Everyone knows fatherly Father Patrick Norris, the longest serving priest at, Our Lady of Penitent Nonchalance, at Delaware and Elm. In fact, everyone who’s anyone, and all the ones in between, was either baptized, or given communion, by kindly Father Norris. The local joke among parishioners is that Father Norris is so old he was giving out Wurther’s candies as a boy on the Pony Express, and that he sent the very messages that ended the Civil War with the only reason no one can prove otherwise is anyone who knew him in his youth passed away hundreds of years ago. No one really remembers when Father Norris started at the church, and no one thinks too hard about it either. If they did think too hard about it well then a good Catholic would be forced into one of two conclusions. The first conclusion being some form of Holy intervention, but that’s easily dismissed because no one has seen anything Holy since the First World War. That leaves the second possible conclusion, and it tastes even more sour than the first because it hints at Unholy alliances and is furthered soured because everyone has seen unholiness on a near daily basis. No one believes in miracles, and no one wants to believe their priest is unholy, so no one asks. Therefore, Father Norris rode the Pony Express, saved the Union, was the first old person to hand out candies to “kids these days”, was first to yell at children to get off the church lawn, and still preaches at the local church. Why worry about unknown truths when fanciful speculations just feel better, and that’s exactly how the town of Rockhavenstontown went along for decades gone. There were three truths in Rockhavenstontown: the people born there usually died there, the life in-between their mortal bookends was generally contented, and Father Norris never had–nor allowed–any troubles during mass. And yet, there was a fourth truth in this town, a secret, odious trouble brewing beneath the church crucifix’s, and the town’s, collective noses.

All the World in a Word of, Her

Like everyone that ever existed kindly Father Norris was a person who did things and knew people, and yet he was a secret outlier among the townsfolk. Despite a life of meekly service, Father Norris carried a deep and florid passion for a pair of the warmest eyes, the softest voice, and the most otherworldly of bosoms. Usually, his heart beat in the rhythm of a stoic march harkening back to Prussian pride, but then it would kick into a fancy-free 5/4 with a walking bass and a dash of jazzy syncopation whenever he would see, Her.

Her.

That is all and only ever the word he needed for her…

Her.

From her soothing radiance only he could see, her presence raised the very heights of elegance, erudition, and grace with an achingly bountiful bustiness such that a single word filled his whole everything. A mere glance from Her crumbled the broken parts of his heart and soul, broken by time, tragedy, empty luck, and the casual malice of this very existence.

Her.

For 80 minutes every Sunday his passion flared upon simply beholding Her with his eyes usually too tired. His heart swelled then and in all the forgettable days between…

Her.

As you may guess, this silent yearning within the heart of a priest immediately warred against his most proper and dutiful Catholic guilt. The battleground for this evergreen war between passion and service raged in a place deep in Father Norris, hidden from daily life, from friendly conversation, conscious thought, and even from the probing eyes of Jesus on the Cross. The battle for Father Norris’ impassioned soul warred where men fear to tread, and cloistered knitting circles conveniently ignored… the preacher’s anus.

Trouble Down Under

I hope you can imagine his debacle since Her aromatically bouqueted arrival some years ago. As grew his emerging feelings, Father Norris became gastrically distressed whenever she walked down the nave and sat in the front pews. There she sat, every Sunday, listening intently, breathing evenly so the rise and fall of her breasts created a tidal force that kept him pulling him in, gently mesmerizing him, and locking his breath in time with Hers. At first, the gastric distress presented as a slight case of gas causing easily-overlooked cramps. But, as he fell deeper into the radiating warmth of Her, the oceans in her eyes, the Springtime mirth in her smile, and the ever widening window of her plunging necklines, Father Norris’ affliction worsened. He began farting in church.

They were tiny toots at first, no more sinful than an extra spoonful of sugar with breakfast and yet it was enough to begin a destructive feedback loop of gastric distress for Father Norris. He saw Her? His Earthly and spiritual hearts awakened anew with love and possibility. What of his mind being exuberant about someone other than the probing eyes of Jesus on the Cross? The emotional war that tagged in his bowels grew stronger. His farting during church? Gastric distress would attack and Jesus on the Cross would hold his breath while also staring laser beams of shame into Father Norris. Let’s be honest, since Jesus on the Cross–with his shame beams–wasn’t really helping then troubled Father Norris needed a new solution. He needed something wholesome, something family friendly, a scapegoat, something that looked like it would fart AND not care that it had farted, and that he could keep with him at church. Eunice Bellson, employed at the County Clerk’s Office and prolifically odious flatulater, came to scheming Father Norris’ mind. However, her lack of status as even the remotest of practicing Catholic, coupled with her annoying habit of asking people if they’d found Jesus (Yes Eunice, we have, and the way he’s staring at me from the cross is a bit unsettling, thank you very much), inspired Father Norris to get the next best thing: a dog. 

Scapedog

So, intelligent Father Norris bought a dog, but not just any dog. He bought a dog that LOOKED like it farted just thinking about lifting it’s head, or paws. This was a dog so old that Life left it years earlier and yet some natural force forgot to collect his soul. That’s how, Doug the Dog, came to join the congregation, under the guise of a cloud of farts. For his part, and quite unbeknownst to Father Norris, Doug the Dog who was once known as, General Wags, remembered when Father Norris was experimenting with caffeinated drinks and a loud noise called, Blink-182. General Wags never considered anyone blinking that much, but then General Wags was never able to count past “cat” on his toes. General Wags, aka Doug the Dog, does remember loud Father Norris though and is happy to force his care and feeding on him until Death finally checks this old dog’s pulse and takes him to that Great Upstate Farm in the Sky.

So it was. For months. Flustered Father Norris would deliver his sermons as best he could. He started strong, bowels free from sin, and over the course of the service, desperate Father Norris’ stomach rumbled as the Demons of Angst and Desire cavorted, danced, played, and held merry court away below the duodenum looking for daylight. As hinted earlier, these escapades grew and grew and grew until they racously barreled out the back door of embarrassed Father Norris creating such a sensory cacophony that the windows were beginning to stay open as the months grew colder.

“So sayeth the Lord…

<toot>

Our God that whosoever speaks my name…

<brrrpapaap>

shall be bathed in the…

<pfffffffffffffft-ft-ft-fffft>

glory of…

<ththtckckckckppt>

Heaven. Please, Heavenly Father, forgive our poor old Doug and save us from having to breathe yesterday’s dog food. It smells like the Dark Lord’s gym socks. We think the new food isn’t agreeing with him. Forgive us Lord, but if this continues you’ll probably see more of us very soon.

<brrreeee-eeeeptthh>

Also, should anyone need their crops dusted,

<toot>

for a small donation to the church, you can borrow Doug for as long as you want. Ah…

<thpthpthhhhhhptptpeeeee-eeeee>

men.”

Intermezzo

Then the day finally came where love and flatulence collided, as Spring threatened to defrost chilled hearts and snowy earth.

Before we reach the conclusion though, we must address addlepated Father Norris’ extra-gastric behavior. For too long have we focused solely on the guts of the problem. It’s been said that a man is a fool who falls in love with his eyes instead of his ears. Therefore all men are fools. And while this is certainly true in the case of smitten Father Norris, I believe we can afford him some generosity as well, after all, not all men are fools that love. For decades, just between us, fervent Father Norris was devoted to the calling of the Lord, to tending his flock with compassion shearing each only when the wool of sin was thick enough to keep each lamb warm in the freeze of a soul’s winter. Through thick and thin, steadfast Father Norris kept true to his bearing and never cheated on the Lord by dating or even looking at another woman. So, when She walked in all those months or years ago now, something blinked in short-circuited Father Norris, as if a fuse for the check engine light started working. And that’s what she did to him, that no other could; she turned on his check engine light. Father Norris did what all experienced drivers do at first. He ignored the check engine light. Yet she wouldn’t stop coming to mass, and so he couldn’t keep ignoring his check engine light. In time, frustrated Father Norris realized that no one had ever given his engine a good work over, and he started craving a tune-up. This was only the beginning of an additional set of panic fears. What if his engine broke down when it was being tuned up? Would anyone even want to tune up his engine? How’s his oil level? Will his spark plugs ignite at the right time? And then the biggest panic settled in when manic Father Norris realized his check engine light was for a his engine and he had no idea what other engines were like.

So it was with a heart bursting with childlike adoration and love, and a gut bursting with conflict and guilt, Father Norris started the services for last Sunday. He collected his resolve and decided to–not forsake the Lord necessarily–but declare a new devotion for himself that would elevate the Lord’s plan on Earth by ensuring two people would take care of each other’s check engine lights. As a fool that all men are, infatuatedly gallant Father Norris decided to retire and ask if, She, would marry him.

Hearts Afire

By a small quirk of fate, Doug the Dog couldn’t make today’s sermon. One of the flock had actually thought to rent him, hoping his gastric distress might clear their attic of mice. They would never learn why Doug the Dog couldn’t perform.

Back at Our Lady of Penitent Nonchalance, Father Norris began the sermon well enough.

Dear Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.

His knees were strong. His voice present if not booming. His thoughts mostly focused.

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on Earth, as it is… in…

…

Her breasts slowly rose and fell to the tempo of his words and… his eyes kind of glassed over and his speech got softer and his check engine light turned on.

Heaven…

That’s when the very last support in the dam broke and Father Norris’ desire finally won the battle for his soul.

He lifted his gaze and looked deep in her eyes. She was smiling back at him.

Dear Madam, I’ve been the special receiver of your lovely presence since first you walked in our church. I’m announcing my retirement and would be so ever honored if when this service is done we could…

<pffffffffhpptptptptppttppppppttckckckckckckckckckckaaaaapapapaparrrrrrrrrrrrckckckckckptptptcktcktcktckt-eeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiptptphphphhhhhhh—thpthpthpthpthptptptptphphphppfffffffffffffffoooooooooooooooooospisshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….

ckckckckck….

pffffffffffft>

…

…

<toot>

…

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I… Love…

<brrrrrrip brip boooarrrptptpthhhhhhh splooooooooch>

By this point, the jig was up. The odor infiltrated the whole church. Parishioners were coughing, doubled over. She, the greatest light in the sky of his life, looked at him with betrayal and terror. That’s when someone from the back pews stood up and shouted an accusation at horrified Father Norris, that it wasn’t Doug the Dog with the gas problem but Father Norris instead. He finished his last word before the whole church was overrun with gas and Father Norris protested.

I swear! It wasn’t me! May the Lord strike me down if I’m lying!

And so he did.

Lightning cracked from the heavens above, and raced toward Father Norris in the town of Rockhavenstontown. When the lightning broke through the glass, and reached the gassy air within, Our Lady of Penitent Nonchalance exploded in an instant creating a fireball large enough for the town to forget they ever had a Catholic Church to begin with.

All the Small Things

Sometime later, Father Norris awoke, standing in line. The air was… cool? but not cold? He felt, better, much better than he had in a long time, much more relaxed. Maybe it’s because he was playing a tiny golden harp. Wait, why was he playing a harp, when did he learn, and why did he really like the song he was playing. It sounded like, “All The Small Things” by Blink-182, but on an acoustic harp? He was standing in line, on a cloud, for five minutes of instant infinity before reaching a pair of pearly gates.

St. Peter, I’ve been in line for I don’t know how long and everyone in front of me is farting and acting love lorn? Am I in hell?

St. Peter let’s out a small fart, and says…

No. Turns out the woman you fell in love with showed up just before you.