The Greatest Evil

“I know, I know, Zachary …” Koesler was not happy with the interruption. “But we’re dealing with what has become the mind-set of a fundamentalist. And as such, Vince would believe that anyone who would not or could not make that profession or swear that oath could not be Catholic … could not be a member of the Catholic Church.

“Then, we move into an a fortiori. If a lay Catholic is expected to prove his sincerity through the Profession and Oath, what does a person like Vince expect of a priest?”

There was a pause. Evidently Koesler did not intend this question to be rhetorical.

“Well,” Tully said after a moment, “obviously he’d expect a priest to be out in front leading a congregation to live out this fealty to the Pope.”

“And,” Koesler drove home his point, “if the priest himself would not live out this papal fidelity?”

Tully shook his head. “I suppose to the bishop the priest could not call himself Catholic. He’d be … what? … a heretic!”

“He’d be in serious sin-at least as far as Delvecchio is concerned. And Vince knows from brutal experience that sin contaminates. His uncle Frank ‘lived in sin’ and contaminated his relationship with his aunt Martha.

“The same with Greg Thompson. His state of sin contaminated Mary Lou and then spread to include his parents and sister. And look at the price everyone had to pay for that contamination.”

“So that …” Tully said slowly, “if I refuse to swear, I am in serious sin and I contaminate an entire parish!” He shook his head with a pained expression. “That’s ridiculous!”

“Maybe so, but that’s the way Delvecchio thinks. That’s why he demands that you not only make the Profession and take the Oath but that you do so publicly-in a liturgical setting.”

“And if I don’t, does the bishop expect me to commit suicide like Frank and Greg?”

Koesler’s response was midway between a snort and a chuckle. “I doubt that!”

“Well, this puts me in a tight fix. Having just given me permission to become a Detroit diocesan priest, the Josephites wouldn’t look too kindly on my knocking at their door again, I’m sure.

“Of course,” Tully reflected, “I don’t necessarily have to be the pastor of this parish. I could be an assistant at some other parish. I don’t have to live in my brother’s backyard. Just about any place in this archdiocese would be handy to get together with my small family … and maybe I could escape the Profession and Oath …”

“There’s plenty of precedent for that,” Koesler admitted.

“Because of the Oath?” Tully was incredulous.

Koesler smiled. “No, but the result was about the same even though the reason was different.

“Like so many things that caused upheaval in the Church, this was a consequence of Vatican II. I was only in my mid-thirties then, but especially since I was editor of our paper at the time, it was sort of easy for me to adjust to and even be enthusiastic about the changes the Council brought.

“It wasn’t that easy at all for the older guys. A lot of them were overwhelmed by what looked to them like a brand-new Catholic Church. And these guys were mostly pastors. That was a position they had waited for with some impatience. They had achieved all they’d ever dreamed of. They were confident they’d be in charge until death did them part.

“They hadn’t counted on the Council. Many of them fell behind on what became current. Disgust and depression ensued. They were supposed to have members of the laity as consultors. But most of the pastors made it clear they wanted consenters rather than consultors.

“Then came the parish councils and for a long time it was up for grabs as to who was really running the parish. That plus all the other changes that swept through the Church. But”-Koesler smiled-“you were aware of what was going on.”

“Sure,” Tully agreed, “but more as a bystander. The Josephites were working with the poor. Our parishioners were not about to challenge us. But I could see what this was doing to you guys.”

Koesler nodded. “That’s how come we developed retirement.”

“‘Achieving Senior Priest status,’” Tully corrected mockingly.

“Whatever. A lot of those who were pastors had been secure and growing even more secure. They had a long precedent of priests working their parishes as pastors until death. Now suddenly that goal no longer seemed attractive to many of them. They looked at the younger clergy imbued with the spirit of the Council. To them the pastors, in effect, said, ‘Okay, it’s your Church now. You’ve changed it so much it doesn’t look anything like what we grew up in. So, it’s yours.’ Some seniors backed away from their position and became assistants and/or just floated until retirement time.

“Not everyone, mind you, but some.

“And that,” Koesler concluded, “is where the similarity comes in. You are proposing to back down to the role of an assistant rather than take an oath you don’t subscribe to. Some priests, after the Council, did step back to being assistants rather than try to continue playing a familiar game whose rules had been changed.”

“Well,” Tully pondered, “they seemed to make a go of it. Why not me?”

“I don’t know,” Koesler stalled. “I’m not sure how Delvecchio would react to that possibility. But I am concerned about what it might do to you. I’d rather see you make a go of it than retreat.”

Tully smiled broadly. “Somehow be installed canonically as pastor of Old St. Joe’s without taking the Profession or Oath? The perfect solution! But, Bob, life isn’t always like that.”

“I know … I know. But the longer I reflect on the Vincent Delvecchio I’ve known, the more I’m convinced there’s a chink in his armor.”

“You’d think so. After all, bottom line, we’re all priests. You’d think the bonding would mean something. But to me, he seems like a well oiled machine … no sense of compassion.”

“Oh yes,” Koesler responded quickly, “he’s got compassion.”

“Where? When? I haven’t heard any mention of it from anybody.”

21

The pool game long since forgotten, Father Koesler still sat on the edge of the table. Father Tully, audience of one, had seated himself on a chair alongside the table. Now Father Koesler would try to demonstrate that Bishop Delvecchio had a heart. Father Tully was eager to be convinced.

“This happened,” Koesler began, “about the time the Vatican Council ended. I was editor of the diocesan newspaper and Vince was an assistant chancellor.

“There was a priest, Father Fuller, who was pastor of a suburban parish. He was the founding pastor. Now the parish was about eight years old and there was considerable pressure to build a school. The pressure was coming from young couples in the parish who had a lot of school-age children.

“But the pastor was running into a brick wall-well, actually two brick walls. One, he couldn’t raise enough money to commit to the buildings-two buildings at least, the school and a convent. Because starting a parochial school without nuns to staff it was another definition of fat chance; no one could hope to pay lay teachers realistic salaries. And the second problem was getting a commitment from one of the teaching orders. There was an overwhelming need and demand for teaching nuns, especially in the suburbs where so many new parishes had been established basically for young couples starting their families.

“Now it may be hard for you to imagine this, but the pressure got to be too much for Father Fuller. He fell ill … very ill.”

“Oh, I’m willing to take your word for it,” Tully said. “Though it is a bit to swallow. The school wasn’t his need. All he had to do was step aside and give the people who wanted the school the chance to take the responsibility of raising the money to build it and staff it.”

“Dandy idea,” Koesler concurred. “But Fuller couldn’t see it that way. Most pastors of that era felt it incumbent to do it themselves.

“So, you can argue that it was a useless worry-silly, even. But Fuller stewed himself into an ulcer and lots of other ailments that might well have been psychosomatic, but still had their effect on Fuller’s precarious health.

“The chancery-seconded by Fuller’s doctor-was convinced that a month’s R and R would get the pastor back in the saddle. The problem was getting someone to take over the bare necessities-daily and weekend Masses,