Confession - John Fetto

Johanna sat but did not kneel. The air thickened with incense and unanswered prayers. She had been how many times? Twice a week for all the weeks Hawley was gone, Wednesday afternoon and Sunday mornings. Chimes. Bells. Waiting for some answer? Waiting for grace? Something that would quench her anger, stop her from glaring at happy people, wishing they burned the way Hawley did. How was it anyone walked around smiling when Hawley had burned? She could read their thoughts in the furrows of their pasty brows, good children, all bending to God’s mysterious will. When it came time for her chance to enter the dark closet where only the priest her words, she was not ready to confess, she was ready to indict.

She was forced to kneel. There was no seat, but she kneeled unwillingly, waiting for small door to open so that she could hear the priest through the gauzy mesh, but no sooner had the door opened then she began her argument.

“Why must Hawley burn?”

“Hawley?” said the Priest, and so she told him. She told him of the fire, the cremated little box with the flag, her long discussion with the nuns who said he could not enter heaven because he was not baptized. Baptized? He barely went to school. He was raised as a work animal on his father’s ranch. But now he was punished because he was not sprinkled with water.

“But he already burned? Why does he burn again and not Tate?”

“Tate?”

“The man who killed him. Why didn’t God burn him?”

Now the Priest talked the same nonsense she heard from the nuns. He said it was all mysterious. It was all part of great plan. He had no clue.


“How was his plan furthered by letting Tate live? Can you tell me that?” Her voice was getting louder. She could hear it echoing outside in the Cathedral and then it became very quiet. “Why wasn’t Hawley saved by who he is, not what words he said.”

The priest muttered more. “You are upset,” he said. “Grief seems endless but with God’s help, there is comfort…”

“Comfort in knowing Hawley burned twice. What comfort is that?”

“There is grace. It will happen if you pray. You must pray. Be patient. God will grant you grace.”

She continued to argue, sometimes angrily, waiting for the priest to lose his patience, but he refused. He would fight with her. He was patient, kept talking and in the end, she walked out feeling exhausted and spent.