Father Luke’s Journey into Darkness. Nancy Carol James
mayor spoke firmly. “Pull out all the stops to get this solved. Stop the bad publicity right before the IMF meeting.”
The following day after his hospital visiting, Luke had a command meeting at the Vatican embassy in DC, close to St. Charles Parish and the official residence of the US Vice President. Sighing, he noted the waving yellow-and white Vatican flag with two keys criss-crossing one another, one silver key of the world and the gold key to heaven.
In front of this embassy on Massachusetts Avenue NW, the lithe, gray-haired man stood on the front sidewalk for his long days of work. Not the gardener or the sexton, this man carried his signs that read, “Pedophiles work here” and on the flipside his message read, “Corrupt leaders!” Luke skirted carefully around this odd man thinking that of course a few rotten characters had gotten into the priesthood, but some bad apples can happen anywhere. The old guy stood looking around him, occasionally returning any friendly waves from passing cars. Suddenly the man turned towards Luke with a firm opening statement.
“I don’t listen to nuns who hit my hands with rulers.”
This appealed to Luke’s humor as he too remembered a few aimed taps by his own nun teachers. He smiled, “None of us liked it. You got my sympathy there.” Then a little louder he added, “But I got a good education.”
The committed man shook his head, “I don’t need anyone to order me around.”
Luke started walking away, yet the man leaned toward him, in an insistent voice, “You don’t need this bishop telling you what to do.”
Flashing through Luke’s mind were seminary memories of some dull lectures but balanced by the vibrant faith of others. Stunned that even for second he had agreed with this oddball, Luke stopped and responded, “I wish you well.” Even as he said it, he checked to see no one had overheard him. What would Bishop Cahill think about him even talking to this man? The bishop had declared this old guy a lunatic. The church had unsuccessfully tried through every legal means to deprive him of the Constitution’s First Amendment rights and banish him from this public sidewalk.
Luke knocked on the front door. As the butler admitted Luke to the required meeting, the man went back to yelling at passing cars, “This Catholic Church hides pedophiles!”
Luke stopped to look out the window at the strange man while worrying again about these meetings at the embassy. Why he was required to come? He knew the official story. The Roman Catholic Church with its shortage of priests understood that the remaining priests needed support. Even after the wild 1960s, many priests still renounced their ordination vows. So some bishops had decided to give the priests a chance to work on their relationships and hired therapists to lead the groups. Using a convenient location, Luke’s group met at the DC Vatican headquarters in a spacious, secluded room in the back of the building. The priests sat on comfortable, golden-brown couches as they faced another hour of required conversation.
The priests discussed personal issues, yet worried, Were they being spied upon? Were they open, partially open, or blowing them out of the water with our confrontations? More and more of the priests fit into the latter category.
Coming in late, Father Luke sat next to Jerry, who spoke. “To me, the problem is competition between priests. I think this is because our church has lost some of its strong Roman spiritual foundation.”
The young, red-haired Father Bruce spoke up, “I agree! We can’t speak openly in this diocese anymore. If I say something critical, will this comment make it back to the bishop? Then soon I’ll be transferred to some rural parish with hours of driving every day. Or even sent to Alaska!” The other priests murmured in agreement.
The friendly therapist, Dr. Wagner, intervened. “I guarantee you, Bruce, I will not break your confidences and speak to the hierarchical bishops and cardinals. I only report some general ideas about what we think about problems, so the church becomes more hospitable to priests.”
Jerry spoke out, “You are not the one we fear. The bishop has one of his generals here.” Jerry had forgotten to change the language that the priests used among themselves. Flushing, he added, “I mean, of course, we have one here who has a future vocation to the episcopate.”
This distinguished priest, Father Hudson from a wealthy and aristocratic background, quickly changed the subject. “We are all praying for the right bishops and cardinals.”
This sparked some quickly-fired remarks about their lives from the red-haired Bruce again. “The bishop needs to help me with my schedule.” He added, “We are dropping like flies!”
“I agree,” Jerry concluded. “We are a needy group now. It didn’t use to be this way.”
Bruce continued pushing. “But the church seems to be struggling now, maybe even dying. There are problems inside with clergy leaving, parishioners aging, and the young disappear, even after they are confirmed. Of course we are all on edge.”
Then in an almost inaudible voice, Hudson spoke out, “What is going on at St. Charles, Jerry?” Luke thought, why ask him and not me?
Jerry slowly answered, “We have a growing school and a large acolyte program. Many different boys now serve at the altar with us.”
Hudson persisted. “I heard a wild story of a teenage boy walking around followed by some of the kids. And other stories also.”
Jerry said slowly, “I’ll tell you what I know. An older acolyte started volunteering in the childcare room. Last month, he was stopped by a parish usher as he was taking a three-year-old boy away into an off-limits area.” The priests stared at Jerry, who paused and continued. “Monsignor Peter investigated and found out that the acolyte didn’t know the rules about being alone with young kids. He said he was only emotionally fond of this child.” Jerry ended lamely. “So I think the situation is resolved and over.”
No one dared a response.
Soon the group stopped for the day and the weary, black-clad priests found their way back to their churches.
Hannah sat at her desk going through piles of paper. Seeing Luke, she began quickly. “On April 26, you have an invitation to Bishop Cahill’s for a reception.” Luke looked at his feet briefly with the odd thought springing into his mind, You don’t need this bishop telling you what to do. “Please decline. I am busy that evening.” Without another word, he and Jerry walked into the monsignor’s office where Father Peter sat behind his desk. Peter briefly looked up but then quickly focused on the task.
Peter began, “We’re dividing up the schedule of masses now. Are you ready?”
Without a word, Luke took his calendar out of his pocket. The priests scattered into distant chairs with the setting sun creating shadows over their faces. Lines of variegated light slowly moved across the red Oriental rug on the floor.
Peter spoke, “Now we are looking at Lent heading to Easter. Luke, you will do the noon day masses Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.” He added, “You can enjoy your Sunday mornings off. Jerry and I will take the morning masses and you do the Saturday 5 p.m. ones.”
Luke looked down intently at the calendar.
The silence deepened.
“If that is what you want, Monsignor.”
Luke walked quickly upstairs.
In his room, he reached for his rosary beads and hoped for that inner vibrancy that came when he prayed. Now though, the beads seemed to lay flat and powerless in his hands as if they were martyred. Where was spiritual vitality? No more Sunday mornings? He would miss the parishioners and the community events.
“Darn it,” he whispered. “I don’t even know what is going on here.”
After a sleepless night, Luke rose at 5 a.m. and sat at the church office computer to print up the Scriptures for his noonday service. Knowing Peter was out for the day, Luke made himself comfortable in front of the computer and suddenly a pop-up ad with a scantily dressed couple jumped on the screen with a jarring headline announcing, “Hot men!