Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Our Father, who art my Protector,
hallowed be thy hands
which have masturbated me beneath thy cassock.
Forgive me for speaking out
and naming your sins.
Take from me the will to live a healthy life
and find, for you, the solace of the confessional
so you can go on doing what you are compelled to do.
Wrap round you, Father, the shroud of your Holy Order
secure in the unspoken rite of silence, knowing
even those in high places will look after you.
I am broken, Father, by your beguiling smile
and your wandering hands introducing me
to shame, and filth, and knowledge of the dirt
that lies in the hearts of men.
I wish it were otherwise.
Forgive me, now, for in joining the throng
who raise up their voices to denounce you
and all your ilk, I am claiming back
some semblance of dignity for myself,
and trying, with every breath I take,
to walk, even if falteringly, towards the light.
I am trying to make something living for myself, Father,
that I may hold my own children in my arms
and know the sacred trust bestowed on me - a parent,
a carer - to see that they are not defiled by one
who would use them for his own pleasure.
For they are not mine to use; they are mine to nurture.
I pray for you, Father, that your rottenness may be brought to account.
I pray for all those damaged, hiding for so long in the dark.
It is late in the day, Father.
May there be healing in the land.
15 November 2012