Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Cantrell
“These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”
Sitting on the steps of the church, Cantrell admired the orange and red sky, basking in the warm embrace of the sun as it sank lower and lower.
He watched the clouds drift, enamored by God’s artistry.
It wasn’t often that Cantrell got to truly enjoy the small things that God created for man.
Sometimes, he forgot there was a life outside the church.
That God could be found in all things. As the sun dipped behind the horizon, Cantrell brought his gaze from the darkening sky to the road just in time to see a silver coupe turn into the empty parking lot.
Tires squealed against the pavement as the car whipped into one of the parking spots carelessly.
Corners of his lips turning downwards, Cantrell grabbed ahold of the handrail and lifted himself off the stairs.
He adjusted his glasses higher on his nose.
The door of the coupe swung open with force, then out stepped Illias.
From where Cantrell stood, he could see the storm hovering over Illias’ head.
He walked towards the church with his head down.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon after your confession just the other week,” Cantrell said, making Illias look up.
Illias dropped his eyes to his feet, kicking at loose rocks. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here, Father.”
A frown threatened to surface. Did he not come for me?
Cantrell pushed the selfish thought to the side and clasped his hands in front of him.
“Well, the church needs a priest at all hours and Father Rier was feeling under the weather, so I’m covering his hours.
” He turned to the side and gestured towards the doors. “Let’s sit inside and talk.”
Illias didn’t bring his eyes up from the ground as he walked up the stairs. In the brief movement he stood in front of Cantrell, he noted the glossy nature of Illias’ eyes. Cantrell’s chest ached, knowing what the likely cause was.
The nave was silent and void of any parishioners.
Just this once, Cantrell was thankful that there was no one seeking God other than Illias.
As wrong as it may be, as wrong as it was, Cantrell couldn’t help but feel happy that Illias came here, of all places, in his distress.
Perhaps there was still a chance of redemption as his priest.
They sat in one of the middle pews, Illias with his elbows on his knees, twisting one of the many rings he wore.
Cantrell sat quietly next to him, waiting for him to break the silence.
Seconds inched into minutes. Yet Cantrell knew better than to pry with someone who was guarded.
Better to let them broach the conversation first. In the meantime, Cantrell relaxed in the pew and took in the man by his side.
Even in his sadness, Illias was devastatingly beautiful.
Curls pulled back in a hastily done ponytail, strands falling loose around his face.
Dark beard freshly trimmed, highlighting his strong jawline.
Is it possible, Cantrell thought, as he reached towards Illias, to find God in man?
He jerked his hand back into his lap and forced his gaze away.
Guilt flooded Cantrell’s chest, sitting heavy on his heart.
The last thing he needed was for his wandering eye to get the best of him again, especially with Illias in a vulnerable state.
“I got into another argument with my stepdad.” Illias’ voice echoed through the empty nave.
Cantrell dared to look at Illias again. “Would you like to tell me about it?”
“My mom invited me to a fancy dinner. I didn’t want to go, but I promised her I would do at least one family dinner.
I didn’t know it was a set up.” Illias took off one of the rings he had been twisting.
A tarnished mood ring. “My old best friend was invited too. We spent two hours talking and catching up like nothing ever happened.” His voice wavered and he clamped his mouth shut.
His inhale was shaky, the exhale worse. “Then when we left, I went over to their house and they started talking about how I should ask Charity out and one thing led to another and I, um, I got physical,” he whispered at the end of his sentence as though terrified of what he had done.
Cantrell frowned at the state Illias was in.
A far cry from the confident man Cantrell met at the bar.
He wanted to console Illias, offer him some form of comfort that wasn’t just words.
A small touch, nothing more, Cantrell thought.
His heart hammered in his chest as he laid his hand on Illias’ knee.
He turned his head slightly and their eyes met.
Cantrell’s fingers curled around Illias’ knee, digging ever so softly into the tender flesh beneath his pants.
It is only an innocent touch, Cantrell thought, eyes falling to Illias’ lips for a breath.
They sat for what felt like an eternity, frozen in each other’s gaze.
“Is it too late for a confession, Father?” Illias asked, voice a hoarse whisper.
Cantrell jerked his hand back into his lap, Illias’ words a stark reminder of all the things Cantrell shouldn’t want, couldn’t have. And how selfish he was for thinking of anything other than offering comfort in Illias’ time of need. “There is always time for a confessional.”
Cantrell rose from the pew and stepped into the aisle.
He wondered if Illias’ confession would go the same path as his first or if there was a chance for Cantrell to establish a proper relationship.
Illias headed towards the booths. Cantrell crossed his chest then followed.
Their combined footsteps reverberated off the walls, filling the open space until it was all Cantrell could focus on.
Within the confines of the confessional, Cantrell removed his rosary, holding it in his lap, and took a steadying breath. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
“Amen. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been almost two weeks since my last confession. I confess to the following sins.” Illias took a shuddering breath.
“Wrath towards Henry for what he said and myself for what I did. I didn’t even think twice before I swung.
He just looked straight through me and I couldn’t…
I couldn’t take it anymore.” A choked back sob echoed in the confessional.
“I’m so sick of him looking at me like I’m nothing.
Like he finds the very idea of me repulsive. ”
Cantrell’s heart ached. The confession felt too similar to one he gave decades ago about his mother. “There comes a point where we have to stop living for those around us and live for ourselves and God, especially when their presence in our life drives us into sin.”
“That’s why I left,” Illias’ voice was barely a whisper. “I never wanted to come back to this God-awful fucking town.”
The raw nature of Illias’ words left Cantrell grasping for something to say. Never in the years that he worked at Revived Faith had a confession left him speechless.
“God,” Illias sniffled.
Cantrell heard the sound of the bench creaking as Illias shifted.
“Why am I even telling you all this?”
“Confession offers a safe place for people to lay themselves bare without judgement. It’s not uncommon for people to reveal things that they would never tell another soul.”
“But what makes this different from talking to you out there? I could barely get the words out when we were sitting in the pews. What makes this shitty little box so special?”
A pitiful smile quirked the corner of Cantrell’s lips.
He rested his head against the back of the booth.
“If I had to guess, it’s the perceived anonymity.
I am not supposed to know who’s on the other side of the booth, and if I do, I am bound by the rite of confession to keep whatever is said within these walls a secret until my dying breath. ”
“That’s a little fucking morbid,” Illias scoffed.
“It is, isn’t it?” Cantrell recalled all the confessions he’s taken over the past several years since joining Revived Faith.
All the good, bad, and ugly. Secrets, sins, and life stories.
Through confession, he experienced a hundred lives.
As long as he remained a priest, he supposed he would live a hundred more. “Though, there is beauty in it.”
“In hearing people bitch about their lives and tell you about all the awful things they’ve done?” Illas let out a rough laugh. “How so?”
“When a person comes to confess their sins, or to simply use confession as a way to talk about something that they have been holding on to, they are choosing to trust another person with their heart, their soul. Even if they trust no one, not even themselves.” Cantrell raised his rosary to eye level.
A simple wooden necklace he got at the beginning of seminary.
A symbol of his faith and devotion. His loyalty to God.
“They trust me to bring them from the darkness and into the light.”
“Do you think everyone can be brought into the light?”
Cantrell remembered asking similar questions before he joined seminary. Back when his life was nothing but sin and filth. Before he learned that everyone was granted rebirth regardless of their wrongdoings. “I do.”
“Even those that hate their stepdad?” Illias sounded like a child, frightened that they were to be punished for something out of their control.
Cantrell wished he could comfort Illias.
Offer a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on.
“The Bible teaches us to respect our parents, but it also teaches that parents should respect their children in Colossians and Ephesians. So yes, even those that hate their father are capable of being forgiven by God so long as they seek absolution.”
“Guess that means I’ve done my part, then, huh?” Illias asked in a somewhat playful manner despite the rawness of his voice.
“You’ve done your part.”
Cantrell could feel the weight of the world on the breath Illias released. Like he was letting go of everything he held on to in a single breath. Perhaps he was.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this. I-I really needed this. To talk to someone, I mean.”
“I am more than happy to talk with you at any time, be it out there or in here,” Cantrell said and his heart jumped like he admitted something he should not have.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, again, Father.”
Before Cantrell could say another word, the confessional booth slid open and the sound of footsteps filled the nave.
He stayed in the booth for a moment longer, conflicted as to whether he was successful in nurturing the relationship he was meant to have with Illias or not.
Regardless, Cantrell prayed, rather selfishly, that Illias would visit again.