James ‘Killer’ Miller One of the darkest and most sadistic figures of the Old West was James “Killer” Miller, a paid assassin and gunslinger known to have killed at least 14 people, though legend has that number closer to 50. Also known as ‘Deacon Jim’ because he regularly went to church and did not smoke or drink, Miller openly stated that he would kill anyone for money. His rate reportedly somewhere ranged between $150 to $2,000 per kill. Miller’s murderous days came to an end when he was placed in jail in Oklahoma (for you guessed it, murder-killing the shit out of someone). A lynch mob stormed the jail, took Miller and hung him in a barn. The last words of a man who earned the nick name of ‘killer’? “Let ‘er rip!”
Stewardship, a concept as old as the Bible and it has the potential of changing the way Catholics live-and give- in the world today. We know from the Bible that everything we have is a gift from God. We are stewards-manages of the many gifts God has given to us. As Christian stewards, we recognize that all that we are-all that we have-belongs to God, and we are accountable to Him for the use of all things.
Stewardship at Our Lady of Mount Carmel is a way that we can help all parishioners see that they have received so many blessings from God and out of gratitude they can give back through their time, talent, and treasure. After all, God let us keep 90% of all he give us.
We promote a simple theme here at Our Lady of Mount Carmel, ‘The Rule of One’.
This allows a person to take concrete steps to improve their faith by prayer, ministry, and supporting the parish with their financial resources. We ask that you commit to on hour of prayer (outside of Mass) per week, one hour of service per week, and the first hour of your weekly wage to the church in the form of a tithe. Through giving back to God by prayer, service, and finances conversion will take place in our lives and we will see that we are becoming the person God created us to be – a steward uniquely His own.
To find out more about becoming a Stewardship Household, and the many benefits that come with it, email Deacon Jim by June 20.
A Supernatural/Divine: The Series Crossover Fiction.
What's Divine? Oh poor lamb! Go forth...watch and learn ◄here►.
"You sure this is where he said he was," Dean asked as he pulled the Impala up to the curb and glanced at the shopfronts. "Yeah," Sam said as he squinted out the window and couldn't shake the feeling that this place seemed awfully familiar. Sam frowned as he got out of the car and ignored Dean while he muttered to himself about why couldn't Castiel have been at the strip club. Dean leaned across the top of the Impala and knocked on the roof to get Sam's attention. Sam glanced at him over his shoulder, "What?" "You okay? You seem a little spooked," Dean asked as he came around the front of the Impala to stand next to Sam. "Yeah, I'm just sure I've been here before," Sam replied as he started to head towards the door marked "East Side Rescue Mission".
They walked inside and were surprised when they found a line of people snaking around the room. Dean tried to push past a few of them and was greeted with angry stares. "No cutting," an old woman hissed at him as she whacked his thigh with a worn purse. Dean rubbed his leg as he glared at her. "Sam Winchester, is that you," a voice asked from beyond the crowd and Sam smiled as Deacon Jim came forward. A flood of memories filled his mind as he watched the deacon come towards him and knew why Castiel was here. Deacon Jim wiped his hands off on his apron before shaking Sam's. "This is Dean, my brother." "I've heard good things about you," Deacon Jim said causing Dean to raise his eyebrows.
"So padre, how do you know my brother," Dean asked as Deacon Jim led them through the crowd. "He stopped in once and helped us with a... problem," Deacon Jim said distractedly. He spoke to several of the people waiting in line before he took them into the back room. "Sorry about that, it's one of our busiest times of the week," Deacon Jim said as he motioned for Sam and Dean to sit down. "We do a meal every Saturday and the crowd keeps growing," Deacon Jim said with a sigh as he sat down. "Don't you have any help," Dean asked and Deacon Jim smiled faintly. "We have a few volunteers but many people don't want to come down here to help," Deacon Jim said. "Luckily your friend has been quite useful though a bit off," Deacon Jim murmured and looked between the Winchester brothers.
"That's one way of putting it," Dean quipped as he leaned back in his chair. "Has Cas met Divine yet," Sam asked and Deacon Jim shook his head. "No, and I'm wondering if I should be very grateful for that." Sam nodded and was about to ask another question when Castiel walked into the room; a stained apron over his trench-coat and a hairnet on his head. A smile lifted the corners of Sam's lips as he looked Castiel up and down. "Nice. Going for the lunch lady look," Dean asked and Castiel pointed at him with a ladle. "I don't have time for your foolishness. Deacon, I believe we're running out of food." "Damn," Deacon Jim cursed as he pushed himself to his feet. "I'm sure they can go someplace else," Dean said.
"Would you be able to tell them they had to go elsewhere," Deacon Jim asked as he pushed the door open and motioned for Dean to look out. Dean stood next to him as he looked at the crowd and grimaced when he heard a little boy say he was hungry. "It's okay, sport. I promise you, we'll have something to eat," a man replied as he picked up the boy. Dean watched them for a few moments more before he closed the door and took off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves. "So what kind of supplies do you have," Dean asked as he followed Castiel and Deacon Jim back to the kitchen. Sam raised his eyebrows as he watched them walk off and then doffed his jacket as well. "Sammy, hurry up," Dean yelled from the kitchen.
Dean nodded to himself as he looked at the pantry and started to pull things from the shelves, pushing them into Sam's arms. "What are you doing," Sam asked as he came back in from unloading. "Cooking. What else do you do in a kitchen," Dean replied as he grabbed a few more things then tossed a huge can of diced peaches to Sam. Sam grunted as he caught the can and set it down on the counter. Dean grabbed an apron and handed Sam one as well. Sam put it on then jerked back when Dean thrust a hair net in his face. "No," Sam said as he pushed his hair back behind his ears. "I'm not having you contaminate my masterpiece. Hair net, Sam, or I ask the Deacon for a pair of clippers and I can finally rid you of that mess," Dean said motioning at Sam's head. Sam snatched the hair net out of Dean's hand and put it on. "Good. Now open those cans and then find me a couple of shallow baking pans," Dean said as he grabbed a skillet.
"Cas, how much food do you guys have left," Dean asked. "We only have soup," Castiel replied as he leaned back. "And not enough for full bowls." Dean nodded a bit as he glanced around the kitchen. "You got coffee cups though, right?" "Yes," Castiel replied with a frown. "Divide it up into the cups, about three quarters full and take them to the people waiting in line to tide them over," Dean said as he placed a couple pounds of hamburger into the skillet. He grabbed a wooden spoon and started to break it up, frowning as he looked at the spices resting on the shelf above the stove. He grabbed some salt and pepper and continued to stir as the meat cooked. "Sam, I need a bowl and a sieve," Dean said and smiled a little when they appeared on his right side.
"We should do this more often," Dean said as he drained the fat from the hamburger. He chopped up some onion and peppers, tossing them in the pan and started to stir again. "What," Sam asked as he continued to open cans and glanced over at his older brother. "Cook together." Sam shook his head as he opened the last can and waited for more instructions. "Remember that one time we tried to make Bobby breakfast," Dean asked as he set the pan back on the stove and grabbed a can of tomato sauce. "No," Sam said with a frown and handed him the other one when Dean held out the empty can. "Sure you do," Dean said as he started the sauce simmering then washed his hands in the sink before he grabbed a large silver bowl.
"You made scrambled eggs which were crunchy because you missed some huge chunks of shell," Dean mused as he placed some sugar, oatmeal, and flour into the bowl. He grabbed a stick of butter from the fridge and placed it into a small saucepan to melt on the stove. He looked over at Sam who was shaking his head as he leaned against the counter. "Drain the peaches and then spray some of this in the baking pans before flouring them a little so stuff doesn't stick," Dean said as he tossed Sam a can of canola oil. "I made bacon and caused that grease fire," Dean offered as he continued his story. "Wait, is that why there was a scotch mark under that picture of us in his kitchen," Sam asked. Dean nodded with a smile. "Yeah, I never saw the old man move that fast," Dean replied.
Sam chuckled as he followed his brother's instructions and soon enough they had two large pans of peach crisp cooking in the oven and Dean had made a huge pot of goulash. They traded stories about how Bobby had taught them how to cook amidst all of his hunting lessons. "We should make his cornbread sometime," Sam said and Dean agreed. Castiel smiled at the Winchesters as they brought the food to the serving line. "I didn't think you would do this," Castiel said in a hushed voice. "Yeah, well I remember what it's like to be hungry," Dean said as he put a large helping of goulash into a bowl and handed it to the little boy who he had seen earlier. Castiel nodded and kept quiet as they served everyone who was left. Sam kept up on the dishes so by the time everyone was served and had left, there wasn't much to clean up.
Deacon Jim shooed them to the back room with bowls of goulash and said he'd take care of the rest of the dishes. Sam and Dean settled onto the couch as Castiel sat on a chair across from him. "So," Sam asked after he ate a little. "Any thing weird going on?" Castiel frowned a little, "There is a presence that surrounds this place but I'm unfamiliar with it. This being, Divine, you're sure he's still around," Castiel asked. Sam nodded. "He seems to protect this place, I can't see him just up and leaving." Castiel nodded as he slid the hair-net off of his head and balled it in his hands. "How're you doing, Cas," Dean asked and Castiel stared down at his hands. "I'm getting weaker as the grace wears out," Castiel replied then his head shot up. His expression grew grim as he stood and his angel blade slid into his hand.
Castiel gripped it tightly as the door swung open and braced himself. "I don't know why you won't let me buy you new clothes," Jin muttered as she walked in the door. She paused as she looked at Sam and Dean and then smiled, playing with a strand of her hair as Dean winked at her. "No," Sam whispered and Dean elbowed him in the stomach before standing up. "I do not need to wear anything but what I have," Divine said as he stepped in behind her. "Vanity is a sin," he said as he looked up and saw the Winchesters. "Who are you," he demanded as he pushed Jin behind him, his hands balled into fists. "Divine, what the fuck? I can take care of myself," Jin complained but Divine kept himself in between her and them. "Whoa now big guy," Dean said as he held up his hands. "Why are you here? What have you done with the deacon?"
"They have done nothing to hurt him," Castiel stated and Divine's gaze clashed with his. Divine's expression softened as he took a few steps forward then he stopped when Castiel held his angel blade out, pointing it at his throat. "Brother, why would you do this," Divine asked. "I am not your brother, abomination," Castiel replied in a disgusted tone. "Cas, what the hell is going on," Sam asked as he watched them. "I should have known one of your kind would hunt here," Castiel said as he stepped forward. "Hunt? I protect these people from demons," Divine said in an indignant tone. "What is he," Dean asked as Castiel stood in front of him. "Nephilim. The spawn of an angel and a human. Something that never should be," Castiel said harshly causing Divine to flinch.
"Look here asshole, don't you dare say anything bad about Divine. He's kicked more demon butt than your pansy ass has ever seen," Jin yelled as she tried to get past Divine. "Kiddo, Cas here is a full fledged angel and he dragged me out of hell. I'm pretty sure you're wrong," Dean replied. "Yeah right, and I'm not a kid you...Ken doll, " Jin said and then squeaked when all of the light bulbs in the room exploded in a hail of bright sparks. Castiel's eyes started to glow as he stood straighter. "Cas, you're going to wear down your batteries. You don't have to prove to them what you are," Sam hissed. "C'mon, Cas. Sam's right, enough posturing," Dean said and grabbed Castiel's shoulder, squeezing a little. The glow slowly faded but Castiel stayed with his angel blade pointed at Divine. "Ah, Divine, you're back," Deacon Jim said as he walked into the room. He took in the expressions on everyone's faces and then sighed tiredly as he sat in the chair Castiel had vacated. "I've missed something rather important, haven't I," Deacon Jim asked wearily.
Condemned by his Church a young priest, Father Andrew, considers the path of his decisions as he is ferried to the last stop in his fall from grace. Simple conversation with his cab driver dredges up a painful debate which leads him to the same conclusions in the end. Unknown to Andrew, the place of his exile houses living proof of his God's existence; Divine.
Deacon Jim swung his legs around and rested his head in his hands as he tried to catch his breath. The dreams were worse now; longer and more violent, he thought as he ran his hands through his hair a few times. He closed his eyes as he folded his hands and rested them before his lips, softly praying. "Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, be our protection against the malice and snares of the devil." Deacon Jim's voice got stronger as he continued, as if a weight was being lifted from his shoulders. "May god rebuke him we humbly pray and do thou, O prince of the Heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into Hell Satan and all evils spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls. Amen." He opened his eyes and glanced at the weak sunlight that filtered through the windows. He carefully set aside the afghan as he grabbed his cane and got to his feet. Deacon Jim made his way to the small kitchenette and started to heat up a kettle of water. He didn't know how much longer he could do this. How long he could fight for good without someone to help him care for Divine without questioning it.
Deacon Jim was startled by the whistle of the tea kettle as it interrupted his thoughts and held his hand to his chest for a moment. He sighed as he turned off the stove and then fished through the cabinets until he found a box of teabags. He had just grabbed a mug when Father Andrew burst into the room. "Deacon, I must speak with you," Father Andrew said in a shaky voice, his hands mottled as they gripped his bible tightly. "Of course, Father. Please, have a seat," Deacon Jim said as he motioned at the small Formica table with two chairs that was nestled in the corner. Father Andrew sat down, clutching his bible to his stomach. Deacon Jim grabbed another mug and made tea for both of them before he sat down across from Father Andrew. "Here, drink this," he said and nudged the mug towards the other man. Father Andrew stared at it and shook his head, "No, thank you." Deacon Jim took a sip of his tea and then kept his hands around the warm mug. "Did something happen, Father," he finally asked.
Father Andrew laughed unsteadily as he raised his gaze to meet Deacon Jim's. "I had confessional today," he said and Deacon Jim nodded. Father Andrew stared at the older man as he said in a low voice, "Divine was there." "Yes, he usually feels the need to confess after he has one of his...episodes," Deacon Jim said. Father Andrew sat back and stared at him. "You have no problem with listening to him," he asked, stunned. Deacon Jim shook his head with a wry smile, "I've been doing this longer than you've been alive, Father. Very little shakes me." Even as the words came from his mouth he could feel fingers tightening around his throat but dismissed it as just part of the dream. He was exhausted after Divine's last healing and really needed more sleep. Deacon Jim watched Father Andrew as he ranted about Divine and what happened and he remembered when Father Christopher was still here.
~~~
Father Christopher sighed as he slid his sleeve back and looked down at his watch. It was almost six which meant he could stop hearing confessions and finally get something to eat. "Father," a male voice said and he turned his attention back to the young man who had just finished making his confession. "I absolve you of your sins," Father Christopher said. "I want you to say five novenas as penitence." "Yes, thank you Father. God bless you." "And you," Father Christopher replied. The small door that covered over the lattice slid closed as the young man left. Father Christopher took off the stole around his neck, folding it carefully before he stood up. Suddenly there was the sound of the confessional's curtain being closed and he rolled his eyes. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy tending to his congregation here, but there were some things that Deacon Jim should have been able to handle himself.
Father Christopher sat back down, placing the stole around his neck and waited. Some people took a little time to work up their courage to speak but by now everyone knew him and should have been comfortable enough to just begin. He was about to say something when the door slid back with a sharp crack and he jumped a little. A raspy female voice filled the confessional in a low tone as she said, "Bless me Father, for I am sin." Father Christopher glanced at the lattice but the woman was sitting far enough away that he couldn't make her out. The unfamiliar voice and that phrasing caused a cold chill to shiver down his spine. He cleared his throat before he said, " You are being to harsh on yourself. We are all sinners in God's eyes, but he offers us absolution through confession. You are not your sin even though you do commit them." The woman chuckled before she spoke again. "Do you really think that wrapping yourself in those vestments, taking on a name with his in it would save you from me? Christo-pher?"
Father Christopher ran his fingers under his collar, loosening it a bit as fear started to slowly creep in. "We're not here to talk about me," he said. "We're here to help you become closer to God." The woman laughed again. "I have been far from God for way too long for a few words and a rosary or two to fix that," she replied. "That's not true. God will not turn his face away from you if you repent with an open heart," Father Christopher said shakily. "That kernel of doubt. That question of is this the right thing to do? That was me," she said, her voice getting lower but more intense. "I did everything to give you the ability to not be blindly lead like lambs to the slaughter but day after day you willing go," she said disgustedly. "I wanted you to have choice, to have what we didn't and now I wonder if it was ever worth it." Father Christopher grabbed the bible that sat next to him as he stared at the lattice, frozen with fear.
"You will join us, Christopher. You cannot save yourself because your destiny was set long before you were born and we? We are many. So I say it again. Bless me Father, for I. Am. Sin." Father Christopher's nerve finally broke and he erupted from the confessional. He ripped open the other curtain, prepared to give whoever it was a piece of his mind. He stared at the empty seat and the bible fell to the floor from his numb hands. He turned and looked around at the makeshift pews to find the young man who he had spoken to earlier, staring at him, his hands folded in prayer. "Where did she go," Father Christopher asked and the young man frowned at him. "Where did who go, Father?" "The woman.The woman who came in after you," Father Christopher demanded. "Father, no one else has come in here," the young man said as Father Christopher strode towards him.
Father Christopher grabbed him by the front of his shirt and stared him in the eyes. "Swear to me, swear to me that you're not lying because if this is some sort of sick joke," Father Christopher spat as he stared into the young man's eyes. "Father," Deacon Jim called out as he stepped into the East Side Rescue Mission with a few bags of groceries. "Father what are you doing?" Father Christopher shook the young man, "SWEAR IT!" "Father!"
~~~
"Deacon," Father Andrew said and reached out, grabbing Deacon Jim's arm. Deacon Jim stared blankly for a moment before he shook his head a few times to clear it. He looked back at Father Andrew and said, "I'm sorry, Father, what were you saying?" "I can't do confessional anymore," Father Andrew replied quietly. "But this is a part of our job, to help alleviate the burden of sin that taints our flock," Deacon Jim said and Father Andrew stood. "There are some duties I think would be better suited for you. I will not do that again," Father Andrew commanded as he walked out of the room. Deacon Jim cursed inside his head as he wondered how long he had to keep Father Andrew from turning. He would not lose another man of cloth to the darkness. Deacon Jim lifted his mug and took a sip, grimacing at the taste of cold tea and grabbed his cane to help steady himself. He'd find a way to save Andrew, come Hell or high water. As he poured it down the drain he had the sinking feeling that Hell was already here.
