Attempted Salvation with a Butter Knife

By John Warzel

Matthew Dalton has survived years of drug abuse and other vices. He has reconciled his past and started fresh as an aspiring Catholic priest. But during his journey he encounters a difficult resistance. As he studies and lives as a priest, he meets two others just as dedicated as he is, but with different intentions. Their old-fashioned style leads to major conflicts. As they try to make things their way, Dalton becomes frustrated and threatened for himself and the future of the Church. It finally leads to Dalton's crime under extreme emotional duress and his imprisonment, where he writes the story of his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Warzel
• Release date: Aug 8, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466024892

John Warzel

John was born and raised in Buffalo, NY. He is a writer as well as an actor and filmmaker.

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Attempted Salvation with a Butter Knife

By John Warzel

~~~~

Copyright 2011 John Warzel

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PROLOGUE

From The New York Times, July 12th, 2007-

Brooklyn, NY–A community is in shock today. Late last night, Matthew R. Dalton, an aspiring member of the Gonzolian religious order, was taken into custody after he was discovered with the bodies of two of his fellow Gonzolians in their home, St. Michael’s Friary. He is reported to have been sitting calmly near the bodies with a bloody knife on the floor next to him. The bodies next to him were severely mutilated. His hands were likewise covered in blood. His seemingly calm demeanor ceased as police entered the room and he attacked them.

The motivations are currently unknown during this early stage of the investigation. Neighbors familiar with both the Gonzolian community and Dalton are shocked and saddened by this event, as is the Catholic Church itself. Indeed, this only adds to the already damaging scandal. Church representatives offered no further details.

Little is known now of Dalton himself. Neighbors and friends describe him as being very dedicated and very intense. He is also a recovering alcoholic and addict with arrest records of D.U.I. and public drunkenness. A drug screening is being conducted. As the investigation continues, more details will emerge.

* * * * *

Hi. I’m Matthew Dalton. It wasn’t my fault. I did the best I could with what I had.

I’m really not the type to lay blame. However, I was pushed too far.

I’ll never know why they acted like they did, like children; always trying to drive me out based on their ideas of what the priesthood should be. They didn’t seem to grasp even the most basic concepts of individuality and modernism. And these are grown men with college degrees -

Sorry, were grown men with college degrees. I gotta remember to be accurate, here. This is all I have left to explain my case. To show the world what I went through. And to show that the so-called victims are just as much to blame as me. Victims . . . of what? Themselves is what. Those two wolves in sheep’s clothing. They continually hounded me and provoked my most primal urges and my most sensitive feelings.

It wasn’t fair. They were like celebrities, allowed to do whatever they want with no sanction or punishment. Well, I stopped that, at least. As big of a sin that I committed, I do feel better that there are now two less men in the world trying to send the church back into the middle ages. It’s as if a cop had arrested Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears and actually made them serve their time for drunk driving and public nudity. I did the religious equivalent of that. America loves its celebrities and Catholicism loves religiously-powerful men. Not that all Catholics are like that, but the ruling members certainly make it seem that way.

I’m getting ahead of myself. There are some things I need to set straight. The media loves to make heroes out of everyone. They love to make villains, too. I never read most of the articles about me, but I know I was cast as the bad guy. Not that I can blame them.

This is my life as best as I can remember, because I can’t explain anything until you know me. And me . . . I’m complex. I’m confusing. I tend to throw people for a loop. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t expect anyone’s forgiveness. I just want you to know me. I need to get my life out in the open, so you can see what type of person I am. And then maybe, just maybe, you’ll see what led me to attempt salvation with a butter knife.

If you actually do figure out what type of person I am, then please let me know, because I’m still trying to figure it out.

CHAPTER 1

First this, so you can meet everyone–

Friday, early September of 2005; my first retreat with the Gonzolians. What a weekend! I knew from the first few minutes that this was for me. Everyone was so nice and welcoming; that made a very positive impact on me. I met Dante first when I was milling around the crowds before the official introductions. We were all in a large common room of the retreat house. Funny guy. He had a great sense of humor on him. He was the type to always have a comment about something. His parents named him Dante because they came from Italy and wanted him to always be in touch with his roots. He said to just call him Dan. If I remember correctly, he was 22 at the time.

Then came Thaddeus, or Thad, who I loved immediately. Thad was 48 at the time. I thought he was joking about his age at first. Two reasons for this: I thought most religious orders didn’t take anyone that old. Also, he really, really didn’t look 48. He looked 32. He must have had good genes or something. He was short and slightly stocky. He had hair almost down to his shoulders, layered and textured with a gray strand here and there.

Then Benjie. Benjie was always happy. Maybe a little too happy, if you get my drift. He was very tall and built solid and you could tell he forgot that sometimes when he slapped you on the back and you went flying. He was 27 and Filipino. He was an accountant at a medium sized law firm in New York. Benjie was old family name. It wasn’t pronounced like the dog but that’s what everyone called him. He accepted it as a nickname. Nothing else really stood out about him except that he seemed to be laughing all the damn time.

Of course there were many others. I can’t remember all of them but they were all great guys. I introduced Dan, Thad, and Benjie to you because they were the ones I would live with.

Just before the first meeting as a group started where we all introduced ourselves to the entire attendance I began to wonder where Joshua Timone was. I had never met him before that night, but I knew about him. He had written a series of articles for the vocation newsletter. It was an interesting story. The latest articles were about him moving away from his hometown of Buffalo, New York based on the movings of the Holy Spirit. According to his writings he was suddenly inspired to leave college and move to New York City to do volunteer work. I was very taken with him. I mean, to just suddenly move to a huge city with no plan and very little money and without the approval of his parents which meant so much to him; that was a deeply religious undertaking. It represented something that most people thinking about religious life don’t seem to consider. I sure didn’t. I thought meditation and more church was what it was all about. God requires action of some. It’s special. It was reminiscent of every biography of a saint that I’ve ever read. It also took a lot of guts and faith and I was excited to tell him that.

Just before Brother Thomas started the meeting, we all heard whispering in the hallway. Brother Tom was the vocation director. He was a tough man. He spent most of his thirty years in the Order ministering to kids in Harlem and the Bronx. Having been reassigned to vocations because of the shortage of priests, it was the last place he wanted to be. He was born for those kids and pined to be back in the city.

Joshua idolized him, just like everyone else. He was the type of man that you know has faults but you can never find them. If it wasn’t for Thomas, Joshua would have been SOL in New York. The good brother had set him up with a room in a local friary and got him some volunteer work.

Now, I had known and worked with Brother Tom for five years previous to joining the Gonzolians. We had worked together in a juvenile detention center. That was the last ministry he was in before being named vocation director. And, a few years later I had the premonition that I was supposed to be a priest. So I looked him up and there I was at his retreat.

Back to the line of events now; there was whispering in the hallway. Brother Tom seemed to recognize the voices. Pretending to look annoyed, he ceremoniously arose and walked to the double doors of the main room. There were two young men, both looking in their early twenties, walking down the hallway. One had a goatee that made him look exactly like Wolfman. The other I recognized from the pictures in his articles. It was Joshua.

The first thing I noticed about him was his smile. He had a great smile. I couldn’t believe he was thinking of joining a religious order. With that smile, he could have gotten any woman he wanted. Of course, so could I and there I was . . . as you will see.

Brother Tom met them in the doorway and yelled to us, "Our two late brothers have graced with their presence. That got a laugh out of everyone. He gave a friendly greeting to Wolfman and kept Joshua a little longer in the doorway, feigning beating him up as he yelled, Ow, help! OW!"

Thomas held no reservations about showing his affection for those close to him. He and Josh had a great friendship and admired each other very much. Josh was only twenty at the time, too young for this, I had thought. Josh’s love for the brother was one of the first things we found we had in common. Although, I couldn’t help but think that his young age had something to do with his fondness. Maybe Josh’s youth represented a return of young people entering vocations, something that any vocation director would appreciate.

I had heard a lot about him from Brother Tom. And after reading the articles and hearing his endless praises I looked very much forward to meeting him.

After his fake beating Joshua went to sit in the last empty chair across from mine in the circle we were in. The meeting progressed and the introductions started. I couldn’t remember what I said. Except for stating right off that I was . . . still am, actually, a recovering addict and alcoholic. I like to let people know these things before they get to know me instead of getting scared off when they find out. It’s incredibly disheartening when that happens.

It went around and everyone said their names and whatever reasons they were making an appearance for. I noted that there were several priests and professed brothers there just for the enjoyment of it. They were a very involved community. One of them said something very profound, so passionate that I still remember it. While offering his reasons for being there, he said, As a Gonzolian, I’ve lived with saints and I really mean that. I still come to these retreats because I know I’ll meet future saints. It was such a simple statement with such conviction behind it. It was beautiful.

The time came for Joshua’s turn and everyone could see that he hated talking, especially in front of a group. He confirmed the fact by jokingly stating that he not only hated talking, but preferred writing and was in several classes in college for creative writing.

I liked him from the start. Not just because he was easy-going and quiet, but because he was real. It was refreshing. He didn’t hide the fact that he didn’t like talking. And he didn’t put on a show like everyone else felt inclined to do. Most of them found the need to deliver a dissertation on their faith. His was easily the shortest introduction. I could see a few puzzled faces in the crowd. Some of the regular attendees had annoyance all over their faces. I got the sense that they were tired of hearing the same short intro from him and a stupid joke that only got polite laughter if it was lucky.

For the briefest of moments I felt they were right. Everyone else said more, so why couldn’t he?

That act of thinking the same thing as everyone else is totally unlike me and I was horrified at myself for thinking that as soon as I looked at Joshua. The next guy down had just begun his intro/sermon but Josh wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were locked with one of the professed brothers who was sitting next to me. I turned my head slightly and out of the corner of my eye saw that the brother, Andrew, was looking at him as if he should apologize for being so brief. The look on Josh’s face was the most beautiful mix of anger and peace I have ever seen. His face seemed to say, I don’t care, why should you? It was a kind of half-smirk, half-smile that was impossible to duplicate and I can’t really even describe it with justice.

What sealed the deal for me was when I looked at Brother Tom to see what he thought of this. There was no doubt he noticed. What I saw next became the definitive image of not only Gonzolians but also what a priest and brother should be. He was smiling at Josh. It was his smile of congratulations. Brother Josh, it said, I know you don’t like to speak in public and didn’t want to do that but you gave it your best shot and I love you for it. You’re a brave one.

After the introductions came a description of the weekend. It sounded very interesting. Saturday we would be attending a profession ceremony of two brothers and enjoy the reception afterwards. After that we would be visiting the senior brothers at their friary. Sunday was going to be a group reflection, a Mass, and a holy hour.

But first, there was the Friday night pizza social. Pizza brings people together. Everyone loves it. That social was after the introductions. Eventually, I was able to catch Josh in between our respective conversations.

I approached him from the side. As he turned to my approach I said, You’re the Joshua that wrote the articles, right? Jesus, I had practically rehearsed that. Calm the fuck down, I told myself. With all the build-up from Brother Tom it almost felt like I was meeting a celebrity or something.

Yeah? he replied with a hopeful smile. He probably wasn’t sure whether I was there to praise him for being so holy or condemn for being such a dumb-ass and rushing into his adventure.

The rest of what I was going to say in my head was forgotten. This kid . . . this young man, rather, was not one who liked formalities or needed to hear some sort of approval of his experiences. I saw more independence than he even gave off. It was time to speak raw and from the heart, one of the things I’m best at. I just thought it was great what you did. That took so much guts, man.

Instant results. His smiling, no, his beaming face was all I needed to put me in a good mood for the rest of the weekend.

I was then favored with what very few have ever seen: the elusive more-than-one-word-answer from a great master of minimal talking. Hey, thanks man! Shit, where were you when I was trying convince my parents?

We both laughed– something we were going to be doing a lot of together in a little less than a year. Something told me that this was a good guy and to stick close to him. Being a follower of my gut, I did just that.

We had a lot more laughs that night. The last series got a little loud and some people looked. Whether in annoyance or curiosity I don’t know. I was too busy enjoying myself, something I missed out on in my youth. I mean, I had lots of fun, but never really enjoyed myself much. There is a difference, unfortunately. After about fifteen minutes we could tell we liked each other.

A holy hour was announced after a few hours of the overall ice-breaking and pizza-gorging. We had to pry ourselves away from each other and pray with the other religious people. Shouldn’t every hour be a holy hour with us? he slipped in before quiet fell in the chapel.

I must say, it was a damn good point. All you Catholics and Christians and faithful church-goers of all religions out there think about that, ok? I mean, we were having a great time and a great talk. How better to get closer to God than through people?

Nevertheless, we took our seats in the chapel. I took a few deep breaths and closed my eyes. I was always a big fan of closing my eyes while praying. It shuts out distractions. Of course, originally I would only close my eyes in church to keep myself from mentally undressing all of those inappropriately dressed teenage girls that got dragged there by their parents, but that was a long time ago. I haven’t even seen a woman in years. Closing my eyes now is the only way to really visualize one. I never knew how lucky I was out there. Never take your freedom of mentally undressing whoever you want wherever you want for granted. It’s one of the little things.

So, I opened my eyes to realize that there were no hot teens in there to undress. Just religious hopefuls who were trying to decide if they wanted to go the rest of their lives without sex. I took a wild guess and assumed that they thought that issue would be resolved by sitting in front of a piece of rancid bread encased in glass and gold and thinking about Jesus. Maybe it helped for them (I truly hope it did and continues to; do what you have to), but I rely more on life experiences and basing beliefs on that.

After my twenty year vacation from it, my experiences led me back to the Catholic Church. I believe now that people need order and organization in their religious lives. My problem with the church is that the men in power have their own agenda and like their power way too much. How is a man of the cloth gonna tell me how to think? A man who supposedly believes in the saving message of Jesus? Can you imagine the balls on that man? The nerve? The pompous stupidity of one who should be among his flock but lives in a mansion with ninety-nine extra rooms?

But that’s another reason why I’m back. The idea of changing the church from the inside is a big motivation. To influence the power structure of the bride of Christ is my greatest -

Sorry again– was my greatest aspiration. The church doesn’t take advice from the poor and imprisoned. Even if Jesus tells us to visit those in prison. Whatever, that’s no longer my place to lecture on the church.

Ha! Of course it is! I can see you now, bishop or cardinal reading this. You just breathed a sigh of relief because you thought I wasn’t going to tell them all the stupid things the Church does. You thought I was giving myself penance to make up for my burst of anger. Uh, hello, McFly? Anyone home? Why would I give myself penance? The state has already sentenced me to the penance of life in prison. If I’m going to waste away in here, useless to society–unable to contribute voluntarily, then I’m gonna make damn sure that me, also the victim here, receives justice by telling the world what I went through. And, by doing that, maybe preventing it from repeating itself, as history does.

It was Josh’s aspiration, too. His views about what a church of God should be were very different from that of the pope’s. And I can see him in the chapel now on that first retreat, smiling like he was listening to a joke only he could hear. I liked him already, but it was then that I was beginning to be very taken with him on a spiritual level. If I describe the picture I saw in front of me, maybe you’ll see what I saw in him, and maybe you’ll get a picture of what a real spirituality is:

A dark chapel at about 8pm. It is early September so the door is open and a lovely breeze is flowing in like the Holy Spirit we were there to get in touch with. There is a crowd of 20 young men and full-grown men sitting in fold-out chairs facing the altar. A priest is on the altar placing the Blessed Sacrament on it for adoration. The only light in the small building is on the Eucharist. All around me are men sitting up straight with their eyes closed. They look stressed. They look like they’re concentrating too hard on something that they can’t focus on. It is a depressing scene.

Then my eyes adjust to the darkness and I see a figure that’s not as rigid as the rest. His head is leaned back on the chair. He looks relaxed and content. He actually looks happy to be there. He even has a small smile on his face. His eyes are open and taking in everything possible.