As a practicing Catholic, I do not go to confession. These priests do not deserve to hear my sins that belong in the Ears of God.
―Don Okolo
There is a Catholic priest in Louisiana, and he takes the cake. I don’t know what his name is, but I guarantee you the one called Samael, Lucifer, that is, does. If anyone in the realm of Heaven is weeping right about now, it is Jesus, The Anointed One. Trust me: I know Him well enough, His Heart is broken into several pieces…and His Mother is there by Him, Her Hands on His shoulder, imploring Him in passionate appeals to ignore the flagrant display of wantonness and egregious unseemliness carried out on His own sacrificial table.
Just like the high priest, Caiaphas, and his partner in crime did in the days of yore, in the old city of Jerusalem’s grand temple, where the duo practiced impiety in the court of the gentiles, and Jesus bemoaned the depravity, and cried daily because He knew what the consequences would be for the Jewish nation, this Louisiana priest has elevated the game of debauchery to a higher height to make Caiaphas and Annas’ defecations in the temple of God look like a two-year old child who lost control of his bowel.
I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at one point after I had read the story. It called to mind all other acts of immorality and decadence associated with some Catholic priests. For me, this one experience in Louisiana ranks up there as one grades mortal sins; and I believe mortal sins are graded accordingly. This one has a red bandana, and for vestment, a black leather jacket, and Dixie-inspired tattoos his body over. This one sin has character and smells of uncouth whisky; it packs a six-shooter howitzer on both hips for extemporaneous (sudden) warfare. The priest knew what he was about to do, and where he was going to finagle that bliss…and should God show up to muddle his contentment, he would show Him he was packing.
We have been looking for the Anti-Christ to show up. Well, look no further
If any weapon should stop God, it is those howitzer launchers about his body. This priest could have believed so. Nothing was going to stop him. His brand of transgression could only come one step below the raping of a newborn. Again, I had laughed because this priest has a wicked sense of humor…or he was telling God, with this one vile, malevolent act, that he was not afraid of Him. In truth, he was fearless. Look, he was a bold SOB. Period. It is safe to assume that he had the Lucifer belligerent complex at the time of the sex-capade to ignore the sanctuary of Hosts behind him, and be courageous enough to engage in such carnal, no-holds barred fiesta on the altar where Mass is celebrated daily. Only the Devil could do such a thing. We have been looking for the Anti-Christ to show up. Well, look no further…and do not look beyond the Big Easy.
“IF A PRIEST BE FOUL IN WHOM DO WE TRUST?”
I have used this quote before by Geoffrey Chaucer (You will find it in the Pardoner’s Tale) Our daring priest had Jezebel and Beelzebub…one on each arm as he strode, panache-like into the church on that lonesome day. Did I say lonesome? And he had two bombshells to work on? This was not your average happenstance; my guess is that the trio were regulars and had engaged at other times, in other nooks and crannies they finally ran out of rooms to explore. So, they picked on God’s house…maybe, for the thrills. Or, if it were the thrills of spontaneity they were seeking, then Jezebel and Beelzebub had to be the last two on the confessional line.
The thing that excites me to the point I could laugh myself to death is the verbal slickness and fireworks the priest had to possess to snare two Catholic women at the same time. This stuff is delicious! Well, as far as short films go. Any student of film has a wealth of juicy material to play with in this priestly adventure. How about a corner in the sacristy? Could the priest have driven the women to a swamp where God would not care to look? There must be a hidden corner about the church’s grounds for such inebriated form of copulation to happen. They have got to have it!!! Imagine if the dilly-dallying had happened on a Saturday, and the priest was booked to celebrate Mass the next day…Sunday. You and I are sitting in the congregation unaware what this priest had done the previous night. This same priest, if he were not caught, would hear your confession on any given day…and probably offer you cautionary advice on the virtues of chastity if you had confessed on promiscuity. Therefore, as a practicing Catholic, I do not go to confession. These priests do not deserve to hear my sins that belong in the Ears of God.
“NO WONDER, A COMMON MAN WOULD RUST”
Maybe God was looking, after all. Maybe the man who caught them was an Angel He sent to break it up, and then turn them in. Did not the temple in Jerusalem burn to the ground at one point in its history? Did the Bishop of the diocese and the parishioners not pack up the remnants of the altar, take it outside and set it to fire? Was that an attempt at incinerating any DNAs the three could have left on the wooden/stone slab edifice that belonged to The Almighty…upon which sacrifices were made daily?
Would the Catholic Church retain this priest, and send him to some far-out locale to practice other versions of his shameless and cult-like permutations?
Couldn’t the parish have scrubbed it clean and re-consecrated it with a special rendition of a Higher Order of Mass to make the altar pristine and hallowed once again? Could God forgive this? I guess He could. But would He? Doesn’t this qualify as sacrilege? In my book, it does. Would the Catholic Church retain this priest, and send him to some far-out locale to practice other versions of his shameless and cult-like permutations? Most likely the Church would look the other way and grant him solace and not disrobe him. If this same priest were caught with his frock discarded at the base of another altar, next to a blue blouse and a red/grey skirt, the Church would probably move him farther inland to hide his misdeeds and misgivings.
They do that all the time, as if to lessen the impact of her own flatulence to save the Church an embarrassing stench. Shouldn’t that call for an ecclesiastical order to have priests marry? It is just that this Louisiana priest is so far gone his two-handed, self-gratification approach to the game is pomposity in its wild passages, as it is a stylized version of braggadocio he flashes at the Vatican in mockery; it is an artistic denouement to a style that is all his own, in his bid to dismantle age-old decrees even a changing world demands. And he is singing it loud; Yeah, I got ants in my pants, and I need to dance. For him, the stirrings in his rumps and everywhere around his hindquarters are his daily callings. Not Jesus Christ. They are all the Jazzy and Bluesy combo he listens to…to jumpstart his day and determine which lady parishioner would get a call from him…you know, like the African Chief in his large homestead, married to a harem of beauties. These women would sit complacently in their huts and wait for the Chief to be done with dinner and decide what soup and from which wife on that night was the best. He would holler the name of the wife for her ingenious applications of the right amount of proper spices in flavoring the bouillabaisse (Broth).
Why two women at the same time? Rudolph Valentino and Casanova have nothing on this priest. I am crazy enough to go searching for what he knows that the rest of us do not. There must a method to his madness; it must be beyond glibness, or the way he is cut physically and how much of his looks is a big draw. This priest must possess that specialized spiritual esoterica…that hallowed command that drops every woman and would cause them to sing in soprano. It must be where the tricks of his trade are anchored. He draws from that pool…and his timing could never be off kilter. Hell, I am moving to Louisiana and talk to him…in Latin, if I must. I want to know. Who’s coming with me?
♦ Don Okolo, Professor and filmmaker, is on the Editorial Board of the West African Pilot News. He is the author of many books.
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