The Greatest Evil (7 page)

“Okay, Vinnie.” Martha checked her watch. “Visiting time is almost over; we’ll have to leave.”

“I’ll walk you to the car,” Vincent said, leading the way.

They all began piling in. Frank, the last to enter, turned and held out his hand. “Really, Vincent, we—me especially—are grateful. If this works out, Marty and me are going to be about the happiest two people on the face of this earth.”

As the car pulled away, everyone was waving good-bye.

“How did it go?” Louise asked.

Martha snorted. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Come on, Lou. All you told that boy was to fix things for Frankie and me. You didn’t even know what he was going to show us when you suggested that ‘tour.’”

“Okay, okay. So I just told him to do everything he could to help so you could receive the sacraments again. How’d he do?”

“We’ll see. We’re to wait a few days. Vinnie is going to write to his friend, your priest—”

“You mean Father Koesler? Oh, that’s good. He’s a good priest. He gives such good sermons. And he says Mass so fervently—”

“How is he with miracles?”

“If anybody can do it, he can. And we’ll help as much as we can.” Louise turned to the others. “C’mon everybody,” she said loudly, “we’re going to say the Rosary on the way home. It’s for the intention of Uncle Frank and Aunt Martha.”

Tony began to grumble. Lucy began to whine. But that was all drowned out as Louise began: “‘In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, Amen …’”

Vincent watched them leave. Then he headed back toward the residence hall. It was time for Sunday Vespers.

As he walked, he pondered.

No two ways about it: If Uncle Frank and Aunt Martha wanted an adjustment in their religious status they would have to consult a priest. The only question was: Which priest?

There might well be priests better qualified than Bob Koesler. Oh, he knew his stuff all right; all he lacked was experience.

That could be both good and bad.

If the incidence of success with this sort of marital problem was poor, Bob wouldn’t know that. So he could be more confident. But if it involved knowing whom to consult for best and quickest results, Koesler would be behind the eight ball.

Then another thought entered Vincent’s head. Lourdes. That repository of astounding miracles. A grotto decorated with crutches and wheelchairs left by the grateful cured.

Yet it was said that the greater miracle was that experienced by those who came and left crippled—crippled but resigned to their fate and filled with inner peace. Another sort of miracle.

It was a good thing that he was headed for the celebration of Vespers, the Church’s evening prayer. This enterprise was going to need a lot of prayer.

7

Rumor had it that an Italian priest fresh in America from his mother country was offering ten Masses a day and accepting a five-dollar stipend for each one.

Once the chancery was apprised of this practice, a chancellor called and told the priest in no uncertain terms that he could not offer ten Masses a day.

His response: “Ma, shu’ I can. I’m a big-a strong guy.”

Father Robert Koesler was a big, strong guy too, and he would have been happy to offer ten Masses a day—sans all those stipends.

Father Koesler had been a priest four months now and he was enjoying every minute of it. In a way, he regretted that his once-a-day Mass (except for Sundays, when, due to the crowds, priests were given permission to offer two Masses) was always scheduled for early morning. Mass was the highlight of his day. He wished he could have all day to anticipate it. He tried to adjust to this minor disappointment.

His days in this first parochial assignment had fallen into a routine. This also pleased the young priest. He loved routine.

On most days, after Mass, he taught in the parochial school. Never mind that he was totally unqualified as a teacher. He was a priest; Father could do anything. Afternoons were usually spent outside the rectory—visiting the sick, or parishioners who, for one reason or another, were homebound. In the evening there were endless instructions for people who wanted to convert to Catholicism. Or he would meet with couples who were making arrangements to be married.

Initially, he had been surprised at the time consumed in clearing the deck for marriage. The simplest procedure—a marriage between two Catholics of independent age, neither previously married—required several visits to fill out all the forms and to be instructed by the priest.

The priest, of course, had never been married. But he was Father: Ex officio, he could do everything.

From his—so far—parochial experience, Koesler had concluded that while it was fairly difficult to enter a Catholic marriage, it was extremely difficult to get out of one.

Canon Law had all the lines—and the questions. Were both parties to this marriage over twenty-one years of age? If not, parental consent was required. Were both Catholic? If not, a dispensation given by the local chancery was required. Were both free to marry, or did either have a previous marriage? If so, the previous marriage had to be annulled. Not infrequently, this process was as easy and successful as jumping the Grand Canyon. Were the parties entering this marriage of their own free will, or were they being coerced by force or fear? If so, the procedure stopped here until the coercion ceased—or, no marriage.

Obviously, once all the questions had been answered and the forms filled in to the Church’s satisfaction, it would be next to impossible to claim that due to some circumstance there had been no marriage from the moment of exchange of consent.

Handling marriage cases was not high on Koesler’s thrill list.

However, tonight a marriage case was coming at him from left field. The couple were not even his parishioners. Earlier in the week, he’d received a letter from his friend Vincent Delvecchio.

Vincent was not in a position to be very helpful regarding the problem. He had not yet been exposed to marriage law in the Catholic Church. All he was able to contribute was that there may have been a previous marriage on his uncle’s part. What Vince knew for certain was that his aunt and uncle had been married by a judge. From the time of that marriage, his aunt had never again received Communion. His uncle was not a Catholic, so Communion was not an issue for him. Not much help there to enable Koesler to anticipate what the problem might be.

On the other hand, even married people would be hard-pressed to explain the canonical status of their marriage. Specific study of Canon Law would be required to understand concepts such as validity and liceity. Canon Law was not kind to the unpracticed eye.

When Mrs. Morris phoned for an appointment, Vincent’s letter proved helpful. Without the letter, Koesler would have been most reluctant to see a couple who not only weren’t parishioners but who lived beyond his parish boundaries.

The appointment was for 10
P.M.
Rather late, but the first slot Koesler had available after instructions. In point of fact, Koesler had a mixed bag this evening. Immediately after dinner, he had scheduled instructions for 6, 7, and 8—followed at 9 by a couple making preliminary arrangements for a wedding.

They were a typical engaged couple. Once they had decided on a wedding, their first move was to reserve a hall for the reception. Only then did they call the rectory to book a time and date that would blend with the hall’s availability. It worked; they had no idea how lucky they were.

It was a simple enough marriage. Both were Catholic, of age, free to marry, and were not being forced. Yet each had to fill out “A” forms requiring answers to questions that never would have occurred to them. They were surprised at this—and at the necessity for each to present a copy of the baptismal records showing no notation of marriage. Said record had to have been issued within the past six months—further proof that neither had a previous marriage. Once they were married at St. William’s, notice would be sent to the parish of baptism for each of them. Their marriage would be recorded in their baptismal records. And from that time on, whenever either of them was issued a baptismal certificate, notice of their marriage would be included on that certificate.

The chief concerns of this couple, typically, were gowns, invitations, seating arrangements, flowers for the church, food service—buffet or banquet—etc.

Koesler tried to direct them to thoughts of the liturgy and, especially to give them an awareness of the gravity of the step they were about to take.

There was a mere modicum of difficulty in arranging for a canonical Catholic marriage. Challenging the validity of such a marriage would be next to impossible. Koesler wanted them to know that.

For as this carefree young couple left the rectory, an older couple entered with a serious problem that might well face just such an impossibility.

At the door, Martha Morris identified herself and introduced her husband to Father Koesler.

The priest led the way to his small office almost at the end of the hall. The farthest door in this hallway led directly into the church. Rectory, church, and convent were joined. Cozy. That’s the way the pastor liked things, and he’d had the buildings constructed to his liking.

Once they were settled in, Koesler commenced. “As I told you on the phone, I got a letter from your nephew. So I was waiting for your call. Vince didn’t give me much information … I guess he couldn’t really. So …?”

“You’ll have to excuse us, Father,” Martha said. “We’re very nervous. We look at you as our last hope. It’s … well, if this doesn’t work, we’ll be at the end of the line.”

“You shouldn’t feel that way.” The last thing Koesler wanted was to be “the end of the line.” He would, of course, do his best. But he wasn’t an ultimate expert. He was shy of experience—very shy. Still, there were all those books on the shelves behind him. He found it encouraging that he could depend on them for whatever he lacked in age and experience.

“But, begging your pardon, Father,” Frank said deferentially, “we’re more than a little scared. We’ve told our story to a priest before—or at least we tried to—”

“You tried to? What do you mean, you ‘tried to’? Which priest did you see?”

“Our pastor,” Martha said. “Or at least the pastor of the parish we live in. He had no patience with us. We barely got started when he practically threw us out of the rectory.”

“And your parish is …?”

“Nativity … the one next door to this parish.”

Nativity, thought Koesler. Father Keller. That bastard again!

Koesler hadn’t needed to be ordained to be made aware of Keller’s reputation. Keller was the third in a triumvirate of tyrannical east side pastors who were known as virtual autocratic Nazis.

Well, Koesler thought, at least I can start from scratch. The fact that Keller had treated a couple of well-meaning people like trash had absolutely no bearing on the legitimacy of their case.

“We thought,” Frank said, “that it might be very simple. I’m not a Catholic—nor was my first wife a Catholic. Just a couple of people not even married by a minister; we had a justice of the peace. We—Martha and I—figured the Catholic Church wasn’t concerned about a marriage that had absolutely nothing to do with the Church.”

Koesler shook his head slowly. “That’s not the way it works, Frank.”

“Well,” Frank said, “at least we’re making progress. Right about here was where Father Keller threw us out.”

They all laughed. It eased some of the tension.

“We go to church regularly,” Martha said. “Sundays and Holy Days. When Father Keller sees us, he sort of curls his lip. But at least he doesn’t tell us to get out.”

“That’s because he doesn’t tell us anything,” Frank added.

Martha seemed suddenly apprehensive. “This won’t cause a problem, will it?”

“What sort of problem?”

“Well, a problem for you. Will you get in trouble because you’re taking care of us? I’m kind of worried that Father Keller will be upset.”

“No, that won’t happen,” Koesler stated firmly. “It wouldn’t happen in any case. But especially since you did see him and he refused to even consider your case.”

Privately, Koesler mused about how wonderful it would be to wrap up this package and toss it back to Keller. If this couple’s marriage could be convalidated with Koesler’s guidance and help, it would be worth the price of admission to see Keller’s face when he inevitably found out what had happened.

Koesler pushed aside a mess of papers—notes, mail, and the like—from the center of his small desk. He picked up a pen and pulled a yellow legal pad toward him, looked at Frank and Martha, and said in an upbeat tone, “Well, let’s see what we’ve got …”

The Morrises inched their chairs closer to the desk.

“A little while ago,” Koesler addressed Frank, “you said you thought that since the Catholic Church was not involved with your first marriage, that the Church would not recognize that marriage. Actually, the opposite is true: The Catholic Church actually recognizes any legal marriage ceremony as being valid.”

Frank look amazed. “That’s rather open-minded of the Church.”

“But it doesn’t work to your advantage, Frank.”

“How’s that?”

“Take your first marriage. The Church accepts that ceremony, no matter how it was performed—as long as whoever performed it was recognized by the state of Michigan—as a valid—real—marriage. That means that, in the eyes of the Church, before you can marry again you must prove that the first marriage is null. That for some specific reason—and there are only a few reasons the Church will consider—an impediment—a block—obstructed the validity of that marriage.”

“These ‘specific reasons,’ Father: What are they?” Martha asked.

“First, Martha: Are you sure you want to sit in on this?” Koesler asked. “It can get a bit … personal.”

“I want to be here.”

“I want her here,” Frank affirmed.

“Okay.” Koesler nodded. “Now, a lot of these impediments are quite obviously not applicable here. Holy Orders, for instance, is a serious impediment.”

“You mean—” Martha began.

“That because I am a priest, I may not marry. But …” He thought for a moment. “Okay, maybe I can explain it this way: Suppose I get married. And suppose later on, I get divorced. After which, my ex-wife wants to marry someone else in a Catholic ceremony. The Church starts out by presuming that a marriage exists. Now, my ex-wife has to prove to the Church’s satisfaction that our union—well, that it was not a marriage—in other words, that no marriage existed. So she proves that at the time of our marriage ceremony, I was a priest. The Church would immediately grant her an annulment. Because in the eyes of the Church, there was no marriage between me and that woman—because, as a priest validly ordained by the Catholic Church, I am not, in the eyes of that Church, allowed to marry. Therefore, she, in effect, never married, so she is free to marry.