“That’s it?”
“Why, yes, that’s it.”
The philosophical if not theological approach to confession was tricky, Father Koesler had long thought.
The rule of thumb was clear enough: The confessor-the priest who hears the confession-is instructed to believe the penitent whether he or she speaks for or against him or herself. That’s simple enough:
But the confessor is not supposed to dispense absolution like an automaton. He is expected to help the penitent, be understanding, clarify things for the penitent if such is necessary, and, finally, make a judgment as to whether or not the penitent is truly sorry for sins committed.
It had been almost 11 P.M. when the doorbell rang. That definitely was not a run-of-the-mill time to be calling at a rectory. Which someone had once defined as a home for unmarried Fathers.
It was with some apprehension that Koesler went to the door. Who knew what dire emergency needed a priest?
Koesler was surprised the caller was another priest-Vince Delvecchio, of all people.
When Vince announced that he wanted to go to confession, Koesler drew the natural conclusion that there was some sort of mortal sin that stood between Delvecchio and the celebration of Mass tomorrow morning.
In any case, Koesler was willing to do whatever he could to help his longtime friend.
As they climbed the stairs to Koesler’s room, he recalled the classic story-probably apocryphal-of priests on vacation together. One asks the other to hear his confession. He kneels at the chair of his friend and, before beginning his confession, admonishes the other to “just give me absolution, Fred; no pia stercora.” Which can be translated, “No pious shit.” Just absolution, no spiritual pep talk.
In similar situations, confession among priests, Koesler was amenable, to skipping the nosegays.
But Delvecchio’s was an odd confession. For one, he had gone into far greater detail than necessary: Koesler did not need to know the woman’s name. He was only barely acquainted with Jan. He’d had some chancery dealings with her, getting information and the like. But her identity was extraneous to the confession.
Secondly, Koesler had difficulty finding the mortal sin. “Excuse me, Vince, but I figure you’re here because you think you’re guilty of serious sin.”
“Yes, of course.”
“What?”
“Well, all that French kissing. And then my touching her leg.”
“The last time I read up on the theology of serious sin, there had to be some considerable deliberation there. Not anything done on the spur of the moment. As far as I can see, the two of you entered into this innocently and got carried away.”
“She didn’t! She seduced me!”
“I don’t think so. But, of course, that doesn’t matter. We’re talking about your confession exclusively. And, besides, my reading indicates that a woman’s thigh is not any part of her genitalia. Not even an erogenous zone.
“Much more serious, I think, is the way you treated her before you stormed out. But, then, again, you were swept away by spontaneous emotion.
“I think it would be good for everyone if you would help her feel better-or at least less bad-about what happened. It being nobody’s fault. Of course it would be wise for the two of you not to be together like you were this evening.”
“That part about helping her feel better-you’re not making that a condition for granting me absolution! Are you?”
“Of course not. For one, I don’t think you’ve got a mortal sin here in the first place. You don’t have to do this. But I think it would be good of you. She probably feels terrible.”
“I’ll give it some thought.”
As little thought as possible, Koesler suspected. There were loads of questions rattling around in his mind-the product of idle curiosity having nothing to do with the sacrament.
So he gave Delvecchio a small penance of prayer. Then Koesler absolved him. No pia stercora.
As he showed Delvecchio to the door, Koesler thought he detected a sense of arrogance in the younger priest. If he had to guess, Koesler would bet that Delvecchio was guilty of the sin of pride.
In fact, of all the things bandied about as sins this evening, this-pride-easily could be the most damaging and dangerous.
The scenario was so clear now that Koesler was able to piece together this evening’s events.
While it was difficult to picture the controlled Delvecchio in the throes of sexual passion, according to the penitent himself, that’s where he’d been. When Jan appeared wearing practically nothing, sending out green “Go” rays, it must have been literally all he could do not to succumb. It must have taken almost superhuman control to walk away from an offer, a temptation like that.
But Delvecchio did it!
He walked away.
Koesler thought at the time that this pride could lead to a sense of moral superiority in Delvecchio: If he could survive the “ultimate test,” he could demand the same from every priest. And should a priest show any weakness in this or any other matter, such priest would be harshly dealt with.
Koesler tucked his well-founded speculation on the rear burner of his memory.
No one else would ever know. Unless Vince or Jan revealed the secret. And there was little chance of that.
The Present
So, Father Tully wishes Delvecchio had sometime in his life proved himself weak-even merely human would have been acceptable. Little did Tully know how close Vince had come to proving himself extremely human. And, consequently, having won out over that critical temptation, he was more stiff-necked than ever.
Whatever happened to Jan Olivier? A mystery.
Koesler had made no attempt to ascertain whether she was at her post the day after the “event.” But, in time, it was common knowledge that Jan had moved on, destination neither disclosed nor known.
Most everyone, if giving it any thought at all, probably surmised that she had left for a better-paying job. Generally, the various archdiocesan offices did not pay competitively. One did God a favor in working for the Church.
Others, while missing her cheerful voice and helpfulness, were vaguely happy she had found something better. But Koesler was saddened that nothing could have been done to heal her wounds.
Admittedly, “awkward” was not strong enough to describe what it would have been like for Jan and Vince to work together after what they’d put each other through. Still, Koesler believed that with a sincere concerted effort something could have been done. He supposed that Delvecchio had not had the opportunity to take the initiative in making peace. He also had his doubts as to whether Vince had any intention of trying.
However, as fate had it, Shanahan got the word that Delvecchio coveted the job of secretary. And Delvecchio got the job. A definite step on the road to the episcopacy.
The background of Delvecchio’s harsh treatment of priests in almost any problem or trouble would never be revealed to Father Tully or anyone else. It was protected by the king of all secrets, the Seal of Confession.
Just as well. It wasn’t the sort of example that Tully would find encouraging in his confrontation with the bishop.
Father Tully entered the room, shaking his head and smiling. “God bless ’em, the women are in the kitchen playing cards.”
“Cool,” Koesler observed.
“They say they’re ready whether or not Bishop Delvecchio stays for dinner. They have contingency plans.
“Personally”-Tully grimaced-“I’d just as soon he didn’t stay. I’d be happy if he just presented you with the papers, the documents … whatever, that make you a Senior Priest. If he leaves after that, he and I can argue this thing out later by ourselves. Better that way; this isn’t your fight.”
“No, no,” Koesler disagreed. “This parish is like my child. It’s got great potential. I doubt I’d be leaving it if I weren’t leaving it in your care. You’ve got the ability, experience, and talent to lead these people to a growingly Christian ideal.
“I want you to have this parish. There’s no reason, outside of Vinnie’s stubbornness, that you shouldn’t be pastor of St. Joe’s.
“Besides, it’s time someone talked some sense into him. He doesn’t have to be so by-the-book. Sometimes the book slams down hard on legitimate human freedom.
“And I think I’m the person who should reason with him. And now’s the time to do it. I’m retiring and I’m his friend. And, sad to say, there aren’t many who would call themselves his friend.”
“Well, that seems to be true,” Tully commented. “I guess he doesn’t even have many friends in the hierarchy or he’d be an Ordinary-have his own diocese by now.”
“I don’t know about that.” Koesler moved to the pool table and racked the balls for another game. “I don’t think friendship has all that much to do with moving onward and upward in the hierarchy. Although,” he added after a moment’s thought, “I suppose the popular concept is that all auxiliary bishops eventually get their own dioceses.”
“Well, that’s certainly not true.” Tully examined each cue stick in turn, hoping a change would bring better luck. “Lord, there are so many auxiliaries in these large metropolitan dioceses that they all couldn’t live long enough to become Ordinaries.”
“I don’t really know all that much about Church politics,” Koesler confessed. “But I would put my last dollar on Delvecchio’s breakdown as the impediment that’s blocking his advancement. He’s certainly conservative enough. The Vatican probably just won’t gamble on that breakdown.”
“Like he’s in limbo …” Tully offered to break. Koesler did not object. Tully’s break shot spread balls all over the table, but nothing fell.
Koesler sank a stripe and the game was on.
“Let’s see,” Tully said, “a brother, a sister, an aunt; his parents dead: That’s not much to count on for friendship.”
Distracted, Koesler missed an easy shot. “If you’re looking for Delvecchio’s friends, don’t start with his family.”
“No? You’re kidding?”
“Definitely not!”
“Well, okay, according to what you told me earlier, he wasn’t particularly close to his brother. But the sister: He got along fine with her … no?”
“To a point. The last thing I told you about their relationship was when their mother died.”
“Something happen to mess things up after that?”
“I’ll say! It was a big news story here … although probably not where you were.” Koesler reflected, then smiled. “I have a tendency to assume that news that’s big locally gets some play nationally-or, at least regionally. Of course realistically that’s not so.”
“Well, what happened to them?” Tully began to line up a shot.
“Lucy was about to graduate from high school when her mother died …”
“I remember. Of all of them, she seemed to keep a good head on her shoulders.”
“Well, after Mrs. Delvecchio died, the focus was pretty much on Vince and his condition. But life went on. Lucy graduated. So did Tony.
“Lucy transferred in college to premed. She was a terrific athlete. Unfortunately for her-and maybe for everyone then-she was a female and women’s sports were not taken seriously. Otherwise, she could have had a free ride. As it was, she won an academic scholarship that helped a lot.
“She graduated summa cum laude, went on to medical school, and became a doctor.”
Tully whistled softly. He missed a shot and leaned back against the wall. “Good for her.”
“After her internship, she got a lot of offers. But she chose the Emergency Room at Detroit’s Receiving Hospital. She wanted action and plenty of experience at healing just about everything. And she certainly got it at Receiving.