Chapter Text
It was Saturday evening and Steve was sitting in the confessional box, counting his rosary, waiting for the next person to enter. Twice a month, he held confession, and it always brought a decent sized crowd. He had asked what they liked, face to face confession, or the use of the old fashioned confession box that made use of a small latticework screen that obscured their face. Nearly everyone was in favor of the confession box, so that’s what he went with.
It was an old one, older than Steve would ever be, he thought. It was dark walnut wood, with beautiful engravings of crosses and flourishes. The doorknobs were worn brass with some patina, and inside it was dark, save for what little light came out the sides of the cross-shaped holes that were above Steve’s head, and whoever would be on the other side. The box smelled woody, with hints of the incense they used during mass sometimes. It was weirdly comforting, Steve found.
Before Steve could move on to the next bead of his rosary, he heard the other side’s door open slowly, and someone sat down. Steve looked up and at the lattice screen that concealed most of who was on the other side.
“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” came a man’s voice.
“And how long has it been since your last confession?” Steve asked. Most people didn’t greet him. He understood why.
“A few months, maybe a year? I’m not sure,” the man said. He sounded uneasy.
“What would you like to confess?” Steve asked. He folded his hands in his lap, rosary between them, and closed his eyes, ready to listen. People told him all sorts of things. All sorts of sins. There wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, he felt like.
“Uh…,” the man began. Steve heard him huff.
“You’re alright, this stays between us and the Lord, you know that,” Steve said. He heard the man shift in his seat. He then heard him sigh.
“Well, Father, uh,” he began, “I have been masturbating,” he said very quickly. Steve nodded. He had heard worse.
“Is this something you have trouble with often?” Steve asked. There was a pause.
“I try really hard not to. I just, sometimes I just have to ,” the man admitted. Steve opened his eyes.
“Why do you feel like you have to?” Steve asked.
“Because I feel like I’ll go crazy if I don’t,” he said quietly. Steve nodded.
“Have you considered doing other things to occupy your mind? Go for a run? Gardening? Baking? You know you need to abstain, maybe try doing something else so you can help yourself to,” Steve offered up. There was a silence.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” the man finally said, “Thank you,” he added.
“Of course. Now is there anything else you would like to confess?” Steve asked.
“No, Father,” the man said.
“For your penance I think saying a rosary, and focusing on the Glorious Mysteries would do you well. May almighty God have mercy upon you, and having forgiven your sins, lead you to eternal life. Amen,” Steve said. He heard the other man offer up a weak “Amen” in response, and the door opened and closed, and the man was gone.
Another two weeks would go by and it came time for another evening confession. Steve finished getting his blond bangs out of his face and made sure his collar was on nicely before he stepped out of the bathroom in the Sacristy and headed to the confession box. There already were a few people here in the dimly lit cathedral. Some praying, some counting their rosary beads, some anxiously wringing their hands. Steve was happy to serve them. He always had been. Serving others had been a huge reason he became a priest in the first place.
He closed the confessional door behind him and got comfortable. This time he had a small bible in his hands. He would glance at it in between parishioners, he had decided. He had been re-reading the Psalms. He quite liked them. Always had. After a few minutes the door opened and someone sat down.
“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been two weeks since my last confession,” the man said. Steve recognized the voice. He had been at the last confession Steve had held, but so much had happened since then he wasn’t able to remember what they had talked about.
“What would you like to confess?” Steve asked simply.
“I did it again,” the man said quietly, sounding defeated.
“Did what?” Steve asked.
“I masturbated,” he said quietly. It all came back to him.
“Ah, I see. Did any of my suggestions help you?” Steve asked.
“Yes. For a while. I lasted a lot longer than usual,” the man said, “Wait sorry you probably don’t want to hear that, sorry Father,” the man said. Steve chuckled.
“I hear lots of things, it’s okay,” Steve replied, trying his best to sound reassuring. And that was the truth. He knew all about the affairs of the church, secret children, lies people told to who about what, Steve knew it all. “Is there anything else you wish to confess?” Steve added. There was a pause again.
“I watched porn this time,” the man said. Steve nodded. He himself probably hadn’t seen porn since he was a teen and he was pushing thirty as it was. But he was human, and he understood the appeal.
“Oh?” Steve said. He pursed his lips.
“Gay porn,” the man added.
“Oh,” Steve replied. That hit close to home for him. Steve was gay himself, but never pursued a homosexual relationship. He thought priesthood would at least help him sort that out, but he was still gay. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. But it was between him and God now, it was something he kept inside. Hidden. He had never told another soul. Not even his mother, God rest her. Every time someone came in and confessed anything to do with homosexuality, it pained him, and it made him doubt. He felt like a hypocrite when a parishioner would come to him, desperate for advice, and there he was, doling it out like he himself wasn’t what they feared they were, or their sons and daughters were. Was it a lie? He could not tell.
“Are you a homosexual?” Steve asked.
“Yes,” the man said back, sounding sad. Steve hated that. He hated it with his whole being.
“You are aware that being a homosexual isn’t a sin, right? However, it is your cross to bear in life. It’s only acting on it when it becomes sinful,” Steve said, remembering his teachings and what the Catechism had said.
“I know. I just, I’m-,” the man cut himself off.
“You’re what?”
“Lonely,” he said with a huff. Like he might cry in the confessional. It wouldn’t be the first time. It’s why Steve had put in a little shelf and set a box of tissues upon it for his parishioners. Steve sighed. He understood that feeling deeply. He lived alone in a rectory that was attached to the church he worked at. Sister Mary Immaculate from the local order would stop by twice a week to check on him. Sometimes she brought food or baked goods. Steve thought for a moment before speaking.
“Do you think it is your loneliness that drives you to do these things?” Steve asked.
“Maybe?” the man managed to say. Steve was thankful for the screen separating them. He wasn’t sure if he could steady his facial expressions. He thought about himself and his own lonliness. Sometimes he feared it would eat him whole.
“Why don’t you come to donut Sunday tomorrow? Get some socialization going on? I think you’ll find that you’re a lot less lonely than you realize,” Steve said. The man made a noise of agreement. “And keep working on my suggestions. Maybe even put content blockers on your phone or your laptop if you feel you need to,”.
“Thank you, Father,” the man replied dutifully.
“Is that all you wish to talk about?” Steve asked. He could see the man nodding through the lattice screen.
“Very well,” Steve said. He gave him a penance to perform and absolved him of his sins. The man thanked him hastily and left. Steve wondered if he did a good job, and wondered about the man for the rest of the evening. He wondered about him on his short walk home, and had him on his mind as he got ready for bed. Steve got out of his black clerical clothing and stood in his small, simple room in his boxers and looked at his own body. He understood the man’s predicament, and wished wholeheartedly that he didn’t. Steve sighed and slipped into his sleep pants and tank top and went to bed. He had an early morning. Sunday’s were always his busiest day. He thought it was funny that it was like that, given that it was the “Lord’s Day” and he was supposed to rest. He never did seem to ever rest on Sunday’s. Maybe on sabbatical he finally could. Whenever that would be.