Log: In the Name of the Father (Cain/other)

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One weekday morning, Cain goes to one of the last places people would expect to find some answers and a small measure of peace.



Cain Marko looked up as he entered the chapel of the Snow Valley Community Church. On Sundays, it was somewhat of an anachronism in the town. One of the older buildings of worship in Salem Center, it still held Catholic Mass early on Sunday mornings, followed by a nonsectarian Protestant service. Even with the larger churches uptown, and St. Mark's over on the east side, the small chapel still had a significant congregation.

It was also one of the few places Cain could go out in public without getting stared at. It was somewhat of an open secret that the parishoners were more open-minded than many of the conservative traditionalists when it came to those who looked different than the norm. Some of the school's more visible mutants attended Sunday services, sharing space in a pew with octogenarians in their best suits and dresses, and the occasional teenager with spiked blue hair looking for some solace in the pastor's words.

Pausing by the small booths set up for confession, Cain cleared his throat as he pulled two chairs away from the wall, sitting them back to back. He gingerly took a seat and waited until he heard someone exit the booth and sit in the other chair, facing away from him.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," Cain grumbled, crossing himself absently. "It's been... five weeks since my last confession."

Father William shifted slightly in his chair. Cain Marko was a very...visible presence on the infrequent occasions that he attended mass, and when he came for confession, his sheer size necessitated that they sit in chairs outside the confessional. But still, unlike the face-to-face confession some less conservative parishes had adopted, Cain still preferred the relative privacy and anonymity of being simply a voice. The anonymity was largely symbolic because of their sitting outside the confessional, but as a priest, Father William quite understood the value of symbols.

Crossing himself as well, he replied quietly and gently. "And what have your sins been in those five weeks, my son?"

Resisting the urge to tell Father William to make himself comfortable, Cain just settled for a short sigh, focusing his eyes on the empty pulpit at the front of the chapel. "Took th' Lord's name in vain a few times, I suppose. Personally, I don't know if he minds, you know? I mean, son of a carpenter and all, probably smashed his thumb with a hammer a few times. But, I, uh..." he took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "I've been walking around a long time, padre. Had a lot of anger that wasn't all mine. Big lot of that's gone now but... I suppose you could say I've got a lot of wrath in my heart. That's one of the big ones, ain't it?"

Folding his hands in his lap, Father William nodded to himself. Cain tended to be conversational in his confessions, rather than simply reciting a laundry list of sins before asking for absolution. He was very earthy in his speech, as befit his time spent in the Marines. "Wrath or anger is indeed one of the 'seven deadly sins', as they say," he agreed. "Is there anyone in specific that you have anger towards?" he prompted.

"My brother," Cain said quickly, shaking his head, "and don't I know the irony there. But we've talked about that, yeah? How it's more like envy, what with my old man preferring him over his own flesh and blood. And it ain't just this grudge against my old man, either. I mean, he's been in the ground forty-plus years. I suppose it's..."

Cain opened his eyes, looking up at the stained glass windows lining the ceiling of the chapel, bearing scenes from the gospels. "I seen a lot of stuff the Good Book don't really cover, padre. I know they say that good or bad, everything happens for a reason. If his eye is on the sparrow, and all that. I know there's more out there than just this world. I've been there. I've been face to face with people... things that call themselves gods. Had 'em inside me, just there at the back of my mind, like them demons the good Lord cast out of people back in the day. But I done a lot of wrong in my time, and I can't blame it on anything but me. I'm tryin' to walk the straight line, padre. Tryin' to stay on the side of the angels. And some days I just want to slip, you know? Quit tryin' so hard. And I don't know who I'm madder at for that; me, or God?"

Confession with students and faculty from Xavier's was always a bit of an adventure. There were times when Father William had heard things that stretched his credulity. But he believed in a loving God, and that God had a plan for everyone. It was hard to have faith sometimes, but he was only human, and he knew the sort of crisis that Cain was talking about.

"It seems to me that you're more angry at yourself," he replied. "If that's not too presumptuous. I find that even when people tell me that they are angry with God, that it is merely a cover for their own frustrations and anger with themselves." He smiled slightly. "But God does not ask us to be perfect, and have faith every second of every day. He merely asks us to do our best to love and serve Him and one another."

"I know that, padre," Cain replied, folding his hands together. "And I've been tryin' to do that, do right to make up for the stuff I done in the past. Sometimes it feels like it ain't enough, you know? Some days I open my eyes in the morning and the world ain't how it was when I was these kids' age, and it makes me wonder if even tryin' is worth it. I mean, back in the day when things got too bad, God sent a flood. I dunno, I wonder some days if that ain't my purpose."

"Man is not saved by works alone, Cain," Father William rebuked the large man gently. "We cannot simply balance the scales by performing good deeds in an attempt to negate the bad ones that we have done. But that does not mean we should not make the attempt to do good and live our lives in a manner pleasing to God. Merely that God is not keeping score."

"But don't he also say faith without works is dead?" Cain quoted, "Maybe God ain't keepin' score, but I'm pretty sure he ain't expecting us to just sit and pray that things'll get better." He shook his head, crossing himself absently in an almost-reflexive apology for his doubt. "I s'pose it's about finding that balance, maybe. Between faith and works. Think he can give me a hand there?"

"That was what I was trying to say, Cain. We should still try to do good in the world, and live in a manner worthy of God's love. Prayer is a useful thing, but like you said, it comes down to finding a balance. A mix of faith and works. Doubt is a very natural human reaction. There are times that we stumble. The important part is to get up and keep going when those times occur." Father William turned slightly to put a hand on Cain's broad shoulder. "And isn't coming to confession here somewhat like God's way of giving you a hand?"

"Suppose it is, Father," Cain said solemnly. "It's okay to stumble, so long as you don't stop. That much I know I can do."

Sensing that Cain had resolved whatever was troubling him in his mind, Father William led him through the Act of Contrition. Then, he murmured the familiar words of absolution. "God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son, has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." He crossed himself ritually with the final words.

"Amen," Cain repeated, crossing himself, then standing up slowly. "I'll, uh, I'll see you at Mass this Sunday, yeah?"