William Kienzle - Chameleon

There were times when Pope Paul’s policy would grant laicization for good cause; times when he tightened the restrictions by granting it, say, only to homosexuals; and times when he would not grant it at all.

In Fred Stapleton’s case there was good and bad news. The good news was that at the time he applied, permission was being granted quite liberally. The bad news was that, outside of emergencies, such as when someone was in danger of death, Fred would never again be able to function as a priest.

They were married in the Church by a priest who was a mutual friend.

Fred continued teaching while he earned the degrees necessary for a psychology practice. Irma was not planned but she was made very welcome.

Fred became a very competent and popular psychologist-counselor. His clientele included many celebrities of the Detroit metropolitan area. Often he was quoted in the media, and his photo would appear in the paper or on TV. The Stapletons lived comfortably, though not lavishly. By Pam’s standards, all was well-with the notable exception of Fred’s attitude toward his enforced laicization. And that attitude had blossomed and hardened through the years.

In the beginning, laicization had been an O. Henry sort of gift. Fred thought Pam wanted everything to be kosher. Pam thought Fred would be distressed were he excommunicated. Neither assumption, as it turned out, was true. But each hesitated to talk about it. So Pam endured the months of delay and uncertainty and Fred endured the endless questions of the MMPI test.

Because he was put in the posture of a beggar, that which he sought-permission of the Church for him to function as a layman without the obligation of reciting the breviary daily, and a dispensation from his promise of celibacy-took on heightened desirability.

It was only after the permission had been granted and they were married that Fred could calmly and in clearer focus assess the “favor” the Church had bestowed. In the light of reexamination, it didn’t appear all that beneficent.

As a result of his research into the history and rationale of clerical celibacy, Fred grew increasingly certain that he and others like him had been robbed. He could and should have it all. So, when CORPUS was founded and established in Minneapolis, Fred became a charter member.

Pam was far less enchanted with the organization’s purpose.

Due to their status, Fred and Pam became familiar, and in many cases friendly, with other inactive priests and their spouses. By and large, thought Pam, these were excellent men. And, because it was so often true, she came to expect priests’ wives to be strong, intelligent, capable women.

In Pam’s eyes, CORPUS took a suppliant stance. Dear Church: Have you looked lately? You’re running out of priests. Have you noticed the current median age of your priests? Dear bishops and Pope: Unless you are theologically and historically naive, you know there is no legitimately compelling reason for mandatory celibacy in your clergy. And here we are, thousands of well-trained priests, waiting on the sidelines to go in there and win one for Mother Church.

What galled Pam most about CORPUS was that there was seldom any sort of demand on the part of its members to return to a fully functioning ministry. Rather, she felt the group was willing, almost eager, to settle for some-any-small crumb of their once full ministry.

In short, she felt that good men were demeaning themselves by pleading for something each of them believed was due them by right.

But she sensed Fred’s dedication to the organization and the cause. So she kept her feelings to herself, pondering them in her heart.

So lost in these thoughts was Pam that she was unaware that Irma had concluded “Liebestraum” and had added the unsolicited encore of Schumann’s “Traumerei.”

Irma had turned on the piano bench and was looking at her mother. Pam had no clue as to how long this had been going on. But now, conscious of Irma’s gaze, she said, “Thank you, dear; that was marvelous. Just what the doctor ordered.”

“You didn’t hear a note I played.”

“Oh, but I did. I found it so soothing I got lost in my own reverie. It helped, dear; honest it did.”

Irma wore a concerned expression. “Mama, would you do something special for me?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“Would you make sure Daddy doesn’t do anything foolish?”

Pam was startled. “What?”

“He scared me tonight when he was talking about doing something he never thought he would do. It wasn’t so much his words as his tone of voice. I was almost afraid of him. I’ve never felt like that before.”

“You’ve got to have more confidence in your father, dear. Of course he wouldn’t do anything foolish. Just put that out of your mind.”

Pam would not mention it to her daughter, but Irma had put into words the exact fear that increasingly plagued Pam. She could not nor would she worry her daughter. But Fred had changed in subtle ways. Pam was concerned. She would do her best to make sure Fred did nothing foolish. She shivered as she prayed that even now it was not too late.

Cardinal Mark Boyle offered sister Joan condolences on the death of her sister.

The Cardinal’s speech pattern, on almost all formal occasions, brought to mind a technically and carefully worded textbook. And so it was now. In her mind’s eye, Joan saw the Cardinal’s words framed in hearts and flowers mounted on an antique greeting card.

The others at today’s meeting murmured their agreement with Cardinal Boyle’s expressions, which he had tendered immediately after opening the meeting with a prayer.

That is, at least most of them concurred.

That business completed, there came the shuffling of papers and scraping of chairs. This was a regularly scheduled meeting of “the staff,” which included the heads, leaders, directors of almost every bureau or department in the archdiocese. It was an unwieldy group of some thirty people. Three were women: Sister Joan; the director of continuing education, Joan Blackford Hayes; and Irene Casey, present editor of the Detroit Catholic , Of the men present, almost half the number were lay.

It had not been that way in the beginning.

Father Koesler, as editor of the Detroit Catholic when these staff meetings first began, could testify that in the beginning there had been present only about a dozen people, all of whom were clergymen. In time, the number grew as departments were either added or recognized. And, reflecting the profound vocation shortage, more and more departments were headed by laypeople.

The staff meeting had two basic functions. Each department head reported in writing what his or her agency had accomplished in the past month. And each department head detailed future plans.

The chief topic of today’s meeting was to be Catholic schools of the archdiocese, with emphasis on the ever-shrinking number of parochial grade and high schools.

There had been a time, up to the early 1970s, when almost every parish had its own parochial school. That was an era when teaching sisters were plentiful and some public school services were made available.

Then, in the wake of Vatican II and a judgment of the U.S. Supreme Court, both these staples of parochial education were made unavailable.

The Sisters vanished. Many left the convent for lay careers and/or marriage. Some remained in the religious life but opted for Church positions other than teaching.

And simultaneously, few, very few, were entering religious life.

In 1971 the Supreme Court ruled that any use whatsoever of public funds for private education was unconstitutional.

The virtual disappearance of these two essential resources might imply that the parochial school system would collapse. It hadn’t, but it was leaning more steeply than that tower in Pisa. That it was still even limping along was a tribute to Catholics dedicated and sacrificing to keep it going somehow. In the meantime, it was draining the budgets of those parishes still subsidizing schools.