Alice plowed ahead with her plea, but Stan was no longer listening. In his mind’s eye he could see what surely would happen should he do anything that would satisfy the Toccos.
PRIEST GIVES GIRL HER DAILY BREAD; ROME BURNS.
And the like.
Alice finished with an account of their meeting with Statner. The conclusion: Communion under the species of wine alone—valid, and skirts the issue of bread and gluten. But still too daring for Stan. One word to the media and he would get the publicity he had, for all these long years, managed to avoid.
In his heart, Stan could not have disagreed more with Statner’s solution. Of course the little girl had every right to Communion in the same manner as the other children. If that meant a separate place on the altar for a nonwheat wafer, so be it. If anything, Stan would have had the entire Communion class receive nonwheat wafers. There would be no problem in finding an acceptable substitute for wheat, as Louise and her family had been doing for most of her young life.
Solving this sacramental issue in the fashion acceptable to the Toccos was what Stan’s conscience dictated. But it was not what he would or could advise Manny and Alice.
He told the couple that he did not agree with Father Statner. At this, their hearts soared—only to be dashed to the ground once more. For Father Benson stated that the fact that Louise was unable to consume wheat bread was a sign from God that Holy Communion was not to be a part of her life. God undoubtedly would make up for the loss in some way.
If they wanted still another opinion they could shop around. But he knew they were unlikely to find a more liberal opinion than his or Statner’s. Rome had been too crystal-clear on this matter.
And, thought Stan, take that, you media hounds! I’m not going to hand you my head on a platter. I’ve been hiding my light under a bushel for too long to let the sun shine in now.
Unconscious of having mixed his metaphors, Stan felt relieved that he had reasoned himself off the hook. But he was despondent over what he had done to these friends of his. These now former friends, he feared.
Manny stood abruptly, tipping over his chair, which fell to the floor. He was furious. Alice was apprehensive. She had seen her husband this angry when he had nearly killed her former husband. She touched his arm tentatively, tenderly. Manny slowly unstiffened. That meant at least he wasn’t going to hit—and therefore annihilate—Stan.
Instead, Manny turned and strode from the room, Alice following at his heels. They retrieved their coats and Manny held the door for his wife, as they wordlessly let themselves out.
Leaving the neighborhood, he drove too fast. Alice touched his arm. He exhaled deeply, and slowed down.
“Is the world going mad?” Manny asked of no one. “I haven’t heard theology like that since the forties!”
Now convinced that her husband wasn’t going to make Gratiot a speedway, or return to maul Stan, Alice quietly sobbed. “What can we do?” she asked finally, dabbing at her eyes.
After some moments, Manny responded. “I’m not sure.”
“Do we go see Bob Koesler? He might have some workable way out.”
“No. I don’t think so. I’m beginning to think this thing is a hot potato. I’m pretty sure Bob would help us. But I don’t want to put any pressure on him. Besides, I’m tired of shopping around.”
“Then what?”
“I’ve been thinking lately about the Episcopal Church.”
“Leave the Catholic Church! How could we do that? You were almost a priest. I was almost a nun,” she added after a moment.
“‘Almost’ doesn’t count.”
Silence.
“There’s an Episcopal church not far from us. We could look into it. The way I feel now, honey, it’s the Episcopalians or nothing.”
Nothing. Both quietly contemplated an existence without organized religion.
Could they break a lifelong habit?
Father Stan Benson finished the dishes. He surveyed the kitchen. It had been fun getting things straightened around. New windows and doors so tightly fitted that they were almost burglarproof. A stove fan that worked for a change. He moved into the living room. The interior painted, and the furniture reupholstered. Yes, it had been fun.
Why didn’t they just leave him alone?
Most people thought of Stan—if they thought of him at all—as a relic of the thirteenth century. And they treated him like a relic. They venerated him, but considered him a statue on the mantelpiece.
Once in a while, someone from the past, friendly, would consult him. As Manny and Alice had just done.
Could he have helped them? But of course. Granted, he didn’t have a parish now. But there were any number of tired pastors out there who would happily have let him “use” their parish to offer a First Communion Mass. Except that he had to protect his mother’s reputation as well as his own. She at one time had been considered by Catholics as a whore—and he a bastard. His mother truly believed she had been released from infamy. Stan held the controls that kept her reputation safe. Under no circumstances would he allow the truth to be revealed.
Meanwhile, occasionally someone had to be hurt—usually by Church laws and Vatican directives.
Tonight was a case in point. He’d had to uphold one of the sillier rules that came from Rome. He just couldn’t chance having his background revealed.
Why couldn’t Manny see through this whole thing? He was smart enough. He shouldn’t have let good old Stan Benson escape without challenging him. Maybe it was the “Father Knows Best” syndrome. Even for a savvy guy like Manny.
There was a point at the end of this evening when Stan had feared that Manny was going to hit him.
Manny should have done it. It would have saved Stan from the self-imposed hairshirt. God knows he needed to do penance.
THIRTY
THE STORY, PROBABLY APOCRYPHAL, is told of an electrician who, years ago, was called to a convent to repair some defective wall plugs. He had been toying with the idea of converting to Catholicism. He just needed some sign to push him over the edge.
He arrived at the convent during the nuns’ late afternoon period of meditation. So all the while he worked the nuns sat silently around the spacious community room, deep in contemplation.
That very evening the man called at a rectory and told the priest he wanted to become a Catholic. The priest asked why and the electrician replied, “Any religion that can put twenty-three women together in a room for an hour of silence has got to have something going for it.”
At the time Rose Smith became Sister Marie Agnes there were rules upon rules upon rules. Those familiar with convent life of that era would not wonder at all that silence played a major role in daily routine.
Unlike Alice McMann—who briefly had been Sister Mary Benedict—Marie Agnes found comfort and deep meaning in silence. There even were stages of silence, culminating in the nighttime Grand Silence.
Virtually no one had an inkling that the Vatican Council was just over the horizon. But of the few religious Orders that were able to anticipate the new aggiornamento, the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, were in the van.
It is almost impossible now to list chronologically the changes in minds and lifestyles that took place. Among the early transformations were the return to maiden names; replacing the head-to-toe traditional garb with modified habits; visiting family homes, albeit with permission and the accompaniment of another Sister. A short time later, contemporary dress replaced the modified habits, with, perhaps, a small cross pinned to the lapel. And Sisters could go where they wished without permission and without any escort.
Sisters chose from a myriad of ministries, such as nursing, catechetics, the practice of law, and serving in parishes that didn’t even have schools, to mention just a few. Nuns sought to go where the spirit called. Modern formation sometimes ended in foreign countries. Communities might be formed anywhere. For the very first time nuns could choose their residences and their assignments.
> A popular movement, Church-World-Kingdom, began in Detroit. It featured discussions by small groups, in which there was little differentiation between the laity, nuns, and priests. Church-World-Kingdom would spread throughout the country.
Perhaps because the IHMs were basically a teaching order, there was more early transformation. These nuns studied the Conciliar documents before the ink was dry. Liturgical changes particularly were far-reaching and radical.
Long ago, Sister Marie Agnes had returned to her maiden name. She became Sister Rose Smith. She was joined in this by a high percentage of other Sisters, some fresh and new, and some who claimed they had well earned their multiple facial wrinkles. Men and women who had been students of the teaching nuns no longer recognized their beloved and memorable teachers by name. Sister Rose Smith hadn’t taught them; Sister Marie Agnes had.
And when there was an obituary for Sister Jane Doe, the funeral of Sister Doe was nowhere nearly as well attended as it might or should have been. The absent hadn’t realized that the Sister Consolata they had known was the middle identity between the once and future Jane Doe.
As for Sister Rose Smith, she was simply at the right place at the right time. She rose through the ranks inexorably. She taught at many schools and made many friends and few enemies.
In the end, she directed the once vast IHM Order. Sadly, she now presided over a disintegrating group. Attrition of the late fifties and the sixties had reduced Order membership from as many as seventeen hundred religious to a bare remnant of something like six hundred.
In those halcyon days, Rose would have been addressed as Reverend Mother. Today, she was Sister Rose, or simply Rosie.
In high school she was a very active member of the clique of six. That ended when she entered college and the convent. She parted company with the group and “the world.” And, despite the occasional twinge of loneliness, she loved her vocational life.
She was saddened by the hemorrhage of professed nuns, including many in final vows. Moreover, she grew frustrated in all attempts to recapture the golden years.
But there were pluses. And one of the many pluses of renewal was the freedom to associate freely with friends and acquaintances of every stripe. From time to time what was left of her special clique would assemble. Of the six, four were still in religious life: Rose herself, Bob Koesler, Stan Benson, and Rose’s twin, Mike.
Alice and Rose had remained the best of friends, sharing all they realistically could.
Sister Rose continued to admire Bob Koesler, and to be amused by his accidental role as Catholic resource to the Detroit Police Department’s homicide division.
She could not bring herself to feel friendship for Stan Benson. Rose simply could not stand a fence-straddler. And Stan had proven so motivated to mediocrity that he could have been inducted into a Phi Wishy-Washy fraternity.
Sister Rose preferred those who took a stand one way or the other. Even if it was impossible to agree with all such people, at least one knew where they stood.
She didn’t understand what motivated Father Benson. Whatever it was, she didn’t care for it or him.
A perfect example of someone with whom she disagreed radically, yet not only liked, but loved, was her twin, the dynamic and controversial monsignor.
Even in the seminary, Michael Smith had stood out. He won oratorical contests. He was appointed head prefect in college, a role that put him in charge—so to speak—of discipline, of which plenty was needed. Occasionally, he directed the Schola Cantorum—the choir. While not the quintessential athlete, still he was proficient at all major sports. He was on the good side of nearly all the professors. Last, and by no means least, he was a far better than average student.
Michael’s broad field of accomplishments attracted the influential eyes not only of the seminary’s rector but also of the majority of faculty members.
He was sent to study in Rome, and on his return was assigned to the Chancery. In time, he was made a monsignor. Everyone assumed that one day he would be consecrated a bishop. Initially, he would be an auxiliary bishop, helping out (literally) the Ordinary. Eventually, he would have his own dicoese. Then possibly he would graduate to running a major archdiocese—Los Angeles, Boston, perhaps even Chicago or New York. Maybe he would become a Cardinal and elect a new Pope. That would in all probability be the limit. But not a cheap achievement by any standard.
Even in the sixties Mike had outdistanced his five special friends. But he didn’t abandon them. He got together regularly with Koesler and Benson. He palled around with them and vacationed with them. By this time, Sister Mary Benedict had returned to being Alice McMann. As a seminarian, Mike had served at Alice’s wedding to John Piccolo. He would have been involved in Alice’s nullity case, had he not been excused due to their friendship.
However, when Alice married Manny in a civil ceremony, the future Monsignor Smith dropped them.
The Second Vatican Council took Monsignor Smith, and almost everyone else, by surprise. Mike understood the portent of Pope John’s Council; he just could not guess how far it would go, nor how deeply it would affect him.
Just prior to the conclave that elected Pope John XXIII, Cardinal Edward Mooney died. He was succeeded by Archbishop Mark Boyle, whose reputation placed him at the far right of center. But at the four sessions of the Council, Mark Boyle went to school. He even played a major role in a radical change in the Church’s understanding of marriage.
Michael Smith was caught up in his bishop’s enthusiasm over the Council. After all, the Conciliar documents spelled out the Church’s position in the modern world. But Smith went further than Boyle. Michael was captured by the arguments of activists. He knew not where the spirit would lead, but he was willing to follow.
Perhaps it was a mistake—certainly in conservative eyes—that Michael was appointed to a commission studying the reasons why so many were leaving the priesthood. This commission quickly concluded that so many priests did not, after five, ten, or twenty years, simply discover, “Hey, there’s women!”
The Church had changed. Those who took the Council seriously and followed its directives perceived that the Church had, indeed, changed. It was no longer the cut-and-dried institution that claimed to have all the answers in neat, discrete piles.
Many of those priests who were swept up in new questioning of Church precepts also began to question their own commitment to the celibate life.
And so, for various reasons, many left the priesthood. Most did not leave the Church. Mother Church had supported them in the infancy of their priesthood. It was time, they thought, for them to help Mother through Her change of life.
Michael Smith was one who questioned, searched, and sought answers. When the answers he received did not agree with his educated concept of what Christ’s Church was meant to stand for, he left the priesthood behind.
Were he to marry, in order to remain in good standing with the Church he would need laicization—permission granted by the Pope to return to the lay state. He would still remain a priest; nothing could change that. But, with laicization, the needed permission to function as a priest would henceforth be withheld.
Paul VI was a vacillating pontiff. How else could one describe a Pope who appoints a commission to study the Church’s position on birth control and then rejects his own commission’s conclusion? In the matter of laicization, there were times when the Papal policy granted the decrees and times when it did not. As well acquainted as Mike was with Rome and bishops and chanceries and those who had the Pope’s ear, Michael would have known when to apply.
But he did not apply. Nor did he attempt to marry. He took seriously the promise he had given to live an unmarried life.
Michael spoke, lectured, and taught extensively. Frequently his path crossed that of Manny and Alice Tocco. Convocations, symposia and the like, such as Church-World-Kingdom, and Call to Action, frequently featured photos and a brief biography of Michael, and occasionally of Manny and Alice.
When th
e three met, they were cordial. But not as they had been in their youth.
As for his twin, Rose agreed with Michael on many churchly essentials. The two more frequently disagreed on how to right wrongs, or on how far to go. They were particularly popular when they appeared on the same program. The fact that they were twins who could disagree yet remain close drew a crowd.
Michael got along well with Bob Koesler. Koesler was always open to Michael’s insights, whether he agreed or not. They remained friends.
Not so Michael and Stan Benson. Michael regarded Benson as a man who had no convictions or willingness to take a stand. He looked on Stan as one who seemed to have no opinions.
Michael didn’t hold this total negativity against Stan. But since Stan appeared to have no opinions on any of the major controversies, Michael could not grasp why Stan did not at least agree on any of the subjects. Or why, if he felt no sense of agreement, he would not defend his lack of conviction.
To Stan it was all so simple. But he understood why he appeared as having a tabula rasa mind that was not used for any creative purpose. Outsiders simply thought he was dull … unimaginative.
Stan was in hiding. Joining in any adventure such as Michael’s would be to throw open the door to questioning and subsequent exposure. For Stan that was unthinkable. He preferred to seem a dunce rather than to become vulnerable to having his secret exposed.
Michael had only disgust for people such as Stan. Here was a priest of some forty years who had lived through some of the most exciting times of the age-old Church of Rome. He had imaginative, involved friends. And yet, with all of this, he was still a blank wall.
He should have known. He should have participated. That he did not was a disservice to the Church.
Stan Benson should be gotten rid of.
Gotten rid of? Michael shuddered. What was he thinking!
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