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As We Forgive Our Trespassers

I'm the type of foolish man who thought forgiveness is easy. I don't have any enemies; I'm at least somewhat of an easygoing guy [The truth is, you're a control freak, who's good at convincing people that you're easygoing.--ed.].

And then, it hits. People wiser than me advised I wait a couple months, maybe I can discern some good in what was said. It's been 4. It's probably good I'm a cripple; I probably would have hit him in the throat by now, and only later felt bad about it.

I'm opening up about it here, because I'm honestly tired of trying to talk about it with people who are like me: Good Christians, uncomfortable with anger, obedient to authority, and ever so thankful to God for our many gifts.

Oh, yeah, the guy's a priest.

Yes, if you're wondering, I kind of hate myself right now. What good Catholic wouldn't? And this is not someone I met randomly one time at Our Lady of the Godless Suburbs parish for a sacramental check-up. We know each other, OK? I'd have used the word, "friends". Random people and their big mouths may annoy us; it's our friends and loved ones who can truly hurt us.

Actually, another friend said I was entirely too obedient to authority, in that this journey began with me simply taking all the words to heart, as though they were true. Hey man, that's me. If a priest says, "This is how it is," who am I to argue?

I have been able to pray, and it's not like I wish him true ill; Pete's sake, where would we be, without our priests? I've kind of imagined that he was Paul, and I was Barnabas. Only--and this is the part that rankles--if Barnabas was Corky from "Thirtysomething".

People always tell me I'm full of joy and optimism. I don't know, maybe I am. But I get a whiff that you're trying to patronize me, or brush me to the side, hoo boy. Don't be in the same place at the same time.

And disability complicates everything. I want to believe that nothing in this unfortunate conversation had anything to do with mine, but I don't live in that world of luxury. The naivete of blissful ignorance.

I was just trying to be a man, talking to another man. And then I felt like a three-year-old, rebuked for trying to sit in the big-boy chair with the adults at Christmas dinner. So, yeah, I'm not happy.

Lord, have mercy! There's nothing worse than the thought of going to Hell on a technicality.
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