The Priest’s Hymn of Praise

…the priest was a member of Opus Dei…He interrupted me and said: “But you should love the people who tortured you. They did it to save your immortal soul. If you died under torture, you should go directly to heaven. They were good Catholics, and only wanted to save you from the devil, and from Marxism.” Testimony of Ana Valdes, posting to the International Justice Watch Discussion List, 25 March 2006

The Priest’s Hymn of Praise

The shiny young man is coming to kill me,
A Servant of Caesar,
Righteous of stride,
Firm in his purpose,
A heart full of virtue and purity and power.
Virtous lover, he wipes the stain from my soul.
His zeal for my good has shattered my will,
I fall into the ecstasy of pain.
All that I am and all that I have has been taken,
The skin of my soul scraped off like dross.
In his eyes I see yearning, a desire for the good.
How can I tell him of my hearts desire,
the burning desire of a moth for the flame?
He looks at me, seeing only his yearning,
This shiny young soldier of righteousness,
Un comprehending my half spoken tones,
My rantings and weeping,
No mind left to speak with, only my heart,
Stripped to it’s essence by pain.
He lives in a land of wholeness and beauty
where children are innocent and parents are pure.
He cannot know how I yearn to be him,
Trying to locate my face in his heart.
I will never have entrance to the land that he dwells in,
A land where the ladies wear white easter dresses,
Where virile young men strive for laurels of mastery,
A land never meant for the broken, like me.
Longing for freedom from this lightness of being,
There is only one path toward freedom for me.
I sit in a chair and wait for his coming,
Filled with desire, for his blows are caresses.
Does he know that my cry is a spasm of love,
My love for the wholeness that is crushing my life out,
A love aching, reaching and seeking his heart.
So distant, so holy, he appears as an angel,
My joy and my Nemesis, my destiny and doom.
…May I be worthy.


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