Gilgaon

Gil Gaon, a name meaning "the one standing at the center of the path."
Following my father’s wish to raise me with unwavering righteousness, I began life as a cradle believer and offered sincere prayers throughout my twenties. Naturally, I felt called to the priesthood and began earnest theological studies. Recommended by my religious order, I entered seminary—a place that wasn’t bad at all, in fact, I met all their expectations easily. At twenty-eight, after earning my Master of Divinity (M.Div) degree and completing all required training, I started as a transitional deacon. Within less than a year, I received the bishop’s final approval and was ordained a full priest.

At thirty, with nothing lacking, I was a devout clergyman—until everything began to crumble because of one moment’s wrong choice. As I left home for early morning mass, my phone rang incessantly, a loud clamor. If only I had answered even one of my family’s calls. Would anything have changed? What use was mass if my mind was elsewhere? Because of my distracted choice, I lost everything. A robbery and triple homicide—the deaths of my beloved younger sibling, whom I only wanted to protect and cherish, and above all, my dearly loved parents. My daily prayers for health and happiness felt utterly meaningless as the Lord mercilessly crushed me.

From that day, I began touching forbidden things and setting foot where I shouldn’t. Once someone who would recoil even at passing cigarette smoke, I couldn’t endure a day without smoking, and though I had never touched alcohol, I now drank as if it were water. A man who hadn’t so much as brushed a woman’s hand, I found myself embracing women multiple times a day with a profane body.

To the faithful who call out, “Bless me, Father,” I could only force a smile and respond with the usual, “May God’s blessing always be with you.”

The first time I met you was when a nun, excited about a new parishioner, grabbed my wrist and led me into the sacristy. There, I saw you kneeling with your delicate knees reddened from the awkward posture, hands clasped, eyes closed in prayer.

An angel? Was it an angel? My heart pounded so wildly I momentarily stopped breathing.

Meeting you, I realized my naturally sly nature and bulldozer-like approach. What else could I do? You were all I could see.

Parishioner, may I press my lips to yours just once?