Analysis of The Wicked Priest

Hands outstretched, in cupping shape
Tinged with guilt, they cannot wait
An empty host sits in their hands
Lo the Eucharist;  God understands
The stole of virtue, threadbear and worn
A vow chastity, broken and torn
Now to the lips, the cup we press
Abused and broken--emblems bless’d
Pray now the prayer of sinners scorn
Lift up the chalice, oh priest forlorn
And in thine hands the beads move on
Pray now the prayer of sinners scorn
Prayer beads barb and prick the soul
Though dead inside, he wears the stole
The weighted mass of human flesh
Stacked in pews, clean and fresh
He prays the prayer and chants the chant
Yet ne'er ascends from sinner’s hands
Each mortal sin is passed along
And to the grave--it won’t be long
For sin and death are merely words
Spoken in sermon, yet unobserved
A vestment worn that sets aside
The holy order from sin outside
A thurible comes to clean and cleanse
With torrid fumes of recompense
To bind and burn each deed of dread
Whose hellish chains secure the dead
No altar hides their sin and shame
Of youth defiled, whose names we name
Oh sounding brass and tinkling cymbal
A cantor sings, but he now trembles
While at the pearly gate of death he waits
What of his soul? What is his fate?
A millstone hangs around his neck
Into the deep, now a mere speck
Oh, that he had never been born
Yet he defiled and felt God’s scorn

Brian Duffin - Copyright © 2022