Damn you Holy Water!

There is something cool about Holy Water.

I hadn’t thought about Holy Water for many years until one day a recovering alcoholic buddy asked me to give him a lift to the Arch Diocese’s religious gift shop. He wanted some special bible and I was curious to see what kind of quirky souvenirs they had there. 

I left with 5 little clear blue plastic Holy Water containers in the shape of Our Lady Of Lourdes. I filled them up with tap water and put them on mantle in the front room with all the other knick-knacks. 

We had a houseguest from far away and I gave one to him as a souvenir. He was thrilled to have a little bit of Holy water in the cool Our Lady plastic receptacle and he went on his merry way.

Afterwards I felt like a cheat cause I never told him it was only tap water but belief counts for something…then I realized that truth counts for more…so I decided to get some real Holy Water for those little babies. So now the question was…where the hell do you get real Holy Water?

I could go to the Basilica and ask a priest for some but figured I wouldn’t get any cause of all the sinner stuff. I decided to give it a shot anyway. I packed up my remaining 4 tiny vessels and headed to the church. Once I was through the great wooden doors I saw these sort of ornamental stone bowls (found out later they are called “Fonts”) and they were full of water…damn…that must be Holy Water…yes…yes it is!...

The people come in and dip their fingers in it and do that sign of the cross thing…I’ve seen it in movies…duh. The place was pretty empty except for a few people up near the Altar. They had their heads down and were napping or something and took no notice of me. I dipped the containers into a font and sucked up the Holy Water and took off. It somehow seemed heavenly stealing that Holy Water and it seemed so again each time I gave one away. 

It was a busy summer for visitors and I got more Our Lady Of Lourdes containers when I ran out. I made many trips to the Basilica and never got caught. I was giving those trinkets out like a priest gives out blessings.

Sadly one day the Catholic Quickie Mart ran out of Our Lady containers and they never got them back in so I couldn’t do it anymore…it seemed like my Holy Water days were over….until. I started a series of pulp-fiction-style Jesus paintings—Jesus saving a dame from villains, Jesus driving a hot rod into Jerusalem, you know…the kind of thing you often think about. I loved them but wanted to add something extra to them. Hmm…let me see…Ah Ha…Holy Water!...It hit me like a nail on the cross that if the list of materials for these paintings read…Oil Holy Water on Canvas Board…that would be something special, something mystical cause we all know oil and water don’t mix… so I switched to water based oil paints and started stealing Holy Water again. Only this time I needed a fair amount of Holy Water. At first, I used empty water bottles—discreet. Then I got bolder: yogurt containers. Even drained two full fonts into three large containers, leaving barely enough for three people to bless themselves.

 I didn’t feel too bad—after all, I was using it for paintings of Jesus. That couldn’t be sacrilegious, right?I finished the series and still had a stockpile in my fridge when I moved on to another project—acrylic on pine. By then, Holy Water was my go-to medium. Tight deadline, paintings nearly done—then I ran out. Another trip was in order.

Yours truly had a bit of a shock this time when I made my exodus in 2015 to get the last batch I needed. This time, things went sideways. The Basilica was packed. I strolled in as usual, pushed open the heavy door and WHACK!...I had smacked the door into somebody on the other side by mistake and it was the priest in his white robes and funny hat! Oh crap! I killed the priest!...well no…actually I didn’t kill him…he just got a hefty bonk on the back. He spun around and stared at me. Stared straight in my eyes! Then his gaze drifted downward to my hands holding 2 large yogurt containers. I froze as his mouth was surely forming a horrible curse to be unleashed upon me and I panicked and bolted, empty-handed. All I heard was…”Bless You” on the way out. Two paintings went unfinished—I wasn’t about to profane them with tap water. I went cold turkey.

Life went on. Visitors came and went, none blessed by my stolen elixir. Then my friend Janice and her son visited from a tiny town. A recovering alcoholic and devout type, she wanted to take Thomas to the Basilica. I tagged along for old times’ sake.

They marvelled at the grandeur—arches, statues, confession booths. I trailed behind, even peeked inside a confessional. We wandered deeper into the church, past the ornate decor, into a more utilitarian area. Turning a corner, I saw it: a small, standalone wooden structure. Letters on top spelled it out clearly—HOLY WATER.A goddamn Holy Water booth! Open the door, turn the spigot, and help yourself…for fuck’s sake! Who knew?

All this time. All that effort and all that misguided sense of mischief wasted…Damn You Holy Water! Needless to say—the painting is back on, baby!

Thanks for reading!