Few years ago, just after my Patron officially appointed me for my service, I was asked for an interview by some mainstream magazine. Editor in chief found it very amusing that in the most secular city in the country number of priests that shared my special assignment was growing rapidly.
Media sensed blood, and I as a novice, having no training in public relations was supposed to give them bunch of answers, which would prove embarrassing enough to ridicule my mission.
The journalist they sent was a zealous freshman, with an annoying manner of biting end of his pen an even more annoying attitude of not listening to my answers. Tomasz Fuchs was his name.
He was one of these wannabies, who would soar through the steps of their career, either dragged like a puppets by the strings of their highly situated amigos or by sheer force of their impudence powered by lack of self-criticism.
I was looking at this round, simple face, and these tiny, clever eyes, that would radiate certain kind of intelligence and yet were not flawed by a sense of dignity.
My usual procedure in that case was to slam the door in front of such specimen – but for some reasons my Patron was really concerned about publicity, and refusal was not an option. I had no choice, but to take this cross on my back.
So, I came to one of these overpriced cafeterias in the capitals city center, where my personal Golgotha would begin.
– So, father… – Mr. Fuchs was making pauses in almost each of the sentences, as if to suggest that there was some deeper, elusive meaning behind them.
This was very annoying.
– Why did you choose your vocation?
– I didn’t, it chose me. – I answered simply which as usual caused confusion on the other side of the table.
– What do you mean, father?
– Someone above decided that I would fit for that job. So I had to trust that decision.
– By someone above you mean God?
– Almost. I meant bishop – It was amusing to see that my answer caused young propaganda adept to frown. It usually made people uneasy when I joked like that. The fact that I wasn’t smiling usually made them wonder if I was joking at all. – It was the bishop Stanislaw that ordained me for my special assignment. I can only hope that God was involved in the decision process.
– But are you happy with what you are doing, father… or you are just doing it because it is your duty?
I raised my eyebrows.
– Both. The first is the consequence of the latter.
– I do not understand, father.
Somehow I wasn’t surprised.
– “I desire no other reward but the awareness that I am fulfilling God’s will”.
– Its St. Ignatius of Loyla. It means that the happiness comes from doing what you are predestined to do.
– So you could say that you enjoy doing what you are doing?
He was still pushing it. And I knew why. The interview was already conducted in his head, he just wanted me to play to the role. Maybe even the title was ready written, something like; “Medieval performance or hidden orgy? Is touching mentally sick the way how priests release their sexual frustrations?” I think I saw something like that on the cover of the magazine whose representative was staring at me, from the other side of the table.
These are the times. Signum Temporis. Or rather Tempus Fecalis.
Shitty times we live in.
– One does not really enjoy being a toilet cleaner. – I explained after long moment of silence – But someone has to do it.
– How this relate to your noble service father? – The way that this journalist pronounced word “noble” sounded like an insult. Probably it was meant to be.
– It is simple. Everyone has a place in his heart, where their sins and guilt’s are being flushed, and same way like everyone has a toilet in the apartment. Sometimes toilet becomes stuck. The feces spill out it can even explode. Someone has to clean it up and that would be me.
Journalist was openly amused.
– That’s most peculiar way of explaining service of an exorcist, that I ever heard.
– Well, its certainly truer than most of the bullshit you see in the movies.
– I thought “bullshit” is not in priest’s dictionary. – he sneered.
– Priests are people, not Teletubbies.
– So no levitation, no chaining to the chairs, vomiting with blood, spitting out nails and other Hollywood style effects? – he seemed rather disappointed.
– Only once a while. Really rare cases.
The journalists raised his eyebrows, again struggling on if I was joking or not.
– How could we know that it is all true, Father? – he said putting his pen aside and looking me directly in the eye. Now would be the time when he would finally lay his agenda on the table – Why don’t you record it and show it to everyone? Why Vatican would forbid it? Shouldn’t we all finally see the face of that devil with which Church was scaring us for more than two thousand years? Isn’t that just a method of controlling less educated part of population?
Now that was as a speech worth a pay rise…wasn’t it? I sighed and let irritation pass.
– Mr. Fuchs… Do you really think that people would be ready for this?
– Well, I think people would be ready to know the truth. Whatever it is.
I laughed out loud. Now that was a peculiar role Mr. Fuchs was playing, wasn’t it;? defender of the information transparency and liberator of indoctrinated masses.
– People are never ready for the truth, Mr. Journalist – I made a pause and pointed at him slowly – That’s why your job pays at the end of month. And it pays well, because fairy tales are at price and truth is not. Truth terrifies us, because it leaves us naked, while we are all dressed in lies.
To be continued