The Possessed by Kirk Kilgrave

Author:Kirk Kilgrave [Kilgrave, Kirk]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-10-24T22:00:00+00:00

14

I approached the majestic building that I’d visited every Sunday during my father’s life, but once he passed, I blamed God for letting him die and stopped going to church. As time passed, I found my faith, but it was never as sturdy and unquestioning as it had been while my father had been alive. All told, I was ashamed for pinning my father’s death on God. For that reason, I hadn’t returned to the parish. Plus, I didn’t need to visit a building to have a relationship with God. He was part of me and with me every day, no matter where I went.

When I walked inside, the strong scent of incense filtered throughout the building. Laid out before me were two rows of hard wooden benches, separated by an aisle that led up to the stage. Behind me on either side were confessionals.

From elementary school through middle school, I’d visited Father Demetrius once each week outside of Sundays for confession. Usually, I’d admit to bothering my sister, swearing at other kids on the playground at recess, saying I hated my parents, that I ran away from home and stayed at a friend’s house, only to be asked to leave if I didn’t call my parents to let them know I planned to stay overnight, which defeated the purpose of running away from home. Once, I admitted to stealing a candy bar from a gas station, which made me feel ashamed not because I was afraid God would be upset with me, but because I feared that Father Demetrius would think less of me. I told Father Demetrius all of this and more because I trusted and believed in him. I could tell him things I couldn’t tell my parents because he never got mad at me. He always had the same even-tempered demeanor. All told, I wanted to be more like him: kind, patient, non-judgmental, and wise.

“Jocelyn?” asked a masculine voice behind me.

I spun around, startled by Father Demetrius’s tone. He’d always been my favorite priest at this church. As a child, I couldn’t pronounce his last name, so I referred to him by his first name. As time went on, I learned that others began calling him Father Demetrius as well. For the longest time, I took a lot of pride in renaming him. Then one day, I realized that he might not have liked being referred to by his first name and with great consternation, I approached him and apologized for changing his name, only to have him chuckle and say, “It’s still my name, Jocelyn. You’re here to have a relationship with God, and that’s all that matters to me. Believe me, we’re good.” That response made me trust him implicitly.

Knowing he’d now listen to me without judgment or consider me as a good candidate for a mental hospital soothed my nerves. After all, priests read the Bible, so they had to believe in good and evil, angels and demons. More than that, I hoped to get his support.

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