Father Billy’s subsequent prayers, he thought God might then be immediately turning around to test that faith, which only opened the door to further speculation.
“What if this was the Devil? ” Father Billy would ask, but somehow he just couldn’t make himself believe that. Deep down, he felt that God had reached out to touch him, but then, like a taunting child, had immediately back away. And as that was never how any of his predecessors had characterized the Almighty, Father Billy wanted to know why.
Father Billy had spent those eighty days in prayer begging God to explain Himself, but had always been met with silence. Naturally, he’d considered the idea that “the miracle” was evidence of some kind of brain injury or tumor, but after a battery of tests came back negative (followed by a second battery done under a false name in Fort Worth), Father Billy was more convinced than ever that it had been God Himself behind the pulse in the crucifix and not his own mind playing tricks.
So, he continued his daily prostrations. He begged, he flattered, he bargained. He created hypotheticals and asked the Lord for his opinion. He asked questions asked of him by his parishioners, hoping that would seem more selfless, but still nothing.
Father Billy wondered if God was punishing him by suddenly forcing him to confront his lack of faith. He knew that he was hardly the only priest who had such crises, so why punish him in this way as it was a punishment. He had been fine, a great priest in the estimation of everyone around him, but then this “miracle” was visited upon him and was now threatening to tear him apart at the seams. That’s when the begging, the flattering, the cajoling and the questioning gave way to threats.
“If you don’t respond to me, I’ll counsel a parishioner to get an abortion,” Father Billy prayed. And, when there was nothing, he did just that.
“If you don’t respond, my sermons will move against scripture,” he tried. Again, when there was nothing, he subtly began preaching things that wholeheartedly went against the Bible, but it did nothing.
“If you don’t answer me, I’ll dishonor my vows. I’ll sleep with women. I’ll piss on the cross. I’ll denounce you. I’ll invert the Communion so the congregation sups from the body of Lucifer. I will steal from the church.”
He did all of these things. He researched the Seven Cardinal Sins and found ways for not only himself to commit them, but also to convince others to do similarly so that it wasn’t just his sin, but the sins of many. He did this for the entire month of May, fighting to bring about some kind of Divine Intervention, but it never came.
It was midway through the first week of June that he got an inkling of what he intended to do next, one great sin left uncommitted. That’s when he began planning for the camp.
“We’re here now, Lord,” Father Billy whispered on the floor of his administrator’s cabin, angling his eyes up to look up at the large black leather satchel he could just glimpse under the kitchen sink, mostly hidden behind a thin red-and-white cloth curtain. “My plan is in motion and just as it is solely mine to implement, it is solely yours to end. I will not stop until you reveal yourself to me. Whatever happens now is in Your Hands.”
Father Billy looked up again, seeing the bright white glow of the summer sun cascading in through the front window, and held his breath. He didn’t know what he expected, perhaps his heart to stop beating, maybe an aneurysm that would cause his vision to explode into a thousand small pinpoints of lights before everything went black. Something . But it was just more of the same.
He continued to wait, but then: knock... knock... knock...
He looked up as Cindy, probably the best of his counselors, knocked on his door and scanned through the window to see if she could spy him. Father Billy had always liked Cindy and was glad she was back for her fourth and
“What if this was the Devil? ” Father Billy would ask, but somehow he just couldn’t make himself believe that. Deep down, he felt that God had reached out to touch him, but then, like a taunting child, had immediately back away. And as that was never how any of his predecessors had characterized the Almighty, Father Billy wanted to know why.
Father Billy had spent those eighty days in prayer begging God to explain Himself, but had always been met with silence. Naturally, he’d considered the idea that “the miracle” was evidence of some kind of brain injury or tumor, but after a battery of tests came back negative (followed by a second battery done under a false name in Fort Worth), Father Billy was more convinced than ever that it had been God Himself behind the pulse in the crucifix and not his own mind playing tricks.
So, he continued his daily prostrations. He begged, he flattered, he bargained. He created hypotheticals and asked the Lord for his opinion. He asked questions asked of him by his parishioners, hoping that would seem more selfless, but still nothing.
Father Billy wondered if God was punishing him by suddenly forcing him to confront his lack of faith. He knew that he was hardly the only priest who had such crises, so why punish him in this way as it was a punishment. He had been fine, a great priest in the estimation of everyone around him, but then this “miracle” was visited upon him and was now threatening to tear him apart at the seams. That’s when the begging, the flattering, the cajoling and the questioning gave way to threats.
“If you don’t respond to me, I’ll counsel a parishioner to get an abortion,” Father Billy prayed. And, when there was nothing, he did just that.
“If you don’t respond, my sermons will move against scripture,” he tried. Again, when there was nothing, he subtly began preaching things that wholeheartedly went against the Bible, but it did nothing.
“If you don’t answer me, I’ll dishonor my vows. I’ll sleep with women. I’ll piss on the cross. I’ll denounce you. I’ll invert the Communion so the congregation sups from the body of Lucifer. I will steal from the church.”
He did all of these things. He researched the Seven Cardinal Sins and found ways for not only himself to commit them, but also to convince others to do similarly so that it wasn’t just his sin, but the sins of many. He did this for the entire month of May, fighting to bring about some kind of Divine Intervention, but it never came.
It was midway through the first week of June that he got an inkling of what he intended to do next, one great sin left uncommitted. That’s when he began planning for the camp.
“We’re here now, Lord,” Father Billy whispered on the floor of his administrator’s cabin, angling his eyes up to look up at the large black leather satchel he could just glimpse under the kitchen sink, mostly hidden behind a thin red-and-white cloth curtain. “My plan is in motion and just as it is solely mine to implement, it is solely yours to end. I will not stop until you reveal yourself to me. Whatever happens now is in Your Hands.”
Father Billy looked up again, seeing the bright white glow of the summer sun cascading in through the front window, and held his breath. He didn’t know what he expected, perhaps his heart to stop beating, maybe an aneurysm that would cause his vision to explode into a thousand small pinpoints of lights before everything went black. Something . But it was just more of the same.
He continued to wait, but then: knock... knock... knock...
He looked up as Cindy, probably the best of his counselors, knocked on his door and scanned through the window to see if she could spy him. Father Billy had always liked Cindy and was glad she was back for her fourth and
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