Page 8 of Priestly Sins

The four days before Ash Wednesday are either the epitome or the antithesis of Catholicism. One doesn’t have to look hard to see all manner of lewd, crude, and disgusting behavior. There’s indulgence and overindulgence in food, drink, drugs, and anything else that celebrates debauchery.

If people haven’t noticed, those parades and their associated krewes are named after Greek or Roman gods and goddesses.

It is the celebration of the flesh.

It is repulsive and it is beautiful.

It is made more so by the fact that, without instance, it means that this city’s residents will lay aside all of it—save the cuisine—for weeks to come as penance for the weeks prior. There will be no parties, no parades, no balls, no intoxication. There will be no weddings or bridal or baby showers. There will be somber, penitent, self-reflection, a reminder of the baseness of our humanity.

But that will come Wednesday. It is still Mardi Gras and I plan to play and indulge.

I walk from the rectory to Jackson Square. I rarely go out without my blacks and white collar. It’s expected. It’s easy. And there’s no downside. I love watching the tourists. Watching them laugh or cry or stumble or puke. I grab a beer and wander, enjoying one of the best things about being assigned to a church in the Archdiocese of New Orleans.

On Bourbon Street and Canal, I get high fives and “What’s up, Padre?” floating toward me. In these streets on these days, all men are equal.

None more holy. None more raucous.

We are one city, protected under her wings while we celebrate life and its finer things.

* * *

“Forgive me, Father.”

“When was your last confession?”

“I don’t know. Nothing huge to confess, really. Just wanted to be here and be absolved. And…” He leaves the sentence dangling.

“Go on.”

“Well, I just wanted to have the peace of forgiveness and a coming home, I guess.”

“So, what brought you here?”

“To New Orleans? My job. Same thing that brought me to church today. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Do you believe in Divine protection?”

“Mostly, yes.”

“Boy, that’s not helpful.” He snorts out a laugh.

“What are you really asking?”

“Ever think your life was spared because your mission isn’t finished?”

“I do.” Absolutely. I do.

“Think God protects you from yourself so you can get on with it?”

“Yes. I do.”

“What happens if we don’t?”

“That’s a good question and one I don’t have an answer to.”

“I’m Matt.”