Bishop Hendricks sank slowly into the chair in his office, tilting the glasses on his nose further down to better read the papers he cradled in his lap. The young deacon from St. Ann's parish had given them to him, after the Monsignor's death. He had insisted the bishop read them, raving that they were remarkable, that the depth of faith and closeness to God displayed in them was worthy of a Doctor of the Church. The bishop had cautioned him at that remark, but had agreed to read the journal. It was not without curiosity and a degree of pleasure that he undertook this task; and so, he opened the journal and began to read.
I am forbidden to share a confession.
Sin is between a man and God, and I have no place to judge. I am a vessel to offer forgiveness and penance, but never judgment.
But I find I cannot keep this confession. It is too much for my mind and soul, and I have prayed for forgiveness in this failure of my office. And so I have written it in my journals, in the hope that this will purge my need for discourse without actually engaging in such.
I offer confession each Saturday at 4:00 before the 5:00 Mass. On this Saturday, I dressed in my vestments and went to the confessional to receive the penitents.
I rarely have more then ten confessions each Saturday, Reconciliation being one of the most difficult sacraments to initiate. I had had four only, and was preparing to leave when the door opened. I sat again, and settled back in my chair, facing the crucifix on the wall opposite me.
The door shut with a slight click. I could hear the person on the other side of the screen sit with a rustle of their clothing, and the afternoon light cast their long shadow on the floor.
"In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit," I began. Then I waited for him to begin.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession," the man said. He sounded to be a young man, and also Irish.
There was a silence; I waited, knowing from practice that he was likely searching for courage to confess.
"How have you sinned, my son?" I asked.
"I – I have lusted, Father," he replied, his voice breaking.
"Continue, my son," I answered kindly.
"Father, I have – I have had lustful thoughts about my own brother, my twin. I love him more than life itself, but this love has grown to physical attraction. I know it's a sin, and I'm afraid I cannot control my own emotions or self for much longer."
"And have you acted on these thoughts?" I said, pity going out to this man. The guilt seemed to be tearing him apart.
"No." It was a whisper.
"Have you committed adultery?" I asked.
"No, Father. But I've given thought to expressing these feelings to him."
"Incest is a mortal sin," I admonished sternly. "It is contrary to God's intentions of our family, of life itself. You are aware that homosexual acts and adultery are forbidden as well?"
"Yes, Father."
"You must find the strength to resist this temptation," I said. My voice softened. "I know what it is to love so intensely. He is your brother, you are undeniably close, and as twins, I am sure you love each other deeply. But it is a brotherly love. This lust you feel cheapens it, and will merely break the bond you share. Furthermore, to love another more than God is a sin in itself."
"I don't know what to do, Father," the man replied, in anguish. "It's not a brother's love. And I don't merely want a brother's love from him."
"You must pray. And I will pray for you."
Silence followed again.
"Do you have any further sins to confess?" I asked.
"No, Father."
"The Act of Contrition, then," I said.
"O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee and I detest my sins above every other evil because they displease Thee, my God, Who, in Thy infinite wisdom, art so deserving of all my love and I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace never more to offend Thee and to amend my life. Amen."
"And are you truly sorry for your sins?" I asked, because I was unsure.
"Yes, Father."
"Then I absolve you in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. For penance, say the rosary daily."
"I already do, Father."
"Then continue to do so," I replied.
The man stood, and I could hear him place his hand on the door handle.
"And my son?" I added.
"Yes, Father?"
"I will also pray for you."
"Thank you, Father," he said, and he left.
I sat in silence for another moment, but then the door opened and another man walked in. I repeated my greeting, and entreated him to confess.
"Father, in the past few months, I have developed a physical attraction to my brother. I've always loved him greatly, but now it's a sexual love. I've denied these feelings for him, but they're too strong for that anymore. I am afraid that he will reject me if he discovers it," the man said quietly.
I was confused for a moment. This was nearly identical to the confession I had just heard, and the voice was matched in pitch and accent. But I quickly realized that this man must be the twin. The two were in love with each other, but neither knew that the other loved him. That was what held them at bay – if they found out the truth, there would be nothing keeping them from sin. I knew what my purpose must be in this now.
"Incest is a deadly sin. If your love for your brother is so great," I lectured, "you will respect that you would both sin and damn your selves with this false infatuation."
"It is not an infatuation!" he exclaimed angrily.
"Calm yourself!" I reprimanded him.
"I'm sorry, Father," he replied. "But I won't lie to myself any longer. If I'll face this, I'll face the truth of it. I'm in love with my brother."
Mary, Mother of God, I thought, and I crossed myself.
"My son, God has given you a heavy cross to bear. Your love may be honest, but it is also sinful and condemned. It is your place to suffer under this weight, as best you can, in the likeness of Christ," I answered. "Prayer will be your defense, and the knowledge that however forgiving your brother may be, how could he possibly understand this attraction? When you have better control of yourself," I advised, "I would suggest you share this confession with him. It will calm him to know you have sought forgiveness and advice, and he may be able to help you overcome your lust."
"No – I can't, I couldn't," the man stammered. He sounded very sad.
"Then suffer in silence, and offer it up to the Lord," I retorted.
"Yes, Father."
"Are you sorry for this sin?" I asked.
"Yes, yes, I am – I wish things could be normal between my brother and I again," the man said.
He said the Act of Contrition – the same slightly antiquated and foreign one as his brother, and I absolved him. "Your penance is a daily rosary. I suggest you take the opportunity to meditate on God's intentions for you."
"Thank you, Father." And he left.
It was late by now, and I hurried to prepare for Mass. I must admit that I did not fully engage in the Mass that day, because my mind was still preoccupied with the two brothers. I was very troubled with their story. In one respect, it was extremely sad, because they seemed to genuinely love each other, and remained ignorant of the other's affection. But at the same time, it was perverse, and shocking, and disturbing. What could have precipitated this affection to make it grow so strong? Why would God put such a heavy burden, such a unique and painful burden, on two devout young men?
I know better then to question God so bluntly, and with such little faith. Following Mass, I retired to the chapel, to meditate and pray.
For the first time in years, I left the church still troubled, and remained so until I slipped uneasily into sleep.
I did not forget my promise to pray for the twins. I did daily, multiple times each day, and fervently. I would peruse the crowd at each daily Mass, looking for twins. But I never saw them, and I wondered if they would come back the following week.
They did, but this time, only one brother came.
"Father," he cried, still safely hidden behind the screen. "I've ruined everything! I told my brother today – as you advised me – and he didn't say a word. He just stood – he stood up, and then he left. He left. He's gone."
"He wasn't ready for the knowledge," I replied smoothly. "Pray for him, and he will come around. If he loves you like you say he does, he will forgive you, and you will both be better off because of this renewed honesty between you. But do you see how this can rip you apart? It is a secret, when you kept no secrets before; it is shameful, when you both never felt shame with one another."
There was no response from the other side of the confessional. He was crying.
"Oh, God," he uttered. "I've ruined everything."
I stood, and quickly turned to the other side of the confessional. The man had his head in his hands, and was sobbing, shaking with anguish. I knelt before him.
"Look up, my son," I ordered.
He did, the tears still streaming down his face. I could see a tattoo of the Virgin Mary on the side of his neck, and a rosary hanging on the inside of his shirt. Sacrilege, both, but surely meant with good intentions and so overlooked by myself.
"You must have faith. The Lord will share this burden with you. If you do lose your brother –" the man buried his head in his hands again at that " – then know that you are better off for it. With space between you, the temptation to sin will lessen."
"Father," the man said, his voice thick and uneven, "I am a religious man, and I have never felt farther from God then I do now. How can love be such a sin?" His voice took on more of an edge. "I've had women. I've had men. And those occasions were sins, and they felt wrong. This isn't, it can't be. I can't believe it."
"Then why are you here?" I replied.
He didn't answer.
"I cannot offer your absolution, you know that. I do offer you my blessing," I finally said.
He bowed his head and I blessed him.
As he left I cautioned him. "Do not let this lust take you away from God."
He looked at me, but again didn't reply, and shut the door behind himself.
I wanted to seek advice after this occasion, for what to tell the brothers when they next came to me. But I felt too bound by the seal of the confessional, and decided not to. I continued to pray, and began a novena for the pair, and for myself. For I must confess, and not without some shame, that this had led me to question my faith as well. I wanted to believe that the two were simply confusing their feelings of brotherly affection with love. The Church teaches protocol for what to do in cases of homosexuality and attraction, but not for love. If it was genuinely love, romantic love between them, what more could I do? Love is a blessing, a reflection of grace from God, as these two clearly knew. I knew it to be a sin, but I could no longer see why.
The last time the two came to me, they came together. They sought me out, on a Tuesday afternoon. I took them to the side of the church, by the baptismal font. The water burbled endlessly next to us, and afternoon sunlight struck through the stained glass windows. It had the effect of a halo on the two brothers, a golden glow suffusing them together.
"So, my sons, what is it that you have to confess?" I asked. It was a pretense – I knew, they knew, God certainly knew.
"We don't come to confess, Father. We have come for advice," one said. He was the lighter of the pair, foil to his darker twin.
"We love each other dearly, but we love Him too," the darker one continued.
"You know what the Church teaches," I answered harshly. "Incest is a sin, and your love borders on worship of a false god – each other."
"We understand, Father," the second brother cut in. "We know we're off the map here. But is the room for sinners like us with God?"
We sat together in silence for a moment, listening to the font.
"I don't know," I replied. "You've made your decision already. Love is the greatest gift God can give, but love is not a feeling but an active choice. Is it love when you make love to each other? Or is it love when you refuse the other because you know it would damn your souls?"
"Why would God cast two who love him so much away from him? He made us, why would He condemn us for the love He orchestrated?" the lighter brother argued.
"I don't have an answer for you," I said. "I know only what the Church teaches."
The lighter brother nodded, then looked at his twin. They both stood, in synchrony, and said thank you. I blessed them, and they began walking away.
"I can only tell you to pray and trust in the Lord," I shouted after them suddenly. They both turned to look at me.
"The Father is infinitely forgiving. He does not want to cast you away. If you do not turn from him, then he will not abandon you," I said.
The darker brother nodded, then took his twin's hand, and they left the church together, the brightness of the sun outside obscuring their silhouettes until there was just the brightness of the light.
I stood there for a long time. What an extraordinary pair. So blessed by God, to have each other, always, through everything, even into death – what a blessing. But what a curse came with the blessing. They will never know for certain if the Lord has forgiven them, if their sins are too great for redemption. But then again, how do any of us know? I have said before, I cannot judge. I too have sinned.
Let the Lord be merciful with us all.
Bishop Hendricks set the journal down on his desk, and removed his glasses, staring off in deep thought. This was the start of a longer journal that chronicled the rest of the Monsignor's life and work. If this first bit was as remarkable as the others – perhaps the deacon had been right. He wasn't sure what he would have done in the Monsignor's situation, and those brothers! It defied understanding and explanation.
Such love, the Bishop thought, shaking his head. Such devotion and love. Bless them and the Monsignor.
And let the Lord be merciful with us all.