Life Priests: A Closer Peek!
posted by November 13 at 14:23 PMon
Priests (Pedofilius Catholicus) are bewildering and morally suspect creatures, and they have been since the moment Jesus said, “Hey! Peter! You’re my ROCK or whatever!” and levitated up to heaven to begin ignoring us all. But is the sketchy reputation of these beasts called “priests” truly deserved? Does the knee-jerk prejudice that so many of us harbor against the altar boy-boffing men in black warrant a closer look?
Yes. And no. Respectively.
Now, I know a thing or two about priests, thank you, for three reasons: I was born and raised in ostensibly the second most Irish Catholic town in the country (Boston is #1) and that shit just doesn’t wash off, I am the illegitimate great grandson of a priest (true story, don’t ask), and I’m face-fucking a priest at this moment. So I know my priests, yes sir, and howdy. And against all evidence, I’ve always wanted to believe in the noble image of what a priest should be—-and what a priest should be is Father John Patrick Mulcahy. From Mash. 4077. And you do TO remember, don’t make me smack you. Father Mulcahy was the perfect priest: kind, forgiving, gentle-eyed, soft voiced, totally useless, ambiguously gay, but nary a copy of Teen Beat, the Zac Effron Edition in sight. Father Mulcahy was unafraid to do what was right, to speak his little mind, and always handy for rushing in at a moments notice, rosary beads a-clackin’, to give some poor doomed extra a quick Last Rites. Father Mulcahy: The perfect priest.
Well, he only exists in fiction. I understand that now.
Here’s what happened:
Last Sunday (rather ironically) I found myself walking past a terrible accident: A woman (I could tell by the shoes) was on the ground, clearly in unhealthy circumstances, head and torso completely covered by a black coat, not moving, possibly dead, surrounded by intense looking people on cell phones. A typical accident scene. Approaching from the other direction (hallelujah!), a Catholic Priest. I watched, curious as a cat, to see exactly what he would do. Would he drop to his knees with a hearty Hail Mary! and begin holy-oiling the poor woman into heaven? Would he begin CPR? Would he engage the crowd, find out what happened, offer to provide what help he could? Give the poor woman an aspirin? A tic-tac? A hug?
The priest stepped over the woman’s prone body, and…just…kept…walking.
Father Mulcahy! Where the fuck are you?