The line of communicants kept coming. Evidently, there were a surprising number of Catholics at this funeral. Even though several priests were helping with the distribution, the time for giving Communion was proving to be unexpectedly long. Of course, it took longer now since communicants had the option of receiving under the form of wine as well as bread, and the chalice had to be wiped after each person sipped.
Koesler selected another wafer, held it over the brim of the ciborium and looked at the next communicant. It was Charles Hogan.
“Charlie, the body of Christ.”
“Amen.”
While he continued the distribution of Communion, Koesler’s thoughts, as usual, wandered. Jogged by the memory of his conversation with Carroll and Lynn Mitchell, Koesler recalled a similar talk he had had recently with Charlie Hogan.
That Hogan and Koesler had remained active friends was a little out of the ordinary. Generally, after leaving the priesthood, a man quite naturally traveled in different circles, made new friends. No longer sharing common interests, the resigned priest usually drifted away from former comrades. It was an understandable phenomenon. But with Koesler and Hogan it had been different.
That Koesler had been selected and invited to witness Charlie’s marriage to Lil was evidence of the depth of this friendship. Seldom does a bride or groom know a priest well enough to request him to witness their wedding. But when such a request is made, it usually signifies some degree of friendship along with a good measure of respect.
This demonstration of friendship by no means ended with the Hogans’ wedding. Koesler and Charlie met periodically. Occasionally Koesler would dine with the Hogans. The priest was aware that Charlie and Lil were far from wealthy. The fact that they were meticulous in keeping up their house and that they ate simple though nourishing meals did not conceal their comparatively spartan existence.
As far as Koesler could tell, Charlie’s membership in a local health club was his sole “extravagance.”
Several months ago, Koesler had joined Hogan at the club. On the agenda were a few games of racquetball, a swim and sauna. Not slated was a conversation about Hogan’s material status, his work, his income, his prospects. The conversation did not take place until the sauna. The swim and particularly the racquetball had pretty well wiped out Father Koesler, who was breathing heavily while perspiring freely.
Hogan grinned. “Winded?”
Koesler barely nodded as, head bowed, he watched droplets fall from his face to his lap.
“You ought to do this more often, you know,” Hogan said.
“What are you trying to do, kill me?” Koesler panted.
“It’s good for you.”
“Like the relatives of Don Quixote in Man of La Mancha, you’re only thinking of me!”
“You’re not fat, Bob. But you could lose ten pounds or so. And the exercise is good for you.”
“I’m too old for this sort of nonsense.”
“You’re only four years older than I am; don’t go pleading old age on me.”
Koesler thought about that. He was determined not to add this much activity to his regimen. He just had to find some acceptable excuse. “We’re gearing up for the Fall Festival. I’ve got too many things going on in the parish now.” He glanced at Hogan to gauge the effect of his words.
Hogan shook his head. He would not accept the priest’s attempted evasion. “Come on; I know you better than that. Other pastors may worry themselves sick about how much money the festival will make. Not you. If anything, you’ll be concerned about whether the folks are having enough fun with the games and rides.”
Koesler shrugged. He couldn’t argue the point.
“It’s a nice attitude,” Hogan continued, “and I admire you, I guess. I also envy you.”
“Envy me?”
“It’s a healthy attitude. Other pastors are nursing ulcers and worrying themselves sick over finances. They’ve got to keep the damn school open or keep the church heated, or air conditioned. They’ve got to pay for a religious education coordinator. And on and on and on.”
“Those are realistic concerns,” Koesler said.
“But they’re not yours,” Hogan insisted. “Oh, I’m not saying you’re not concerned about all those things. But they don’t eat you up. If the people want a school, they’ll support it; otherwise, it’ll close. It’s their school; it’s their choice. No?”
“Well, isn’t that realistic? It is their school. The parishioners built it long before I got there. It may be there long after I’m gone . . . maybe. But my job is to make sure we offer a quality Christian education. It’s not my job to finance the thing. No?”
“Maybe,” Hogan said. “But you’d never know that by the way other pastors do it. When it comes to finances, you are about the most laid-back person I know.”
“Really!”
“And that’s what I envy. I think you’re correct in your basic approach to finances. Priests, generally, don’t have to be terribly concerned about personal income. Not unless they have to support an indigent relative, or unless they’re living way over their heads.
“Maybe the ones who worry themselves sick over collections and festivals are concerned about their parishioners’ finances. Who knows? The thing is, they don’t have to get all worked up about their own income.”
“Aren’t you generalizing, Charlie?”
“Bob, I’ve lived both lives. I know. Let me tell you, the overpowering feeling you get when you leave the priesthood is that you are letting go of maybe the greatest security in the world. And you’re trading it for maybe the greatest insecurity in the world.”
“Is your experience typical?” Koesler spoke hesitantly.
“Maybe, maybe not. I know a lot of guys who quit the priesthood who are doing a lot better than I am. I also know some who aren’t doing nearly as well. But if it weren’t for Lil and her job at the clinic . . .” Hogan added more water to the hot coals, decreasing visibility to near zero.
Koesler was too tired for more than token objection. “But you’re working, Charlie. I see your byline all the time. That’s pretty steady.”
“It just seems as if I get published a lot because you’re aware of my name on articles. And, fortunately, I do get a lot of assignments in local publications. But that’s partly because they like the luxury of using free-lance writers. Then they’re not stuck with a union wage and they also get out of paying the fringes.”
“But you do get paid.”
“They pay me.” Hogan sounded as if he were smiling. Koesler couldn’t tell; the steam was too intense.
“But not enough?”
“It’s not so much a case of enough or not enough. It’s not consistent, not dependable, not predictable. That’s it. There’s no foretelling what I’ll be able to scrounge up. Some years it’s pretty good, sometimes not. Sometimes I earn more than Lil. But one thing’s for sure: We wouldn’t survive without her health care package that covers both of us.”
“But you are surviving—and a bit better than that.” Koesler was still trying to find a silver lining. “You do get your assignments. And Lil’s insurance takes care of the both of you.”
“You don’t understand. Or maybe I’m just not making myself clear.
“When a guy leaves the priesthood, he isn’t prepared for much of anything else. Just remember our education. Plenty of the classics. An excellent liberal arts program. Very good so far. A nice broad base on which to build.
“But after that, we began to separate ourselves from the rest of humanity. Along about college, certainly postgrad, the others began zeroing in on a career: law, premed, accounting, journalism, mechanics—you name it.