by Tom Clancy
Climbing into the pilot’s seat, Steve was happy to see the Otter had a full avionics package including GPS navigation, transponder, communications gear, and heading and altitude autopilot. “Plane can just about fly itself,” he said looking at Totem with a smile.
As the pair walked into the office to sign the leasing papers, Totem took a sidelong glance at Steve. “You getting paid by the church to rent this plane?”
“No. I’m doing this on my own.”
“Then you must be one helluva rich son of a bitch...forgive me Father, I keep forgetting I’m talking to a man of the cloth.”
“That’s OK, I’ve been called lots worse than that.”
“And Jesus Christ, sorry, slipped again, you gotta watch that weather around the outer islands. It can be a nice sunny day and then you can get socked in in twenty minutes. The saying is....”
“Yes, I know the saying: ‘If you don’t like the weather, wait twenty minutes and it will change.’”
*****
Three weeks later, Steve was back in Juneau sitting in the cockpit in the right seat next to Totem. “I want to be in the pilot’s seat,” Steve said.
“No you don’t, Father. On the first flight, I do the piloting.”
Steve was impressed with the short powerful takeoff over the water and steep climbout. As Totem leveled the plane and circled, Steve looked down at the small city of Juneau nestled at the edge of the water in the inland waterway at the base of surrounding mountains. A large white cruise ship was gliding into a dock on the outskirts of the small city down near a salmon hatchery.
“You know, Father, I’m sure you’re aware that Juneau’s the capital of Alaska, but it’s a downright curious situation, because Juneau can’t be reached coming in by land. You gotta come in by water or air. It’s a strange little city and how it ever got to be the capital of Alaska, beats me.”
“Maybe the governor doesn’t want a lot of drop-in visitors,” Steve suggested. “When you consider that the governor’s constituents have to fly in or come in on a ship, he can probably sit here and get a lot of paperwork done.”
“The governor’s a she by the way. Yeah, nice theory, Father, but the governor spends very little time here. From what I understand, the country is run from Anchorage.”
*****
A few hours later, in Juneau’s tourist ‘Mecca’, the Red Dog Saloon, made famous by the writer, Jack London, Steve and Totem had a beer while Steve marveled at the tons of colorful paraphernalia hanging from the ceiling. “I like that fake bear up near the top of that pole,” He said.
“That’s no fake,” Totem answered. Of course, he’s dead and stuffed, but he’s Goddamn real...pardon me again, Father.”
“Call me Steve, will you?” Steve was somewhat surprised at seeing a Washington Redskins football game on several TVs around the saloon. It made him think momentarily of Archbishop Rhinehart in Washington, but he quickly doused the thought with another beer.
After a few beers, standing outside of the Red Dog, the pair had their picture taken with a camera Totem handed to a passerby. Although Steve at six-two was not short by any means, next to his new-found friend, he felt like a kid looking up at a totem pole that towered above him.
*****
In the following days, after four check rides with Totem and a stack of paperwork, Steve had been adjudged competent to fly the aircraft and capable of paying for the lease. On the final day, Totem stood on the dock and watched Steve take off as the Otter sprayed twin white rooster tails from the pontoons and roared up into the sunshine above the surrounding mountains.
On the flight from Juneau, Steve headed west following the coastline to Seward where he put down to refuel. After a short stop, he headed southwest down the Kenai Peninsula then over the western part of the Gulf of Alaska to Kodiak Island. He flew low over Kodiak to watch the massive brown Kodiak bears fishing for salmon in the streams. Turning west, he climbed to 6,000 feet and saw in the distance across the water the Katmai National Monument with its soaring Katmai volcano and the Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes. His zig-zag route then took him southwest again along the Alaska Peninsula and finally out along the Aleutian Island chain. Crossing the islands, he flew at 5,000 feet, barely skimming the tops of several snowcapped volcanic mountains. He remembered that Father Sergius had told him that this portion of Alaska was referred to as the Ring of Fire—having as many as 80 volcanoes, almost 50 of which are still considered active. The steam coming from the cinder cones pinpointed the active volcanoes which he kept at far distance. He was aware that the amount of oxygen near these volcanoes was so low, he would risk flaming out the turbines if he flew too close.
As the plane crossed the Aleutian Island chain, Steve marveled at the spectacular islands, some shaped like huge snowcapped rocks that although treeless, were covered with reddish brown tundra in the valleys. In summer they would be green again and covered with flowers.
Over Unalaska Island under clear skies, Steve approached the airport, then changed his mind and headed to the Dutch Harbor coastline. Descending to the cold choppy sea, after two attempts, he brought the Otter in for a landing that was anything but smooth and taxied to the dock at the water’s edge in front of the Russian Church. Father Sergius ran down from the church and secured a line from the aircraft to the dock as Steve hopped out. When they were satisfied the plane was properly lashed to the dock, the two priests walked back up towards the church. “Steve, you’ve been at the inn for almost a month and I assume you haven’t been able to locate a place to rent so why not move into the Bishop’s House. I have a room ready for you.”
Steve, in a lighthearted mood because of a successful flight back from Juneau with his new plane, replied laughingly: “I was planning to live on the plane.”
“Good heavens, how can you live on a plane?”
“Well, it’s true I only have limited cooking facilities and no shower but, Sergei, it’s got everything else.”
“Heat?”
“No heat. Just warm blankets.”
“Sorry, my friend, but I suggest you move to the Bishop’s House where we can give you three hot meals and a private room with a warm bed.”
*****
That same evening, Steve moved his belongings over to the Bishop’s House. He was introduced to the housekeeper, a dark-eyed, olive-skinned Aleut woman named Kapa, who smiled as she bade him welcome. With traces of gray in her long black hair, she appeared to Steve to be a woman in her late forties or early fifties. As if to answer an unspoken question in his eyes, she said: “No, I’m not Russian Orthodox and I’m not in one of those other Christian religions.”
“What do you believe in, if I may ask?”
The woman set down a cup of tea for Father Sergius and one for the new priest. “I believe,” she said warily, “in something that Father Sergius does not approve of.” As Kapa said the words, she glanced with a smirk at the young Russian priest who shrugged slightly as he sipped his tea. “She’s a shamanist,” he said.
“I’ve heard of it,” Steve said, “but I don’t know anything about it. Is there a shaman church in town?”
Kapa rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. Sergei gave a short mirthless laugh. “They don’t worship in churches. It’s a kind of magic religion, although many people don’t really think of it as a religion at all. The shaman usually shows up when a believer is sick or possessed by demons from below. If they recover, he gets the credit. He is very much respected by native people but when things go sour like really bad weather or widespread disease, he takes all the blame.”
“And he heals the sick,” Kapa interrupted. “I have seen this done many times. Something your big city doctors don’t always do even though they make you spend thousands of dollars on X-rays and pills.” Kapa left the room, apparently unwilling to discuss it further.
“Steve, I don’t know a lot about shamanism, but I do know it’s something you’ll have to contend with if you plan to visit out-of-the-way villages. It’s practiced almost c
ompletely in small older settlements that haven’t been exposed to anything much in the way of formal religious training or even much regular schooling. The shamanists believe that a shaman has magical powers resulting from out-of-body experiences or visions that have taken him before gods and demons. It’s impressive to see a shaman performing his ritual—he’ll go into a trance—a state of ecstasy as he clicks a handful of old bones.”
“My God, it sounds like a kind of voodoo,” Steve said in dismay.
“There are similarities,” Sergei said nodding. “And incidentally, shamanism is not restricted to Alaska—there are variations of shamanism throughout the world. But it is powerful here. Some believe the penetrating cold of Alaska helps the shaman enter the state of ecstasy.”
“On another subject,” Steve said, “where can I say morning Mass?”
“Not in the St. Sergius chapel I’m afraid, and not in the main body of the church, but you are welcome to use a small chapel over on the left side. I’ll show you where to set up in the morning. Do you have everything you’ll need for a Catholic Mass? If not, I can’t help you. In the centuries since the two churches split apart, the services and vestments have become completely different.”
“I have everything I need,” Steve said. “I’m carrying a portable altar and I found some used vestments in a shop in Juneau.” While sipping his coffee, he fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette. “OK if I smoke?”
“Sorry, but there’s no smoking in this old wooden building. Remember it’s a National Historic building. You’ll have to step outside to smoke while you live here.”
Steve thought about the biting wind and dampness coming from the sea, just a few yards from the house. It wouldn’t be much fun lighting up in those conditions. He wondered if at last, now might be the time to quit.
*****
On the following morning, Steve arose early and accompanied Father Sergius to the church yard where they each said a brief prayer at the grave of canonized Saint Innocent, a Russian missionary who built the first Russian Orthodox church at Dutch Harbor shortly after arriving in 1824. The primitive original church was later succeeded by another church; still later, the third and current church had been built over a hundred years before. Steve’s first Mass in a tiny side chapel may well have been the first Catholic Mass in a Russian Orthodox Church. In saying Mass there he felt he probably broke half a dozen Canon Laws, but excused himself by acknowledging that it was the only place available that he knew of. He said the Mass alone without a congregation and without a server to assist him.
After finishing Mass, Steve went to the dock to examine his new airplane. He was so engrossed and so pleased with the plane as he sat in the cockpit playing with the controls, he was able to suppress any guilt that might have stemmed from his fervor over a material object. Later, standing on one of the pontoons, he reached up and poured a small vial of sea water that he had blessed onto the nose of the fuselage. Then he stepped over to the dock and turning, made the Sign of the Cross blessing the airplane. Like a pair of newly blessed rosary beads, the plane now had been touched by the hand of God.
*****
“I assume you’ve heard of the Ecumenical Movement,” Steve said to Sergei as they sat waiting to order dinner in the Dutch Inn. “It seems that you and I, especially you, are making more of an attempt than most to help the movement.” As the thought came to mind, Steve couldn’t help grinning.
“In what way?”
“Since the movement has the object of bringing the Christian religions back together again, reversing the rift that occurred centuries ago, your permitting me to say a Catholic Mass in a Russian Orthodox Church is a real step in that direction.”
Sergei laughed. “Perhaps, but I still think your bishops and my metropolitan might not like our interpretation of Ecumenism. I believe they’re seeking higher levels of doctrinal agreement than simply borrowing one another’s churches.”
“Remember Vatican Two?” Steve asked as he put down the menu and ordered the baked halibut. Sergei ordered snow-crab.
“Steve, that was quite a few years ago. I’m not old enough to remember it, but of course I’ve read about it.”
“I was only a kid myself,” Steve replied, “but I recall seeing a movie-house newsreel of hundreds of Catholic cardinals and bishops from all over the world and all races gathered in Rome, together with bishops from the Greek Orthodox and Russian Orthodox churches. It was the landmark of the century. I recall the words of John XXIII who referred to the Council as letting a little fresh air into the church.”
“Yes, I read that the Russian Orthodox Metropolitans attended. They later wrote about the splendor of it all in Rome. It’s a shame, it all fell apart.”
“How do you mean?” Steve asked, somewhat surprised. “I believe it brought about some lasting changes in the Catholic Church.”
“Well, let’s say it was a real step forward for Catholics, I mean as far as updating the liturgy; for example, having the priest face the people during Mass and conducting Mass in local languages instead of Latin. But from an Ecumenical standpoint, it didn’t go over so well. Don’t you recall, Steve, that one objective of the Council was to urge all Christian religions to come together but, and this is a big but...under the roof of the Catholic Church. The message seemed to be: You are welcome but you will have to be subject to our pope, our papal authority. I suppose you understand that Rome’s position didn’t sit very well with the non-Catholic Christians.”
“You’re right, of course,” Steve agreed with a conciliatory shrug. “And as you mentioned, the real gain that has endured after Vatican Two came in adopting the new liturgy for the Mass, even though that was an entirely unexpected result. It’s strange, but if you had asked some of the bishops before the Council was held if the Mass would ever change, they would have laughed you out of the room. Then came Vatican Two.”
“Face it, Steve, however well-intentioned Vatican Two was, Ecumenism has not prospered under the popes who came after John. They’ve been ultra-conservative. The other churches have been scared away. For instance, the popes have permitted only a token involvement of women in the church. No chance for women to attain the priesthood.”
“Wait a minute, my friend,” Steve said as he dug around in his baked potato. “I don’t recall ever seeing a woman priest in the Russian Orthodox Church either here in America or in Russia.”
“True enough, but our situation is different. We never tempted the laity into thinking things would change. Our laity, although not completely satisfied perhaps, have never expected the Russian Church to change anything, not even the simple traditions. For instance in the way we make the Sign of the Cross, which I’m sure you think is backwards. We accept longstanding tradition. The difficulty that arose with some of the more liberal Catholics is what I call the anger of rising expectations...expectations that result in frustration and anger when they’re not fulfilled. Vatican Two set the stage for these expectations— supposedly opening the windows for change. But the basic dogma did not change. A divorced Catholic could still not remarry. Even some liberal Catholic theologians, tempted by Vatican Two, began openly questioning the church’s position on birth control, divorce and married clergy. But the church clamped down hard in the years since Vatican Two, and today, if liberal theologians become outspoken enough, they aren’t allowed to teach and may even be excommunicated. A priest can have his ministry restricted. What I’m saying is that a lot of Catholics were led down the rosy path by Vatican Two—expecting fundamental changes, but the only changes that were allowed to stand were for the most part just window dressing.”
Steve slowly ate the last bit of halibut on his plate. He recognized some truth in what Sergei was saying, but he wanted to avoid an argument with his new friend. “This is far and away the best seafood I’ve ever tasted,” he said, trying to steer the conversation away from an argument.
“That fish you’re eating was swimming in the ocean just a few hours ago,” Sergei said as he finish
ed the last of his crab. “Excellent seafood must seem to you to be one of the few redeeming features of living in this outpost of civilization. However, let me clarify—to you, it is surely an outpost, but to me it is the center of my world.”
“Sergei, you speak of the frustration of liberal-thinking Catholics,” Steve said, finding he was too engrossed in the subject to let it drop. “But it’s more widespread than Vatican Two. American women down in the lower 48 see female rabbis, women ministers. Why not, they ask, women priests? This is not just an expectation that arose from Vatican Two. Modern women want equal rights with men.”
“Do you think changes like this will ever come to the Catholic Church, Steve?”
“I doubt it, my friend. I read once about a Catholic theologian who made a comment something along these lines: A thousand years from now, the Catholic Church will still regard abortion as murder, birth control as a grave sin and married priests or women priests an abomination.”
“Do you agree that this stand is right, Steve?”
“My friend, permit me to duck the question. I’m a priest and the issue for me is not whether I think these things are right or wrong. They are the pronouncements of the holy father in Rome. They represent the official position of Holy Mother Church. I accept them and am bound by my vows to preach them to all who will listen.”
“Don’t you think your position may be a copout?”
“No. You refer to it as my ‘position’. I prefer to think of it as faith and to a large extent as obedience. Sergei, I could ask the same questions of you. Why are you grilling me?”