Standing in the rain…
The doors to the church bursted outwards as Father Harabin rushed, frantically, out in to the rainy afternoon air.
He dropped clumsily to the ground. His long white robe became drenched in the thick grassy mud.
Father harabin got to his knees and looked at his hands. They were bruised, bloodied and shaking violently.
Then he looked back towards the church entrance.
“Dear Lord”, he spoke with a quiver in his voice. “What have I done?”
Ten minutes previously, a young man popped into the quite church and approached the priest .
He was a grotty looking youth, obviously a gang member.
He asked for a reconciliation. Father Harabin abliged.
But when the boy confessed to beating an old woman to death and stealing her money. Father Harabin had heard enough.
He attacked the little punk, beating him to within an inch of his life.
Now he just knealt there in the mud. the rain dripping from his chin.
He looked up, as if noticing the rain for the first time. :“Forgive me Lord”, he whispered. “I’m so sorry”
The rain became heavier as Father Harabin fell silent. “Yes , my Lord. I hear you. The rain will wash away my sin. Thank you for your mercy”
Dazed and delusioned, he made his way back into the church to clean his mess.
The boy would never be found