A Latino cowboy at the church door! Maria wonders, stopping by the pine tree on the sidewalk a few yards before the church door.
He is not exactly a cowboy, but he is wearing a cowboy hat, a vest that is worn-out and unbuttoned, and dusty jeans. Some dark red stains—hopefully not blood—are noticeable on his brown leather boots with thick soles. He seems to want to enter but somehow cannot make the last move to stretch out his hand and remove the green curtain behind the wide open door. His hand! Where is his hand? His left hand must be amputated from the elbow down, making the bottom of the sleeve of his checkered shirt loose. Poor child!
Maria remembers her own son, Jesus, who has not returned her calls for…for too long. It started shortly after he stopped coming to Sunday masses. Jesus turned his back on God and now on his mother. But Maria has held on to her faith; there will be light at the end of this endless tunnel. One of these days, Jesus will return her call and will apologize for the past, and Maria will persuade him to join back the flock of His sheep. Someday soon, hopefully. But today is the cowboy’s turn to be saved.
Maria stays back and watches him for about a minute. Patience is a precious trait that she has attained through the countless hardships of her life. The wrinkles that have appeared too early on her 49-year-old black face testify that life has not been too kind to her. But thanks to her prayers and the blessing of the church, she has never lost faith. She has always been grateful to the Lord and never has had any complaints. Except for one little wish, perhaps: she wants her son back.
While exhaling smoke through his nose, the cowboy extends his good hand toward the curtain.
Maria smiles. One more soul will be saved today. Hopefully, before entering the sacred house, the cowboy will put out the cigarette that dangles from his lips, and also will take off his hat.
The cowboy retracts his hand again, exhaling smoke through his nose.
Sigh, Maria cannot wait forever. Father Kelly has summoned her to the church, and if there is one thing he hates more than a shaken belief, it would be being late. Being as punctual as the Rolex that shines on his hand, he would absolve someone of a massacre of a thousand babies in a matter of seconds, but has no forgiveness for a sinner who keeps him waiting in the confession booth.
“Are you coming in, son?” Maria asks the cowboy, getting nervous about the time.
While taking a drag on his cigarette, the cowboy turns his scarred face to Maria.
She jumps back a little at first when she sees the scars—who wouldn’t?—but quickly pulls herself back together. She gulps and reassures herself, Nothing to be scared of. Although the scars imply a history of violence, beyond that hard exterior there must be a heart with a capacity for love. After all, this is the house of God, and not everyone deserves to be at its doorstep. The Lord, in His omniscience, must see a light in the cowboy’s future, and Maria is not in a position to question His knowledge, decisions, or authority. Obedience to God means to hear, trust, submit and surrender to God and his Word, Maria remembers the words of Father Kelly.
While exhaling smoke out of his nose, the cowboy’s glance lingers on Maria’s face and then on her chest.
Maria’s hand impulsively reaches her chest, feeling the rusty cross necklace resting on her buttoned-up gray dress.
He lifts his gaze onto her face again. While biting the cigarette with his brownish teeth, the cowboy exhales smoke through his teeth.
Maria does not rush him, returning his glare with a kind smile.
“There is this little Black girl,” he says eventually, with his good hand taking the cigarette out of his mouth, “that is still freaking me out. There was… When…”—He lowers his gaze—“The look she gave me—”
“Son,” Maria interrupts. “I don’t work here. I’m a sinner myself, coming here to pray.”
“Fine with me,” he says, almost shrugging his shoulders. “That look…that look that she gave me when—”
“But laypersons are never allowed to hear confessions,” Maria says, being firm this time. “You want to see Father Kelly.”
“Do I?” he sneers and puts the cigarette back in between his lips. “And how much does this Father charge per confession?” he asks after taking another drag on his cigarette.
“Charge?”
“Yeah, the fee.”
“The fee? Ah… I’m not sure. It’s been a while for me. But donations are voluntary, it used to be, although highly encouraged.”
“Is that so?” the cowboy sneers, the blank look on his face showing no indication of him being convinced. “Let me tell you something I learned in Guadalajara.” Holding the cigarette between his two fingers, he points it at Maria. “You could be the nicest guy in the whole world, but no one would give you a free lap dance,” he says, his voice dripping with hatred.
“But—”
“No one,” he says, emphasizing the negation by waving his cigarette, and then he turns to leave without waiting for Maria’s reaction.
This all must be part of the Lord’s plan for her. Perhaps this is Maria’s mission: saving the scarred cowboy. And then the Lord would reward her by saving Jesus. A quid-pro-quo kind of deal. “My dear,” she calls.
The cowboy stops right away like a lassoed wild horse. In an ironic turn of events, the symbol of horsemanship in the wild west becomes the target of the chase.
Excited about her impossible catch, Maria says, “Come on, son,” dashing toward the door.
After a short pause, he slowly turns back to Maria and the church.
“Let’s get in together,” she says while removing the green curtain. “I’ll introduce you to Father Kelly. He’s the man of God. Trust me.” She steps aside and holds the curtain open for him. Patiently waiting for him to make his mind up, with her kind look she invites him to the inside. To the sacred house of God, where the open arms of Father Kelly will baptize him and the holy water washes his sins away.
Despite the twisted expression on his face that speaks of his hesitance, the cowboy steps toward her as if he is being pulled by an invisible lasso.
Maria smiles. The Lord indeed works in mysterious ways; this time through Maria.
With the cigarette still between his lips, the cowboy bows and sticks his head inside the church.
Maria wishes he would remove his hat first, but that is OK. One step at a time.
“Holy Mother of God!” he exclaims. “This place is as deserted as a cursed Mayan’s ruins!”
What in God’s name is he talking about? Maria thinks about his impossible description of the most popular Church in town. Removing the curtain further open, she also joins him and sticks her head inside. The cowboy is not wrong. The church is empty; except for an old couple sitting on a bench in the middle, and a homeless-looking fella snoring in the back. “Yeah,” Maria gasps. “I don’t understand. It used to be filled with prayers, I swear.”
“This dump freaks me out,” the cowboy retracts his head.
“Are you leaving?!” Maria asks, disappointed that the Lord’s plan did not work out. Standing by the door, she is still holding the curtain open for him.
“I’m not getting in this damned dump, even if it were half-price,” the cowboy says and turns to leave.
“Have faith, son.” Maria finds herself shouting that.
The cowboy stops but does not turn back. Over his shoulder, he glances at Maria.
Maria should say something quick before she loses the cowboy’s attention. Her heart beating fast, she thinks hard to remember the lines from the last Father Kelly’s mass. “Have faith, and He will speak to you. He’ll save you only if you have faith.”
The cowboy takes the burnt-out cigarette out of his mouth and exhales the last puff of smoke. “I’ve taken care of many assholes,” he responds over his shoulder, “some as faithful as shit.” He flicks the cigarette butt on the church door and walks away.
Maria ponders on the cowboy’s nonsense as she watches him leave. Is it not ironic that sometimes nonsense makes more sense than the truth? When the only right becomes blurry, unrecognizable from the many wrongs. She still holds the curtain open, not sure if it is for him to enter or for her to exit. Oh Lord, not the impure thoughts again! The thoughts that breed doubts. Doubt: the cancer that creeps into your chest, and once it takes over your heart, it exiles you from the refuge of faith, abandoning you lonely and defenseless in the middle of a Godless void. Oh, the horror!
Maria touches the rusty cross necklace on her chest. As if the Lord has just spoken to her, she feels her heart filled with confidence right away. Is certainty not the ultimate cure that our troubled hearts need? Having the sinful doubts inspired by the devil washed away, she follows her shadow and enters the house of God. The curtain closes behind her, blocking the outside light that accompanies her. Passing by the homeless man who badly needs a shower more than he needs faith, she steps through the empty benches.
Maria remembers the time that each bench was fuller than the other. As she walks along the aisle, her eyes lock on the second bench on the right. It used to be Jesus’ favorite—when he was a child. He would come here with Maria every single Sunday. He would kneel, join his cute little hands together, and pray for a chocolate ice cream after the mass is finished. And Maria would kiss him and pray for his growth to become an exemplary God-fearing Christian.
What went wrong? Maria thinks and takes her eyes off the empty wooden bench. She does not know, but she knows someone who does.
Maria steps toward the office of Father Kelly in the back, where the answers lie.
Maria stands by the empty office of Father Kelly. Thirty-four years. She has been coming to this church for thirty-four years now, and yet this is the first time she gets to see the secret office in the back. The door is wide open, yet Maria is hesitant to enter. Something tells her that she does not belong here. The whole office is artfully decorated with furniture that she only sees on TV, from the antique, giant wall clock overlooking the room from above, to the oil paintings that must be centuries old, and finally to the reddish-brown desk that proudly says ‘Made in Brazil’ on its label. The giant armchair behind it somehow reminds her of Game of Thrones. Nope. Such fancy places are not made to receive poor laypeople.
As a single mom, her biggest challenge has been managing the finances. Thanks to her prayers and the blessing of the church, she has managed to overcome the financial problems, most of the time. Maria holds her purse close, attempting to conceal the patch sewn on the left side of her shirt. As she does, she notices the broken handle of her purse, which is stitched together with copper wire. If only she had her scarf to cover up the purse. Nope. She does not belong here.
The wall clock chimes ‘Ding Dong’, declaring the time as 2 pm, exactly when Father Kelly expects her. Otto was quite insistent about it over the phone. He is almost the same age as Jesus, and yet has grown to be a fine servant to God’s servant—Father Kelly. And what does Jesus do instead? Degrading himself to be a slave to that godless, slimy salesman, Morgan, feeding his endless avarice day after day. If only Jesus would listen. Maria lets out a heavy sigh. She enters and sits on the white sofa facing Father’s desk. Her black hand is in sharp contrast with the all-white leather sofa. She immediately stands back up when it crosses her mind that her cheap clothes might leave a spot or, God forbid, a scratch.
On the wall behind the throne hangs an oil painting of Santa Maria, the virgin mother. The one who opened her heart to no one but the Lord. Maria also has tried to live by the same principle, devoting her whole heart to God and God only. Almost. She also loved her family, her country, and her church, but those are just extensions of the love of God. Other than that, she has fully maintained the chastity of her heart. She has loved no man in her life but her late husband, who disappeared before Jesus was born. Maria has taught her son that his father proudly died fighting for his country—a story that Jesus used to believe when he was younger. Having devoted her life to bringing up Jesus, angels would testify that she has been to him both a merciful mother and a wonderful father.
“Oh, Ms. Freeman. You’re already here.” Otto enters, bringing coffee on a silver platter. “Why don’t you have a seat? Please. Make yourself comfortable.” Otto is as kind as always. One day he will make a fine pastor. Perhaps not the most charismatic one, but one with the kindest heart. All the churchgoers know that.
“Hello, my dear,” Maria says and notices the lump in her throat. She gulps, remembering her long-time wish to see Jesus becoming Father Kelly’s assistant. Why couldn’t Jesus be as amenable as Otto?
“Here, let me move this for you.” While holding the platter with one hand, Otto moves the throw pillow to the side of the sofa. He then stands there like a professional butler, waiting for Maria to sit.
Not to keep him waiting, Maria obliges her host and sits on the white sofa.
“There you go, Ms. Freeman.” Otto leans in and holds out the silver platter.
The china cup is artfully painted with dragons and fire as if it comes directly from the Forbidden City in China. The coffee smells temptingly good too. Feeling humbled by the church’s hospitality, Maria picks up the cup and cradles it carefully with both hands. If she breaks it, that would probably cost more than all the clothes that she is wearing—back when they were new. “Thank you, my dear,” she says. “Didn’t mean to trouble you.”
Otto leans back. “No trouble at all. It was so good of you to come over. Father Kelly will be with you shortly.”
“Did Father mention what this is about?”
Both Maria and Otto turn to the open door when they hear the sound of a throat being cleared. The man’s dark shadow has already entered the room, while he himself remains concealed by the door. The glittering ring on his hand peeks out from the side edge of the doorjamb. It looks familiar, and that must be Father Kelly, although Maria does not have a good visual of him yet.
Otto leans back, his twisted face showing how nervous he becomes when he sees Father. “Sorry, what?” Otto asks Maria, his eyes still locked on the door.
“Never mind,” Maria responds.
“Sure, yeah, don’t mention it,” Otto babbles while his worried face remains fixed on the door. Following his gaze, he leaves the office. A moment later, Otto comes back to shut the door behind him.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Father Kelly asks, pulling his dumb assistant by the collar.
“That…that…ah…she is Jesus’ mother,” Otto states the obvious, his face white with fear. “You called for her.” Otto has got his big eyes from Suzan, his late, angelic-looking mother—may she rest in peace—and his IQ from that simpleton, good-for-nothing ape that Suzan should have never married.
“No, genius,” Father says, still grabbing the collar. “I mean what is she doing in my office, being treated like the Queen of England?”
Otto gulps. “Ah, well, ah, I… ah, I thought before we ask her for a favor, it…ah…it would be nice—”
“Nice?! Nice?! People don’t do things to be nice. They do them because they’re motivated, and that…” Father lets go of Otto’s collar and takes a deep breath to calm himself down. “And that is the priest’s job.” He takes a parental tone as he puts his hand on Otto’s shoulder. “Listen, junior. It takes a good heart and good intentions to make a good priest. But it takes guts”—he clenches his fist—“and a hard will to make a successful one. Look around you. Look where you are. This is not a community church in Happyville. This is not a small chapel in the corner of 158th Ave. This is it. This is the church on the freaking 1st Street. This is where things happen. The whole state is looking up at us. It is a tremendous responsibility to be the Lord’s voice to your sheep, I mean to His sheep.” Father pulls Otto’s chin up with his other hand and peers into his eyes. “If you wanna run this parish one day, you gotta pick up the pace in learning your people skills. I cannot spell out every single word for you.”
“Sorry, Uncle Jack,” Otto squeaks, his wide eyes still not blinking.
Father Kelly breaks the gaze and removes his hand so that Otto could lower his chin. “Father,” he says, smacking Otto on the cheek. “Here, you call me Father.” He walks toward the nave.
“I mean Father,” Otto says from behind. “Sorry, Father Kelly.”
“Alright,” Father says without turning back. “Bring her to the altar, and just watch and learn.” His echoed voice is amplified through the nave, giving it the vigor it needs when he will talk to Maria.
Maria kneels at the altar, her eyes facing Father Kelly’s crotch who stands behind the rail. She lowers her gaze, takes hold of Father’s left hand, and kisses the golden ring adorned with seven diamonds arranged in the form of a holy cross.
“Maria,” Father says from above, his voice guttural. “It’s been quite a while since your last confession.”
“You must forgive me, Father,” Maria says while looking up. “I am a bit short on cash these days.”
“Didn’t you pay off your debt to Dr. Jones—when was it?—like three months ago?”
Father Kelly knows everything! “Yes, but I still—”
“Oh, please Guardians,” Father screams with closed eyes, his face twisted as if he is receiving an electrical shock. “Turn that fire away, just for a second. My skin is gone, my flesh is turning into ashes, and my bones are burning from the inside. Just for a second, please, just for a split second turn that fire away.” Father Kelly opens his eyes and lowers his gaze at Maria. Slightly leaning his head sideways, he asks, “You know who would be saying that?”
“Satan?” Maria responds hesitantly, her heart beating at its peak.
Father Kelly sneers. “That would be you.” He leans in, his index finger pointing to Maria, almost stabbing her in the eye. “Experiencing the consequences of your sins. And we both know what you did on the night of Easter, don’t we?” he says while giving Maria a meaningful look.
How is it Father Kelly always knows everything?! Shame overwhelms Maria. She pulls Father’s hand and kisses the diamond again multiple times. She looks up at Father and asks, her voice trembling, “Wouldn’t Lord save me? Please.”
“He might.” Father shrugs. “Or he might not. His redemption is reserved solely for the believers. Tell me, Child”—He leans in again and raises Maria’s chin with his left hand—“are you a true believer?”
“I am,” Maria snaps with excitement, revived with a divine hope that her withering heart was craving. “I truly believe in Him.”
“Then what have you done for His Church lately?” Father asks, his words landing like a devastating blow, extinguishing the flickering flames of hope in her heart.
“I’m sorry, Father.” Maria lowers her gaze, her short-lived hope on the verge of dying.
“Have no fear, my dear. We can fix that. Tell me, how is that apostate son of yours?”
“He’s just sick, Father,” Maria says as she looks up. “You must forgive him.”
Father looks away, drumming his fingers on his chin.
“He’s been hallucinating, asking if his father is really dead. I don’t know which devil puts that in his head that he might even be the son of God. I cannot reason with him.”
With narrowed eyes, Father mutters under his breath, “Reason would not heal a broken heart.”
How does Father know?! Maria wonders. He knows everything. Perhaps the Holy Spirit talks to him too.
Father glances at Maria. “Yeah, I know the story too.” He stops drumming his fingers. “The rascal used to confess here, before entirely losing his mind. Listen,”—He leans in, his face awfully close to Maria’s—“the Lord has a mission for you. Are you a true believer?”
“What does God want me to do?” Maria asks without hesitance—as a true believer would.
Father Kelly grins, his eerie smile revealing his sharp canine teeth.