There were so many rules and regulations. Practically no one challenged their existence or relevance. The very keeping of them led to feelings of peace and comfort. The rules offered salvation. And salvation was comfortable. And, should one by and large keep the rules—such as fasting and abstaining and attending Mass on the appropriate days—one would go to heaven.
Mrs. McReedy would be objecting to the absence of many of these rules and regulations from Father Koesler’s homilies, ministries, and total life philosophy.
She would have been at the rectory at 3:30 sharp had not Lieutenant Tully rescued him.
Also headed off by Tully’s visit was Frank Parker, who thus would not be here at 7:00 this evening.
Frank belonged to a Church that might arise from some future Vatican Council. To call Frank an activist was like saying that John F. Kennedy liked women.
And Frank wanted his parish—Old St. Joe’s—to dive in no matter where the waters might lead. Some of his projected programs: March and parade through Lafayette Park to support AIDS research. A regular monthly Mass for and by Catholic gays enlisting a homosexual priest to celebrate the Mass. A regular evening weekly Mass for and by women—with a designated woman as celebrant each week. Remove all the remaining religious artifacts from the church’s interior. Have concelebrated liturgies regularly with Protestant and Jewish clergy.
Koesler believed Frank Parker’s heart was in the right place, but that his mind and his viscera had bonded.
Looking at this day that wasn’t going to happen, Koesler was again reminded that it didn’t matter whether you were killed by conservatives or liberals—you were just as dead either way.
He could remember the mid-fifties when he had been ordained a priest. How sure and certain things were then.
It had become a joke, but in those days—and for long years before—the Church structure resembled a triangle with the Pope at the summit. It was his vision and commands that trickled down to the bishops, from them to the priests and finally to the strong but subservient base of the laity.
The joke was that the hierarchy, for the most part, continue to think that nothing has changed. The hierarchy should consult with its priests, who are being squeezed from all angles.
Today’s canceled appointments surely were a case in point.
There was Mrs. McReedy, who, with the Lone Ranger, wanted to return to the days of yesteryear, and expected Koesler to lead the way. Then there was Frank Parker, who wanted to go, with the Trekkies, where no man has gone before. He expected Koesler to ignite the avant garde blast-off.
Yet were today’s priest to toy with one of the Parker programs, organizations such as Catholics United for the Faith, in close step with the bishop, would stamp on his obtrusive toes.
On the other hand, implementing Mrs. McReedy’s most fervent prayers would alienate many Catholics whose faith and interest had been awakened by Vatican Council II.
One of the many blessings of an inner-city ministry was that the more “inner” one got, the less anyone outside cared what was going on. Unhappily, Old St. Joe’s was on the outer fringe of “inner.” Thus the McReedys and Parkers could still stir things up.
The doorbell. Probably Lieutenant Tully. Fortunately, it would be neither Loretta nor Frank.
Footsteps resounded on the hardwood floor. The clicking heels of Mary O’Connor ushered in a male of light but firm foot. Mary brought Tully to the dining room door. Ordinarily, Koesler received callers in his office. But Tully was special and did not come close to being a parishioner.
Declining Koesler’s offer to take his coat, Tully draped the garment over a chair and seated himself on another, more comfortable one.
“Could I get you a cup of coffee?”
Tully appeared eager to accept, then hesitated. “Is it already made?”
“No, but I can whip up some instant—”
“No! No! That’s all right. I’ve had too much today.”
It made no difference to Koesler whether the lieutenant wanted coffee, but the vehemence with which his offer was declined startled the priest. And yet so many reacted in that fashion. It was almost as if he were incapable of making a simple cup of coffee that was potable. But that couldn’t be true; just last night Father Carleson had enjoyed his coffee.
Was that just last night? It now seemed days ago.
“Who calls bishops by their first name?” Tully always got right to the heart of things.
“Who calls bishops by their first name?” Koesler was utterly perplexed by the question. “Well … I suppose … their parents, for two.”
Tully