No Greater Love (25 page)

He knew that St. George's was pretty much a run-of-the-mill parish. The sole feature that made it at all outstanding was its grade school. Yet the school's existence was much more the product of luck plus Father Andover's extraordinary labor.

Parochial schools began to live on borrowed time once the convents began to empty. Then the few remaining teaching sisters spread out to varying apostolates not remotely connected to schools and teaching.

Without the sisters' coolie labor—offering up their lives, chastity, obedience, and poverty—it is solidly doubtful that a Catholic parochial school system in this country even would have been attempted.

In recent years, a significant number of parochial schools had closed, victims of the need to pay a living wage to the laity who staffed the schools and who very definitely had not taken the vow of poverty.

But if a parish could weather the storm, hang on until the financial drain was plugged, there was a chance of survival. The solution: Charge a realistic tuition and count on enough families to pay it, even if these families did not reside within the boundaries of the parish.

Father Andover's heart condition was largely the product of his so far successful efforts to keep his school open. If the Church ever got around to passing out beatifications for giving up one's life for the parish school, Father Andover would be in the running.

All this Father Manor inherited when he took over the reins of St. George's parish from Father Andover.

Since then, Father Manor had presided over the status quo, doing nothing even vaguely innovative during his watch at St. George's.

Andrea knew this. That is why she was able to intimidate Bennie. He had been counting so on the joys and well-earned pleasure of retirement. Till then, all he really had to do was stick with the tried-and-true routine, and in a little while he would be all set for the rest of his hopefully long and well-deserved leisure.

He was delivering daily Mass. He scrounged up help for weekends. There was a parish council. It wasn't doing much, but it was there. The good old St. Vincent de Paul Society was doing its job taking care of emergency charity needs.

The precious school was … well … there.

Father Manor did little in or for the school. It functioned. He had made it quite clear to the principal that she should take complete responsibility for its operation.

She handled enrollment. People calling at the rectory hoping to get their children in school were referred to the principal. Parents protesting discipline problems in school were referred to the principal.

Father Manor had inherited the principal along with the school. He was completely uninformed as to the lady's qualifications, if any, for the position. As long as the school continued to function, he gave it no thought.

Now this young woman was disturbing him greatly. She was forcing him to question what he had been depending upon without question: the light at the end of the tunnel.

All the while he was mulling these thoughts, Andrea was interpreting his expression. She detected by turns anxiety, concern, qualms, self-doubt, and a pinch of panic.

She knew she had him on the ropes. “I don't want to suggest that there would be the least chance that the guys downtown would actually block your retirement. But, on the other hand, I don't think anybody wants to risk the slightest possibility that something might go wrong.”

“Do you think so?” He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his face and the back of his neck.

“All I'm saying is that it's not something you'd want to leave to chance … don't you think?”

He thought. “But the others …” he said in a tone of desperation. “So many of my buddies have retired. And some of them left their parishes no better off than mine!”

“Did many of them have a school?”

He thought. “Not many. But some did.”

“In the same shape as St. George's?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for starters, the enrollment—it's been going down.”

“It has?” He paused. Then, “How would you know a thing like that?”

“Father—Bennie—you don't think I just walked in here blind? Without doing a considerable amount of research?”

He felt guilty, very guilty. He should have known about the enrollment. Hell! Why hadn't the principal told him?

On the other hand, he'd been very strong about her not bugging him about school matters. She was supposed to solve whatever difficulty arose.

“The thing is, Bennie, you shouldn't have to be bothered except in extreme emergencies. And then you should have someone to inform you of all the. facts, give you all the information so you can render a decision with no wasted time.”

Manor shook his head. “There isn't anyone like that … I mean, anybody who could do that for me.”

“I don't have to tell you how important your school is. Not only to this parish and to some of the families in your neighboring parishes. It's important to the diocese too. The education office downtown takes special interest in the few parochial schools that are left.

“I think it's important to make sure the school is operating as perfectly as possible. One of the things I'm pretty sure of is that the people in the education office downtown want to see enrollment going up. Not down.”

“Well …”

“I don't want to even suggest this, but what if you reach retirement date and you find out they want you to straighten out the school before you go? I'd say that now is the time to make sure all the t's are crossed and the i's dotted.

“But let's not stop there. St. George's could be the envy of the diocese. I think we”—she slipped in the plural effortlessly—“should think of taking on some coordinators.”

“Coordinators?” He was swept up in the flow of her suggestions.

“Yes. A coordinator for liturgy. Not just ensuring the weekend help you need, but planning—from week to week, season to season—themes that will involve the congregation.

“Then there's a Christian Service.”

“We've got an active St. Vincent de Paul—”

“Marvelous! But the Vincentians should be a dynamic part of a larger vision that doesn't just react to problems, but is aggressive in shaping programs like visiting the sick, the jails, and so on.

“And there is so much more. Coordinators for the youth of the parish. There are wonderful programs for family life and adult education and religious education for the children.

“And to do all that we'd have to form and train catechists.

“And let's not forget music ministers. It's not enough anymore to just have somebody playing the organ without encouraging full participation—”

“Wait! Wait a minute!” She was bombarding him. He was aware of almost every program she was suggesting. But he'd never seriously thought of implementing any of them.

For the simple reason that, at best, it needed somebody young—young and energetic—to take on the challenge of these programs. Someone as young as … this young woman who had painted a picture so bright with promise that he almost considered passing up retirement and getting involved in a parish once again.

Almost. “Let me see those documents you put on my desk.”

Smiling, she retrieved the documentation from her attaché case and passed the papers to him.

He riffled through them. She wished he wouldn't do that. They deserved to be kept and studied. They contained not only her résumé and transcription of grades, but also a blueprint of just about everything she had just presented.

He paused at one document. “Your graduation is in June of next year?”

“But I can begin building everything we've talked about right away. It's just a matter of interviewing and selecting the right people. And as far as the next scholastic year is concerned, I can pretty much come and go as I please.”

Manor smiled. “You strike me as someone who knows what you're doing.”

“I think so.” She returned the smile.

“So what do you need with another year in the seminary?”

It was a good, thus difficult, question to answer in twenty-five words or less. “There are a few courses I want to take to upgrade my knowledge and experience. Plus there's the diploma that states I am a pastoral minister. That will satisfy the bureaucrats downtown, and it will make it lots easier to deal with our parishioners.”

He seemed to still have some doubts.

“Look,” she explained, “after Vatican II nearly everybody in the pews was overwhelmed with changes. It seemed as if anybody who wanted to could get up and initiate some program or other. And in a lot of instances that was true … sadly.

“It is extremely important that the person who heads a program as vast as the one we're talking about be well qualified. I dare say that without the diploma, this program would die aborning.

“The authorization that my graduation provides is crucial. So what I'm proposing is that you let me start now, before school begins in another month. I can meet the parishioners who really want to get involved and get them reading and studying. Then, as the school year progresses we can lay all the groundwork.

“And when I graduate, we can hit the ground running.” She folded her hands on the desk. Her proposal was finished.

He swiveled his chair so that he was looking out a side window. “You present quite a package,” he said, without turning back to her.

“I know that. But it will work. I know that too. By the time you're eligible to retire, you can hand the diocese a parish that is a smoothly running machine. Not that the machine is the end product we're working for. Our program has to be, at all times, Christocentric. It's just that everything in the parish will lead smoothly to that end.”

He rocked back and forth for a few moments. “And what will all this cost?” As he asked the question, it occurred to him that as often as he had dealt with priests or religious, the subject of money, reimbursement, salary, seldom was raised.

But this was the age of the laity. Theirs was a far greater need for a decent wage than priests or religious whose maintenance and even a modicum of comfort were all but guaranteed.

She nodded. It was a decent question, one that needed to be explored. “Bennie, I am not going to be living the high life on any wage the diocese or parish pays me. I know that. There are guidelines sent out by the diocese suggesting a certain salary for employees. It will cost the parish something for me and for many of those coordinators. I will economize as much as possible. But the conclusion you must reach is that it will be money well spent.

“I know your present budget doesn't provide for these outlays. Your next budget will have to reflect these expenditures. But I can assure you, once your parishioners experience what we can provide, you won't get many complaints.”

He deliberated. Slowly he swiveled back to face her.
“if
we do this, what assurance do we have that you will follow through? I mean, I don't have anything but your word and an attractive plan. Do you have any … what? Collateral?”

“Sure. How about this: In this beginning phase, as I get things ready to go, until June of next year when I graduate, you put my salary in escrow. We'll put it in the contract that I won't collect the salary unless and until everything is ready to go and I have my diploma.”

“Sounds like something I could sell to the council and the parishioners. Are you sure you want to put that thing in about the diploma? That seems a bit chancy. I'm just thinking about you now.”

“I know you are. And thanks. But it's not that chancy. It's the next best thing to a lead pipe cinch. Besides, as I said before, I'm nothing without that diploma. It's my badge. It's my license to practice. I want it in the contract. If not for you, for the parishioners.”

“Andrea”—he rubbed his hands together—“I think we can do business.”

“Bennie, I was counting on that.”

“Call me in a couple of days—make it the first of next week. I'll do a little checking and we can haggle about some money.”

That was last August. And since then both sides had honored the bargain.

Father Manor had sold it to both his parish council and the parishioners. The atmosphere was not unlike that of Vatican II. In a way, that might have been expected, since that Council had passed over St. George's parish without stirring up much enthusiasm. So there was plenty of bottled-up sentiment to spare.

Andrea quietly organized the various coordinators, some from St. George's, some from among her friends outside the parish.

All the while, Andrea kept a low profile. She would not actively begin the program until after her graduation from the seminary. That diploma would be her ticket to implement the programs without valid opposition.

She envisioned how her work would develop.

Only a small percentage of the parishioners would respond to her call and become active. The majority of the rest of them would be pleased that all these things were happening. Given good direction, they would participate more actively than they had—especially in the weekend liturgies.