Page 60 - What They Did to the Kid
P. 60

48                                                Jack Fritscher

                        but the hands that will bless and unite us
                           are the beautiful hands of a priest.
                         God bless them and keep them all holy
                         for the Host which their fingers caress.
                           When can a poor sinner do better
                        than to ask Him to guide thee and bless?
                        When the hour of death comes upon us,
                       may our courage and strength be increased
                           by seeing raised over us in blessing
                             the beautiful hands of a priest!

               My father had said, “Ryan, never touch my tools. Be careful
            of your hands. You can’t work on the car with me. You can’t lose
            your hands and lose your voca tion.” My father looked forward to
            my Ordination Day. My Uncle Les and Father Gerber both had
            instructed him that Canon Law decreed that a boy with damaged
            hands could never have those hands anointed for the priesthood. I
            couldn’t touch pliers or saws or car parts.
               The very first days at Misericordia I had wanted to obey every-
            thing the priests told me, so I could learn the priestly mystery and
            feel the chill go down my back every morning when as a priest I
            would say the words of consecration, “Hoc est Corpus Meum, This is
            My Body,” and hold Jesus in my hands.
               “The sophomores,” Father Gunn said, motioning to the sixty-
            three second-year boys drawn up in shorter aisles at the rear of our
            large study hall, “have stepped one year closer to the priesthood by
            one-hundred-percent keeping their part of their deal with God.”
               He wanted all of us to be fine-looking, broad-shouldered young
            priests marching out to all the people in the world who were sinning
            and dying and who would fall like starlings to the oil fires of hell if
            we didn’t learn to save them.
               Danny Boyle and the German lady who was blind, and Porky
            and Hank and even Father Gunn needed my dedication to duty. My
            obedience could eventually cure all kinds of blindness. It could lead
            me to the words and introduce me into the mystery. I renewed my
            summer determina tion and let poor lost Oliver Twist go his hapless
            way. “Ich habe Dienst,” Father Gunn kept repeating. “I have a duty.”


                      ©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved
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