The Avenue

Brother Martin made his way into the Sacristy and removed his robe from the closet containing vestments for the priest. As he slipped the garment over his head he noticed it was getting a little frayed where it touched the ground. He thought about replacing it but changed his mind, using the logic that it would be vain to change robes because of a small flaw. In truth he didn’t change because the robe was soft and comfortable. He removed his street shoes, replacing them with his sandals. He left the sacristy and made his way to Saint Anthony’s Chapel. Dipping his fingers into the urns held by the two stone angels that bracketed the center aisle he made the sign of the cross with Holy Water. He was a handsome man, tall with black hair streaked with gray. A member of the Capuchin Franciscan Friars, he was sworn to poverty, accepting nothing except to serve the church and Saint Frances. Although only in his fifties he wore the demeanor of a man tortured. Darkness bracketed his eyes. His face held wrinkles born of years of agony. He knew he was blessed by God to be allowed to serve in this beautiful church all these years. Father Martin was one of two priests serving this parish. The other seven clerics were Capuchin lay brothers. What he didn’t understand was why God chose him to hear that tortured confession. Why he was selected by the Almighty to uncover the awful truth of that night after all these years? Bound by his covenant with God he could not speak of what transpired in the confessional, but what was confessed to him was not the truth, although the penitent believed it happened the way it was told. Catholics believe that no priest, as an individual man, however pious or learned, has the power to forgive sins. This power belongs to God alone; however, God can and does exercise it through the Catholic priesthood. Catholics believe God exercises the power of forgiveness by means of the sacrament of reconciliation or penance. This torture would end tonight. He was leaving tomorrow, but before he was to leave he would unburden his secret to Father Jay in the confessional, before receiving the Sacrament. By not naming the penitent he would sidestep the vow of silence. He knew that without the penitent’s permission he was in violation of the Seal of the Confessional, but he felt he had no choice. It was the only way he could share the agony that haunted him the last few days. The confession was made in error. That error needed to be corrected tonight, for he knew the truth, knew the destruction it would cause. As he made his way to Saint Anthony’s Chapel to hear his last confessions before retiring to the retreat in the Adirondack Mountains, he took note of the several parishioners waiting for him. He couldn’t make out all their faces, as the light was poor in the chapel. He entered the darkened confessional and closed the door behind him. He sat on the small bench, the mesh screen windows on each side of him. He would turn from one window upon completion of the confession and Act of Contrition, closing the sliding panel. He would turn to the other window, sliding back the panel. He would then hear the confession of the waiting sinner. With the panel door open he began the sacrament. He blessed the penitent and asked him to begin. “Bless me Father for I have sinned----.” Father Martin’s head jerked up. “I'm sorry. You look familiar. Where do I know you from? My God! You're from the Avenue. You’re……” The soft whisper of the bullet passing through the silencer went undetected outside of the confessional. Father Martin’s head fell forward, a small trickle of blood making its way from the hole in his temple. “ Enjoy Heaven Father. You have earned it.”