no embarrassment in this situation. He might only have been observing some self-imposed protocol in asking if it would be permissible for him and his wife to attend Mass.
Be that as it may, Koesler felt the potential for embarrassment in the question. Koesler was at an unfair advantage. They were at a Catholic college, in a Catholic chapel. It was Koesler’s home field advantage and Benbow couldn’t even compete.
All these considerations took only moments to flash across Koesler’s mind.
He turned determinedly to Benbow. “I have a thought: How about concelebrating with me?”
Benbow was clearly startled. “Are you sure? I mean, are you sure you want to make this offer?”
“Believe me,” Koesler said, “I am well aware of the complexities. But I don’t think there’ll be any problem. This is a small and tightknit group we have here. Like-minded people, I think. I really doubt there’ll be any trouble. In fact, I think I would have had a problem if I
“If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure. How about it?”
“I think it would be grand. And I’m grateful.”
“Then come on,” Koesler said, “let’s see if we can find a couple of decent-sized albs in here.”
Rummaging through the vestment cases, they managed to uncover two large-sized albs. That was adequate for Benbow. Koesler needed an extra large, but by now he was convinced he wasn’t going to find one. Large would have to do. It was, in any case, a significant improvement over the previous medium size.
They were nearly completely vested when the door to the sacristy opened and, somewhat breathlessly, Father Augustine entered, clad in Trappist habit.
“I hope I’m not too late to. .” His voice trailed off. “What’s this?” he asked, as he realized that both Koesler and Benbow were vested. “What’s the meaning of this!”
“Welcome,” said Koesler, warmly. “I wasn’t expecting you. Feeling better?”
Augustine ignored the question. “I came down to concelebrate the holy sacrifice of the Mass.”
The tone of voice and needless adjectives told Koesler here was trouble on a collision course. Nonetheless he chose to avoid a scene if at all possible. “And so you shall concelebrate. As soon as we find some vestments for you.” If there was going to be any unpleasantness it would be of Augustine’s doing.
Augustine readily accepted the challenge. “Father Koesler, is this some sort of joke? If so, it is in very poor taste.”
Koesler, in turn, was quickly running out of bonhomie. “It’s getting kind of late to start a canonical or theological disputation.” He went to the door leading to the sanctuary and glanced into the chapel. “There are two nuns, Mrs. Benbow, and a couple of young ladies-students, I suppose-who are waiting for nothing more than a simple celebration of Mass. And we are, by this time, a couple of minutes late. Now, do you or do you not wish to concelebrate?”
“With whom? A heretic and someone who is violating the laws of God?”
“Now wait a minute!” Koesler was angered by Augustine’s gratuitous use of the word heretic.
“There’s no need for this,” Benbow said apologetically. “I. .” He began to remove the vestments he had donned.
“No, don’t!” Koesler gestured, stopping Benbow. “Now look here, Augustine, there’s no need for you to be so priggish.”
“Priggish!” Augustine shot back. “Was Jesus being priggish when he cast out the moneychangers from the Temple?”
“Moneychangers! Are you kidding?”
“There is no justification whatsoever for you to concelebrate Mass with a representative of a heretical Church!”
“I assume you are allowed to read in the monastery, Father,” Koesler said, “even if only ecclesial documents. If you’ve been reading, you know that the joint Catholic Anglican Commission has all but granted the validity of Anglican orders.”
“I couldn’t care less what some commission has ‘all but’ done.”
“And I wish you’d stop throwing the word ‘heretic’ around.”
“It’s the proper word. Are you willing to admit that what you’re doing is against the law?”
“I suppose it depends on what you mean by law.”
“You know very well what I mean by law: God’s law.”
“When last I checked with my Bible, God’s law was the law of love. At least that’s what Jesus said: ‘A new commandment I give you, that you love one another as I have loved you.’”
“You’re hopeless.”
Koesler began an inner battle against rising anger. “Look at it this way, Augustine: No one is forcing you to do anything. You may concelebrate this Mass with us, if you wish. After all, that’s why you came down this morning. You can attend this Mass, if you prefer. Or you can go back to bed.” Or, for all I care, he added silently, you can drop dead.
Self-righteousness radiated from Augustine the way Moses must have glowed when he descended from the mountain after his conversation with God. “None of the above,” Augustine announced. “I will not concelebrate this farce. Nor will I even witness it. And, instead of going back to bed, I’m going to call your Chancery and tell them what’s going on here.”
With that, leaving neither time nor opportunity for further discussion, Augustine turned and stormed from the sacristy.
After a moment or two of embarrassed silence, Benbow spoke. “I’m going to solve this little problem.” And he began to remove his vestments.
“You don’t have to do that,” Koesler protested. But he saw it was useless to argue the matter further.
“It was very kind of you to invite me to celebrate with you. And I sha’nt forget it. I should have just thanked you and declined your invitation. There’ll always be an Augustine up on the battlements defending Mother Church.”
“Yeah. .” Koesler shook his head sadly, “or defending God. I’ve never figured out why God needs defending. For that matter, I don’t know why Mother Church needs defending. Canon Law holds all the cards.”
“And that was the law to which Augustine was referring.”
“I know. I know.”
“I hope you won’t be forced to play cards with the Chancery.”
“Why?” Koesler looked surprised. “Nothing happened. . or, in the language of Canon Law,
“Doesn’t the intention count in this diocese?”
Koesler snorted. “We’ve got enough problems staffing parishes without penalizing priests for what they’re thinking. Besides, the buck on a thing like this stops at the desk of the archbishop. And, to stay with our metaphor, he doesn’t like to play his hand unless he is forced into doing so.”
Benbow had disrobed. “You’re sure you’ll be all right?”
“Certain.”
“Then I’ll just leave. I’ll get Martha. Maybe they’ve started serving breakfast.”
Koesler protested. “You don’t have to leave entirely. When this thing started, your only request was to attend the Mass, and you certainly may do that.”
“Don’t know how to explain it, old man: The taste is gone.” He smiled ruefully. “See you later.”
The taste had faded for Koesler also. But he was not free to simply walk away from the scene. People-a few people anyway-were waiting for him to offer Mass. And he was late. Given his obsession with punctuality, this was an added vexation.
He was already vested, so he merely went to the altar and began setting things up for Mass. As he did so, visions of the ugly scene that had just transpired haunted him.
Things could have been so very satisfying. Along with, and as much as, many others, Koesler had long been unhappy and uneasy with the disunity, the divisiveness, the schisms within Christianity. On those occasions when he participated in gatherings that included members of various Christian sects, he was invariably troubled that this temporary, ad hoc harmonious fellowship could not be permanent.
