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THE NOVICE REMAINED steadfastly seated in the hard-backed, carved wooden chair. He had not moved. Hours upon hours passed after he had discovered that The Jesuit had left him there, alone. Hours spent seated in pain.
The Jesuit had imposed the worst punishment upon the Novice that there could be. That was no punishment at all. He had left the Novice to wallow in his own self-pity and regrets. He had allowed the Novice to sit undisturbed, lost to his thoughts and doubts.
Without guidance from the Jesuit, the Novice had turned to self-mutilation as his punishment for his failure and to redeem his sins. Tears slid down the Novice’s face as he silently repented his failure to God. He never let his thoughts deviate from his failure. “Forgive me,” his voice dry and rough repeated the words aloud, begging God to hear him. He pressed the muscles of his back and shoulders deeper into the carved crucifix on the chair back. The pain was intense and the wooden carving left a deep impression into his muscles. He grunted as he pushed down as hard as he possibly could onto the armrests of the chair, forcing his back into the carved wood, so much so that it touched bone. He cried out in pain. Blood began to form in droplets around the edges of the impression in his back.
“Forgive me, God. For I desecrate your church!” The Novice screamed out, as he pushed his body back. Suddenly, the back of the chair snapped. The wood splintered, sending the carved relief of the crucifix tearing into his flesh and muscle. Blood oozed from the red swollen skin surrounding the wound and the Novice tilted backwards. Steadying himself, he pushed down onto the armrests of the chair, forcing the stiff muscles of his legs and back to allow him rise. His legs failed him and he began to fall forward. In an attempt to slow the fall, he pushed out with his arms and hands, but they, too, had atrophied from the pressure of his own weight, having sat motionless for many hours.
He collapsed.
His elbows and shoulders hit the floor hard. “My God. My God. Why has thou forsaken me?” he cried out with all the volume his vocal chords could summon, quoting Jesus from his final hours. “Show me no mercy Lord, as I am not worthy.” His body heaved, as he gasped for breath, crying. He gained control of his emotions and pulled himself up, arms shaking, sweat glistening from his body. And then on unsteady legs, he tried to stand. He managed to get to his knees. Then, using the seat of the chair, he pushed up. His legs would not support his weight and again he began to crumble.
Out of the darkness, an arm wrapped around the Novice’s waist. And then another wrapped around his chest, supporting him, pulling him up. “You have been forgiven,” the Jesuit’s soft voice whispered into the Novice’s ear.
The Novice turned his head to the side and laid it on the Jesuit’s shoulder. “Why did you leave me?”
The Jesuit pulled the Novice in closer to his body, using his own body as support to help the Novice stand. He turned the Novice around so that they were face to face. “My son, I have born witness to your punishment. I did not leave you. You were never alone in this room.” His voice remained soft and low. He stared into the eyes of the Novice, “I have been here all along.”