The Gathering (40 page)

A popular movement, Church-World-Kingdom, began in Detroit. It featured discussions by small groups, in which there was little differentiation between the laity, nuns, and priests. Church-World-Kingdom would spread throughout the country.

Perhaps because the IHMs were basically a teaching order, there was more early transformation. These nuns studied the Conciliar documents before the ink was dry. Liturgical changes particularly were far-reaching and radical.

Long ago, Sister Marie Agnes had returned to her maiden name. She became Sister Rose Smith. She was joined in this by a high percentage of other Sisters, some fresh and new, and some who claimed they had well earned their multiple facial wrinkles. Men and women who had been students of the teaching nuns no longer recognized their beloved and memorable teachers by name. Sister Rose Smith hadn’t taught them; Sister Marie Agnes had.

And when there was an obituary for Sister Jane Doe, the funeral of Sister Doe was nowhere nearly as well attended as it might or should have been. The absent hadn’t realized that the Sister Consolata they had known was the middle identity between the once and future Jane Doe.

As for Sister Rose Smith, she was simply at the right place at the right time. She rose through the ranks inexorably. She taught at many schools and made many friends and few enemies.

In the end, she directed the once vast IHM Order. Sadly, she now presided over a disintegrating group. Attrition of the late fifties and the sixties had reduced Order membership from as many as seventeen hundred religious to a bare remnant of something like six hundred.

In those halcyon days, Rose would have been addressed as Reverend Mother. Today, she was Sister Rose, or simply Rosie.

In high school she was a very active member of the clique of six. That ended when she entered college and the convent. She parted company with the group and “the world.” And, despite the occasional twinge of loneliness, she loved her vocational life.

She was saddened by the hemorrhage of professed nuns, including many in final vows. Moreover, she grew frustrated in all attempts to recapture the golden years.

But there were pluses. And one of the many pluses of renewal was the freedom to associate freely with friends and acquaintances of every stripe. From time to time what was left of her special clique would assemble. Of the six, four were still in religious life: Rose herself, Bob Koesler, Stan Benson, and Rose’s twin, Mike.

Alice and Rose had remained the best of friends, sharing all they realistically could.

Sister Rose continued to admire Bob Koesler, and to be amused by his accidental role as Catholic resource to the Detroit Police Department’s homicide division.

She could not bring herself to feel friendship for Stan Benson. Rose simply could not stand a fence-straddler. And Stan had proven so motivated to mediocrity that he could have been inducted into a Phi Wishy-Washy fraternity.

Sister Rose preferred those who took a stand one way or the other. Even if it was impossible to agree with all such people, at least one knew where they stood.

She didn’t understand what motivated Father Benson. Whatever it was, she didn’t care for it or him.

A perfect example of someone with whom she disagreed radically, yet not only liked, but loved, was her twin, the dynamic and controversial monsignor.

Even in the seminary, Michael Smith had stood out. He won oratorical contests. He was appointed head prefect in college, a role that put him in charge—so to speak—of discipline, of which plenty was needed. Occasionally, he directed the Schola Cantorum—the choir. While not the quintessential athlete, still he was proficient at all major sports. He was on the good side of nearly all the professors. Last, and by no means least, he was a far better than average student.

Michael’s broad field of accomplishments attracted the influential eyes not only of the seminary’s rector but also of the majority of faculty members.

He was sent to study in Rome, and on his return was assigned to the Chancery. In time, he was made a monsignor. Everyone assumed that one day he would be consecrated a bishop. Initially, he would be an auxiliary bishop, helping out (literally) the Ordinary. Eventually, he would have his own dicoese. Then possibly he would graduate to running a major archdiocese—Los Angeles, Boston, perhaps even Chicago or New York. Maybe he would become a Cardinal and elect a new Pope. That would in all probability be the limit. But not a cheap achievement by any standard.

Even in the sixties Mike had outdistanced his five special friends. But he didn’t abandon them. He got together regularly with Koesler and Benson. He palled around with them and vacationed with them. By this time, Sister Mary Benedict had returned to being Alice McMann. As a seminarian, Mike had served at Alice’s wedding to John Piccolo. He would have been involved in Alice’s nullity case, had he not been excused due to their friendship.

However, when Alice married Manny in a civil ceremony, the future Monsignor Smith dropped them.

The Second Vatican Council took Monsignor Smith, and almost everyone else, by surprise. Mike understood the portent of Pope John’s Council; he just could not guess how far it would go, nor how deeply it would affect him.

Just prior to the conclave that elected Pope John XXIII, Cardinal Edward Mooney died. He was succeeded by Archbishop Mark Boyle, whose reputation placed him at the far right of center. But at the four sessions of the Council, Mark Boyle went to school. He even played a major role in a radical change in the Church’s understanding of marriage.

Michael Smith was caught up in his bishop’s enthusiasm over the Council. After all, the Conciliar documents spelled out the Church’s position in the modern world. But Smith went further than Boyle. Michael was captured by the arguments of activists. He knew not where the spirit would lead, but he was willing to follow.

Perhaps it was a mistake—certainly in conservative eyes—that Michael was appointed to a commission studying the reasons why so many were leaving the priesthood. This commission quickly concluded that so many priests did not, after five, ten, or twenty years, simply discover, “Hey, there’s women!”

The Church had changed. Those who took the Council seriously and followed its directives perceived that the Church had, indeed, changed. It was no longer the cut-and-dried institution that claimed to have all the answers in neat, discrete piles.

Many of those priests who were swept up in new questioning of Church precepts also began to question their own commitment to the celibate life.

And so, for various reasons, many left the priesthood. Most did not leave the Church. Mother Church had supported them in the infancy of their priesthood. It was time, they thought, for them to help Mother through Her change of life.

Michael Smith was one who questioned, searched, and sought answers. When the answers he received did not agree with his educated concept of what Christ’s Church was meant to stand for, he left the priesthood behind.

Were he to marry, in order to remain in good standing with the Church he would need laicization—permission granted by the Pope to return to the lay state. He would still remain a priest; nothing could change that. But, with laicization, the needed permission to function as a priest would henceforth be withheld.

Paul VI was a vacillating pontiff. How else could one describe a Pope who appoints a commission to study the Church’s position on birth control and then rejects his own commission’s conclusion? In the matter of laicization, there were times when the Papal policy granted the decrees and times when it did not. As well acquainted as Mike was with Rome and bishops and chanceries and those who had the Pope’s ear, Michael would have known when to apply.

But he did not apply. Nor did he attempt to marry. He took seriously the promise he had given to live an unmarried life.

Michael spoke, lectured, and taught extensively. Frequently his path crossed that of Manny and Alice Tocco. Convocations, symposia and the like, such as Church-World-Kingdom, and Call to Action, frequently featured photos and a brief biography of Michael, and occasionally of Manny and Alice.

When the three met, they were cordial. But not as they had been in their youth.

As for his twin, Rose agreed with Michael on many churchly essentials. The two more frequently disagreed on how to right wrongs, or on how far to go. They were particularly popular when they appeared on the same program. The fact that they were twins who could disagree yet remain close drew a crowd.

Michael got along well with Bob Koesler. Koesler was always open to Michael’s insights, whether he agreed or not. They remained friends.

Not so Michael and Stan Benson. Michael regarded Benson as a man who had no convictions or willingness to take a stand. He looked on Stan as one who seemed to have no opinions.

Michael didn’t hold this total negativity against Stan. But since Stan appeared to have no opinions on any of the major controversies, Michael could not grasp why Stan did not at least agree on any of the subjects. Or why, if he felt no sense of agreement, he would not defend his lack of conviction.

To Stan it was all so simple. But he understood why he appeared as having a tabula rasa mind that was not used for any creative purpose. Outsiders simply thought he was dull … unimaginative.

Stan was in hiding. Joining in any adventure such as Michael’s would be to throw open the door to questioning and subsequent exposure. For Stan that was unthinkable. He preferred to seem a dunce rather than to become vulnerable to having his secret exposed.

Michael had only disgust for people such as Stan. Here was a priest of some forty years who had lived through some of the most exciting times of the age-old Church of Rome. He had imaginative, involved friends. And yet, with all of this, he was still a blank wall.

He should have known. He should have participated. That he did not was a disservice to the Church.

Stan Benson should be gotten rid of.

Gotten rid of?
Michael shuddered. What was he thinking!

But one thing Michael Smith had learned over the years: Nothing conceivable to man is impossible.

   
THIRTY-ONE
   

I
WONDERED …
would you give the eulogy?”

“Sure, Stan,” Father Koesler responded without hesitation.

Most priests consider it an honor to be asked to give the eulogy of a priest’s relative—or of a fellow priest. In the laity’s parlance, the practice might be termed a professional courtesy. To priests, it is another manifestation of bonding. At this most solemn moment, the celebration of the end of mortal life, priests tend to gather and offer prayer and moral support.

“Lily …” Koesler said. “ … that was that your mother’s name, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And how old was she?”

“Ninety-four. She would have been ninety-five next month.”

Koesler had never felt at ease with the small talk exchange that usually followed a death notice. Obviously, Stan’s mother had lived an uncommonly long life. It was no surprise to Stan’s few friends that his priesthood was his mother’s pride. She had basked in the sublime vocation of her son the priest.