“True, you were inexperienced. Still, you were fresh from the books … and that’s not so bad: This procedure had to go ‘by the book.’ And, when all’s said and done, he knew you would at least be gracious to them. And in their situation, any reception would be hit-or-miss-depending on which rectory they wandered into. You mentioned that they had already been treated shabbily by-who was it?”
“Keller at Nativity.”
“Ah, yes. I never met the man, but I’ve met his clone any number of times. I’ll bet every diocese and religious order has at least one Keller. Seems like you were expecting one kind of reaction from Delvecchio … and you got another one, Bob.”
“That’s true … but Vinnie’s reaction to his uncle’s suicide was one response. I could think of lots of reasons why he could remain so untouched, so above it all. And I hadn’t even thought of a defense mechanism. You put a new light on that, Zack.
“But what really threw me was his attitude toward the possibility of getting Christian burial for Frank. Forget that I probably couldn’t have pulled it off. It could’ve been a great source of comfort for relatives and friends-”
“You thought,” Tully broke in, “that Delvecchio’s first reaction to Christian burial would be supportive. I agree. And I can’t imagine why it wasn’t.”
“Remember, Zack, we’re dealing with a young man who, only a year or so earlier, had that argument with me over fooling with organ music during a Requiem Mass. Now he’s surprised that anyone could think of Christian burial for a supposed suicide. One would think there’s a hell of a lot more involved in comforting grieving people than in diverting restless kids at a camp Mass.”
Tully tapped the arm of the chair with his index finger. “We’re just guessing, of course. And it’s been- what? — some forty years, so this is hardly Monday-morning quarterbacking. But I guess you could see Delvecchio’s entire reaction as within strict legalistic behavior. Frank Morris-and his wife-had a petition that was turned down by a competent Church court. Roma locuta, causa finita. So, Delvecchio wonders, what’s the problem? You asked for a decision regarding your freedom to marry, and you got one.
“That’s ‘A.’ And ‘B,’ your response to this decision is to kill yourself. Okay, if that’s the way you want it. But any possibility you had of being given a Christian burial is forfeited.”
Koesler nodded slowly. “Quid sit lex? as our Moral prof used to say. But ‘What is the law?’ is so cold and unfeeling.”
“And you couldn’t do it, could you?” Tully regarded his confrere with affection.
Koesler looked off into the distance, ready to admit the truth. “No, I couldn’t. And I didn’t know quite what to do about it. I had paid close attention through four years of study of just about each and every one of the two thousand and four hundred and fourteen laws. The vast majority of my test answers were correct … matter of fact, I don’t think I did better in any subject than I did in Canon Law. But it was mere law on those pages. Whether it was good or harmful law didn’t occur to me-or, for that matter, to any of my classmates … or to any other seminarians of that day.
“And then we were ordained. We gave consolation to the afflicted. We handed out chits for emergency food or shelter. We instructed. We did all sorts of things that made sense. And then we interpreted law. And it no longer was the abstract study of law. These were people who, by and large, were wounded. Their marriages had exploded in their hands. They were raw from revelations in a court of law-”
Koesler stopped and shook his head. “Frank Morris confused me, Zack. I was bound and determined to help him. Instead, I destroyed him.”
“You didn’t do it,” Tully insisted.
“I know … I know … at least I’ve known it for the past some thirty years. That doesn’t much help Frank.”
“It was out of due time,” Tully said. “Lots of people died because they lived before antibiotics, or chemotherapy, or organ transplants … or kidney dialysis.”
They fell silent for a lingering period.
“I guess this example doesn’t bode well for me in dodging the Profession of Faith and the Oath of Fidelity,” Tully said finally. “I can just hear Bishop Delvecchio now: ‘What does the law say, Father?’”
“Don’t jump to any hasty conclusion, Zack. I’m becoming as concerned as you are about your getting this parish without compromising your conscience. It’s just that I’ve, never bothered to analyze Vinnie in such depth. I assure you, we’ve only scratched the surface.”
Tully rocked comfortably in his chair. “We’re also getting to know another young man as he goes through his own ‘change of life …’”
Koesler’s eyes widened momentarily. “Me.”
“You.”
“True, I was developing. That was to be expected after that super-seclusion of the seminary. Twelve very formative years was a long time to be part of a subculture.”
Tully tipped his head to one side. “More. It was more than just adjusting to ‘the world.’”
“Yes, it was,” Koesler said thoughtfully. “For the life of me I couldn’t put it all together. It wasn’t that I hated Canon Law; all I had done about those laws was to learn about them. But I couldn’t resolve the apparent conflict between the law and the rights due a Christian.”
“Interesting though, that you and Delvecchio were, apparently, going in opposite directions.”
Koesler gnawed on his lip. “I thought it was only a matter of time before Vinnie would join me on wherever the path led. But I figured I’d have to be patient. First he would have to finish his seminary career-and he’d only just begun it. He had almost the full four years before he would get a parochial assignment. Then we would see what was what.”
“So? Is that the way it worked out? How did he get on with that first job?”
“It happened before ordination to the priesthood. It was a surprise to everyone. It couldn’t have been foreseen. And I’m still not absolutely certain what happened. But something did. It changed his life.
“I’ll tell it to you just the way it happened. Then, we’ll try to figure out what sort of impact it had on Vince’s life.”
Tully rocked himself to his feet. “How about some more iced tea?”
11
“The year was … let’s see … nineteen fifty-nine, as I recall. Yes,” Koesler nodded, “I was nearing the end of my fifth year as a priest. Vince was in his fourth and final year in the seminary.
“He had received the minor orders of porter, lector, exorcist, and acolyte in turn, and the first major order of subdeacon. Just at the beginning of that year, he was ordained a deacon and, for the first time, he shared in the priesthood: As a deacon, he could play his part in a Solemn Mass, preach, and baptize.”
“Strange, isn’t it,” Tully mused, “that’s almost all gone. I took all those steps-but that was before Vatican II.”
“Yeah. I miss them.”
“So do I.”
“’Fifty-nine! We were on the verge of the Council … and we had no idea!” Koesler paused, remembering …
“It all began during Lent. We were headed for Easter-and then, things and plans had to be changed drastically.”
1959
America didn’t know it, but we were about to pass from what many were to call the Last Decade of Innocence. Vietnam would tear our country apart. And the Second Vatican Council was about to do the same favor for Catholics worldwide.
The Delvecchio family, however, had more pressing and personal problems to deal with.
To begin with-something that would test his ongoing relationship with the Delvecchio family-Father Koesler had been reassigned from the very urban St. William’s parish to the very suburban St. Norbert’s in Inkster.
In the Detroit archdiocese there existed a nonbinding understanding that assignments for assistant priests
