The Present
At the sound of the phone, Koesler instinctively started to rise from the chair. Just as quickly, he remembered that he was, or very soon would be, a Senior Priest, no longer responsible for the spiritual care of a parish. No longer responsible for answering the phone. With a twinge of regret he eased himself back into his contour-programmed chair.
He looked across at Father Tully, who made no move to pick up the phone. Why not? Koesler wondered.
Maybe it was the seminary of Koesler’s day. If it’s your job, you clean the floor. If it’s your job, you answer the phone.
Koesler’s active memory recalled a time when his class was in its final year at Sacred Heart Seminary. His room was in St. Thomas Hall, a residential wing. The individual rooms provided some privacy for the students for the first time in their seminary career. But the rooms were not for claustrophobics. One wag stated that if a student died in his room, the rector would have handles attached to the outside and the room would be the coffin the lad was buried in.
Just outside Koesler’s room in the seminary was a phone, used exclusively for intercom calls. However, once, in a unique exception, the phone rang-loudly-at about 3 A.M.
Finally, after about ten rings, it was answered by the student assigned to that task. Groggy, he was understandably confused.
Student: St. Thomas Hall.
Woman: This Mr. Moon’s bar?
Student: St. Thomas Hall.
Woman (after a pause): What?
Student: St. Thomas Hall.
Woman: I got a wrong number?
Student: St. Thomas Hall.
Woman: Well, you’d think the least I would get was the right number.
Later they found that the student on switchboard duty, when closing down for the night, had mistakenly programmed all incoming calls to the phone in St. Thomas Hall.
It was the next day’s conversation piece. No switchboard operator ever made that mistake again.
However, the compulsion to answer a phone was implanted. In Koesler’s case, the compulsion was intensified during his assignment to St. William’s, where the three assistant priests took turns being “on” the door and “on” the phone. Callers left to cool their heels at the door or callers on a phone that went unanswered were evidence of sins that cried to heaven for vengeance.
Well, Koesler reminded himself, mundane decisions such as how the congregation would be served were no longer in his bailiwick. Father Tully was in charge … or would be, if the two of them could devise a way to treat the double requirement of making the Profession of Faith and taking the Oath of Fidelity.
The phone stopped ringing. Koesler noted that while the light on the dial had ceased flashing, it remained lit: Someone else in the rectory had picked up. Undoubtedly Mary O’Connor.
Sure enough, Mary peeked around the half-opened door. Out of long-standing habit, she looked to Koesler. She quickly corrected herself and addressed Father Tully. “It’s Inspector Koznicki on line one-”
Before she was able to go on, Tully was getting to his feet.
“You don’t have to take the call, Father,” she said. “He just has a question. I can give him your answer.”
Tully stopped in mid-rise, then dropped back into the chair, looking up at her expectantly.
“The inspector and Lieutenant Tully are tied up in a meeting. They and their wives can still make the dinner, but they’ll be late …”
“How late?”
“Nine, he said-maybe a little earlier, but no later. If nine is too late, they’ll have to cancel-or postpone the dinner.”
Father Tully considered for a brief moment. “How do you and the caterers feel about it?”
Mary smiled broadly. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“Let’s go with nine then. And, thanks, Mary.”
As Mary left for the kitchen, Tully turned back to Koesler. “What about the bishop? Should we tell him dinner’s going to be late?”
“Let’s not,” Koesler replied without hesitation. “I have a hunch we may want to talk to Vince before the others arrive.”
Tully sipped his tea. “That was some story!” he said after a few moments. “Nothing anyplace close to that’s ever happened to me.”
“It was a one-time event for me.”
“How did you feel? I mean, I can see how you’d want to console Martha and Delvecchio and his mother. But you … you must’ve had some deep reaction yourself.”
“I’ll say I did. And it happened just as you suggested. I was operating on adrenaline from the first moment I heard what happened. But after I talked with Vince, I had to face up to my part in this … a classic time for second-guessing oneself.”
“That’s happened to all of us,” Tully offered.
“Yeah, I suppose it’s kind of normal. But this situation with Frank and Martha was well out of the ordinary.”
“Are you over it now?” Tully inquired. “I mean, I know it’s been a lot of years. But did you ever fully recover?”
Koesler grimaced. “No. Of course, I’ve come to terms with responsibility. I wasn’t even the initiator in that process. And I did everything I could. I was young and inexperienced. But I checked all along the way with older priests. Everybody I talked to was practiced in the Privilege of the Faith cases-including my Canon Law professor.
“I know in my conscience that I’m not responsible in any way for what happened. And yet … from time to time I can still see Frank Morris. A good man. A better husband than many comfortable Catholics I’ve known. Even now, I can hardly think of him as a suicide.”
“Do you think you could have provided Christian burial if his widow had wanted it?”
Koesler thought for a few moments. “I don’t know. I’ll never know. Even back then, when the Church was comparatively strict about granting Christian burial, it might have been possible.
“I can recall one incident involving an Italian family. The family was extremely faithful-pillars of the Church. Uncle Louie died. One of those cases where Uncle Louie had said bye-bye to the Church after confirmation … when he was just a kid.
“Mostly for the sake of that faithful family and their desire to bury Louie from the Church, we tried like crazy to find some evidence that Louie might have-even mistakenly-could have wandered into a church at some recent time.
“Finally, the family turned up somebody who remembered Louie tipping his hat as he walked past a Catholic church. The witness wasn’t positive that it had been a conscious, voluntary act of devotion on Louie’s part. But, in the end, it was-mercifully-judged sufficient: Louie was buried from the Church. They even wound rosary beads in his hands.” He smiled. “I’ll bet that felt strange to Louie.”
They both chuckled. Father Tully had never had that much trouble burying anyone. There’d never been any hostile forces or big brothers peering over his shoulder.
“But”-Koesler grew serious again-”there was that suicide note. It was well thought out and carefully written.” Again he reflected for a moment. “I would have tried … but I wouldn’t have expected much success.”
“You think you’d have that much trouble now?” Tully asked.
“That law is on the books. And the note would be hard to deal with. And there surely would be some ‘keepers of the faith’ who would cause a lot of trouble if they got wind of what I was doing.”
Tully shook his head. “It all started with a canonical problem with a marriage. I was going to suggest that you might have gone the route of a ‘pastoral solution.’ But there couldn’t have been many-if any-priests who knew about that relatively painless procedure in those days.”
“You mean,” Koesler clarified, “when confronted with an impossible marriage case, you let the couple’s conscience settle the matter …
“Well, for one, as you say, the time had not yet come for that solution … though, in recent years, I have used it quite a few times. It’s a simple enough concept. Ask a Catholic couple, who’ve been forced by Church law into a civil wedding, if they honestly before God consider themselves to be truly married … or a little married … or not married at all.
“It’s a loaded question. Of course, nine times out of ten, they consider themselves married. But they also feel that the Church is uncomfortable at their arrangement. So, the priest makes them feel at ease with their conscience and prepares them and advises them to live sacramental lives.”
“Actually,” Tully observed, “when we were growing up Catholic, we were told we had an obligation to form a correct conscience-and then to follow it.”
“Yes. And it’s perfectly possible that in forming that conscience, still it may disagree with Church law-in which case a person must be extra cautious about the matter.
“But if, after due deliberation, the disagreement continues, conscience must be supreme.
“I love the story about the First Vatican Council, when the bishops were rather bulldozed into passing part of the doctrine on infallibility. In England, a Catholic college faculty was gathered for drinks before dinner. And Cardinal John Henry Newman raised his glass in a toast. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘I drink to infallibility-but first, I drink to conscience.’”
“Ah, yes …” Tully smiled. “You gotta watch those converts like Newman. They have subtle ways of correcting things.
“But,” he said, “getting back to Frank and Martha: I must say I’m surprised that the tribunal would not accept them into full participation even if they were willing to continue living as brother and sister. That would seem to settle the matter for Church law-even if it constituted a nightmare for the couple.”
Koesler sighed. “It’s weird. I’ve even known of a tribunal priest who ordered a couple’s parish priest to make sure the two were living up to their promise of a brother-sister relationship.”
Tully snorted. “Sort of gives a new meaning to ‘peeping Tom.’
“I take it,” he added, “from the way you told the story, you think these two did keep their promise for the entire two and a half years their case was pending.”
“No question,” Koesler responded firmly. “Their word was their honor. I believe they lived a monastic life. I believe they did without things they needed so they could pay court costs.
“But”-Koesler shook his head-“even after all these years, I have never gotten over Vinnie’s reaction to his uncle’s death. Of course, he’d already been told by the seminary rector what had happened …”
“And the rector told Delvecchio in just about the manner you anticipated he would?”
Koesler nodded. “It wasn’t that the rector didn’t have emotions, or that he didn’t express them. He could-and did-laugh when something actually funny happened. He could be depressed. And, God knows, he could get angry. He had a special knack when he announced some sort of atrocity one of the students had perpetrated. There he was, sitting up there on a podium in front of us. And he would whip off his glasses and throw them spinning on the desk. The knack was that the glasses would stop moving and spinning just at the edge of the desk. One tossing error and the glasses would be broken on the floor.” He chuckled. “That’s brinkmanship.”
“Marvelous. Do you remember any of the so-called atrocities?”
“One that comes to mind,” Koesler responded instantly, “was a white pillowcase that had been turned into a pinto-like black and white. Seems one of our number had been using it to polish his black shoes. That sent the old man into paroxysms.
“Any number of things could get him started. But one thing you can say for him: He never made up any abuses out of whole cloth; ours were actual atrocities.
“He could be very gentle one-on-one. But there was no doubt he was looking to turn out men. Men who could take any blow, face any adversity and forge ahead. I was sure that’s what he’d be looking for when he told Vince about his uncle.
“To be very honest, I didn’t think Vinnie would do very well with that test.”
“How so?”
“A close family member-it had to be one hell of a shock. And Vincent was part of this whole procedure … even though all he did was send his aunt and uncle to me. He was a necessary link. I think, honestly, not many could surface from something like that as though nothing had happened.”
“And that’s how Delvecchio seemed to you?”
“Uh-huh. It was even a bit spooky now that I picture it. I was wishing I had brought some Kleenex or a couple of extra handkerchiefs. I expected Vince to be in a state of shock-come to think of it, maybe he was … maybe that’s why he seemed so cool and untouched: He must’ve been in shock!”
“Or,” Tully offered, “had one hell of a good defense mechanism.”
“Huh?”
“I’m borrowing from a little psych that I took at the University of Dallas. Delvecchio may have been in denial. Maybe the news was so devastating to him that the only way he could deal with it was denial-one of the most basic defense mechanisms.”
“You may have a point there, Zack. But he seemed aware of what had happened. We even talked about the funeral. I remember he was amazed that I would consider conducting a Catholic funeral for Frank.”
“But there are lots of modes of denial.” Tully looked thoughtful. “Maybe not the denial of reality-that’s really pretty infantile. But he could deny any responsibility for the matter. And from what you’ve said, Delvecchio wasn’t actually that deeply involved.
“His mother asked him to try and fix an awkward situation. Pressed, and seeking some sort of off-the-cuff solution, he tossed the ball to you.
“True, you were inexperienced. Still, you were fresh from the books … and that’s not so bad: This procedure had to go ‘by the book.’ And, when all’s said and done, he knew you would at least be gracious to them. And in their situation, any reception would be hit-or-miss-depending on which rectory they wandered into. You mentioned that they had already been treated shabbily by-who was it?”
“Keller at Nativity.”
“Ah, yes. I never met the man, but I’ve met his clone any number of times. I’ll bet every diocese and religious order has at least one Keller. Seems like you were expecting one kind of reaction from Delvecchio … and you got another one, Bob.”
“That’s true … but Vinnie’s reaction to his uncle’s suicide was one response. I could think of lots of reasons why he could remain so untouched, so above it all. And I hadn’t even thought of a defense mechanism. You put a new light on that, Zack.
“But what really threw me was his attitude toward the possibility of getting Christian burial for Frank. Forget that I probably couldn’t have pulled it off. It could’ve been a great source of comfort for relatives and friends-”
“You thought,” Tully broke in, “that Delvecchio’s first reaction to Christian burial would be supportive. I agree. And I can’t imagine why it wasn’t.”
“Remember, Zack, we’re dealing with a young man who, only a year or so earlier, had that argument with me over fooling with organ music during a Requiem Mass. Now he’s surprised that anyone could think of Christian burial for a supposed suicide. One would think there’s a hell of a lot more involved in comforting grieving people than in diverting restless kids at a camp Mass.”
Tully tapped the arm of the chair with his index finger. “We’re just guessing, of course. And it’s been-what? — some forty years, so this is hardly Monday-morning quarterbacking. But I guess you could see Delvecchio’s entire reaction as within strict legalistic behavior. Frank Morris-and his wife-had a petition that was turned down by a competent Church court. Roma locuta, causa finita. So, Delvecchio wonders, what’s the problem? You asked for a decision regarding your freedom to marry, and you got one.
“That’s ‘A.’ And ‘B,’ your response to this decision is to kill yourself. Okay, if that’s the way you want it. But any possibility you had of being given a Christian burial is forfeited.”
Koesler nodded slowly. “Quid sit lex? as our Moral prof used to say. But ‘What is the law?’ is so cold and unfeeling.”
“And you couldn’t do it, could you?” Tully regarded his confrere with affection.
Koesler looked off into the distance, ready to admit the truth. “No, I couldn’t. And I didn’t know quite what to do about it. I had paid close attention through four years of study of just about each and every one of the two thousand and four hundred and fourteen laws. The vast majority of my test answers were correct … matter of fact, I don’t think I did better in any subject than I did in Canon Law. But it was mere law on those pages. Whether it was good or harmful law didn’t occur to me-or, for that matter, to any of my classmates … or to any other seminarians of that day.
“And then we were ordained. We gave consolation to the afflicted. We handed out chits for emergency food or shelter. We instructed. We did all sorts of things that made sense. And then we interpreted law. And it no longer was the abstract study of law. These were people who, by and large, were wounded. Their marriages had exploded in their hands. They were raw from revelations in a court of law-”
Koesler stopped and shook his head. “Frank Morris confused me, Zack. I was bound and determined to help him. Instead, I destroyed him.”
“You didn’t do it,” Tully insisted.
“I know … I know … at least I’ve known it for the past some thirty years. That doesn’t much help Frank.”
“It was out of due time,” Tully said. “Lots of people died because they lived before antibiotics, or chemotherapy, or organ transplants … or kidney dialysis.”
They fell silent for a lingering period.
“I guess this example doesn’t bode well for me in dodging the Profession of Faith and the Oath of Fidelity,” Tully said finally. “I can just hear Bishop Delvecchio now: ‘What does the law say, Father?’”
“Don’t jump to any hasty conclusion, Zack. I’m becoming as concerned as you are about your getting this parish without compromising your conscience. It’s just that I’ve, never bothered to analyze Vinnie in such depth. I assure you, we’ve only scratched the surface.”
Tully rocked comfortably in his chair. “We’re also getting to know another young man as he goes through his own ‘change of life …’”
Koesler’s eyes widened momentarily. “Me.”
“You.”
“True, I was developing. That was to be expected after that super-seclusion of the seminary. Twelve very formative years was a long time to be part of a subculture.”
Tully tipped his head to one side. “More. It was more than just adjusting to ‘the world.’”
“Yes, it was,” Koesler said thoughtfully. “For the life of me I couldn’t put it all together. It wasn’t that I hated Canon Law; all I had done about those laws was to learn about them. But I couldn’t resolve the apparent conflict between the law and the rights due a Christian.”
“Interesting though, that you and Delvecchio were, apparently, going in opposite directions.”
Koesler gnawed on his lip. “I thought it was only a matter of time before Vinnie would join me on wherever the path led. But I figured I’d have to be patient. First he would have to finish his seminary career-and he’d only just begun it. He had almost the full four years before he would get a parochial assignment. Then we would see what was what.”
“So? Is that the way it worked out? How did he get on with that first job?”
“It happened before ordination to the priesthood. It was a surprise to everyone. It couldn’t have been foreseen. And I’m still not absolutely certain what happened. But something did. It changed his life.
“I’ll tell it to you just the way it happened. Then, we’ll try to figure out what sort of impact it had on Vince’s life.”
Tully rocked himself to his feet. “How about some more iced tea?”