"I learned that courage was not the absence of fear,
but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who
does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear."
~~ Nelson Mandela

Hi all,

I'm afraid the writing of my latest story is very slow-going and so I didn't get around to writing a newsletter this week.  Therefore, I thought I'd post the first couple chapters of that story.  This is the same one that contains the prior excerpts "Jack Pearson" and "A New Look." 

Because this is taking so long, I'm opening the story up to people to read while it's in-progress.  If that's of interest to you, please let me know and I'll provide you with the password-protected link.  If you choose to do this, please let me know if you run across any continuity errors, confusing bits, etc.  I'd appreciate it!  Fair warning: This story finds Joshua, Andrew, the Friends, and some new folks dealing with the fall-out of the sexual abuse crisis in the Catholic Church.  Obviously, it's very difficult at points.  That being said, I have been finding it helpful to write about this topic again. 

Anyway, I hope you're all doing well!

God bless,
Jenni
Saving Grace: Chapters 1 and 2
Chapter 1: Javert

Friday, February 2nd, 2018

10:01

10:02

10:03

Fr. Mike nervously referenced the clock on his computer.  Of course, he would be late. 

Slow, agonizing minutes ticked by.

10:12

10:13

10:14

Finally, at 10:21, the foreboding figure filled his study door.

"Michael, so sorry to keep you waiting.  Traffic."

Fr. Mike jumped to his feet and held his hand out.

"I understand, Archbishop Wesson.  And, please, call me Mike.  Only my mother uses Michael... and only when I'm in trouble," the priest explained with a self-deprecating smile. 

"Hmm."  The man briefly shook Fr. Mike's hand then closed his study door.

"Umm... please sit down," the priest invited.  "Can I get you any..."

"I'm fine.  I don't have long.  But I'm afraid some things have come to my attention, Michael."

Fr. Mike's heart sank.  He'd been nervous ever since Archbishop Francis Wesson had first shown up two Fridays before, claiming he wanted to speak to that year's Confirmation class.  His talk with the children had been perfunctory and, Fr. Mike believed, a put-on.  He'd hung around through that weekend, observing several Masses.  The optimistic part of Fr. Mike hoped, perhaps, he was there to judge whether St. Mary Magdalene's would be well-served by the addition of an assistant pastor.  Fr. Mike had petitioned for one several times but had always been denied with the parish's middling population and the declining number of priests being cited.

Now the priest knew he had been wrong to be optimistic.

"My office has received several reports of... unfortunate behavior."

Fr. Mike blanched.

"Of... of mine?"

The archbishop nodded.

"Nothing of the... news-making sort.  Yet."

The priest's cheeks burned.

"I have never acted inappropriately towards a single member of this congregation and if..."

"Not in that sense, no.  But I'm beginning to wonder if your loyalties are divided.  I understand you have an inner circle of friends among the parishioners and others."

"I'm not allowed to have friends?"

"I did not say that, Michael," the older man sniped.  "But these friends... they may not suit a Catholic priest."

Fr. Mike became aware of movement in the hallway.  His heart leaped.  He remembered, several years before, when during another period of crisis, Joshua had first appeared to him.  Maybe...

"For one, it's come to my attention that you take ballroom dancing lessons.  Is this true?"

"Well, yes.  But how..."

"And you have a regular partner.  The wife of a local rabbi?"

Rabbi.  It hit Fr. Mike that in his angst over this meeting, he had forgotten to cancel coffee with Rabbi Yakov.  It was him in the hallway...

"I'm sure you can imagine the potential scandal of..."

The study door flung open to reveal a fuming rabbi.

Archbishop Wesson startled and turned to face the intruder. 

"What is the meaning of this incredibly rude interruption?" he spat out.  "This is church business and you have no..."

Unflinching, Rabbi Yakov entered the study and peered down at the accuser.

"I believe I've committed the lesser offense.  I merely stopped by to visit my dear friend and arrived just in time to hear you defaming him and my beloved wife.  What is the meaning of this?"

"Yakov, I..." Fr. Mike began.

The rabbi patted his shoulder.

"You're fine, Mike."  He turned back to the archbishop.  "Answer me."

The archbishop rose to his feet.

"And who are you to make demands of me?" he seethed.

"A man of God.  Asking a fellow man of God to explain why he has spoken against my wife."

Through gritted teeth, Wesson replied.

"I didn't intend to besmirch your wife, Rabbi.  But I do admit to some surprise that you allow another man to routinely take your wife out for activities of a... sensual nature."

Rabbi Yakov burst out laughing.

"My God, man.  It's dancing.  Fr. Mike is one of my dearest friends.  More... younger brother than friend, truthfully.  My trust in him knows no bounds.  And my Tiva loves dancing.  She shouldn't be denied the pleasure just because the Good Lord saw fit to give her husband two left feet."

"Still... the optics of it..."

"The optics of it!" Rabbi Yakov cried.  "Ballroom dancing!  Oh, no, we can't have a ballroom dancing priest!  I mean look what happened with that Jorge  Bergoglio fellow...  Such a shame."

Fr. Mike tried to contain his laughter but his friend's sarcasm was too much.  He couldn't stop laughing even when his superior glared at him.

"It's not as if the dancing is Fr. Michael's only indiscretion," the archbishop taunted.

Both the priest and rabbi immediately sobered.

"Excuse me?" Yakov challenged, protectively moving himself between his friend and the accuser.

"As I was telling Michael before we were interrupted, he's been known to associate himself with friends of dubious morality... including some parishioners who are blatantly defying Catholic teaching."

Confused, Fr. Mike and Rabbi Yakov exchanged a look.

"Archbishop Wesson, I'm not going to pretend to know who you mean," Fr. Mike responded.  "But it seems to me that our calling as priests is to minister to sinners and saints alike.  As I know you're well aware, Jesus Himself dined with sinners and..."

"Ministering to and making yourselves familiar with are two entirely different things.  You know the Church's teaching on premarital sex.  But do you not give the Eucharist to parishioners who you know are living in sin?"

"I give the Eucharist to all who come to commemorate the Lord's Last Supper... as we are instructed to do.  It's up to each individual to hold themselves accountable.  We can't do that because we don't know what in their hearts.  We represent God.  But we aren't God," Fr. Mike stressed.

"A fair enough point if you're talking about mere parishioners."

"Mere parishioners?" the rabbi repeated under his breath.

The archbishop ignored him.

"But when you are known to be personal friends with those people it calls into question your own judgment, Michael.  And at a time when the Church's credibility is already under attack... we cannot have that!"

"I don't even know what or who you're talking about!" Fr. Mike yelled, no longer able to keep his temper under control.

"Well, I can hardly say when he's here!" Wesson shot back, waving to Yakov.  "But it's moot.  The fact that you won't own your own mistakes confirms for me what I already thought I would need to do.  Michael, you're being removed as pastor of St. Mary Magdalene's effective immediately.  I have arranged for you to take a sabbatical.  I have a fellow bishop and friend in Albany who will host you.  I expect you to be on your way by tomorrow morning.  I'll send someone by at 9:00 sharp to escort you to Albany."

Seething, Rabbi Yakov didn't take his eyes off the archbishop even as he reached for Fr. Mike's now shaking shoulder.

"That won't be necessary, Archbishop.  Fr. Mike will stay with my wife and me this evening and we will escort him to Albany in the morning."

Wesson stepped closer, nearly nose to nose with the other man.

"And who are you to be involving yourself in this matter, Rabbi?" he sneered.

Unblinking, the rabbi replied.

"Someone who knows the heart of Yeshua ben Yosef better than you seem to... Father.  Go.  Now."

Half-shielded by his friend, Fr. Mike thought he saw his tormentor flinch.

"Very well.  As long as you're gone, Michael."

With that, the archbishop exited the room, slamming the door behind him.

Rabbi Yakov sat down beside the priest and rested an arm around his shoulders.

"Mike... I am so very sorry.  I hope I didn't make things worse.  My temper... I'm afraid it got the better of me." 

Fr. Mike shook his head as he reached for a tissue.

"No... no, Yakov.  I... I'm glad you were here.  I just wish I... I understood.  This... this all just seems to have come out of... of no where.  I mean... Tiva and I have been dancing for what?  Two or three years now?  Why... why now?  And what friends do I have who are blatantly defying the Church?  I mean... there's the Friends, of course.  And... and I suppose our communion together at Bible study isn't strictly... well, Catholic kosher.  But how would he know about that?  He can't."

"He knows nothing," the rabbi insisted.  "He's lying.  I can't pretend to know his reasons.  But that man... he's not a shepherd.  He's a snake.  His reasons for this attack are beyond me but I know this.  The truth will win out, my friend.  I don't know when or how but you and I... we've met the Truth Incarnate.  And He will prevail.  He always does."

Fr. Mike nodded.

"Yes... he does."  He heaved a sigh.  "I... I need to start packing.  Not much.  A few books, my mom's recipes, some clothes, everything Joshua has given me...  It won't take long."

Rabbi Yakov shook his head.

"No.  We're taking everything that's yours.  We're leaving nothing for that man to look through.  I could call the Friends to help if..."

Fr. Mike considered for a long moment before nodding.

"Yeah.  Okay.  I'd rather them hear it from me than through the grapevine."

"I agree.  I'll send word out right now."

As Rabbi Yakov made the call to JenniAnn that would set the impromptu packing party rolling, Fr. Mike sadly looked around his office and wondered what Joshua had in store for him.
*~*~*

By 3:00 that afternoon, the last of Fr. Mike's things had been packed up and transported to the Levines' house.  Having finished that task, several of the Friends were crowded into Yakov's and Tiva's living room, commiserating with their friend.

"I just don't understand it!" Peter exclaimed.  "It just... it seems like it came out of no where."

"And they wonder why some of us never came back," his wife mumbled as she rubbed her pregnant belly.

"I think you need to request a formal, written complaint," Kemara insisted.  "I realize he's the archbishop but that shouldn't mean he can do whatever he wants.  He has to have solid reasons to remove you."

"But he clearly doesn't!" Sibyll interrupted.  "I know my son and... and..."  She began to weep.

Kemara gently patted the woman's arm.

"I know.  We all know Fr. Mike too well to believe he did anything wrong."  She smiled at the priest who had approached and embraced his mother.  "I only meant that he would have had to document whatever he thinks Fr. Mike has done wrong.  And it would be easier to fight back against those claims if we could see them laid out in writing."

"That's a good point, Kemara.  Thank you for the idea.  Mike, make sure you do that," Lewellyn counseled.

"I will, Dad.  Once I get settled in Albany..."  Fr. Mike sighed then managed a smile.  "I'm very grateful for the portal.  That way... I can still see you, Mom and Dad.  And... all of you."

Dot stepped behind the loveseat where the priest and Sibyll sat.  She squeezed Fr. Mike's shoulders.

"And we're not far at all from where you'll be.  You can come over for breakfast, lunch, dinner... coffee, snacks, just to talk.  Whatever you need."

"We'll introduce you around!" Caleb promised.  "There are so many great people there.  And I think you'll really like our pastor.  Maybe you could get one of those ecumenical groups going there, too."

JenniAnn, who had been quiet for much of the afternoon, startled.  Andrew caught her when she nearly fell from the arm of his chair.

"I... I know Albany will be very lucky to have you, Fr. Mike.  But..."  She shook her head.

"We need you," Kemara finished glumly.  "I really hope this is only a temporary move... very temporary.  Sean called me after he saw JenniAnn's text.  He asked me if I thought he could tell the guys at the station and... well, some of them go to Mary Mag's so I knew it would only be a matter of time.  I said I thought it would be fine.  They're fuming.  One of them has an uncle who is a cardinal.  He said if this doesn't get cleared up within a week, he's calling him."

Fr. Mike chuckled at this.

"I think I know exactly who you mean.  Uncle and nephew are both stubborn as all get out.  I'll be glad to have them on my team but..."  His face clouded.  "I'm not sure how much it will matter, in the end."

"What do you mean?" Emma prodded.  "If we get enough people to speak up for you... and a cardinal at that!... then Archbishop Javert will have to listen."

Several of the friends snickered at the apt "nickname" for their new adversary.

Rabbi Yakov, always happy for a good laugh, only smiled.  He knew exactly what his friend feared.

Tiva, however, was the first to voice it.

"I think what Mike means is that... especially in the current climate... once any sort of accusation is made, some people form a judgment very quickly.  It's hard to come back from that."

"Exactly," the priest agreed.  "Even if I am restored as pastor of St. Mary Magdalene's, will the parishioners trust me like they have?"

"Of course we will!" JenniAnn cried.

"Without a doubt," Kemara agreed.

Fr. Mike smiled warmly at the two but his eyes remained sad.

"I know you trust me.  But you also know about Joshua.  You know that I know Joshua.  What if you didn't?"

The two women were quiet.

"I... I'm just so sorry that our dancing played a part in..."

"No!" the priest cut Tiva off.  He rose from the couch and embraced her.  "I don't feel bad about that and I don't want you to, either.  We did nothing wrong.  Your husband even reminded the archbishop that the Pope himself enjoys ballroom dancing.  Tango, I think."

"Tango..." Tiva repeated with a fond smile.

Returning her smile, the priest spun her away from him and then back.

Rabbi Yakov approached and hugged them both.

"God knows neither of you did anything wrong.  The fact that he brought it up smacks of desperation.  Why now after years?"

"Do you think it had anything to do with me?"

The group turned to Owen who was leaning against the fireplace looking troubled.

"Owen... no.  Why?" Fr. Mike questioned.

"Well, you said he mentioned something about your friends.  So maybe Graham and I...  You said he was at Mass a couple weeks ago.  So were we."

"Owen, you came with JenniAnn, the kids, and me.  Ivy and Sy were there, too," Andrew reminded.  "And we sat with Kemara, Sean, and the twins and Arthur, Monica, and Liam.  I can't imagine the archbishop had any idea what the configuration of who was with who was."

"Andrew's right," Fr. Mike consoled.  "Besides, he said something about permitting premarital sex.  Owen, well..."

"If it had been me he would have said homosexual sex.  Because, according to the Church, it's not okay even within marriage... which doesn't exist for gay people," Owen reported, his voice terse.

JenniAnn rose from the arm of Andrew's chair and hugged her friend.

"It's Joshua's view of your and Graham's relationship that matters, O.  Not the Church's.  And, not that my view matters, but I happen to think you're a very cute couple.  I ship you."

Owen laughed and returned JenniAnn's hug.

"JenniAnn's exactly right," Fr. Mike agreed.  "And so is Andrew.  My guess is the comment was as half-baked as the dancing allegation.  He probably threw it out there just because, in his view, it's the most likely sin.  And I'm not stupid.  I know I've given Communion to people who are having premarital sex.  Statistics alone tell me that.  But I'm not going to stand in judgment of people who come to the Church for comfort and guidance.  I refuse to believe that's my job."

"Hear, hear!" Rabbi Yakov cheered.  "And that's what makes you a far better shepherd than Inspector... I mean Archbishop Javert." 

"Most assuredly."  Tiva patted the priest's shoulders.  "It may take time but I believe you'll find yourself back at St. Mary Magdalene's, Mike.  In fact, if you don't want to take everything to Albany, you can leave whatever you'd like here so we can get it back to the rectory more easily.  Just don't put anything in Yakov's office.  It's such a pit in there that you'd never find it."

"Hey!" the rabbi protested.

Tiva cupped his chin.

"You have many wonderful qualities, husband.  But cleanliness is not one of them.  We'll find Mike a spot in the basement."

"Probably a good idea," Yakov agreed.  He kissed his wife's forehead and then the friends helped Fr. Mike divy up his belongings and prepare for Albany.
*~*~*

Exile
Saturday, February 3rd, 2018

Fr. Mike stared at the front door of the rectory at St. Bregwin's in Albany.  He glanced back at the truck on the curb, smiling and waving to Randall Romano who had dropped him off.  He felt a bit like a Kindergartener on his first day of school.  Just as nervous, at least...

After a calming breath and wave back from Randall, the priest rapped on the door.

He waited for a few moments.

Nothing.

He knocked again.

Finally, he heard a chain slide and the deadbolt unlock.  The door opened to reveal a man in slacks and a variegated sweater with a cell phone held between his chin and ear.  Without a word, he waved Fr. Mike in.

"Do you think I should go over there?  Okay, well, think about it.  My new assistant pastor just arrived and I'd like some time to...  Gladdy, please calm down.  No... no.  I'm not angry.  I'm just...  Hold on."

The man, who Fr. Mike took to be Bishop Anthony Merriman, pressed his palm over the phone's speaker and made eye contact.

"I'm sorry.  Family crisis... I think.  The parlor's just through there.  Please, make yourself comfortable and I'll show you to your room after I'm done with... whatever this is.  My apologies.  Our receptionist, Marie, is usually here but she's home with a sick little one so... you get my hospitality, unfortunately."

Fr. Mike smiled and shook his head.

"Please, no worries.  Take all the time you need, Bishop Merriman."

"Just Tony.  Back in a bit."

"Okay."

Fr. Mike rolled his suitcases into the parlor as the bishop headed in the opposite direction, closing a door behind him.

While he waited, and in a continued effort to calm his nerves, Fr. Mike perused the room.  It was the epitome of organized chaos.  Books were strewn every where but those still on shelves were separated out into very specifically labelled areas: Church Fathers, Mysticism, Protestantism, Christian Fiction, Lenten Reflections, Advent Reflections, Our Lady, The Saints, Christian Fiction Featuring Jesus as Character, Works of C.S. Lewis, and Harry Potter. 

The latter made Fr. Mike snort and he made a mental note to tell Max and Rose about it.  He recognized the familiar seven books of the series but was amused and impressed by other additions.  The Gospel According to Harry Potter, Morality for Muggles, Into the Pensieve: The Philosophy and Mythology of Harry Potter and other similarly named volumes followed the canonical seven.  Curious, he picked one up, took it back to an overstuffed chair, and began to read. 

"Ah, a fellow Potterphile, eh?"

Fr. Mike startled and turned to see his host had returned.

"Oh, umm, yeah.  Kinda.  I mean... I have some friends who are true fans.  But I enjoy the movies when I catch them.  This is great."  He held the book up.

"It is.  You're welcome to take it back to your room and continue reading.  Vow of poverty and all.  What's mine is yours."

"Thanks.  I'll do that."

"If you don't mind, I'll show you to your room now so you can get settled in.  Then I'm afraid I have to again be a bad host as I'll need to leave.  Would you mind covering the evening Mass?  I'll introduce you at the start, before I leave.  Again, I'm very sorry to throw all this at you when you've only just arrived but..."

In spite of Merriman's cheery, apologetic demeanor, Mike could tell he was deeply disturbed about something, likely something related to his recent phone call.

"No, no.  That's okay.  Sure, I'll give Mass."

"Thank you.  And tomorrow we can become properly acquainted.  I'm sorry.  Is it Mike or Michael?  The Archbishop said Michael but I know he can sometimes be... overly formal."

Fr. Mike thought he sensed a note of distaste in the bishop's voice but wasn't positive.

"Mike.  Please call me Mike."

"Very well, Mike!  Let's go see about your room and then I'll show you where the kitchen is in case you'd like to make something before Mass."

"Thanks.  I'd appreciate that."

Bishop Merriman took one of Fr. Mike's suitcases and rolled it out of the room.  He lead his fellow priest down a hallway lined with photographs that Fr. Mike took to be the bishop's family members.  He wondered which one was the mysteriously troubled "Gladdy."

"All right, there you are.  It gets good sun in the mornings.  I hope you'll like it.  That door right there is your own bathroom.  And just down this way... the kitchen.  And, well, we'll save the full tour for tomorrow.  How about we reconvene in the parlor in half an hour and I'll show you around the church?"

"Sounds good.  I'd appreciate that.  Thanks, Bishop...  Thanks, Tony."

"You're very welcome, Mike.  And, again, I'm sorry that your arrival has coincided with a bit of chaos in my own life.  I promise that tomorrow will be better." 

The bishop held out his hand which Fr. Mike warmly shook.

"Please, no more apologies.  I truly understand.  I care a lot about my own family and would do anything for them."

"Good man."  Tony patted the younger priest's hand.  "I'll see you in a bit."

Fr. Mike stared after the departing figure for a brief moment before ducking into his new room.  With a sigh, he sat down on the bed and looked up at the crucifix hanging above the door.

"Joshua, I don't know what you have planned for me here.  Truthfully, my mind and heart are reeling.  But I know you have a plan.  So, please, help me to do my part to fulfill it.  Thanks.  I love you."

Trying to distract himself from his own heartache and his curiosity about Bishop Tony, Fr. Mike began to unpack, taking special care to unload his treasures from Joshua.
*~*~*

Sunday, February 4th, 2018
Fr. Mike struggled to sleep that night.  As if his own inner turmoil and the newness of his room weren't enough of a deterrent from good sleep, midnight arrived with Bishop Tony still absent.

Mike may only have just met the man but he'd felt a warmth and kindness emanating from him.  Further exploration of the rectory had shown a man of great faith and love of family.  Cards and drawings from great nieces and nephews covered the refrigerator.  Prints of Jesus and the Holy Family were nearly as numerous as the family portraits.  He'd even noticed a couple of Owen's paintings and made a note to tell the bishop that he was friends with the artist. 

Further, after Mass, several of the parishioners had told Fr. Mike how lucky he was to be paired with the bishop. 

"A wonderful, sweet man."

"So good with the kids!  They adore it when he comes to school."

"He's been alone too long.  He's not getting any younger, you know.  Pushing 75, I think.  Glad he's got some help now."

"He came to the hospital every day when my mother was dying.  We adore him."

In truth, Fr. Mike was trying to square how such a man could be good friends with Archbishop Wesson.  Beyond a job title, they seemed to have nothing in common.

All of this made Fr. Mike even more alarmed by the man's absence.  They had three Masses come morning.  That Tony was still gone seemed to signify a major problem with his family.

Feeling his stomach began to churn with nerves, the priest grabbed his rosary from off his dresser.

"Maryam, please be with me," he began.  "'I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son...'"

Only a decade into the rosary, the priest was roused from his meditation by the sound of the front door unlocking.  He debated whether or not to go check on Bishop Tony.  He'd been quite evasive earlier.  Maybe he wouldn't appreciate the intrusion.

Fr. Mike resumed his prayers but found himself stumbling over the words and unable to concentrate.  He took it as a sign that he wasn't meant to remain in prayer.  After pulling on his robe and slippers, he stepped out into the hallway and made his way to the front room.  Inside, he found the bishop hunched over a side table.  Worried the man might be having a heart attack, Fr. Mike dashed towards him and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Tony?  Everything okay?"

Startled, the older man gave a slight jump before turning around.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," Fr. Mike apologized.  "I was worried..."  His voice trailed off when he saw the bishop's red-rimmed eyes.

"I'm sure I scared you.  So all's fair.  I'm fine.  Personally.  I... I think I'm going to make myself a cup of coffee.  Contrary to popular wisdom, it always calms me down.  Care to join me?  I have some chamomile if that's more to your liking."

Welcoming the opportunity to spend time with his new superior, Fr. Mike nodded.

"I would, thanks.  Coffee is fine."

"Good."

The two men made their way to the kitchen where Tony wasted no time in starting a pot of coffee. 

"How's your bed?  Comfortable, I hope?"

"Yes, very.  Thank you."

"I'm sure it's difficult being in a new place for the first night, though."

"Yeah.  It is.  Strangely, I think part of it is the lack of noise.  A quiet night is nearly unheard of where I come from."

Tony chuckled.

"I can imagine."

"If you don't mind my asking... how is your family?" Fr. Mike inquired.

The bishop sighed.

"I hate to burden you when your own life is in a tumult."

Fr. Mike shrugged.

"It might distract me.  But only if you want..."

"You should know.  Especially if I have to take some extra time off.  But first..."  He handed Fr. Mike a mug.  "Cream's in the fridge.  Sugar in the pot here."

"Thank you."  Fr. Mike helped himself to a little sugar, noting that Tony took his coffee black. 

The two seated themselves across from each other at the table and the elder priest began.

"Before I begin my story, I hope you'll answer a few questions for me."

"Sure."

"How well do you know Archbishop Wesson?"

"Oh, umm, not well, come to think of it.  I mean, of course, I'd see him every year for Confirmation celebrations.  And at meetings sometimes.  But, well, yesterday... or I guess Friday it was... was the first time we've had any real conversation."

"So you're not close to him?"

Fr. Mike shook his head.

"I'm not.  But he said you were friends."

Tony chuckled, a harsh edge to his laughter.

"Is that what he calls it?"

"So... you're not?" Fr. Mike ventured.

"We went to seminary together so we go way back.  But to say we're on friendly terms?  That's a stretch."

While the revelation explained away his confusion over how such opposites could be friends, Fr. Mike was nonetheless surprised.

"But he specifically said he was sending me to his friend in Albany."

"Poor boy."  Tony shook his head.  "I daresay good ol' Frank sent you here because his refined, citified self can't stand Albany.  While we're certainly no backwater town, we're too rural for his liking.  This," he waved his hand around, "is your punishment.  I was merely conveniently placed."

"So... why did you agree to take me in?  And, for the record, while I miss my parish, I've always loved Albany.  It's beautiful."

"I think so, too.  And I agreed to take you in because I've been desperate for an associate pastor.  However, I couldn't justify removing a priest from one of my other parishes.  Also, I'm notoriously picky."

Fr. Mike wondered at the air quotes the bishop placed around the last word.

"Picky?"

"You're not the first associate I've been asked to take in.  But others were... problematic.  I refused to subject my flock to danger."

Fr. Mike's brows arched.

"You mean... abusers?"

Tony nodded.

"Not for a while.  Thank God for the press.  Church leadership is far less apt to shuffle 'problem priests' around.  That's my hopeful view.  My less hopeful view is that it's still happening but they've learned not to involve me."

"So... why risk taking me in?"

"I read your blog.  And while all manner of evils can certainly be hidden from the online world, I sensed you were a good, faithful, if sometimes frustrated, shepherd.  And I think any priest who isn't frustrated with leadership right now is in the wrong field.  I also did some calling around.  I know a handful of families who moved from Albany and landed in St. Mary Magdalene's parish.  All glowing reports.  And let me blunt?"

Fr. Mike nodded, somewhat stunned by the idea that this bishop had been following him online.

"Archbishop Wesson's primary complaint appears to be that you gave Communion to a friend who is engaging in premarital sex.  Is he serious?"

The younger priest couldn't resist chuckling as his elder dramatically rolled his eyes.

"To be charitable, his broader concern is likely that you allowed personal attachment to cause you to neglect your responsibility to guide your flock in living moral lives in accordance with the Church's teachings.  However... unless said individual, assuming they even exist, confessed this to you during the sacrament of Reconciliation, it is most assuredly not your place to call them out.  We offer correction when warranted, yes, but our main job is offering grace, compassion, and God's love.  You seem to do that beautifully."

"Thank you.  I hope so."  Moved, Fr. Mike gave Tony a grateful smile. 

"You're very welcome.  And now we come to my story...  I'm the oldest of seven children.  My parents were very Catholic, if you catch my drift."

Fr. Mike chuckled.

"Next after me is my brother Virgil who, well-named fellow that he is, teaches literature at the high school just down the street.  Well, at least until May when my sister-in-law is, wisely, making him retire.  Then there's Agnes who also teaches.  History, for her.  Next came Mercy who, sadly, we lost a couple years ago to breast cancer."

"I'm so sorry."

"Thank you.  She was a daddy's girl through and through, though, so I feel selfish mourning too much when I know she went to be with our dad and mom.  After Mercy is Thomas who is our black sheep.  Much loved, though.  Just never quite found his niche.  He lives with Agnes and her husband, going from odd job to odd job.  Next up was Gladys... better known as Gladdy... who carried on the family tradition by having seven children of her own.  Finally, there's the surprise baby: my little brother, Elvis."

Fr. Mike begun to sputter, just barely keeping his last sip of coffee in his mouth.

"Your brother is named Elvis?"

"Yes.  And he curses that fact every day of his life... even moreso since he can't sing a lick.  But my mother adored 'The King' nearly as much as she loved the King of Kings.  As for my brother, we usually just call him El.  Anyway, between the lot of them, they've given me fifteen nieces and nephews and, from there, a couple dozen great-nieces and nephews.  The reason I was on the phone with Gladdy was her grandson, Kyle, is having a difficult time.  I know I shouldn't have favorites and I truly do adore the lot of them but... I've always had a special spot in my heart for Kyle.  Maybe because he's a sort of mini-me.  He entered the seminary last year."

"That first year is so hard," Fr. Mike commiserated.

"Yes...  But I'm afraid it's more than that.  He ran away last week, showed up at his parents' house, and has essentially locked himself away in his room.  He comes out only when absolutely necessary and won't say more than a few words to anyone.  He even refused to go visit Gladdy and her husband, Mac.  And this boy loves his grandparents!" 

Fr. Mike's brow furrowed.

"That's troubling."

Tony nodded.

"Very.  So I went over there myself, hoping I could encourage the boy to speak of what's troubling him.  Instead, I spent most of the night praying with my niece, her husband, Gladdy, and Mac.  Kyle wouldn't budge.  Not even when I told him I was going to force my way in if he didn't open the door.  So I went in and it was obvious he was pretending to be asleep.  I told him that if he didn't give me a sign that he was alive, I was going to call 911.  So... he flipped me the bird.  Still unmoving otherwise.  Very unlike him.  But it was proof of life!" 

The old priest rubbed at his temples then took a sip of his coffee.  After setting the mug down, Tony stared ahead, at nothing in particular, for several moments.

Fr. Mike was just about to give the man a light shake to ensure he was okay when Tony came back to life.

"Something happened at that seminary...  Something awful.  Kyle... he was so set on his vocation.  He had the sweetest little girlfriend.  He was so steadfast that he gave her up.  That's when I knew he was serious and committed.  So to walk away from it..."

"I'm so sorry."

"Me too..."

"If there's anything I can do then..."

For the first time since they'd sat down, the bishop brightened.

"Actually...  Kyle was a fan of your blog, too.  If you'd be willing... maybe you could go with me when I make another attempt with him after Masses are finished.  Maybe he'll tell you what he won't tell his old uncle."

Unable to resist the hope in his new friend's face, Fr. Mike nodded consent.

"Sure.  I'd be happy to speak with Kyle and I'd love to meet members of your family."

Tony beamed.

"Then we're set!  Thank you so much, Mike.  You're a trooper.  Though you may live to regret getting involved with my crazy family."

Fr. Mike smirked.

"Not as much as I'd regret staying in New York City and being under the ever-present gaze of Archbishop Wesson," he teased.

Tony laughed heartily and plopped a hand on his fellow priest's back.

"Well played."  He took another gulp of his coffee.  "Now... the sky is fall of stars tonight.  I think I'd like to go to the grotto and spend some time with our Mary.  You're welcome to join me or, of course, go back to bed."

"Spending some time with Mary sounds great.  Thank you."

"Wonderful."

The two men rinsed their mugs, donned their coats, and spent the next hour in quiet, companionable prayer with Maryam.
*~*~*
This newsletter is dedicated to John Dye for inspiring this crazy mental playground where I can work through stuff by writing.

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