“Telling you will spoil the fun. You have to see this for yourself. Expect the unexpected.”
I was actually a little annoyed. I hadn’t heard from James in months, hadn’t seen him in more than a year, and now he was telling me to drop everything, and he wouldn’t tell me why.
“Will you come?” he asked.
“There’s a blizzard here,” I said, “if you didn’t know. A whopper. And I have a job. And a cat.”
“When the blizzard moves on, see if you can take a few days off,” said James. “And bring the cat.”
Chapter 82
SNOW WAS still banked alongside the Mass Pike as I drove my rented Camaro two hours from Boston to the small town of Millbrook, Massachusetts, population just under two thousand.
The GPS directed me to the only traffic light in town, and I parked at my destination: a little old clapboard-sided church that had probably been built in the late eighteen hundreds.
Birdie was in her carrier in the front seat, next to me. She had been intermittently singing along with my playlist but had finally gone to sleep.
I got out of the car to get a better look at the church-and I liked it. It was definitely showing its age, but it had come through the years in classic form and with its dignity, bell tower, and spire intact.
Beyond the church was a two-lane road flanked by small shops and spiked with large, bare-limbed trees growing between them. American flags hung outside the fire department and post office, and pickups sat parked along the road.
Looking back again at the classic old church, I wondered if it held the surprise James had teased me with, and I wondered again what it could be. I told Birdie I’d be right back, then headed up a stone path to the church.
The door was ajar, and it creaked on its hinges when I opened it and stepped into the dimly lit nave.
James was standing at the altar, reading.
“Yo. James!” I shouted.
He looked up, peered down the center aisle, and shouted back at me, “Brigid, it’s you! You’re here!”
He stepped down from the altar, strode down the aisle with arms outstretched and a huge grin on his face.
“It’s so good to see you,” he said.
I went into his hug, again feeling that great surge of warmth when he held me. It felt too good. Oh, no. I stepped away, looked into his face, and said, “James! You look terrific.”
“You too, Brigid. You too. Life is treating you okay?”
“The short answer is yes,” I said, grinning up at him. I forgot that I’d been annoyed with him. I noticed that he was stronger and leaner than the last time I’d seen him, and that his gorgeous blue eyes were no longer sad.
“I saved your spot for you,” he said.
He walked me back up the aisle, and I laughed when he offered me the end seat in the first pew. He sat down next to me.
“So, how do you like it?”
I took a good look around the church, which was so simple and unadorned, it reminded me of a chapel in a monastery. There was no stained glass. The altar and the floor were made of hand-hewn boards, and the pews looked as though they’d been polished by centuries of people sitting, standing, and sitting again.
“I love it,” I said, getting some of my equilibrium back. “She reminds me of a dignified lady of a certain age.”
“Very apt, Brigid. When I saw this church for the first time, I said, ‘Jesus Mary Joseph.’ So that’s what I call it.”
“Hah! And somehow that name just stuck?”
“Like crazy glue,” James said with a grin.
He told me that the previous priest had died many years before and that the church had fallen into disrepair.
He said, “Some people in this town followed my trial and contacted me about their opening for a priest. When I said I was handy with a hammer and a saw, that cinched it. The job was mine. Small salary. Lots of work.”
“Hah! Not everyone’s idea of heaven,” I said, laughing.
He grinned. “It’s perfect for me. Like hitting a home run with bases loaded.”
“I’m happy for you, James,” I said.
“You brought Birdie?” he asked me.
“Did I bring her? I thought you gave me a direct order. Bring the damned cat.”
James laughed like crazy, actually cracked up with a full-on, whole-body laugh.
He was nervous, too.
“Well, let’s get her, please,” he said when he got his breath back. “I’ll make you both something to eat before Mass.”
Chapter 83
THE RECTORY’S old oaken kitchen was as rough hewn and handsome as the whole of the church. James fried eggs, made toast and tea, and set out cat chow for Birdie.
When he sat down across from me, James began telling me about his concept for Jesus Mary Joseph, which he called JMJ.
“The idea here is that, while we embrace Catholic traditions, we’re way open to change. I didn’t step away from Mother Church for nothing.”
“What kind of change?” I asked.
“To start with, no one gets turned away,” he said. “We are inclusive, not exclusive. God loves everyone.”
“No argument from me,” I said.
“I’ll drink to that,” he said, clinking his teacup against mine. Then, without missing a beat, he said, “So, get this, Brigid. Despite the threat of excommunication, women are being ordained outside the laws of the Roman Catholic canon. I’m all for that.”
My mind kind of spun as I listened to James speak with passion and conviction about the role of women in the Church, same-sex marriage, and the inclusion of all people who wanted to know God. I saw that he was trying to bring at least his church into the real and modern world.
“I’ve been lecturing,” he said. “Sorry, Brigid. And look at the time. Come to Mass. Or just make yourself at home.”
James left the rectory, and a few minutes later, bells sounded out across the churchyard.
I washed my face, did the dishes, set Birdie up in the bathroom with a litter box. I fluffed my hair, straightened my pretty blue dress, and went to church.
My customary front pew was taken, but I was happy for once to sit in the back. I noticed right away that, unlike St. Paul’s, JMJ was filled with young couples, many with small children. Those bright faces of the young churchgoers filled me with hope.
James came through the side door of the church and went to the altar wearing dress pants and a dark-blue long-sleeved shirt with a collar, but no vestments.
A few people clapped and whistled. Someone called out, “Good morning, Father.”
He smiled and said, “Back at ya, Slade. But I’m no one’s father. Um, Ms. Mary Jane, texting can wait.”
Gentle laughter washed over the body of the church, and watching James begin the celebration of Mass his way gave me more of that hopeful feeling. The choir sang, accompanied by a boy playing an organ that was probably as old as the church. James led the service, praying in both Latin and English, tossing in his own commentary when he thought an explanation was in order. And, although the service was informal and very different from what I was accustomed to, praying to God in this place uplifted me.
Did God see all these joyful faces? Was He here?
I closed my eyes and opened myself to God without any hope of reaching Him. It had been a long time since I had floated on a burning sea from a hotel room in Jerusalem.
But He was with me. Soft rain misted my eyelids and my folded hands, a faint breeze ruffled my hair, and a single word came into my mind.
Home.
Chapter 84
THAT EVENING, James and I walked up through a wooded hillside behind the church. Leaves and residual snow crunched underfoot, and the three-quarter moon spilled pale light around us.
James was telling me about the angry letter he’d received from Cardinal Cooney’s attorneys-but I couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying.