William Kienzle - Chameleon

“Finally,’ Mother’ is in trouble because she can’t or won’t see any of this. The Church needs us. She needs our experience, Our expertise, and our presence. The Church needs our unique contribution. But ‘Mother’ believes she can get along quite well without us. Here is a’Mother’ who thinks she can get along without some of her most completely trained and most needed children. Not only would it be a joy to return to the active ministry, it would go a long way to repay the debt we owe the institution that nourished our religious lives since we were children.

“Cass, in the final analysis, we must save the Church from herself.”

The hush in the room was remarkable. What had begun as a lighthearted party had evolved into a debate between two of the most successful people at that party. Hershey and Stapleton had started their adult lives as simple parish priests. Abandoning that, the former quickly rose to the top of the local chapter of Massachusetts General Insurance. He was now impressively wealthy.

The latter, while not in Hershey’s financial stratum, was prosperous, but beyond that, he was respected, well regarded in his field, and, at least on the local level, a celebrity.

Among the listeners to their debate, an aura of agreement seemed to flow from one to the other. When Hershey scored a point, though there was no literal movement in the room, one could sense that the majority had been convinced. Only to feel the conviction shift as the other made his point.

Stapleton, with his emotional appeal to affection-even love-that everyone here at least once had for “Mother Church,” had the upper hand at the moment.

“Fred,” Hershey came back, “it’s a mighty strange ‘Mother’ you want to save from herself. Take the two of us, her children, for example. Me first.

“I left the priesthood in about as filial a way as any mother could expect. I didn’t cause any sort of ruckus; no press conferences, no public statement of any kind. I didn’t make any demands about eventually getting a pension, even though I had worked for the Church better than ten years. Now, just about any conscientious organization you can think of gives an employee a vested right to some sort of pension after ten years of employment. Fortunately, I don’t need one. But other guys do, and they’re not going to get it. If big bad businesses can care enough for their employees, you’d think a mother would be at least as decent to her children.

“Instead of rewarding us for our service, ‘Mother’ excommunicated me. Not for leaving the priesthood-no, for getting married.”

“No,” Fred interrupted, “that was because you didn’t get laicized.”

“Which,” Cass returned, “brings us to you. You went through the process, and almost as luck would have it, you got it. You were laicized. So, although you, like me, got married, you are not excommunicated. But what did ‘Mother’ demand as a price for granting the dispensation?

“I’ve read the rescript and I’m sure you have too.”

Fred winced inwardly. He knew what was coming.

“In return for keeping all the rules and going through the whole demeaning process, ‘Mother’ threw some new rules and regulations at you. I can’t hope to remember them all, but here’s a few:

“Outside of being able to absolve someone who is in danger of death-something, by the way, that even I in my state am empowered to do-you cannot exercise any function of a priest. You can’t preach a sermon. You can’t take any part in a liturgy anywhere your ‘condition’ is known. Like you had leprosy and people would be shocked if they knew about it.

“Almost anybody in any parish can be delegated to distribute Communion. They’re called ‘extraordinary ministers of the Eucharist.’ You, who gave Communion almost every day of your life for twenty years, you can’t even be an extraordinary minister.

“You can’t do anything in any seminary in the world. Not only are you barred from teaching theology, you can’t even teach a language in a seminary. You can’t teach in Church-related colleges. You can’t even teach in Church-related schools unless a bishop specifically okays it, and even then, you can’t teach religion there. Of course, the bishop just might-and that’s a heavy-duty ‘might’-let you teach religion as long as it wouldn’t cause scandal. Once again, you are the leper.

“Your marriage has to be the sort that used to be performed in a rectory rather than a church. It has to be performed as if everyone involved is ashamed of what’s happening.

“You are supposed to move out of the locale where you were a priest to somewhere where no one has a chance of knowing that once upon a time you were a priest. Again, a bishop can dispense with this atrocity.

“And finally-and most damaging to your whole argument-it’s final. You can never go back. As excommunicated as I am, I haven’t been put in your category. Were I to be divorced or-God forbid-become a widower, theoretically I could function as a priest again, though they’d probably try to send me to Ethiopia. But you: You’re laicized. You played by all their rules. And because of that, you’re out for good.”

Stapleton was quick to respond. “You’re exaggerating. For one thing, nobody-at least nobody I know-enforces those rules totally. And for another, that ban on laicized priests returning can be changed by the Pope at any time.”

“Okay, Fred, the Pope can do anything he damn well pleases, but this Pope is not likely to do that. And whether or not the rules are enforced is beside the point I’m making-which is that there is no earthly reason why you cannot give Communion, or teach religion, or why you should have to get married like an ecclesiastical leper. There’s certainly no logical reason why you should be specifically banned from functioning as a priest again. The point is: ‘Mother’ is being vindictive, nothing more, nothing less. ‘Hell hath no fury,’ etc. And I don’t think it’s worth it, saving a vindictive ‘Mother’ from herself. Let her founder, I say.”

“It’s worth it, damn it! She’s worth it!” Stapleton was becoming charged. Something he rarely did. “It won’t be easy. That I admit. Something drastic has to happen-is happening-that will get the Church’s attention.”

“There isn’t anything extreme enough to get this institution’s attention. What could do it, Fred? What could do it?”

Stapleton hesitated. He seemed to be struggling inwardly with a decision. “It can’t be told yet. But it will be eventually, and then you’ll see. All of you. You’ll see for yourselves.”

With that, Stapleton nodded to his wife, who long ago had known the evening was going to end early. She went to collect their coats. Then, after murmuring a farewell as well as an apology to the host couple, she rejoined her husband as they left and headed home-in silence, as it turned out.

The party slowly revivified as the guests gradually recovered. Most of them split into small groups and proceeded to debate the issues that had been raised by Hershey and Stapleton.

Meanwhile, Debbie Hershey joined her husband. “That was some tussle.” Debbie carried two highballs. She handed one to Cass.

“You said it. How did we get into that anyway?”

“Don’t you remember? You went over to try to get them to join the rest of the crowd.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” As he sipped his drink he became aware that his throat was sore. “Instead of getting the party together, we damn near broke it up.”

“You know, Cass, we’ve been together a long time. But I’ve never heard you talk about the Church like that.”

Hershey shrugged. “I never think about the Church, I guess. Certainly not as a mother in need of my presence.”