Father Kinsella stood about one and a half leprechauns tall and was a parish priest. With the help of six Sisters of Mercy, he ran a small school for special children in the poorest parish in the poorest county in Ireland. Most of the children had extreme physical deformities, birth defects or were dwarfs. But they were all God’s children and Father Kinsella and the sisters loved and cared for them in a kind and gentle manner.

The only real problem Father Kinsella had was money. But it was not for lack of trying. Father Kinsella felt he was half parish priest and half promoter of raffles, bake sales and bazaars. Many times between weekly bingo games he was heard mumbling to himself, “The luck of life and a pot of gold.”

Father Kinsella often thought how easy it was to be priest in a rich parish or at some historical abbey. Some places just gathered a crowd, but his small school was hidden away behind the stone rectory and the church. There was no sign and most of the villagers knew little of the school and rarely caught a glimpse of the special children. The only people aware of the children were the old women who came faithfully to church everyday and they only talked among themselves.

The other time the children were seen was when the dwarfs dressed up as leprechauns and greeted the incoming church and government officials who came every year on, of all days, Saint Patrick’s Day, to inspect the school and give little pep talks.

When the government officials arrived, Father Kinsella worked the room like a good Irish politician; smiling, laughing, and knowing everyone and everyone’s mother’s maiden name. In a good year he might get a new paint job for the school buildings. Most years it was promises he got, and when they arrived, they were always half that.

There was even talk last meeting of the parish priest in Dublin that the school might be closed and the children moved away. The children might be better cared for in a newer facility in Dublin. That brought real sadness to the hearts of Father Kinsella and the sisters.

Many times in the wee hours of Sunday morning, Father Kinsella would pray at the kitchen window, staring out into the misty Celtic twilight and the slow procession of revelers, men and women staggering their way home after a Saturday night at the pub. Father Kinsella wondered what he could do to bring those hapless souls back into the fold. If he could only get half, just half, he knew he could die a happy priest. But it was not to be; their spirits were stronger than his spirits.

Finally, praying out his kitchen window one very early morning, when there was light but no sun, the Celtic mist thicker than ever, Father Kinsella was touched by the hand of God. Not only could he bring back the revelers to salvation, but he could also help his poor, poor school. He knew just what to do and how to carry it out.

Father Kinsella also knew that his divine inspiration could also be the work of the devil and his plan could bring ruin and damnation to his church and school. So he prayed a little longer until he knew in his heart that indeed his plan was sent from the Almighty. He did have a lot of work to do and he knew it was going to be a tough sell to convince the sisters of his proposal. That night he brought the sisters together for a wee talk.

When he spelled out his proposal to the sisters he was met with polite stares. Finally one of the sisters said, measuring her words, “Now your proposal…Father Kinsella… is a little…little unorthodox.”

Father Kinsella said, “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

“Mysterious it is, father.” One of the sisters confessed.

Another asked, “Could you be explaining this…idea of yours again, father? Maybe I, we, didn’t…quite understand.”

The other sisters nodded in agreement and all sat with arms folded across their legs staring at Father Kinsella. He knew it was the time to see if the Holy Spirit was really behind him.

“Now we all see the lost souls that walk home in the wee hours. The walking dead of alcohol. “

The sisters all nodded their heads and murmured.

“And how the families suffer because others are always at the pub.”

Again they just nodded, listening with poker faces.

“And we all know how we labor under desperate circumstances, this being a poor parish and a poor school for poor children…”

The sisters nodded in silence.

“So I was thinking and praying to God almighty…there must be some way… some divine way that we could help the children…and bring these sinners back.”

One of the sisters interrupted, “And you want to be using our children?”

“Yes,” Father Kinsella said almost pleading.

Another said, “Now Father, exactly… exactly, what do you have in mind?”

“That I’d be dressing up our special children and scaring the hell out of those sinners back into the arms of their mother church!” Father Kinsella didn’t like using the word “hell,” but it felt right. Then as reassurance, he pronounced, “Now if the children don’t like the idea, I’ll be going back to bingo on Friday night and rummage sales on Saturdays and forgetting the whole idea.”

There was a long pause. Finally one of the sisters asked, “Now, Father, you’d be sure that the children got bundled up from the cold in the morning?”

When she asked that, Father Kinsella knew that he, or rather the Holy Spirit had won them over. Next he had to convince the children. Of course it sounded like good fun to the boys and girls and they all readily agreed. Immediately, Father Kinsella and his special children went into rehearsal.

The plan was to have the children leap out of the dark, dance and sing around the weary unsuspecting souls and at the right moment, deliver the “punch line” as Father Kinsella said.

But Father Kinsella had a problem coming up with the right words. Shakespeare sounded archaic and Ecclesiastics sounded sugar coated. Finally, he decided on, “Be forewarned sinners! Get thee to church! Change your ways or…?.” He liked ending on a question where one could imagine their worse fate. Imagination was good for the soul.

After several weeks of rehearsal and preparation, Father Kinsella and his merry pranksters were ready to take the show on the road.

Very early Sunday morning, before dawn, the children were gathered up, fed and prepared for their performance. The sisters had hand-sewn the costumes.

The dwarfs were again dressed up as leprechauns with pointy rubber ears. Little girls with twisted bodies were dressed in white lace with wings and made to look like gargoyle-cherubs; their faces a bright rouge. Small boys who could drag their bodies around had their hair teased up and small bells sewn to their pant legs. The sisters poured food coloring in their mouths to color their spittle blue. The older boys carried the younger, legless children on their back. They would blow penny whistles out their noses.

Under the cover of darkness the entourage was loaded into a small car and driven to a spot Father Kinsella had carefully chosen for the rapture of these poor drunken souls. As instructed, the children hid behind rocks and trees and when a small group of overnight revelers approached, staggering and hung over, the special children all ran out from hiding and began singing and dancing around the stupefied men who could only stare at the apparitions around them. Then, as rehearsed, the children all stopped singing and dancing and just stared at the men in heavy silence. In the surreal twilight of Celtic morning, two groups of human beings stared into one another’s souls.

Then, slowly one of the special of the special children was lowered down in a large basket from a tree limb overhead. The boy, humped backed, face whitened, hair teased up with grease, with red lips and crooked teeth, pointed his deformed finger and said in a voice like a banshee from the depth of the Infrerno, “Get thee to church or we will come again in the night to steal your souls to hell!”

There was a long eternal pause until the almighty spirit filled the men and then they ran screaming into morning mist fearing for their souls as the children laughed, blew whistles from their noses and danced around.

The punch line was not what they had rehearsed, but it worked. However, Father Kinsella had to edit the part about sending souls to hell. He explained that only God could do that.

Father Kinsella’s redemption show worked all morning as believer after believer ran screaming in terror into the Celtic mist.

That Sunday morning there were many new shinny faces in church and they gave generously when the collection plate was passed around.

Weeks later when Father Kinsella was alone with the other parish priests he confessed to his grand and clever scheme. (It was grand and cleaver now.) The priests had heard something was going on in that part of Ireland but reports of wee people, fairies and banshees were attributed to the alcohol induced Irish imagination.

The priests, all learning the truth now, and not much better off financially than Father Kinsella’s parish, were all ears. They too wanted to try a show of their own. Fortunately, for Father Kinsella, he had under contract all the leprechauns, fairies, gargoyles and banshees in that part of Ireland and in quick time he had booked his special children traveling road show throughout every parish in Ireland.

When word reached the council of Bishops in Dublin that something supernatural was happening all around, a Board of Inquiry was established and testimony taken from eyewitness accounts. But nothing could be found that could be substantiated, except by, “affected individuals.” Besides, anything that could bring the Irish people back into the pews was indeed the work of the Almighty the Board of Inquiry concluded. It was told that when word reached the Pope about “strange ghosts” in Ireland the Pope just smiled and murmured something about the Irish drinking too much green beer.

However, after months of doing the same show the actors began to get bored and started to improvise their roles. Some of the dwarfs wanted to paint their bodies blue and dance around in the nude. The little girls with contorted bodies playing gargoyle-cherubs complained about different costumes and more lines. They wanted to have blood dripping from their mouths too. Of course, all the children wanted to be the one in the basket lowered down so they could deliver the punch line.

Finally, Father Kinsella, after a long prayer one late night to his God, decided to stop his traveling show. He worried that his ruse might be found out and all the good undone. He had been wildly successful, earning more money then he had ever risen at any event. Sunday collections were rock steady and the bishops blessed the increased church attendance. There were many more baptisms, marriages and funerals in the church. Bingo night was reduced to once a month and had bigger jackpots. Finally there was no more talk about moving the special children away to Dublin.

With the money earned the school kitchen got two new stoves, the rectory’s slate roofs was repaired and the school got its first computer. Hidden away in the old, wooden horse stable was a brand new twelve passenger, phantom gray van. Sometimes it could be seen in the twilight, when the need arose, Father Kinsella and his special children, driving down the road into the Celtic mist.