Saturday, August 29, 2015


As I write this a woman is being laid to rest.

It is hard to know how many times she died. 

Surely she died when her son was sent to prison over thirty years ago for taking another person's life. 

Surely she died daily, nightly, hourly as she - like most mothers - probably wondered what she could have done different, what she did wrong, what she could do for the family who lost their child, what she could have done at all...

Though the horrors of those many years must have never been very far from painful memory and regret, imagine her hope that somehow, someway, there could be forgiveness and reconciliation. 

Imagine her hope when her son, after conforming to the penal code, was paroled. Imagine her hope as he quietly, painfully, assiduously, worked his way back into society. Imagine her hope when he returned to the church of his youth. Imagine her hope when he married and gave her grandchildren. 

Imagine her hope that the family her son had wounded might forgive her, might forgive her son, that the God she believed in might assuage and reconcile not just her pain, but theirs too.  

Surely her church gave her hope, her faith gave her promise. Surely there could be redemption, salvation, restoration. Surely.

Thirteen years after her son's release from prison, all seemed quiet, all seemed possible. 


The church on which she relied. The church to which she had entrusted her hope. The church to which she had clung...smashed her world, punished her again, crucified her again, chopped her heart open, killed her again...and again, and again.

No, not "the Church," not the true one, but the church of Apuron and Adrian and David the VG and Pius and Kiko. The church of the Neo god. 

To save their black plan they needed a scapegoat, a blemished lamb. They needed a crime to drive a stake through the heart of Fr. Paul - a sacrifice to the altar of the Neo god. 

Ignoring her son's conversion. Ignoring her son's family. Ignoring her son's mother. Even ignoring the pain of the victim's family that such publicity could possibly resurrect...

...the dark high priests of the church of the Neo god drug her son and his decades old crime into public view so they could flog him with his past, so they could beat him into a demon, so they could chain him to Fr. Paul and damn them both to a living death so that these dark high priests might continue to worship and sacrifice at the altar of the Neo god. 

Her son's name and picture appeared on the front page of the paper, placed there by the church of Apuron, Adrian, David the VG, Pius, and Kiko. Placed there to cover for their own crime. 

I was told she collapsed. Already weak. Already ill. Already old. She did not understand why her son was in trouble again. He wasn't. But she didn't understand. 

This week she died, again. Once more. The last time. Killed. A sacrifice to the church of the Neo god. 

May she at last find peace...even while the dirty war she left behind still rages, and the death of more aging mothers is hastened by the pain of seeing their sons and their vocations sacrificed at that altar of the church of Apuron, Adrian, David, Pius, and Kiko, the church of the Neo god.

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