Ash Wednesday Story

The night was cool and clear, as nights tend to be after hot, rainy days in the city. The old priest started a fire and tended it until it warmed the community around it.

"You are doing God's work in this Revolution," said the Priest to Gabby and Tomás and the Doctor.

"But Padre," answered Tomás, "There is one problem with your kind thought. I don't believe in God. So how can I be doing God's work?"

"It doesn't matter," replied the Priest, "That you don't believe in God. 

I saw you with the family in the barrio today, how you held the little girl in your arms, how the dirt on her face smudged your cheek, how her joke about the stubborn donkey made you laugh, how her story about her abuelo made you cry. 

I saw you share your food with the family and I know how little food you have. 

You may not believe in God, Tomás, but you love the family in the barrio. 

Whether it is God's love or your love, it doesn't matter. 

They are loved. That’s what matters."

"Ah, Padre," said the Doctor, "I still remember the catechism of my childhood, I still hear the sing-song Latin phrases from my parish priest, phrases that were mysterious,  words that I didn't understand.

In my third year of medical school, I went home to my old church. 'Bless me Father, for I have sinned,' I said to my priest, 'It has been many years, too many years to count, since my last confession.'

I told the priest the truth. I didn’t understand the church. I didn’t understand God. I no longer believed in the church. I no longer believed in God. 

'My child,' the priest responded, 'Hear these words of St. Anselm - credo et intelligam - you must believe in order to understand.'

But I couldn't believe so I didn’t understand. 

Yet, I want to understand you, Padre. 

I wonder if the words should be - actio et intelligam - you must act in order to understand. Perhaps I could believe then. At least your actions give me hope that I could."

"Father Eusebio," said Gabby, "When I was a girl, the cathedral in our province was across the street from the government offices. It was a meeting place for rich people. It was a school for rich people. It was a church for rich people. The priests would go out to the campesinos in the countryside on rare occasions - for the baptism of babies or a mass for the dead. But there were so many of us and only a few of them. No priest ever came to my village.

 I would go to town with my Papi and while he went into stores seeking credit to help us live on our land for the next year, I stood in front of the cathedral and looked up into the sky at it's stones and spires. I saw it's cross at the very top of the structure, so small and far away. I thought, 'The God of this church is small and far away, is only for the small number of people who are far away from the struggle and the suffering of our life and the lives of the people around us.' I knew then...that small, far away God would not hold us or help us."

"I understand," said the Priest. "That small, far away God doesn't need us...and we don't need that small, far away God. The church of that God threw me out...and I'm glad...because it never helped you...but it helped me meet you.

I can only say...being with you...helps me know in my heart...that there is something I am willing to sacrifice...what I have...what I am...that there is something I am willing to die for...but not willing to kill for. 

I call this something the kingdom of God. 

You call it the Revolution."

I am willing to sacrifice what I have and what I am for the Revolution. I am willing to die for the Revolution. I am willing to kill for the Revolution. 

I hope you will respect me...respect my courage...respect my commitment to life...for by using my hands to end the lives of the soldiers who perpetrated this massacre I am saving the lives of the old women, the small boys, the fathers and mothers, and the toddlers who will open their eyes tomorrow to another day on the land. By bringing justice to the regime, I am bringing peace to the people. 

I am not God, Padre, but when the campesinos stand in front of me and look into my eyes, I hope they see that I am big and close up to them...that I am with them."

The old priest was silent. He stared humbly into the fire, watching the embers glow softly with the stars of the dark sky and the wood crack and pop rhythmically with the night sounds of the barrio.

After a while, he walked to Gabby, Tomás, and the Doctor and kissed each one tenderly on the forehead.

Without saying a word, he hobbled out of the light of the fire and disappeared into the night.