Power of the cross

The recently consecrated bishop parked his car outside the old downtown church, paused for a moment as though reconsidering his next move, and then briskly climbed the four steps onto the simple but sunny verandah.

On a bench near the front door sat a grey haired priest, seemingly in silent meditation. The bishop approached him diffidently, carefully studying his heavily lined features, clasped hands and closed eyes as though establishing his identity.

Then he spoke softly: "Father, may I sit with you a while?" The old man looked up at the unfamiliar features and pectoral cross, his tired but keen eyes puzzled but polite. He smiled and motioned to the bishop to sit beside him.

"Forgive my intrusion," the bishop said. "But I have a story I must tell you." The old man nodded quietly and waited.

The bishop began: Quite some time ago now a small group of rather boisterous young louts, fresh from an afternoon's drinking session, were walking past a little church. One of them drew the attention of his companiopns to a notice on the door, listing times of confession.

Amid raucous laughter, he suggested: "Why don't we have a bit of fun. Let's make a list of the worst sins we can think of and then draw lots as to who should go in and confess them. It'll be a lark seeing how the poor old priest reacts."

"I've got a better plan," jeered a companion. "Seeing it's your bright idea, why don't you put your money where your mouth is. I bet you 20 dollars you don't have the guts to do it."

The young man tensed a bit but rose to the challenge. "Right," he said, "let's get working on the sin sheet."

It wasn't long before the young man emerged from the church beaming, brandishing a slip of paper. "Well Ive won the bet," he said. "Here's proof I've been to confession."

"What's that?" asked his companions. "It's my penance, handed to me by the priest himself." "What did he say?" the others asked. "He didn't say anything, just handed me the slip."

"Well," said one, "have you done your penance?" "Don't be silly. I don't go for that nonsense," he replied. 2Then I don't pay you your 20 dollars" said his challenger. No penance, no confession. He was adamant.

Seeing they were unyielding, the young man went back into the church, reading the priest's note as he went.

"Kneel before the crucifix at the altar and repeat ten tuimes: All this you did for me and I don't give a damn."

"That's no hassle." he thought, making his way to the chancel. He reached the crucifix and knelt down. His eyes took in the nailed hands and feet and the infinite sadness in the eyes. Then they moved to the text below: "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do".

He began his penance: "All this you did for me and I don't give a damn. All this you did for me and I don't give a damn. All this you did for me and I don't..."

About half an hour later his friends, impatient, went in to the church to find out what he was up to. They found him at the altar rail sobbing profusely.

"Well, that's the story," said the bishop. "Except for two things. I was that young man and you were the priest."