Revised Chapter: Lead Us Not Into Temptation

Nov 9, 2011 | Filed in Book | 5 Comments

Thank you for the feedback on the opening chapter of my book. I’ve talked with a group of people about it and also done some editing over the past few days. I believe this new version of the chapter is an improvement.

I was surprised to learn that everyone who read the chapter kind of liked Father Robert. (I wanted you to hate him.) They disagreed with his beliefs, but they still wanted to learn more about him.

Charismatic is a word that might describe him. But I’m happy with this feedback and have decided to run with it. Maybe if you like him, you’ll feel sad when he dies. The important thing is that you felt something. This tells me I’ve created a multi-dimensional character that you believe is real. Exciting!

Here’s the new version. Again, please tell me your thoughts on it. Thank you!

 

1

LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION

 

The phone rang, breaking the quiet tranquility on a Thursday morning. Father Robert was planning the church readings for the month ahead.

“St. Anthony’s Church, how can I help you?”

“Do you believe in God?” asked the raspy voiced man on the other end.

“Excuse me?”

“God. Do you believe in God?”

“Of course I do. What a ridiculous question.”

“I’m glad you believe in God, Father Robert. You’re gonna meet him when I gut you like a fish.” The caller started laughing. The sound was thick and rocky, like a heavy smoker. “In fact, I’m gonna stick a knife in your chest and rip out your heart like you ripped out mine.”

“Look, I don’t know what this is about,” Father Robert’s voice began to tremble, “but I’m sure we can talk about it.”

“Expect a surprise today.”

Click. The line went dead.

Father Robert sat paralyzed with fear, staring off into space from behind his desk.

Who would say such angry things?, he wondered to himself.

The front door of the rectory office swung open and the mail woman, Mary Anne, came marching in.

“Good morning, Father Robert. How are you?”

Robert remained motionless in his brown leather chair. His hands were hanging limply off the armrests.

“Hello-o-o! Earth to Father Robert. Did you hear me?” She waved her hand in front of his face.

“Mmm?”

“I’m just gonna put your mail right here on the side of the desk. Are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“Mmm… What’s that?”

“I said you look like—”

“Sorry, I was just, um… Trying to remember someone’s name. I’m sorry, Mary Anne. How are you today?”

“Just fine, thank you. But I was hoping you’d be here because—”

“Good. Well just put the mail over there, please.”

Robert refocused on his surroundings and frantically pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk to search through folders. He noticed Mary Anne was still standing in the room.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Well, I was saying that I was hoping you’d be in your office today. I wanted to talk to you, but I can see you’re in the middle of something.”

She turned slowly to walk away, as if she wanted to be stopped.

“Mary Anne, wait.” He sighed. “I do kind of need to find something. But what’s the matter? Here, sit down. Take a load off.”

She came forward hesitantly. The old, rickety chair in front of the desk creaked as she squeezed her full figure into it, trying to get comfortable.

“It’s about my son… Justin. I found out he’s… he’s… homosexual.” She paused for dramatic effect, waiting for a reaction.

Robert’s expression remained unchanged. He rested his elbows on his desk, hands together in the shape of a steeple in front of his mouth as he listened thoughtfully.

“How old is Justin now? 15?”

“He turned 16 last month. And a few days ago, I came home and found him in bed with his friend Caleb. I just don’t know what to do. Is he going to Hell?”

Robert leaned back in his chair, glancing down at the open drawer which was calling to him. But he ignored it and tried to focus on the question.

“Well, this is a serious problem, Mary Anne. This kind of behavior is condemned. If we don’t stop your son from doing this, and ask for the Lord’s forgiveness, then yes, it could mean very bad things.”

“He says he’s happy with Caleb. He says he deserves to experience love just like any other human. And I don’t know how to argue with that.”

“Of course he’s happy. Alcoholics are happy too, but that doesn’t mean what they’re doing is right. Drug addicts, thieves, child molesters. They all enjoy what they do.”

Mary Anne was silent for a moment. She pulled a wadded up tissue out of her navy colored shorts and carefully blotted the tears from her plump freckled cheeks.

“Do you think you can talk to him, Father Robert?” Her crystal blue eyes looked bloodshot and tired.

“I can certainly try.” He leaned forward to hold her hands across the desk. “We have a gay recovery program now. If you brought your family to service regularly, you’d know about it.”

She looked away with shame. “I don’t think Justin will go for any of this. Can you really cure homosexuality?”

“Homosexuality is a sickness and there may be no cure. But we can teach him to control his urges and resist his temptations, similar to the therapy a drug addict goes through.”

“Well… It sounds like a good option.”

“We’ve just finished our first year of offering it and we’ve seen some real progress with our patients. It’s completely private and we only see people for individual sessions. Nobody gets to know who else is in the program and we schedule the appointments with 30 minutes in between to ensure that nobody crosses paths coming or going.”

“Let me talk it over with my husband and see what he thinks. Then we’ll talk to Justin.” She sighed with relief. “It really makes me feel better to know there’s hope. I’ve hardly slept at all these past few nights. This secret has been eating me up inside.”

“We’re going to fix him. With God, all things are possible.”

Robert squeezed her hand for extra reassurance. The sun shined through the ratty old plastic blinds, lighting up his brown eyes with a star-like brilliance. Tiny wrinkles outlined the edges when he smiled and lent a bit of wisdom and comfort to what he was saying.

“Thank you, Father. I’m taking some time off so we can visit our family for the weekend, so I won’t be stopping in tomorrow or Saturday. But I’ll see you on Monday and will let you know what we’ve decided.”

“Ah, well remember the mail doesn’t run on Labor Day. But I’ll see you next Tuesday and look forward to hearing the outcome. In the mean time, I’ll be saying an extra prayer for your son. And I hope to see your family’s faces in the pews sometime soon.”

She nodded and got up from the chair, gathered her large bag from the floor and left.

Robert’s attention moved to the pile of unopened mail at the edge of the desk. He sorted through ads about Labor Day sales on furniture, cars, electronics. Finally he came across a typed envelope addressed to him personally. There was no return address but the postmark revealed it had been sent locally in Nashville.

He tore open the top and pulled out a 4×6 photo. It was a snapshot of him sleeping in his bed, taken at close range. A sharp hunting knife with a gut hook on the end was being pointed at his throat.

Robert turned pale with shock.

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I'm a happily married gay man, self employed as a website designer, writing about my life and the world as I see it.
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