Like an abruptly diminishing storm, Finn’s demeanor changed.
For the offender, Finn’s countenance promised thunder and lightning. But as the door closed behind the student, the rector’s face cleared to welcome Koesler.
Father Finn had perhaps two interests in life: one, the priesthood; the other, those who wanted to enter it.
A few years ago, Koesler easily could have been that chastised student. Now he shared a priesthood with Finn; the rector would greet Koesler like a long-lost relative.
And so he did, ushering the young priest into his office.
There was nothing out of the ordinary about the rector’s office. Two walls were lined with bookcases filled with works in his fields: moral theology and Canon Law. The oak desk was uncluttered. The wall behind the chair Koesler selected was opaque glass on either side of the entry door. Behind Finn was a picture window overlooking a well-kept courtyard and one of the transverse cloistered walkways.
The rector smiled. “Well, Bob, how are things going with you?”
Bob. In Koesler’s four years in these buildings, Finn had called him “Koesler,” “Mr. Koesler,” or its Latin form-“Domne Koesler.” Never anything close to “Bob.”
“Pretty good,” Koesler replied. “Really, very good.”
“Much difference between St. Norbert’s and that east side urban parish?”
“Quite a bit. Most of the people in St. Norbert’s are my age, roughly, and starting their families. Couple of years ago we built our grade school. Staffed it with Dominican nuns. It really seems to have pulled the parish together. Quite phenomenal.”
“Really.” Finn seemed to be taking mental notes.
Koesler had come to believe that if Father Finn were vulnerable anywhere, it was in his experience-or rather, lack of it-of life in a parish.
In his day in the seminary in San Francisco, Finn had been invited by the Sulpician faculty to join their society. Finn had accepted the invitation. So, after ordination, off he went to prepare for a life of teaching seminarians.
All Sulpicians were, in reality, diocesan priests, on loan as it were to the Society of St. Sulpice. Finn, for example, belonged to the archdiocese of San Francisco. Should he at any time leave the Sulps, as they were sometimes familiarized, he would revert to his San Francisco diocese.
The point being that he never had: He’d never left the Society. Thus his parochial experience was zilch.
Koesler reasoned that the fact that Finn was preparing young men for a life he had never experienced must be frustrating, embarrassing, and even intimidating.
Koesler could almost see the file drawer in Finn’s head slide open for the insertion of “Parochial schooclass="underline" presence tends to pull parish together.”
“And how are things here?” Koesler knew he was going to have to introduce the subject very soon. Finn was not one to shoot the breeze interminably. He really worked at his job and even now was spending time that had been allocated for something else.
“Everything appears to be on schedule,” Finn replied. “The academic year is ending and we’re getting ready for the ordinations.”
Every word of that statement could have been previously supplied by Koesler. It was March. Easter was just around the corner. And in a couple of more months, June would see sophomores ordained to the minor orders of porter and lector; juniors would receive the first major order of subdeacon; and of course the seniors would become priests.
“That”-Koesler tapped tobacco into firmness and lit a cigarette-“is, mostly, what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Finn had already inserted a cigarette into its silver holder and accepted a light from Koesler’s Zippo. Smoke streamed from his nostrils. “Can we be of any help?” Finn opened wide the door to whatever was concerning Koesler.
“Quite frankly …” Koesler made firm eye contact. “… I’m here about Vincent Delvecchio.”
Finn grew a bit more guarded. He was not happy with anyone who might meddle with the students given unto his care. “Delvecchio isn’t here just now. I gave him permission to go home for the day … something about his mother.”
“I know.”
Finn cocked an eyebrow.
“His mother hasn’t been well for quite some time,” Koesler said.
“I know.”
“What was different about today,” Koesler continued, “was the diagnosis-or rather the verdict.”
“That bad!” Not in so many words had Koesler spoken of Mrs. Delvecchio’s terminal condition. But Finn had divined the conclusion.
Koesler nodded. “Pancreatic cancer.”
Finn exhaled audibly. “Is there any hope? Radiation?”
“Her doctor doesn’t hold much hope. No, change that and let’s be realistic: no hope.”
“And the family?”
“Holding up better than I expected.”
“We will, of course, pray.”
“That’s one of the things I wanted to mention.”
“Prayer?” Finn had taken that for granted.
“Vincent has gone a bit beyond a prayer asking for relief of suffering, resignation to God’s will, that sort of thing …” Koesler paused. “He wants a miracle. No, stronger: He expects a miracle. To happen as a result of prayer.”
“And his mother?”
“Well, she wouldn’t turn down a miracle. Like all the noble mothers I’ve known, she wants to be preserved so she can care for her children.”
“She really expects a miracle?”
“Hopes … prays; I don’t think she expects.”
“Vincent’s brother and sister?”
It somewhat surprised Koesler that Finn would-off the top of his head-know that Vincent had two siblings. There were so many students here. But that was Finn’s way: He knew everything he could about everyone.
Koesler snuffed out his cigarette. “Tony agreed to pray. But as far as enlisting others … not much of a chance. It’s hard to imagine him making a plea to the faculty and students of Western Michigan to join in prayer for a miraculous healing.
“As for Lucy …”
“She’s just graduating high school, isn’t she?”
If not surprised, Koesler surely was impressed with Finn’s familiarity as to his students’ families. “Yes,” he acknowledged. “She’s going to have to be the mainstay of this effort. She’ll have the day-to-day responsibility. She was supposed to enlist the special prayers of the parishioners and students at St. William’s parish. But I’ve already talked to the pastor, and it’s no dice.”
“Surely he would not turn down a request for prayer!”
“No, no. I’m sorry; I didn’t phrase that very well. Of course he’ll ask the parish for prayer-but not for a miracle.”
“Hmmm … interesting,” Finn mused. “Was there a stated reason?”
“Uh-huh. Father Walsh feared that their faith would be harmed or weakened if and when the miracle was not granted.”
“So Father Walsh is convinced there will be no miracle.”
“He’s been around.” It was Koesler’s best evaluation of the situation. Probably Walsh had asked for his share of miracles that hadn’t been granted. To the point where he believed that a miracle was an extremely rare event-and doubted that he would see one personally.
As it happened, the same line of thought occurred to Father Finn. One more parochial experience for the mental file cabinet. What might have been a smile played about Father Finn’s lips. “Well, then, since this petition for a miraculous cure seems to have originated with Mr. Delvecchio, and since he has tried to enlist his brother and sister to start such a crusade in their schools and parish, may I assume a similar proposal will be made to this institution?”
“That is one of the reasons I’m here.”
“You are going to make the plea?”
“No, not really. My purpose is to prepare you for Vinnie’s request.” He figured he might get away with this straight-from-the-shoulder presentation because he was no longer a student but a graduate. Finn was a priest, but no more so than Koesler. And vice versa. Clerically, they were on the same level now: equals.