Eileen smiled. “You say it doesn’t add up, Pat. But that’s because you’ve left out one very important number.”
“What’s that?”
“We’ve gone further than the government demands. If we were offering this service solely to get government funds, there would be no earthly reason why we would not provide contraceptive counseling and leave it at that. That’s all the government requires. But, as you have undoubtedly learned, we supply contraceptives and even perform sterilizations. That’s considerably more than the government requires. So, if we are adopting a policy on family planning for the sole purpose of being funded, why do we go well beyond what is required for that funding?”
Lennon stopped writing and was perfectly still as she considered what Sister had said.
“Okay,” Lennon said, “you win that round. But it leaves the basic question: Why are you offering contraceptives and performing sterilizations?”
“A good question. An honest question. And a difficult question. I suppose the only responsible answer is that it was my decision. It was a prayerful, conscientious and hard-fought decision.
“St. Vincent’s has been in this area of Detroit since 1845. It has changed with the city and it has changed with the neighborhood. It started on the corner of Larned and Randolph, moved to Clinton, and finally here on St. Antoine.
“Pat, some people believe in luck, chance, coincidence. I believe in all those. I also believe in divine providence. I think it was providential for St. Vincent’s to have been created in Detroit. I think God intends it to be here now, for this community.
“But, Pat, this community, among many other things, does not understand self-control or abstinence or rhythm as a means of family planning. Such concepts are utterly foreign to the culture of most of the people we serve.
“And I know the question that’s on your mind. How can we bend our principles, compromise our standards to conform to the morality we find around us? Two wrongs do not make a right. And all that. Well, we cannot compromise the teachings of Christ for any reason whatsoever. And here it gets a bit difficult. I don’t know that I can explain everything to your satisfaction. But there are some of us who do not believe the Church is entirely correct in each and every one of its teachings. We believe it is at least possible that the teaching of Christ and the teaching of the Church are not identical in each and every case.
“You must know that this is not a conclusion lightly reached. It is achieved only through much prayer and much consultation. And even then it is a conclusion painfully reached. But when reached, it must be followed.”
“Must be followed . . .” Lennon laid the pen on her pad and sat back in her chair. “Must be followed . . . it rings a bell. Someplace back in high school or college. Of course! Your conscience . . . one’s conscience . . . you have to follow your conscience.” Pause. “But there was a hook in that . . . wasn’t there?”
Eileen smiled. “I guess you could call it a hook. You have to have what was called ‘a normal conscience.’”
“That’s right!” Lennon seemed to be enjoying recalling ancient rules and regulations that she had at one time been expected to memorize. “There were different kinds of consciences, weren’t there?”
“Yes.” Eileen, considerably earlier than Lennon, also had memorized rules and doctrines. The difference was that Eileen never forgot what she’d learned. “There were scrupulous, lax, normal, correct, and erroneous consciences.”
“That’s right!”
Eileen felt as if she were passing a test.
“And,” Lennon continued, “you figure you have a normal conscience in this and so you find you have to follow that conscience.”
“That’s exactly correct.”
Lennon was lost in thought for several silent moments. “But what about Casa Anna?”
“What about it?”
“No contraceptive counseling there. Does that mean the nun in charge of Casa Anna doesn’t agree with your assessment of Church law?”
“Pat, I’ve always found it a mistake to judge others. There’s no way of telling all the circumstances that go into a person’s decision. It’s possible that Sister Ludmilla simply goes along with official Church policy in this matter. I don’t know. We’ve never discussed the matter.
“But I would suggest one very conceivable, if not plausible, possibility. You said it yourself just a few minutes ago when you mentioned that Casa Anna is in Dearborn Heights.”
“What has that to do with it?”
“Most of the local Church authorities prefer not to want to be informed of what’s going on in the core city as far as things Catholic go. Certainly that’s true of Cardinal Boyle. He understands that if we are to be relevant to the communities we serve, we cannot do things the way they are done in the suburbs.
“A suburban parish, for instance, conducts the Sunday liturgy just exactly as Rome has specified. The local liturgical commission insists that the parochial Mass be celebrated exactly as the liturgical texts direct. But, far more importantly, suburban Catholics want everything to be done correctly.
“However, St. Hugo’s in Bloomfield Hills is not St. Patrick’s in Detroit. What relatively few parishioners St. Patrick’s has are mainly blacks, most of whose tradition is Baptist. And if St. Patrick’s were to offer Sunday liturgy precisely as St. Hugo’s does, St. Patrick’s would be left with virtually no congregation. So that if someone were to phone on a Sunday morning and ask, ‘What time is Mass?’ the priest probably would reply, ‘What time can you get here?’
“So, St. Patrick’s has one of the better blends of a Catholic-Baptist service on Sundays. The parishioners of St. Patrick’s greatly enjoy this liturgy. It makes sense to them. It touches them. No one takes any offense. On the contrary, they are very much at home with that blend of the known and the unfamiliar. Or, the unfamiliar ritual of the Catholic Church is understood and recognized in the blend with the Baptist expression.
“So, it is certain that some parishioners of St. Hugo’s would be very much disturbed if they were aware of what was going on at St. Patrick’s Parish. And if they were disturbed enough, they would undoubtedly have recourse to Cardinal Boyle. And then he would have no choice but to take some action against what is going on at St. Patrick’s Parish.”
Sister Eileen fell silent. The impression was that it was not a silence during which she was thinking of something else to say. It was an invitation for some sort of comment.
“Wait a minute, “ Lennon said, at length, “I think I see what you’re driving at. You’re saying that you don’t want the authorities to know what’s going on in this hospital. And you’re also claiming that the authorities don’t want to know. And who’s likely to break the news to everyone? I am.
“Is that it?”
Eileen sighed. “That’s it.”
“You want me to sit on this story! Do you know what you’re asking me to do?”
“I think so.”
“I don’t think you do. Hunters wait for a deer. Kirk Gibson waits for a fast ball. Priests wait for a repentant sinner. Reporters wait for a good story. And believe me, this is a good story. The story I came here to get was a puff piece—a good story, but not a news story. But what I’ve got here could take this out of the Michigan Magazine and put it on the front page with lots more news to come as people react to the story.
“Sister, this is my job! If my editor found out that I was sitting on a story like this, he’d have my scalp. And he’d have every right to. It would be downright unprofessional.”