Till Death (9 page)

“How long after that will it take?”

“Nothing can be done until you complete the forms. Particularly, you must give good reasons why you are seeking this dispensation.”

“Are there any so-called reasons cited in here? I don’t want this held up because I didn’t have the proper reasons.”

“There should be no problem on that score. Put down your reasons to be dispensed from your sacred vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience as well as from your obligations to the order.”

“That’s all I need to do?”

“Yes. Fill out all the forms. Follow the instructions included.”

“After I do this, then what?”

“I will send your petition to Mother General. She will send it, along with her recommendation, to Rome. There it will go to our Cardinal Protector at the Vatican. Finally, the Holy Father will grant the dispensation through the proper channel.”

“There’s no chance, someplace along that line, that the petition will be denied?”

Mother slowly shook her head. “Rome used to be more strict in matters like this. Not now. Particularly since both I and Mother General will add very strong recommendations that the petition be granted.”

“You will?”

“We want you out. You are the round peg in the square hole.”

“What shall I do while I wait out this process?”

“Nothing.”

“Not even the janitorial work I’ve been doing?”

“Nothing. You may attend prayers if you wish. It will no longer be required. You will eat with the Sisters. But you must remain in your room during every talking session. The other Sisters would find it awkward to have you in their company during recreation.”

“I guess they’ve found me awkward from the beginning. They’ve never talked to me.”

“That should have given you a clue. You either had to conform to the Theresians or leave. You could have made your choice long ago. Now that you have, you will be in a sort of limbo. We will have no advance information as to when your dispensation will come. Be ready. For the moment it comes, you must go. Is this all clear?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Then you have my permission to leave. And may God have mercy on your soul.”

Puzzled, Perpetua left the office. What sort of dismissal was that? From the movies and TV shows she’d seen in the past, these were the types of words used when a judge passed the sentence of death on a convicted person.

Did Mother actually suppose that leaving this convent was like death? It was more evident that life was just outside these walls.

She entered her room—the nuns called them cells, which was more appropriate—and leaned back against the door. This had been quite a day. Quite a day. She took off her habit as well as the swimsuit, which by now was dry, as was the habit.

While she was nude she took stock of herself. Not bad. Not bad at all. She would have preferred a bit more meat on her bones. The result of a stress-filled time in the wrong place, living with the wrong people.

She would take care of that, perhaps even before she left this place. The food was not all that bad for institutional fare. Now that she knew her “Sisters” would be advised not to speak to her, much of the tension should be eased.

She put on a robe and spread the documents out on the desk. Truly there were a lot of forms to complete. She would stay up all night if necessary. She desperately wanted this over as soon as possible.

As she worked at the petition, she reflected, as she had many times, how accidental it was that she had found herself a member of the Theresian order.

She had attended a parochial school staffed by Theresians. She had wanted to serve God in a special way. Devout Catholics looked upon women who became nuns as “brides of Christ.” Dora had found the concept fascinating and extremely attractive. The Theresians were, naturally, the religious order with which she was most familiar.

Thus, with this compelling urge to enter religious life, the only natural outlet was the one she knew best. It was not until she had been accepted and had begun living the Theresian rule that she realized that she had embarked on the completely wrong path.

Had she applied to almost any other religious order, she would most certainly have avoided this entire mess. Any other order and she would have had a satisfying and rewarding life.

She had only one more request of her religious superior. She wanted to consult with her spiritual director one more time.

Mother thought the request odd. When last she and Perpetua had met, the young nun definitely had made up her mind to leave. And this was only minutes after she had seen the director. Why, Mother wondered, would she not have told him of her decision then?

No matter. It was only a brief time before the troublesome one would be no more. Permission granted.

Rick Casserly was saddened and disappointed. He’d thought they were making steady if halting progress. He’d tried his best to convince her to hang in there. Evidently, his best was insufficient.

He had to admit, the game was over. No use trying to make this horse run. It was dead standing up.

So he tried to be upbeat.

He told her all about the Ursula club. Having served time in that parish and school, and now out of the parish and the convent as well, she was eligible to join.

There was a bit of gender inequity here but it was virtually unavoidable. Priests who had served at St. Ursula’s could join the club, founded many years ago by Father Bob Koesler, either while they were there or after they had served their time.

Nuns stationed there could not join any club. The Theresian rule would not permit such a thing. Only someone like Perpetua, who left the order, could belong to the club. And there weren’t many such cases.

They were about to part when he said, “I suppose this will be our final meeting.”

“I think so. They are just tolerating my presence at St. Adalbert’s. I think Mother—and maybe the rest of the Sisters—would rather not see me if they can help it. So I’d better not press my luck in asking to see you again.”

“I don’t think that’s fair. But it may be wise.”

“One more thing,” Perpetua said. “After this is over, can I still come and see you … maybe regularly?”

He hesitated. Her previous visit had been fraught with possible problems. But, hey, those problems were covered by Perpetua’s being in, for her, a bad habit. That shouldn’t be a problem anymore. “Sure,” he said with conviction. “Why not?”

In time, both might live to regret this continuance.

She returned to the convent to bide her time until Rome would set her free.

Since childhood, Dora had believed she could get anything she wanted if only she played her cards right. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Eight

When Father Anderson left St. Ursula’s parish, he had traveled light.

In the five years since he’d been ordained, he had accumulated few possessions. And, as mentioned previously, there were no farewell gifts. The parishioners gave what they could to the parish. There was nothing in their budget for presents for priests who moved in and out of their lives like ships in the night.

That was all right with Jerry Anderson. Escaping intact from Father Angelico was gift enough.

Nativity parish, his second assignment, was, as one priest noted, a plum. A little wrinkled but a plum. That it was wrinkled was a comment on its age and obvious need of upkeep. The fruity metaphor was a tribute to its pastor of that time. Not that the pastor was especially holy, a good administrator, or a dynamic leader. It was just that he knew that the assistant pastor supply was running dry. Father Anderson could very well be the final extra priest for this parish and the pastor wanted to keep him for as long as possible.

So Anderson had pretty much carte blanche as to what he wanted to do.

A priority, since Jerry had been a stellar athlete himself, was to revive the parish athletic program.

In time, that program grew so substantially it overshadowed the parish that was the mother of it all. Before Jerry Anderson had arrived hardly anyone outside the parish had been acquainted with Nativity of Our Lord. Now, due almost entirely to its basketball program, almost everyone who at least read the sports pages or did not switch channels when the sports segment of the TV newscast came on was familiar with “Nativityville” and its director, Father Jerry Anderson.

Amateur basketball teams were formed all over Detroit, especially on the city’s east side. Such teams quickly joined Nativityville’s league. X numbers of kids were practicing and playing basketball instead of looting or mugging. The city officials, particularly the police, loved the effort and gave it preferential support.

Frequently seen in the gym were scouts of every stripe: collegiate and professional. The import of this was not missed by kids who were well aware of the skyrocketing salaries in the pro leagues.

The parish’s pastor operated in obscurity. This pleased him greatly as he was only a few years from retirement. He wanted to live to see that day. Nativityville was granting him immunity from any attention that might affect him adversely.

Oddly, a sports program such as this should have been the product of a powerful and popular parish. As it happened, the basketball league made the parish known and solvent—the tail wagging the dog.

As time passed, the sports program was able to function without Father Anderson’s constant attention and presence. A manager was found and hired. The league continued to flourish. Jerry Anderson spent more time doing that for which he had signed up: being a priest seeing to the care of souls.

He revived the parish’s St. Vincent de Paul Society. It became effective in finding shelter, food, employment for those in need, and, in general, putting skin and bones on works of mercy and Christian love.

What troubled him most in the day-to-day operation of the parish were the people with marriage problems. They came in three sizes: Those who were living together but growing apart. Those who were divorced and contemplating another marriage. And those divorced who already had attempted another marriage. Those in the latter category were referred to as “living in sin.”

Jerry Anderson grew more and more estranged from the Tribunal—the archdiocesan department that processes marriage cases to determine whether a petitioner should be granted or refused a declaration of nullity.

The Tribunal, over very recent years, had become more user-friendly. So much so, in fact, that Rome grew irritated with the Church of the United States over the great number of annulments being granted.

For Anderson, the increasing annulments constituted a small step in the right direction. But it was a long way from the ultimate solution, which, in his mind, was abolishment of the entire process. He believed that anyone who had endured a failing marriage and been bloodied by a divorce should be welcomed openly by the Church as the People of God.

Instead, anyone applying for an annulment faced being bloodied again, this time with more embarrassing detail, more delving into the private and personal aspects of his or her relationship, more expenditure of time, more embroilment of friends, relatives, and acquaintances.

In his seminarian days, this ecclesial approach to marriage had seemed unnecessarily complicated. Never once had he doubted the permanence of marriage. But he did have to wonder about exactly what constituted marriage.

Church law dealt almost exclusively in positives. Were both parties free to marry? There was no previous marriage for either bride or groom? Neither was crippled psychologically? Neither brought any other impediment to the covenant? Both freely exchanged consent? The marriage was consummated?

Instinctively, young Anderson believed there must be more than this.

Where was love? Growth? The sense that, in the face of worse, poorer, and sickness, the union was working? There had to be more to matrimony than what the Church explicitly expected.

Then conscience stepped in.

A union might fragment. In which case Church law demanded: Prove it was that way from the very beginning.

But the conscience … the conscience knew. The inner voice told whether or not the marriage was true.

When, after careful, after agonizing prayer, the conscience concluded “nice try” but it just isn’t working, then what to do?

Take the case to the Tribunal, Anderson presumed.

Or, if the person’s conscience was strong enough to rely on, follow the dictates of the inaudible voice.

Just as one cannot be a little pregnant, so, one cannot be a little married. Either a couple is married or not. Anderson’s conclusion was that conscience knew better and more accurately than the Tribunal.

His advice to couples who were blocked by Church law from marrying, as well as those already living in a canonically invalid marriage, was to follow their conscience. And if these consciences ruled that all was well with the marriage, then follow that dictate.

What if they were kidding themselves? Could they fool the priest? Most certainly; it was not that difficult to pull the wool over priestly eyes. However, God would not be deceived. Following one’s conscience in opposition to law is tricky business. Pretending to follow conscience when one knows it is lying is fatal.

Father Anderson would lead troubled souls through this maze and, after their successful completion of this spiritual journey, he would advise them to recognize their extra-ecclesial wedding and continue to receive the sacraments. They must remember: Conscience has spoken, they are not a little married, they are a lot married.

All of this was accomplished in what is called the “internal forum.”

The internal forum was located in the confessional, the rectory office, places where confidences are confided and secrets kept.

There was no church building, no altar, no side altar, no aisle to walk, no music, no flowers, no ceremony, no pomp, no circumstance.

It was a silent decision made by a man and a woman, ratified by a priest.

To move out of that internal forum into an external forum easily could become canonical suicide. After all, the woman, the man, and the priest are, in the eyes of some, operating against the law or, in the eyes of others, outside the law.