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When he was young, Jason always saw his mother’s faith as a source of pain and tears. When her withdrawals got to be too much to handle, she would pray to God to lend her His strength, and when she ultimately succumbed to her temptations, she would cry out for forgiveness. On Sunday mornings, they would leave for Mass early, and the two of them would stand in line for Reconciliation. Almost every time without fail, she’d exit the confessional with swollen, red eyes that she tried to hide behind her veil. Still, Catherine would smile at Jason as she placed a hand on his shoulder and asked, “do you need to speak with Father?”
Indignantly, he’d say no, and she would frown, but she’d lead him to the pews nonetheless, making sure he properly genuflected, and she’d pray while Jason knelt next to her, staring at the hanging crucifix. It was at least life-sized, allowing him to make out the details of Jesus’ passion; His crown of thorns, the holes in His hands and feet, the piercing at His side. His mother believed this man died for her two thousand years ago, but Jason couldn’t bring himself to accept it. Who would choose to undergo so much suffering for the sake of someone they’d never met?
He only began to understand years later, trapped in a warehouse somewhere in Ethiopia with Sheila Haywood. With each swing that came down, Jason was glad it was he who was receiving them, and not her. She had sold him out, and he had no real connection to her, but she had birthed him, and that meant something to him. With nowhere left to turn as he waited and waited for Bruce to find him, he turned to God, like his mother had done all those years ago.
“God, please let me live…” Too weak to speak, he’d mouth the words in the moments the Joker was gone. “If I die, at least save my mother…”
Jason was reminded of the first Sorrowful Mystery from the rosaries his mother used to pray. In the garden, Jesus had cried out to His Father, “let this cup pass from me, yet not what I want but what you want.” In a similar manner, Jason recognized how out of his control everything was. He could no longer fight, let alone stand, and was left pleading that Bruce would find him before he perished due to his injuries.
He lay on the cold concrete when the joker waltzed in, momentarily bending down and patting him on the cheek. Jason turned his head in an effort to avoid it, but it was futile.
“Why, it’s a miracle you’re still alive.” He chuckled.
“Piss off,” Jason grit out.
“Don’t you worry your little toes—well, what’s left of them—I’ll be out of your hair in just a minute. But , I realized, I had never given you your goodbye present!” His henchmen brought in a wrapped box, and he turned to Sheila. “Why don’t we have Mother Dearest open it for you?”
As the ribbons fell away and Sheila removed the box’ lid with shaky hands, Jason could make out a faint ticking, and he knew he was about to die.
With a cry, Jason turned towards the heavens in a final act of desperate plea, but it appeared that on that evening, his prayers would not be answered.
Jason didn’t know why he was there, except for that the church reminded him of his late mother. With a sigh, he walked up the steps and tried the door.
Immediately, he was hit with a wave of nostalgia that momentarily stopped him in his tracks. It was dark outside, so the stained glass windows weren’t nearly as radiant, but they depicted the same images of the Saints that he was familiar with, and above the altar hung the same large crucifix he spent many mornings staring at.
“I’m afraid Adoration ended just a few minutes ago, if that’s what you’re here for.” Someone said, startling Jason out of his thoughts.
“That’s—” He swallowed, surprised by how tight his throat suddenly felt. “That’s alright. Is it ok for me to sit in the church for a bit? I know it’s late, so if not that’s—”
“That’s alright with me—I’ve got some things to finish up here before I head home myself, so feel free to stay until then.” The man—a priest, Jason noticed his collar—gave him a warm smile.
“Ok, thanks.” Jason returned the smile and walked deeper into the church, genuflecting and sitting in a pew in the center of the sanctuary. To the left of the altar sat a statue of Mary and the baby Jesus that he didn’t remember being there before. As Jason gazed at her warm smile, his brows knit together and he fought back hot tears that threatened to spill.
All he had wanted for years was a good family life—parents who cared about him, and were capable enough to look after a child. He had had Catherine and Bruce, and they were admittedly the best he ever got, but Catherine had her own issues that often got in the way, and Bruce was overly wrapped up in his crusade and Jason now feared their relationship being strained beyond repair.
Jason knew he was being unfair in comparing his own life to Jesus’, but as he stared at the figure, he couldn’t help but feel jealous. Like Jason, He had two fathers, but instead of Jason’s deadbeat for a father and whatever Bruce was, Jesus’ adoptive father was a Saint, and His father was literally God. (Jason conveniently ignored that God was his father too.) His eyes shifted back to Mary—Mary had been there at the foot of the cross, with her son for every moment of His suffering, but Catherine had abandoned him years before his own death chasing a high.
Jason had tears streaming down his cheeks that he had given up on trying to stop by the time the priest returned and silently slipped into the pew across from him. After a few moments, he said, “if you need, I can lend an ear to whatever is troubling you.”
Jason wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand, and let out a deep breath. “I guess… I’m missing my mom, and I wish she had been there for me more. She, uh, spent a lot of time here, which I guess is probably why I’m here right now too.” Jason’s ears turned red as he admitted, “I was never the best Catholic—I’m still not.”
“Do you want to change that?”
Jason frowned; he hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I, I don’t know, to be honest. In the past, whenever something would happen, I would pray, but it never felt like God answered.”
The priest took a moment before answering. “I know this probably isn’t what you want to hear, but whatever you were asking for probably wasn’t His will. Sometimes, we experience things for seemingly no purpose, and only retrospectively can we begin to understand why they might have happened.”
Jason let out a bitter chuckle. “Every parent figure I’ve had—I’ve lost them all, one way or another, and I’ve also—” Jason paused, not quite sure how to approach the subject. “I got pretty damn hurt in the process too, once—sorry—well, I eventually got better, but it changed me, and that caused a lot of shit between me and my dad that we’re still not over.” Jason once again felt tears pricking at his eyes, but continued. “I know I can’t understand what God’s doing and all, but sometimes it feels like He’s using me as a punching bag, and I just— why would He do that ?”
Jason looked over, and the man had closed his eyes, deep in thought. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that, it’s never easy to lose a parent, let alone at such a young age multiple times.” The priest took a deep breath, before looking over to Jason. “If I were to guess, I’d say God’s using this pain to draw you closer to Him. We’re His children, and He’s the only perfect parent we can have in this fallen world. If we let Him, He’ll take care of us. It may not be in a way that we like sometimes, and we may try to ignore this reality, but He’s our Father and we need Him for everything we do. And trust me, He wants to help you, and heal your wounds. It’s up to you to let Him.”
“I don’t know how,” Jason choked out.
The priest smiled. “Prayer and Confession are probably good places to start.” When Jason momentarily froze, the priest chuckled, standing up. “I don’t mean tonight, unless you want to.”
“Later sounds good.”
“Not too much ‘later’ please.” The priest walked over to the confessional at the back of the church, Jason following behind at a small distance. He grabbed a pamphlet entitled “Examination of Conscience” and handed it to Jason. “Look through this and make a list of everything you need to confess. You can schedule an appointment through the office.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Anytime.”