Her record spoke of her professionalism and capability. If there was more than one side to a story, she covered each side. She would not exaggerate for the story’s sake. On top of everything else, she could write correct English. Koesler was fortunate this would be her story. And he knew it.
Without including any detail he judged to be of a private or privileged nature, Koesler gave Lennon the basic facts. The reason for the request for the parochial wake. The Catholicism of widow and children. That none but the redoubtable Aunt Sophie, from the deceased’s side of the family, was likely to attend. The search for direction from Church law.
And the agreement to keep it simple.
Koesler watched as Lennon scribbled. He knew just enough to know that what she was writing was not standard script. Nonetheless he envied her ability to use any form of shorthand. That, coupled with a good ear for speech patterns and dialects, added to her accuracy.
As if on cue, the ambulance arrived just as Koesler concluded his account. Lennon thanked him and, in parting, added, “Now, let’s see if my calling EMS and the ambulance gets me a ride with the family.”
She entered the inner circle and said a few words to Mrs. Green, who hesitated briefly, then nodded.
The ambulance and two cars sped off. The ambulance carried Dr. and Mrs. Green and Pat Lennon. One car contained Judith, the other, David and Aunt Sophie, whose pride was sore afflicted.
The thought occurred to Koesler that he might lock up the church and take refuge in the rectory before the media arrived. The thought died aborning. There was no sign that the spectators were anywhere close to leaving the scene of tonight’s circus. Especially since no sooner was the ambulance out of sight than the TV crews arrived and headed directly for Koesler as the figure in charge. The TV crews had actually been preceded by members of the print and radio media. But the pecking order was established and pretty much followed.
Koesler did his best to answer their not-well-phrased questions. None of them seemed to know exactly what he or she was looking for.
As the reporters spread out through the church interviewing eyewitnesses, the word “miracle” was uttered with abandon. Later, on the ten and eleven o’clock newscasts, some anchors would tease their way into the story by labeling it “The Miracle on Jay Street.” The tag would be copied by some of the newspapers and radio stations.
Eventually and mercifully, the media as well as the crowd began to thin. At last Koesler could lock up after an evening he would never forget. He wanted to believe that somehow his role in all this was close to over. He knew this was wishful thinking.
He passed among the pews—empty. He searched the nooks and crannies—empty. The only other person still in the church was Dan Reichert, who stood, head bowed, where earlier he had knelt to do reverence to the “miracle.”
In truth, his constant reference to it as a miracle was the major source of the media’s loose use of the term. In the news reports tonight and tomorrow morning, Father Daniel Reichert, a senior priest of the Archdiocese of Detroit, would be quoted as stating that this was, indeed, a miracle. Over and over the statement would be attributed to him.
But Koesler was unaware of the media’s glomming on to Father Reichert’s buzzword. Right now Koesler’s principal aim was to clear the church and lock up. “How about it, Dan … let’s call it a day. We need some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be hectic.”
Reichert wheeled on Koesler. “You bet it’s going to be hectic,” he barked. “We’ve got an appointment with the Cardinal tomorrow morning at nine in the Chancery. You’d better be there. You’ve got a lot to answer for.”
“What!?” Koesler was amazed. “After what happened here tonight? Why, you were the one who said this was a miracle! Besides, nobody informed me about a meeting.”
“They probably left a message—you’d know if you took your calls or checked with your answering service. I talked to the head of the Curia. He agreed that the Cardinal would want to clear this up personally. Monsignor is the one who set the meeting.”
“You mean after what happened here tonight, you want to rehash all this stuff about having the wake in church?”
“You should never have agreed to it. Never! You were wrong, and the fact that a miracle came of it doesn’t justify your decision. You’re going to pay for that!” He stormed out of the church.
Koesler, shoulders slumped, stood in the sanctuary. He had been counting on the only rainbow he could find in this storm: At least he would be spared the confrontation with Dan Reichert. Now …?
Now he would lock up and retreat to his room. He was so exhausted he would have retired well before the late newscasts. But tonight he would be the star of the show.
Tomorrow morning that star had a very good chance of being drawn into a black hole.
Chapter Ten
Greetings were cursory.
Father Koesler had not slept well. Father Reichert was filled with righteous anger. And Cardinal Boyle was suffering jet lag.
Koesler had long admired the Cardinal. Tall, handsome, whitehaired, with piercing blue eyes, Boyle was a born leader. But he did not welcome rigged confrontations such as this.
Boyle had many archdiocesan problems to deal with today. But he was a quick study. There were two distinct elements in the matter presently on the table. One was Koesler’s decision to hold the wake of a Jew in a Catholic church. The other, and far more pressing, was this business of a “miracle.”
When and if there was an undemanding moment today, Boyle would reach an understanding with his chancellor. The monsignor had scheduled this meeting solely to deal with Koesler’s decision. When the appointment had originally been made, Dr. Green had not yet been found alive in his coffin. There had been no need to arrange for an immediate meeting over the wake issue. In fact, had Father Reichert not been so insistent, there might have been no need at all for a meeting.
The other issue was something else altogether.
Fed by the media, Dr. Green’s “resurrection” had become the prime topic on nearly everyone’s lips. That had to be addressed.
Boyle gave Reichert undivided attention.
“Father”—Boyle was ever formal—“it was at your insistence that this meeting was called. You may begin.”
Reichert shifted in his chair and leaned forward. “It is simple, Eminence. Father Koesler here accorded sacred rites—rites that even Catholics must earn—to an unbaptized heathen. And he attempted to do so surreptitiously by scheduling the rites on the very day of the Jew’s death. Credo res ipsa loquitur: I believe the deed speaks for itself.”
Neither Boyle nor Koesler understood why Reichert felt he needed to translate.
Boyle turned his attention to Koesler—the priest’s cue to speak. “Well, it neither is nor was all that simple.” Koesler went on to explain the Catholic connection on nearly everyone’s part. How Dr. and Mrs. Green had discussed the burial details in advance. One major flaw in their plans was in not checking with the various institutions ahead of time. In fact, it was Mrs. Green’s insistence on holding the wake in a Catholic church that prompted the Jewish funeral home to refuse to service the burial.
Koesler then tried to clarify the extent of ritual that he had agreed to. There was no hint of a rite of Christian burial in what he and Mrs. Green had planned; Koesler insisted that he never would have agreed to anything remotely suggestive of that. All he had agreed to was permitting the body to lie in state for one part of one evening. He had tried—unsuccessfully, as it turned out—to hold the crowd down. If things had gone according to plan, there would have been no notoriety. But … who could have anticipated how things would turn out?
At that point, Reichert interrupted. He insisted that only one skilled in liturgy could tell the difference between the wake service—during which Koesler had been slated to speak—and Christian burial.
Reichert added that as for notoriety’s being avoided, a reporter from the Detroit News had been present. She surely was there to cover the
service—the service she certainly would have reported in the paper if something far more compelling hadn’t taken place.
And, finally, Reichert noted, canon law states that in any doubt regarding burial, the ordinary must be consulted. And, here, there was plenty of doubt.
“Your Eminence,” Koesler explained, “you were on a plane returning to Detroit. Under those circumstances, I thought it best to make the decision on my own.”
All this time, Cardinal Boyle, fingertips in a triangle in front of his lips, had been gently rocking in his high-backed upholstered chair. He now sat more erect and flashed his French cuffs as he addressed the two men.
“In this matter, you both have points of merit.” He turned to Koesler. “I can understand your reasoning, Father Koesler. In the final analysis, however, I believe you should have contacted me aboard the plane. And, based on what you both have explained, I would have denied permission for this wake.”
Koesler’s spirits, not at all high, sank even further.
At that moment, Koesler completely put out of mind any intent to bring up Reichert’s peculiar doctrine that a hysterectomy was an impediment to marriage. At this point, it would seem as if Koesler were striking back like a spoiled child. To bring it up in these circumstances would not cause Reichert to moderate or relinquish his bad theology. And in any case, it was utterly out of context as far as Boyle was concerned.
Father Koesler would fight this battle another day.
“There simply was too great a chance of misinterpreting what you were doing,” the Cardinal went on. “I do not believe the scandal given was of a pharisaical nature. However, there is, I think, necessarily, a bit of Monday morning quarterbacking in this. So, I do not completely fault your judgment, Father Koesler.
“But there is yet a matter of considerable importance left to deal with. I believe every segment of the media I have seen, listened to, or read, from late last night through this morning—all of them refer to the event as a ‘miracle.’
“Now, Father Reichert, in many, if not most of these accounts, it was you who labeled this a miracle. I realize that the media can be overzealous if not inaccurate at times. Is there substance to these reports? Did you, indeed, use the word miracle in describing what occurred last night? And for attribution?”
A sanctimonious smile crept over Reichert’s lips. “I did. Yes, I did, Your Eminence. I was there. I saw it with my own eyes. I was one of the earliest to arrive at the church.”
I’ll bet you were, thought Koesler. You weren’t going to let anything get past you.
“I viewed the body,” Reichert continued. “Since only a handful were present, I could take my time. That man was dead. I’ve seen my share of the dead in my time. He was dead.
“Later, when that monster of a sister arrived and caused all that commotion, he returned to life! I’ve always believed in calling a spade a spade: That was a miracle.”
There was no possible doubt that Reichert believed totally in the opinion he had just pronounced.
For several long moments there was no movement or sound beyond that of an occasional car horn in the nearly empty streets of downtown Detroit.
Boyle swiveled toward Koesler.
“I don’t know what to call it,” Koesler admitted. “If he had been embalmed …” He shrugged. “… I suppose in that case one would be tempted—considerably tempted—to call it a miracle. But, on the other hand, he was pronounced dead. And, as Father Reichert said, he certainly looked dead.”
Boyle began to fidget with the gold chain that crossed his chest and held his pectoral cross. “This is not going to pass quickly,” the Cardinal observed. “The media—not to mention a goodly number of the faithful—will want direction and an answer to this question. Was it or was it not a miracle? The question will be asked here in Detroit, of course. But, additionally, nationally and internationally. And definitely at the level of the Holy See.
“The prime question on my mind concerns the subject of all this attention. I have met Dr. Green at a few functions. But I know little or nothing about the man. Do either of you …?”
“I’ve seen his picture in the paper occasionally,” Reichert said.
“Same here,” Koesler said. “I did have a chance to talk with several of his relatives and acquaintances last evening. Concisely, he does not strike me as the type who would be the recipient of a miracle. He appeared not to be a ‘godly’ man. Quite the opposite. The media probably know more about the dark side of Dr. Green than we do.”
“That makes no difference.” Reichert almost rose from his chair. “The miraculous is given as a gratia gratis data.”
Boyle and Koesler hoped Reichert would not translate. He didn’t. He paraphrased. “The miraculous is caused by God not so much as a reward for the subject as it is to strengthen our faith. Green does not have to be a saint. This is God’s way of showing His presence and His power. And it happened last night. I saw it! Praise God!”
“Father Reichert”—Boyle’s tone was abrupt and compelling, unusual for him—“that is the very last thing we want to say at this stage of our investigation.”
“Investigation!” To Reichert this hinted at doubt. One investigates what one is unsure, uncertain of. And he had no lack of sureness or certainty in the matter of the Green miracle.
“Yes, investigation,” Boyle insisted. “Today I will appoint a committee of three priests who will begin an official investigation. The existence of this committee will relieve you, Father Koesler, to attend to your parochial work without suffering a major distraction. You will be able to refer all questions to the committee.
“And you, Father Reichert, you will make no further comments on this case.” When being severe, Cardinal Boyle’s heavy eyebrows tended to almost join above the bridge of his nose. They did so now.
“But, Your Eminence—” Reichert interjected.
“I want there to be no question, Father,” Boyle said. “It would be entirely counterproductive to have an officially designated body studying and investigating the nature of last evening’s extraordinary happening, while at the same time we proclaim it a miracle. Surely you can understand this. What is the point of investigating something to which we already know the answer.”
“But, Your Eminence, I was there. I saw!”
“Father Reichert, before we can begin to term this a truly miraculous event, we must rule out any other possible explanation. That will be the purpose of this investigation.” Boyle’s eyebrows still touched. “Frankly, at this stage, Father, whether you understand or agree with this approach is not germane. This is the manner in which this matter will be handled. You will conform to it.”
Reichert slumped slightly. “Very well, Eminence. But,” he added, “one final question: I have made it very clear to all who asked that I believe this is a miracle. When the people learn that there will be a committee, they will also be told that there will be no information until the investigation is concluded—or nearly concluded. Won’t they come to me for confirmation of the miracle? I have already said I believe it. Why would I hold back now?”
This time it was Koesler who responded. “You could tell them the truth, Dan. When you witnessed the drama of last night you were highly emotionally affected. And that’s the truth: It was an unforgettable moment. But, now, on reflection, you will await the ruling of the committee. Wouldn’t that do it?”
Reichert was not happy to have the suggestion come from Koesler. “I don’t think I need to take directions from a priest whose bad judgment set the stage for all this.” He fixed his gaze on Cardinal Boyle. “I will follow the advice of my religious superior.”
With an expression of Hey-fellas-please-let’s-try-to-get-along-like-grown-ups, Boyle said, “Any direction I would give would essentially be the same as that of Father Koesler.
“Now, Father Reichert, during the course of this investigation I do not want to see your name mentioned in connection—in any way—with the word miracle or any of its derivatives … i
s that clear?”
“Yes, Eminence.”
One of the characteristics of the elderly clergy was their sense of obedience to legitimate authority. Today, Boyle was the beneficiary of Reichert’s obedience.
Besides, it was not a complete washout. Reichert had won rounds one and two when the Cardinal agreed with him twice! First, that Koesler should have referred the wake decision to the Cardinal, even though he was airborne. And second, that, having been informed of the circumstances, Boyle would have refused permission for the wake.
“In that case, Father,” Boyle addressed Reichert, “you may leave. I want to speak further with Father Koesler.”
Reichert, bowing and almost backing out of the Cardinal’s office, clutched to his heart his two-to-one victory.
As the door closed behind Reichert, the solemnity and formality seemed to dissolve. “Well, Father,” Boyle said, with the hint of a smile, “have you ever shepherded a miracle before?”
“Not that I can recall, Eminence. Definitely nothing like this.” Koesler could feel the tension leaving him. “But I’m familiar with the trail that such an investigation usually takes. Somebody reports a vision—usually of Jesus or Mary or one of the more popular saints. The diocese where it happens warns people not to jump on the bandwagon too early. Plenty of ‘cautions’ issued. Finally, the diocese states that there is no compelling proof of the miracle. Gradually, the event begins to disappear from any sort of notice. And then, just a small group of die-hard promoters hangs on.”
Boyle nodded.
“But this one is a little different,” Koesler said. “This isn’t a vision on the side of a barn or a tabernacle veil or a tortilla. This is someone returned to life after death. I guess we’re dealing with a major league claim here.”
“No matter what we say officially,” Boyle said, “you are going to be the principal figure in this affair. The event took place in your parish church. If you had not given permission, would this have happened? The man had been pronounced legally dead. His body was released for burial; otherwise the funeral home would not have processed the body. Was the man dead? Is he really alive?”
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