Sister Janet thanked the faculty and opened the floor to questions. At the outset, nothing was forthcoming. This did not surprise Koesler. It was a common reaction. Not that people didn’t have questions. Many of them were embarrassed to volunteer a question, fearing that the others would think it stupid or inane.
Slowly, hesitantly at first, the questions began, until, encouraged that no one was going to pose the “definitive” question, hands were raised throughout the audience. In Koesler’s experience, this was the classic way question-and-answer sessions developed. He began testing his theories on who was who by the nature of the question.
A smiling lady-no notepad at hand-directed a question to Sister Marie. How, the lady wanted to know, could Sister find time to write a book with all she had to do in Florida? (Very familiar with Sister’s book. A fan, Koesler guessed.)
Marie’s response was that writing full-time was, by far, the ideal way to do it. But that was a literary “Catch 22.” One has to be successful at writing before one can afford to treat oneself to writing full-time. While pursuing that goal, there are few alternatives to working at a full-time paying job and writing concurrently.
Others on the panel contributed illustrations of how they managed their time. Coincidentally, each of the writers held active religious vocations that made primary demands on their lives. Benbow attested that afternoons afforded the best opportunity to write. Marie traveled frequently; minutes squeezed out on trains, planes, and buses were most accessible for her writing. Winer’s best times were early mornings and Sundays. The other three expressed doubts: Sundays were the busiest days for Christian ministers, priests, and in this case, a nun in charge of education that was emphasized on Sundays.
Good-naturedly, the three Christian authors chided Winer for working on Sunday. Just as affably, he reminded them that he was the only one among them observing the Sabbath-literally the seventh day of the week, Saturday.
Sister Janet appeared inclined to let the questions roll on. On most occasions such as this, there was a time limit for Q and A. But there was nothing more on the schedule until dinner. The arrangement was fine as far as Koesler was concerned. He had found the question period to almost always be the most lively and scintillating segment of this sort of program.
Without raising her hand, a youngish dark-haired woman shot a challenge at Winer. Didn’t he think, she asked, that a rabbi’s involvement with the world was too confined to make him the central character in a mystery novel?
In response, the smiling Winer explained some of the responsibilities and talents required of the average rabbi.
But, she persisted, what of the tendency of Jews to ghettoize themselves, to form their own tight-knit communities and become isolated from outsiders? What, she concluded, made Winer think the community at large would be interested in what this tiny handful of people did or thought?
Winer, holding himself under tight control, gave a brief synopsis of some of the major accomplishments of Jews through history, as well as a short review of Jews being driven by Gentiles into ghettos rather than choosing to isolate themselves. But Winer’s presentation was strictly academic, almost devoid of passion or argumentation. The rabbi seemed convinced that there was no way he could enter this woman’s closed mind, let alone change it.
Winer, Marie, Benbow, and Augustine were asked a representative number of questions mainly because the Q and A lasted so long. From the beginning, the most popular figure on the dais was Klaus Krieg. It was as if the students could not believe that they now had access to a genuine television personality. And it was obvious that many in the audience were very familiar with his telecasts.
To Koesler’s observation, questions addressed to Krieg ranged from what seemed honest attempts to learn something about the publishing field, to the more celebrity-conscious queries regarding what life is really like in front of the lights and cameras and, most importantly, what Krieg’s celebrity guests were really like off- camera.
It was toward what turned out to be the windup of the question-and-answer session that the blockbuster query came.
The question came from a mousy woman who seemed almost reluctant to ask it.
“Reverend Krieg,” she began, “I’ve read a few of the books you’ve published, and there’s one thing I’ve been wondering about: They always contain something extraneous to the religious storyline. What I mean is, there always seems to be an awful lot of. . uh. . oh. . violence and. . uh … sex in your books.” She had not actually articulated a question. Yet the implication was clear.
Krieg did not immediately respond. Koesler had the impression he had fielded this or a similar question many times and was weighing his choice of approach.
Having decided, Krieg, adopting a more orotund tone, almost shouted, “We are sinners, sister, each and every one! Violence prowls our streets. You good people from this area should be well acquainted with that!
“And sex!” He passed the shadow of a glance toward his fellow panelists, but did not break cadence. “Sex is everywhere. And we have fallen. We are fallen! Violence, sex, both are part of our lives, part of our fallen lives. I say again, we are sinners, sister! We are sinners. Violence and sex are part of our sinful selves. If it’s part of our lives, it ought to be part of our reading. But, praise God, sisters and brothers! We have been saved. Washed in the blood of the Lamb! Praise God!”
Several in the audience repeated the doxology, “Praise God,” but somewhat self-consciously, as if unfamiliar with the participatory prayer of tent-preaching or the Black liturgy.
The dark-haired woman who had tried to pin Rabbi Winer spoke up, again without bothering to raise her hand. “Wait a minute, Reverend. I haven’t read everything all of the other panelists have written, but I’ve sampled something from each of them. You don’t find that sort of thing in the books they write … at least not in the prurient way your books treat sex and violence.
“What about it, Reverend?”
Krieg’s smile disappeared. This definitely was not the way he’d anticipated the program would flow. When he replied, it was in a more subdued manner. “Well, sister, I don’t know that I want to comment on the work of my distinguished colleagues. Comparisons are odious, as the poet says.”
The dark-haired woman smiled a victor’s smile. “Go ahead,” she urged.
“Really,” Sister Janet interrupted, “if Reverend Krieg does not wish to comment-”
“That’s all right, Sister,” Krieg broke in. “Praise God! If our sister out there wants to pursue the question, we’ll do just that!” His tone changed subtly from that of the preacher to that of the lecturer, but nonetheless confident.
“The answer, sister,” Krieg explained, “has something to do with the television ministry. Anyone here know how many people watch the Gospel of the Good News bein’ preached over the Praise God Network?”
The heads that shook in negative response belonged to Marygrove students; actually none in the audience knew.
“On an average program,” Krieg declared, “approximately sixty million souls!”
There was a shared gasp.
“Now, sisters and brothers,” Krieg said, “all these millions of souls starvin’ for the message of hope and salvation don’t even know they’re hungry! Praise God! Hungry for the Lord! Praise God!
“But they’re not findin’ Him in church. You take your average parish church-or synagogue, for that matter-of a Sunday or a Saturday. Attendance goin’ down all the time. Then you take the Praise God Tabernacle. Climbin’, everything’s climbin’. I’m not just talkin’ the souls occupyin’ the pews of the Tabernacle. I’m talkin’ viewers. Besides the sixty million or so. Our message is broadcast in 143 countries.”
There was a quiet but definite audience reaction.
“Now I ask you, brothers and sisters, what’s the difference? Why are we gainin’ while they’re losin’?” He paused to let the implications of the question sink in. Then he answered it himself. “Pizzazz!” Another pause. “That’s right, brothers and sisters: pizzazz!”
His audience clearly was at sea.
“Lemmee give you an example. ’Member Fulton Sheen?” Krieg looked around, smiling benevolently. “Nah, you’re too young to remember him. .”
The majority, who did recall the popular radio and television prelate, appreciated the gift of years.
Krieg proceeded. “Fulton Sheen-monsignor, bishop-drew a good crowd. But I think it’s clear he started with a
