When Martin Scorsese’s film The Last Temptation of Christ came out in the summer of 1988, I was on the cusp of my junior year of seminary. Taken from Nikos Kazantzakis’ 1960 book of the same name, the movie was about what Jesus would’ve done if he took a pass on being crucified and lived the rest of his life as a regular man. As you can imagine, this drove religious types batshit crazy and our bishop even sent us a letter forbidding us from seeing the movie. Of course, we went anyway. 

After driving into Manhattan with some of my classmates and several priests in mufti, we walked over to the late great Ziegfeld Theater where we we’re greeted by a sight none of us would ever forget –hundreds of people protesting the movie. For a bunch of so called Christians, the angry vitriol they lambasted us with took my breath way. As they pressed against the barriers the cops set up to protect us, a street preacher thundered we were all going to hell while others in the fevered crowd called us godless communists, homosexuals, and haters of Jesus Christ. Then something hit me in the head. 

“You okay, Steve?” a priest said, grabbing me by the arm. 

“What the hell was that?” I said. Then I looked down and saw what hit me – one of those plastic fetuses abortion protesters liked to bring to their rallies. “You’re a baby killer!” a young woman screamed at me. “You’re a goddamn baby killer!” Looking at her crazed face. It was then I realized just how dangerous religion could be. Then we saw the movie. 

If you haven’t seen Scorsese’s masterpiece, I strongly recommend you do. It is a beautiful film with superb acting and, despite all the furor over Jesus becoming a regular dude, the whole “temptation” ended up just being a hallucination Satan tortured Jesus with as he hung on the cross. Snapping out of it just before he dies, Wilem Dafoe’s Christ utters, “It is finished” thereby accepting the will of his Father and redeeming all humanity. When the houselights came up you could hear a pin drop. “That was the most beautiful film about God I’ve ever seen,” the woman sitting behind me said and, when I turned to look at her, she had tears in her eyes. Then, when we walked back into the heat of an August night, we discovered all the protestors has vanished. 

Fast forward to 1989 when Last Temptation got released on VHS. Now a senior, I knew popping it into the community player would get an outsized reaction from my more conservative classmates and boy, I wasn’t disappointed. When their protestations to the rector went unheeded, a couple of them, led by Felix – the most joyless, rigid, dogmatic guy I ever had the displeasure to know – decided to kneel in front of the TV loudly praying the Rosary, blocking our view and ruining it for everybody else. But that was nothing compared to the stunt Felix pulled a short while later. 

It all started when Felix asked to use my car to perform an errand. Out of some misguided sense of charity, I let him use it, only to find he’d driven it to an anti-abortion rally in Manhattan and it parked in a tow away zone. To his credit he got it out of the impound lot, but not after I had to suffer several days without a car. “I’m going to fix that sucker if it’s the last thing I ever do,” I said. I know, I know, that doesn’t sound very godly for a guy studying to be a priest but, as the Good Book says, “Vengeance is mine.” 

The opportunity came soon enough. Since Felix was fervently pro-life, I knew he had some of those plastic fetuses anti-abortion protestors liked to toss at people in his room and, with the help of one of my more criminally inclined classmates, we busted into his room and found a garbage bag full of them in his closet. Still smarting from my experience outside the Ziegfeld, I said. “I have an idea.” 

In addition to being a dour religious stiff, Felix was also very, very cheap. In addition to always bumming rides and never offering gas money, he also was a world class mooch. Always ducking out on the check or helping himself to other guys’ leftovers in the fridge, he’d do anything for a free meal. So, my co-conspirator and I went into the kitchen. dumped all the plastic fetuses into a pot filled with water, put it on the stove, and then told another fellow to whisper in Felix’s ear something was cooking. We didn’t have to wait long. 

“Hey guys,” he said, practically bursting into the kitchen. “What are you guys making?” 

“Oh,” I said. ‘It’s a delicacy.”  

“Wanna see?” my helper said, stirring the pot with evil glee. 

“Sure!” Then, salivating with anticipation, Felix peered into the pot. Cue the psychotic break. 

“What the….!’ Felix yelped 

“It’s baby soup!” I cried. “But you have to use month old fetuses because they’re so tender.” Then we ladled one out for Felix’s inspection. 

“You’re sick You’re sick!” he cried running from the kitchen. “I’m going to tell the rector!” But the rector thought the whole thing was hysterical and poor Felix, well, he was never quite the same after that. Of course, he ended up becoming some kind of uber conservative priest who, last I checked, had never been entrusted with a parish of his own. Hmmm. 

Chuckling at the memory over thirty years later, I thought about the book about seminary I’d never written. Then again, maybe I’ve been going about it all wrong. Perhaps it would be better as a screenplay in the spirit of Animal House. I’ve got a whole cast of cassocked characters and good stories at my fingertips. I know nothing about writing screenplays, but a catchy title would be a good start. Any suggestions? The winner gets a screen credit. 

I see Hollywood in my future.