Archbishop Bell was speaking of the many recent attempts to tear down the barriers that still divided the various Christian sects.
At that point, Koesler recalled an Irish missionary priest, who had spent many years in Africa. Koesler could see him in memory: a large, white-haired, ruddy-faced man, who told countless stories about his years as a missionary! One of his stories he prefaced by explaining that he had received a rather liberal training in the seminary. Not, he stressed, like the training given priests just a generation older.
It was with just such an older priest he had been assigned to work in one of the more populous cities in what was now Tanzania. The older man, he explained, as a result of his uncompromising training, could not stand the sight of a Protestant missionary. “Why,” he said, “when Father O’Brien would even catch sight of a Protestant missionary, the very hairs on the back of his neck would stand on end.
“It was not that way with me. I was never thus affected by the sight of a Protestant minister. Of course,” he added, “I knew they were all goin’ to hell . . .”
Koesler had laughed. But, on reflection, he had wondered why, in a small Third World country, missionaries representing various Christian sects and working more or less the same territory never considered their work redundant.
Here was an entire world, most of which was considered heathen, or at best not Christian, and the various sects spent their lives criss-crossing each others’ paths, preaching roughly the same general doctrine with their peculiar sectarian shadings.
How much time, he thought, was wasted on sectarian idiosyncracies. He recalled a friend, a dedicated nun, who was returning to her mission in Japan in the company of a very elderly priest who was to become chaplain to her order.
The two had encountered a Japanese couple, who expressed surprise and sympathy to the nun, the only one of the two who understood Japanese. They assumed that the priest and nun were married—why else would a couple travel together?—and they also assumed the marriage had been “arranged”—why else would a pretty young lady marry an old man?
In the time it took for the nun to explain the concept of celibacy and virginity, she could have gotten in quite a few plugs for Christianity. As it was, the Japanese couple found the concept so incredible and mind-boggling that there was neither time to get into the matter of Christianity, nor any use in attempting to do so.
As Archbishop Bell continued to speak, he noted some of the differences between the Churches that realistically continued to delay the reunion that theoretically everyone desired.
Koesler’s attention returned to the Archbishop’s speech just long enough to note the topical turn he had taken. Then he was off again: Of course it was simplistic to overlook the significant differences that had accumulated over a 400-year separation between Protestantism and Catholicism. A thousand years, when one considered the separation between Catholicism and Orthodoxy. And when one considered the ultimate separation —for Christianity unquestionably flowed from Judaism—two thousand years.
Koesler recalled the night years before when he had gone to Mercy College to hear the rabbi who had been widely and wildly touted as “the rabbi who was only one step away from being Catholic.”
Two very satisfied and relevant nuns had shared the stage with the rabbi. One introduced him. In his address, he touched on certain elements in both the Old and New Testaments. His main objective that evening had been to demythologize all the miraculous events of the New Testament. If it happened in the Old Testament, it
With each destroyed miracle, the two nuns appeared more smug and more relevant. Koesler recalled thinking at the time that if this was the rabbi who was only one step removed from Catholicism, it had to be a giant step indeed.
Archbishop Bell had concluded his speech. Once again, Henry Beauchamp held the open book to enable the Archbishop to read the prayer.
The congregation stood.
“O God, the Father of Our Lord Jesus Christ, our only Savior, the Prince of Peace; give us grace seriously to lay to heart the great dangers we are in by our unhappy divisions. Take away all hatred and prejudice, and whatsoever else may hinder us from goodly union and concord; that as there is but one Body and one Spirit, and one hope of our calling, one Lord, one Faith, one Baptism, one God and Father of us all, so we may be all of one heart and of one soul, united in one holy bond of truth and peace, of faith and charity, and may with one mind and one mouth glorify Thee; through Jesus Christ our Lord.”
Again, the congregation responded with a hearty “Amen.”
Both Cardinals Whealan and Boyle were scheduled to respond to the Archbishop’s remarks. Whealan was first.
By and large, Koesler thought, it was not the people in the pews who formed the barriers to reunion. It was the people at the top. It was as Pope John XXIII once noted: As much as he desired and prayed for Christian unity, he recognized that it was he and his position in the Catholic Church that was most responsible for the continued separation.
Koesler recalled ecumenical services he had attended. One, in particular, during a Lenten season in St. Anselm’s, his own parish.
A number of neighboring ministers had joined Koesler in the sanctuary; the congregation comprised a mixture of their parishioners as well as some from St. Anselm’s. All of those in the sanctuary were men, which in itself was a statement, while, as was usual during a weekday, the congregation was composed entirely of women.
In the sanctuary, there was an almost palpable feeling that everyone there was most conscious of the identity of each and every doctrine and principle that separated each from the other. In the congregation, on the other hand, was an equally palpable yearning for reunion.
And when, during that service, the time came to solicit prayers led by volunteering individuals from the congregation, the Catholics, if they did not already know it, learned that their Protestant counterparts were extremely skilled in informal public prayer.
One other, but one very pleasant thing Catholics would learn from their Protestant neighbors when unity became a reality—how to pray extemporaneously. As one Catholic lady had remarked after that service, when each Protestant lady launched in prayer, it seemed that she would never see shore again.
Both Whealan and Boyle had concluded their remarks and still Toussaint had not arrived. There was very little time now before the reception. Koesler was definitely and extremely worried. Only a meditation hymn was left to precede the reception. Hymn announced, the congregation stood.
And did those feet in ancient time,
Walk upon England’s mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On England’s pleasant pastures seen?
Irene Casey raised her chin and vocalized very loudly. Joan Blackford Hayes stepped as far away as possible.
Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
In the sanctuary, preparations were being made for the reception.
One of the ushers, in reality a police officer, or bobby, as were most of the plainclothes attendants and ushers, approached Henry Beauchamp. “There’s a bit of a run on coloureds out there,” he said directly into Beauchamp’s ear, though he had to almost shout rather than whisper. “But not a bloody one of ‘em is wearin’ dreadlocks.”
“Not going to make it easy for us then, are they?” Beauchamp passed the news to the other officers in the sanctuary.
The tableau began to be formed by the Master of Ceremony. Beginning at the pulpit and extending across the sanctuary just above the step leading to the chancel the lineup was as follows: a C.I.D. officer. Archbishop Bell, a C.I.D. officer, Commissioner Beauchamp, Cardinal Whealan, Superintendent Somerset, a C.I.D. officer. Cardinal Boyle, Inspector Koznicki, Father Koesler. All the police were disguised as acolytes.
