Till Death (39 page)

Now, in Old St. Joseph’s Church, Fathers Reichert and Morgan, while contemplating the consequences of admitting Anglican priests into the Roman presbyterate, were exchanging their barely divergent views on the subject.

Neither could see much point to it. But Reichert was open to considering an option, whereas Morgan’s mind was inexorably closed.

Some years back, a Jewish man with no personal connection to the Catholic Church had been waked in the very church building in which the two priests were now standing.

Father Reichert had bitterly opposed this liturgical favor and loudly condemned the move. But when the possibility of a miracle occurred during the event, he had spun 180 degrees and championed the cause. Even after the Church dismissed the miracle claim.

Had it been Father Morgan at that scene, he would never have changed his mind, nor believed for an instant the claim of a miracle.

So it was by no means peculiar that Reichert left the door of his present conviction slightly ajar, while Morgan saw the matter as an unalloyed tragedy.

“Uh-oh,” Reichert, leaning toward Morgan, stage-whispered against the crowd’s noise, “here comes Bob Koesler … and he’s heading straight for us.”

“No need to be concerned,” Morgan replied. “He’s the Enemy. We know that. We just keep our guard up.”

It did not occur to either Morgan or Reichert that it might be considered odd for any priest to look on another priest as “the Enemy.” Ostensibly, all were united in their goals. Their attitude was, rather, a testimonial to the intensity of feeling left in the wake of Vatican II.

The three priests were contemporaries, in their early seventies. Two had dug in their heels and evolved not a whit from each and every lesson learned in their seminary days over fifty years before. The third, Robert Koesler, lived in both eras eclectically, choosing the better insights in both traditions.

Whether from coincidence or not, the three differed likewise in their physical appearance. Reichert and Morgan were of moderate height and slim to the point of ascetic moderation. Koesler remained tall and robust. It fact, it wouldn’t have hurt him to lose a few pounds.

“Dan … Harry …” Koesler greeted them.

“What happened?” Morgan responded. “You come back out of retirement?”

“Out of retirement’?” Koesler was puzzled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’ve been watching you work the room,” Morgan said. “You look for all the world as if you were still pastor here.”

Koesler laughed. “Nothing of the sort. But I
was
pastor here a bunch of years. You know how it is: Returning to a parish where one has pastored brings back memories, old friendships, catching up on what’s going on in each other’s lives …”

“No,” Reichert snapped, “the way we heard it, there’s no going back.”

Morgan’s approving smile ratified Reichert’s correction.

“Well …” Koesler left the word an orphan. From long, hard experience he knew that it was only a matter of time before disagreement would insert its ugly countenance when liberal and conservative met head-on. It was like trying to mix oil and water.

On this occasion the bristling had risen a bit earlier than usual. In this case the contentious matter was the place of residence and the theoretical need to separate and distance oneself from one’s previous parish. Following the letter of the law, a pastor who retired from the active ministry was expected to move elsewhere and to divorce himself from the management of his former benefice. The purpose of this direction was to forestall possible whipsawing between a former and a present pastor by any interested and usually meddlesome parishioner.

If one were to interpret the direction literally, which priests like Reichert and Morgan were likely to do, a former pastor would not even talk to—or indeed even admit the existence of—such former parishioners.

Koesler well understood the problems that could crop up in these circumstances. Such awareness, coupled with the prudence that came with age and experience, could derail any such problems.

Besides, Koesler was very close to Father Zachary Tully, the present pastor of St. Joe’s. Indeed, Father Koesler had arranged that Tully succeed him as pastor. There was no problem in this arena that the two had not handled or could not handle in the future.

But Koesler also understood that there would be no settling disputes between himself and the other two priests. That might have been possible had he been able to consult with Reichert alone. But as long as Reichert was guided by his mentor, Harry Morgan …

After an awkward silence, Reichert spoke. “How come you’re having the ceremony here at St. Joe’s? I mean”—he gestured toward the TV cameras and newspeople positioned throughout the church—you’ve got the media here. But why not go to the top—why not the Cathedral?”

“First,” Koesler disabused, “let’s get something straight: This is not
my
idea. There was a lot of discussion on how to handle this—”

“You were in on this discussion?” Morgan interrupted.

Koesler hesitated. This was nobody’s business but those who were personally involved in the matter. And that very definitely included him. He had been Wheatley’s initial contact, and the one who had steered the Episocopal priest through the tortuous process.

But Koesler was nothing if not polite. “Yes, I was in on the planning. And, as a matter of fact, the Cathedral was the committee’s first choice. But the consensus was that this would have been like waving a red cape at a bull. We felt the media would be all over this event if we held it in the mother church of the diocese.”

“Well,” Reichert almost sneered, “you certainly solved that problem, didn’t you?” He pointedly turned to stare at each of the TV cameras as well as the reporters who were hustling about interviewing members of the congregation and searching sedulously for any VIPs who might be present.

Koesler shrugged. “The best-laid plans of mice and men …” He didn’t complete the quotation. “I suppose it was a mistake. It was foolish of us not to anticipate there would be leaks here and there. In the end there were just too many people involved. And when that many people know what was intended to be a secret”—he shrugged—“the news media can’t be far behind.

“Anyway, I think—I hope—avoiding the Cathedral maybe sent a message that this ordination is not intended to be a sensational event. There are some—maybe a majority—who think it bizarre. But we can point to this ancient but modest church that puts the ordination in perspective.”

“We’d like you to know,” Reichert said, “that Harry and I are among the majority who consider this whole fiasco to be bizarre.”

Then why are you here, you
—

Aloud Koesler said only, “I would never have guessed it.” He silently congratulated himself for concealing every sarcastic nuance.

“But once the ‘brain trust’”—Morgan avoided concealing his own sarcasm—“decided to skip the Cathedral, why St. Joe’s? Hasn’t this poor parish suffered enough?”

Koesler did not share the opinion that St. Joseph’s parish had suffered, certainly not any more than any other modern-day parish coping with the problems of its parishioners. He assumed that Morgan was referring to Koesler’s term as pastor here. Still, he avoided being drawn into an altercation. “We chose St. Joe’s,” he explained patiently, “because of George’s family.”

“His family!” Reichert’s amazement was all too evident.

“Well, of course, there is his family—”

“What’s his family got to do with the selection of St. Joe’s for his ordination?!” Reichert was almost foaming.

“It just seemed appropriate,” Koesler said, “that his ordination take place in the parish where he and his family will be living.”

“Will be living!” Reichert’s voice rose to a near shout. Several people standing nearby turned to see who was so agitated.

“He’s got three kids,” Koesler said calmly. “Two of them are away just now. But they’ll certainly be here frequently. Then, in the course of time, there’ll undoubtedly be grandkids. He’s got to have room.

“Besides,” Koesler continued, “Father Tully wants to move into one of the nearby town houses. So, rather than create a new rectory—another white elephant—we offered George the rectory here. He was very satisfied.”

“I should think he would be,” Reichert said. “A house so large and spacious.”

“It creaks,” Koesler commented.

Reichert ignored the comment. “And I suppose it’s rent-free.”

“As free as the rectories you or any priests lived in as assistant and pastor.”

“That’s different!”

This conversation had developed into an exchange between Reichert and Koesler.

“What’s different about it?”

“We are priests. Full-time!”

“So is he. Or so he will be. Look”—Koesler was getting a bit agitated himself—“even if you don’t care to recognize the validity of his orders in the Episcopal priesthood, you’ve got to consider today’s ordination ceremony as valid.”

“As far as the Anglican Church is concerned, their orders are worthless,” Reichert spat out. “Pope Leo XIII settled that for all time.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”

Koesler was pushing the envelope. There was no widespread agreement among Catholics as a whole that would contradict Leo’s conclusion. Which had—at least in Leo’s day—pretty effectively put the kibosh on anything remotely resembling the present situation. Koesler had, on occasion, wondered how traditional Catholics could claim that anything and everything a Pope said was “infallible” when history proved irrefutably that what one Pope said in one century was quite likely to be overturned by another Pope in a later century. Not unlike, he thought wryly, the U.S. Supreme Court, which certainly had done an about-face on more than one issue over the years.

“In any case,” Koesler said after a moment, “he’ll have the stamp of approval when he gets reordained in just a few more minutes.”

“And I wouldn’t be too sure of that!” Morgan reentered the conversation.

“What?” Few things surprised Koesler any longer, but Morgan’s statement did. “Surely you can’t quibble about this program that accepts converts for ordination. It’s tied into the Vatican. Rome controls it, for God’s sake.”

“They’re taking advantage of the Pope’s debilitated physical condition.”

“Who? Who’s taking advantage?”

“You and your people, who won’t quit until you’ve changed everything our Church stands for.”

Now Koesler
was
steamed. A rare state for him. “Harry, how can you justify that statement? You, of all people, have got to believe in the Pope. In traditional thought there isn’t any time when the Pope ceases to be the successor of Peter, Vicar of Christ.”

It was clear that Morgan, and even to a greater degree Reichert, found such a position incompatible, to say the least.

“There are times …” Morgan spoke deliberately, as if experiencing how painful it was for him to even question a decision that emanated from Rome. “There are times,” he repeated, “when it is clear that the Pope has been harboring traitors. And that these traitors have led him astray by giving him incorrect information.”

“And such a time is now?” Koesler was incredulous.

“Exactly.”

“Like what, for instance?”

“Celibacy!” Somehow the term gained singular importance, greater weight, as Morgan pronounced it.

“Celibacy?”
It seemed a non sequitur, but Koesler knew in what direction this was heading.

“You people have been insisting on an optionally celibate clergy.” Morgan shook a finger at Koesler. “Each and every time you have attempted to inflict a married clergy on Holy Mother Church the Pope has beaten you back. But now, you have sneaked in through the back door. You’re ordaining a married man!”

“What? Do you expect a man like George Wheatley to abandon his wife and family because he is about to enter the Roman Catholic priesthood?” Early in this conversation Koesler had regretted having greeted Morgan and Reichert. Regret had evolved into thoughts of near murder. Of course, all he had to do was walk away. But there was always the chance of straightening out what he considered to be fuzzy thinking.

“No,” Morgan said, “I don’t expect Wheatley to abandon his family. I expect him not to be ordained. I expect him to beat on the walls of the Church in vain. I expect the response to his request for ordination to be a resounding ‘No!’”

Koesler sighed deeply. “You do know, Harry, that the Uniate Churches—which are recognized by Rome—have married priests who are every bit as ordained as we are.”

“Then let them get out of here and move to Greece or Russia or wherever. Let them try to be accepted by any one of the Eastern rites.Let them leave the security of this country. And then let them get married and enjoy sex until their prostate glands fall out. But let them leave us—the Latin rite—the hell alone so we can give witness to the world of a love greater than mere humans can achieve on their own.”

“You know where this is going, don’t you?” Reichert decided he’d been silent long enough. As in an Australian Tag match, he came on in relief of Morgan. “Everyone in your camp of diehard liberals will bide his time until this practice of welcoming so-called Protestant priests into our clergy becomes rampant. Then you’ll say: ‘See, it works. It’s perfectly natural to have a married clergy. We must get rid of mandatory celibacy.’ And,” he concluded, “you will have destroyed a sacred tradition.” If he had been at a desk or a table, he would have thumped his fist upon it.

“The Holy Spirit acts in wondrous ways.” Koesler could think of nothing more basic and absolute.

In response to which statement, the two friends, Koesler feared, were going to suffer simultaneous strokes.

“How dare you say such a thing!” Morgan had mounted the battlements. “It’s as we said: They are taking advantage of this ailing old man. It’s on public record! The Pope has said so at his every opportunity. He has banned the topic from speculation. An unmarried clergy is of divine ordinance.”

“And the Greek rites?”

“Though there are numerous different Greek rite churches, all in all, they comprise only a mere handful of members compared with the Latin rite. When we in the Western world speak of the Catholic Church, we’re talking about the Roman Catholic Church—the Latin rite!”