Postcards to America by Patrick Ingle

for shoppers who wanted a period of quiet reflection away from the hustle and bustle of the world. Lately Danny spent hours alone in this room.
    Opposite Danny sat an elderly priest. The elderly clergyman had mentored him in the early days of his ministry. A friend Danny now wished to hear his confession. The priest placed a stole over his head and Danny began.
    ‘Bless me, Father for I have sinned.’ Danny decided to start at the beginning. ‘Ordinary is a word I would use to describe my childhood. I did the usual things and got into the usual scrapes. My father gave me a few clips around the ear and I can’t say it did me any harm. My grades at school were nothing out of the ordinary. I have to say that I spent hours playing sports and became proficient at several codes.
    Up to then I never thought of religion. Religion was a thing you did by rote without thinking. Religion impeded on your life for half an hour every week and on one or two other prescribed occasions throughout the year. It did not encompass your very being and transform you as the “Christ” intended’.
    The elderly priest shifted in his seat but continued to listen intently.
    ‘My journey into the teen years passed without crisis. I got the usual childhood diseases and received a few injuries on the sporting fields. My arm bears testimony to two breaks that I received playing for my school at rugby.
    Then I discovered girls. At first my friends and I taunted and teased the girls who came to watch the matches we participated in. Then we started pairing off. Nothing serious occurred. We engaged in heavy petting in various locations; mostly fields.
    Around this time, I began to feel the stirrings of a calling. I have always been interested in physics. The infinitely large and the basic blocks of matter fascinate me. I have no great knowledge of complicated theories or explanations but I realised that there is symmetry about all matter in the universe. What I am trying to say is that I believe in a “prime mover” or God.
    My parents discovered my new interest in religion and encouraged me. Our local parish priest likewise. He told me to take my time until I was sure that God was calling me, before committing myself to years of training. He said, and I quote, “ Many are called but few are chosen ”.
    An incident occurred about this time that had a profound effect on the future direction of my life. A neighbour, an elderly woman, became seriously ill and housebound. The local priest visited her every day. Not only did he come to pray with her; he came to talk with her and to cheer her up. I believed he prolonged her life by several months. He practised what I later came to understand by the term “ To serve”.
    So, I told my parents and my parish priest that I wanted to become a priest. My parents were beside themselves with joy. In those days and I suppose it still is a matter of great pride to have a son or daughter devoted to the service of God. They knew it would impose an additional burden on their finances but they were prepared to endure all for my sake. They worked longer hours despite my protestations.
    At the seminary, I did reasonably well. Theology is not my strong point and hours spent praying seemed a waste of God’s time. Not to say I don’t pray, but I usually pray when I am doing something such as painting, sweeping or doing the dishes. As you know yourself, participation in sports activities is strongly encouraged at the seminary and I excelled at Rugby. The coach said I was good enough to make a paying career out of the game. I also enjoyed the buzz from the crowd many of whom were female. My muscles developed as a result of all the physical activity and I noticed certain seminarians casting unwholesome glances in my direction though none made a direct approach.
    Then came one of the best days of my life: the day I took my final vows and became a priest. The local cathedral bedecked with flowers, an organist, what seemed like