 3:21 KJV
Illias saw lights through the closed blinds the closer he got to the place he used to call home. He frowned, knowing his mom was waiting for him despite him living on his own for years. He remembered when he was younger how she would leave the lights on for him anytime he ran away.No matter what,you are always welcome here, she told him one night when he came home soaked to the bone and muddy. She picked the leaves and twigs from his hair, cleaned his hands. When she was done, she placed her hands on his dirt-stained cheeks and promised she would always leave the lights on until he came back.
He wondered how long she kept them on after that night he left home for good.
Lifting the doormat, he found the key in the same spot he put it at thirteen. He carefully opened the door and slipped in. His mom was curled up in her recliner, phone clutched in a python grip despite being asleep.Call me any time you need,I’ll always pick up, a memory of her reminded him. Careful not to wake her, he pulled the blanket off the back of the recliner, covering her up. Then he removed her phone from her hand and placed it on the charger. Before he left, he switched on the lamp in case she woke up to go upstairs or use the bathroom then flicked off the overhead light. Certain that he had covered all the bases, he crept towards the door.
“Illias?” she mumbled. “Is that you?”
He sighed softly, stopping in his tracks. “Yeah.”
The chair creaked beneath her as she shifted. “Are you okay?”
