Sin

Father Mathis swallowed and braced his hands on the pulpit as he stared out into the congregation. They stared back silently, waiting for him to continue as thunder shook the stained glass windows and rattled the altar vases behind him. The smell of polished wood and oily candle smoke clung to the air, a suffocatingly thick cloud that made the room feel tiny and his throat feel tight.

He resisted the urge to tug at his collar, that would just give him away.

If he continued to stand there, knees bent and breath measured, maybe he could stay calm and not pass out. Maybe no one would know what was happening inside his head. He just needed to pull himself together… that was all. He just needed to continue his sermon and steady his voice.

He just needed to avoid looking at the boy on the front row.

The devil.

The one who was staring through him, smirking like he knew what he looked like naked. The one grinning like he knew Father Mathis’ hands were clammy and the inside of his thighs were damp.

Father Mathis cleared his throat and locked his eyes on the stained glass window over the narthex. Jesus holding a lamb, comforting the timid creature in its time of need. He took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the podium.

“In today’s reading Luke reminds us that to be human is to be tempted. We’re reminded that even Christ was tempted… and that’s why we follow this journey of Lent. Every year, for forty days and nights, we pack away our Alleluias and temper our joy to be reminded that temptation never flees. Not ever; not really. In verse thirteen, Luke writes, ‘When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.’”

Father Mathis stole a glance at the boy who was still staring through him, his plump lips curled into a grin. He was a standard boy. An average boy. He was nothing unusual, nothing anyone would think twice about, but Father Mathis knew better. He knew the monster that lurked beneath the boy’s skin, the one that threatened to swallow him whole if his faith wavered for even a fleeting moment.

He quickly looked back to the congregation and continued his sermon, flexing his fingers to hide the slight tremble.

“Until an opportune time… Notice Luke doesn’t say that the devil fled. No, he doesn’t claim that Christ had a victory. He doesn’t say the devil was defeated or was even disheartened. He says ‘Until an opportune time,’ because he knows what I know… and what Jesus knows… and what you know… that temptation doesn’t ever quit. It never flees; it just waits. Which means we can’t quit either. We must be vigilant.”

The boy on the front row chuckled and mumbled, “Amen.” It was a quiet sound, so soft Father Mathis wasn’t sure anyone else could hear it. But he could hear it, and the sound trickled down his spine like ice water.

“We must remember that Christ, in his great mercy, holds each of us like a lamb and if we trust him, if we lean on him, we’ll be safe in his fold.”

Father Mathis glanced down at the boy again. He was manspreading, lazily sitting alone on the front pew with his legs pulled apart, giving the priest a direct view up his khaki shorts. Father Mathis swallowed again and looked away.

“Thanks… thanks be to God,” he quickly muttered, and then descended from the pulpit as the congregation mumbled, ‘Amen,’ and the organ began to play.

Some people sang, others checked their watches and waited for lunch time. Money was collected as Father Mathis led the Boy’s Youth Choir. Prayers were said, communion was served, and the organ rattled the stone walls of the church as the cross led the recessional at the end.

But Father Mathis didn’t remember much of it.

He just remembered the blue eyes that wouldn’t release him and the thick, brown ‘Alpaca’ haircut the boys were so fond of these days. Not to mention dimples so vivid they could have been Stigmata, little puncture wounds driven as deep as nails. They were seared into his memory, mostly because he was trying not to look at the boy’s lower half.

Of course, the devil was making that difficult, spreading his legs as wide as he could and making obscene movements when no one was looking.

When the service finally ended he retreated to his study, instead of greeting the congregation as they left for the day. He closed the door behind him and locked it before finally leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He was suddenly blanketed in quiet calm and he breathed it in deep. His heart was still pounding; his hands were still slippery.

So many memories. So many feelings.

Fear and yes… lust… but mostly fear.

The soft voice of a little Philip echoing in his memory, Father Mathis, can you help me? Please…

A boy without a family that cared. A boy lost to the abyss of sin and deception, swallowed whole by the forces of darkness even as Father Mathis tried so hard to pull him from their grasp.

Please, Father… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I need to show you something…

Father Mathis had pleaded with the bishop, who disregarded him. He petitioned the archbishop, who ignored him. He even went as far as sending a letter to the papacy, to which he never received a response. He had begged God and anyone that would listen to look at the boy and see what he saw, the darkness hiding behind his eyes, and to please, please help him.

But no one could see it.

No one would listen.

And when Father Mathis’ faith weakened in a crucial moment of temptation, he had told the boy as much. He had told him, “I can pray for you, but God’s not listening…”

He wept when he heard his own voice wrap around those words and oh, how Philip had smiled.

The darkness in him grew, right before Father Mathis’ eyes and he knew it was his own doing, his own fault. Whatever depths of depravity this boy had descended into was a direct result of his lack of faith and conviction.

He knew the devil was inside him, with his sights set on Father Mathis, and he was shamefully relieved when he had disappeared and he could pretend none of it had happened. He could put it out of his mind and forget the guilty temptations that had rocked through him.

The devil had departed from him until an opportune time. For several years he had been given peace and then on this seemingly innocent Sunday morning, it was stolen from him.

Father Mathis had barely disrobed when the quiet knock rapped against his door. He wasn’t ready. Is anyone ever really ready?

“The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want…”

“I can hear you, Father,” Philip said quietly through the door, “but can He?”

Father Mathis ignored him and swallowed hard. The boy’s voice was unnatural. It was still Philip, yes… but it was deeper and darker. Older. Like something had stretched out the chords and mutated the harmonies.

“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me–”

“That’s right, Father. Let’s have a lie down…”

The lock twisted over with a click and the door swung open, revealing the disheveled figure of the boy staring back at him. His curls were messy; his clothes weren’t tattered but they weren’t tidy, either. One side of his dress shirt was untucked and his shoes were untied.

His shorts were unzipped and Father Mathis tried not to notice, but the boy made it impossible.

He pointed to it and grinned.

“Looks like I forgot to zip up. Father Mathis, can you help me? Please…”

Father Mathis swallowed and shook his head, trying to get the boy’s voice out of his mind. Father Mathis, can you help me? It sounded exactly like it had years before, before the devil had stolen his faith and disappeared into the night.

“You… you can’t be here. This is h-hallowed ground.”

Philip giggled and shrugged as he stepped into the office. It was a horrible sound, the innocent voice of Philip’s youth infected by the depths of hell.

“Burns a little, but you get used to it. It’s kinda’ like cheap lube.”

Father Mathis took another step back, trying to keep his distance as he shook his head.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“That’s why I’m here, Father. You’ve really been missing out.”

Father Mathis pulled a small crucifix from under his shirt and held it up as the devil stepped closer.

“Stop. Right there… no closer.”

Philip paused and grinned at the crucifix, as if he was curious.

“I’ve always wondered what that felt like, haven’t you? I always wondered if the nails hurt when they penetrated him… or if he liked it. He was kind of kinky, you know. Jesus, what a sub…” Philip suddenly laughed, wildly and without abandon, making Father Mathis nearly drop the crucifix. “You see what I did there? God, I love a pun.”

Thunder rumbled and Philip giggled as he put a hand over his mouth.

“Oops.”

“Get back… Get out, or… or…”

“Or what, Father? You won’t hurt me… you don’t want to hurt me, not while I’m inside little Philip, here. No, you’d rather do other things… naughty things.”

“I… I’ll call the police,” Father Mathis sputtered, his hands trembling.

“And tell them what?” Philip asked, stepping closer. “That sweet little Philip came into your office to ask you for help and you turned him away? Again? That you told him… what was it? ‘God’s not listening?’”

“I… I didn’t…”

“Or I could tell them about the three gray hairs mixed in with all the brown hiding under your pants… or the freckle sitting just above your balls… or the vein that sticks out on the top of your shaft… You know, from when you showed him.”

“I didn’t…” Father Mathis’ nostrils flared.

The devil was messing with him now. He hadn’t ever shown the boy, not on purpose. He’d stepped out of the shower one day and somehow Philip had managed to get inside his room. He found him lying in his bed, half dressed and grinning at him, fingers running up and down his body.

Mathis had been furious and immediately told him to leave, but a fat lot of good that would do if the boy ever decided to use it against him. It would be Philip’s word against his own and that was nearly five years ago, when the boy was barely thirteen.

“Satan,” Father Mathis growled, “get thee behind me.”

“Gladly, Father… just bend over.”

Father Mathis clenched his teeth and stepped forward, holding up the crucifix like a shield.

“Get out!”

“What’s wrong, Father? Am I too old for you now?”

Father Mathis took a deep breath and a final step closer, the crucifix dangling just a few inches from Philip’s face. He had a brief rush of confidence. The devil had overplayed his hand.

“You’re grasping at straws now, Satan. You know that’s not something I struggle with… I’ve resisted you. I’ve passed the test… now, get out.”

Father Mathis grinned triumphantly, but only for a moment.

His confidence started to waver as the devil licked his lips and smiled wide.

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. You like a little grass on the field…” He flicked the button on Philip’s shorts and they tumbled to his ankles. He wasn’t wearing a stitch of fabric underneath. “Is this bushy enough?”