“I couldn’t care less what some commission has ‘all but’ done.”
“And I wish you’d stop throwing the word ‘heretic’ around.”
“It’s the proper word. Are you willing to admit that what you’re doing is against the law?”
“I suppose it depends on what you mean by law.”
“You know very well what I mean by law: God’s law.”
“When last I checked with my Bible, God’s law was the law of love. At least that’s what Jesus said: ‘A new commandment I give you, that you love one another as I have loved you.’”
“You’re hopeless.”
Koesler began an inner battle against rising anger. “Look at it this way, Augustine: No one is forcing you to do anything. You may concelebrate this Mass with us, if you wish. After all, that’s why you came down this morning. You can attend this Mass, if you prefer. Or you can go back to bed.” Or, for all I care, he added silently, you can drop dead.
Self-righteousness radiated from Augustine the way Moses must have glowed when he descended from the mountain after his conversation with God. “None of the above,” Augustine announced. “I will not concelebrate this farce. Nor will I even witness it. And, instead of going back to bed, I’m going to call your Chancery and tell them what’s going on here.”
With that, leaving neither time nor opportunity for further discussion, Augustine turned and stormed from the sacristy.
After a moment or two of embarrassed silence, Benbow spoke. “I’m going to solve this little problem.” And he began to remove his vestments.
“You don’t have to do that,” Koesler protested. But he saw it was useless to argue the matter further.
“It was very kind of you to invite me to celebrate with you. And I sha’nt forget it. I should have just thanked you and declined your invitation. There’ll always be an Augustine up on the battlements defending Mother Church.”
“Yeah. .” Koesler shook his head sadly, “or defending God. I’ve never figured out why God needs defending. For that matter, I don’t know why Mother Church needs defending. Canon Law holds all the cards.”
“And that was the law to which Augustine was referring.”
“I know. I know.”
“I hope you won’t be forced to play cards with the Chancery.”
“Why?” Koesler looked surprised. “Nothing happened. . or, in the language of Canon Law, nihil fit.”
“Doesn’t the intention count in this diocese?”
Koesler snorted. “We’ve got enough problems staffing parishes without penalizing priests for what they’re thinking. Besides, the buck on a thing like this stops at the desk of the archbishop. And, to stay with our metaphor, he doesn’t like to play his hand unless he is forced into doing so.”
Benbow had disrobed. “You’re sure you’ll be all right?”
“Certain.”
“Then I’ll just leave. I’ll get Martha. Maybe they’ve started serving breakfast.”
Koesler protested. “You don’t have to leave entirely. When this thing started, your only request was to attend the Mass, and you certainly may do that.”
“Don’t know how to explain it, old man: The taste is gone.” He smiled ruefully. “See you later.”
The taste had faded for Koesler also. But he was not free to simply walk away from the scene. People-a few people anyway-were waiting for him to offer Mass. And he was late. Given his obsession with punctuality, this was an added vexation.
He was already vested, so he merely went to the altar and began setting things up for Mass. As he did so, visions of the ugly scene that had just transpired haunted him.
Things could have been so very satisfying. Along with, and as much as, many others, Koesler had long been unhappy and uneasy with the disunity, the divisiveness, the schisms within Christianity. On those occasions when he participated in gatherings that included members of various Christian sects, he was invariably troubled that this temporary, ad hoc harmonious fellowship could not be permanent.
What kept people of good will apart? Ancient arguments, disagreements, theological bickering, traditions of distrust, and people like Augustine, who, in Koesler’s view, put Church laws and customs-all man-made-above the simple invitation of Christ to love as completely and encompassingly as He had.
Like most everything else in life, the offering of Mass could not be separated from the emotions of the moment. He had offered Masses that had been inspired, reflective, meditative, disrupted, distracted, disturbed. This Mass would be tainted by the angry words of Father Augustine. There was nothing Koesler could do about that. Just chalk it up to experience.
But it left him wondering about Father Augustine May, osco. Was there that much differentiating the mean-spirited May from the greedy, grubby Klaus Krieg? Did they deserve each other?
“In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
“My brothers and sisters, in order to prepare ourselves to celebrate these sacred mysteries, let us call to mind our sins. . ”
10
It was mid-morning before Koesler again encountered Father Augustine.
Augustine got off the elevator at the first floor just as Koesler finished descending the stairs. Their paths merged as they turned to walk down the corridor. That was unfortunate as far as Koesler was concerned. Had they been going in opposite directions, a mere nod would have sufficed. Walking together in silence was awkward considering their contentious exchange a few hours earlier. Koesler felt distinctly uncomfortable.
Yet it was Koesler who spoke first. “Well, Father, did you call the Chancery?”
“Huh? What?” For all intents and purposes it appeared that Augustine had no idea what Koesler was referring to. “The Chancery? Oh, about that business of Mass this morning. Yes. Yes, I did. Uh-huh. Yes.”
They proceeded a bit further in silence. “And?” Koesler asked.
“And it’s damn hard finding the chancellor, a vice-chancellor, or an assistant chancellor on a Monday morning.”
“But you did.”
“What?”
“Find one.”
“Eventually. One of the assistants.”
“And?” Koesler could sympathize with dentists who had to pull teeth.
“He seemed bored by the whole business. Asked me if I knew whether you actually went through with the thing. Concelebrated. I told him I didn’t stick around to find out, but I heard you hadn’t.”
“Then?”
“He thanked me for calling. Told me to call anytime.”
Koesler couldn’t help smiling. He could imagine the sort of day the Chancery priest had to look forward to. Maybe some pickets outside on Washington Boulevard protesting a Catholic school-or parish-closing.
Maybe a priest getting arrested trying to invade the mayor’s office to get him to close some crack cocaine house or tear down some of the vacant dangerous buildings wherein school children were being raped. Maybe a parish delegation angry at their pastor for trying to lead them back to the thirteenth century. Maybe a parish delegation angry at their pastor for trying to lead them on to the twenty-first century.
In any case, as he had anticipated, the Chancery wasn’t about to get too concerned about an unauthorized ecumenical worship service. Especially when less than ten people were involved-no TV cameras, no reporters, no notoriety. Particularly when the bottom line was that it had been celebratus interruptus.
“You’ve got a funny diocese here, I must say, Father,” Augustine added. “Nobody seems terribly interested in the niceties of Canon Law.”
“Vatican II hit us hard.”
“So I’ve always heard. Never experienced it until this morning. With all this going on I’m amazed that your archbishop was named a Cardinal.”
“Had to be. He was the first elected president of the U. S. Bishops’ Conference. Rome couldn’t overlook that no matter how hard they tried.”
“Maybe. Well, I guess so. Anyway, it doesn’t matter much. I did what I had to do. Up to them now. I don’t care what they do. No skin off my hide. But, if I were you, Father, I’d be careful. You can be rock-solid sure somebody, sometime, is going to bypass your rather laid-back Chancery and go directly to Rome.