William Kienzle - Masquerade

“Of course, being a priest isn’t the same as it was as we progress from one decade to another. The Council, of course, was the pivotal event. People no longer need the priest for just about everything, as they used to. Probably never should have been that dependent. But, I must admit, it was fun being that in demand. And the laity, who used to be called ‘consultors,’ on a diocesan level with the bishop or on the parochial level with the priest, really should have been called ‘consenters.’ Now, with parish councils, they come close, in many cases, to being arbiters.

“But that’s okay. I like being with people as a priest. I prize the sacramental life of the Church and I’ve always felt honored being able to be a contributing part of that sacramental life. I enjoy trying to make the Gospel message practical in daily life through homilies.

“Oh, like many of my confreres, I am not nutty about some of the Church’s present leaders and the gross amount of control they try to exercise over the people of God. In that respect, we’re lucky to have Cardinal Boyle as our bishop. But, also like many of my confreres, I try to stay out of the hierarchical way and let my life revolve about the parish and the parishioners. And, on that level, I love it.

“Good enough reasons to hang in there?”

“Quite.” Sister Marie had listened intently. By this time, she and Koesler were practically oblivious to the other two groups, who, in turn, were wrapped up in their own respective conversations.

“And now, Sister, your reasons,” Koesler said. “Why are you still with us?”

Marie placed her glass on the table, apparently deciding not to have more wine, at least until dinner was served. “I’ve thought about it, of course, as you have.”

“Haven’t we all?”

“Yes, I suppose so. What with so many of our friends leaving the priesthood, religious life. Many of them good people. It has to make you wonder about yourself. That and all the changes. As you suggest, far more cataclysmic for us than for you. I’ve had to reevaluate my commitment more than once.

“I’m not the immature teenager I was when I entered some thirty years ago.” Marie grew reflective, almost as if she were speaking to herself. “I guess I was running away from things-life-as much as entering with a gracious heart to serve Christ.

“Those early years, so filled with submission and dependence! Then the upheaval of the sixties and early seventies that tore apart structures and relationships and left only a remnant group.

“I don’t know about everyone else, but some of us-myself in particular-had to find new-what? — virtues to rebuild our lives in religion. Instead of blind submission, maturity. And instead of dependence, interdependence.”

“Interdependence?”

“Yes. We may not be living in actual convents anymore, but the Sisters depend on each other a lot for support and courage, for example. And that, of course, extends out to the laity. It’s not the dependence we once felt for the rule and for our superiors. Janet, for example, depends on me. And I depend on her.”

Koesler was about to say something, but changed his mind. Obviously, Marie had thought this out fully. Undoubtedly prayed over it. He knew he would profit from her conclusions. All he had to do was listen. Sometimes that was not easy.

She concluded her apologia as if she were announcing it to humanity in general rather than as a simple answer to Koesler’s simple question: ‘Why stay?’

“To me,” Marie said, “the religious woman of today must be, fundamentally, what she has always needed to be: well educated and informed, compassionate, living her faith. Only she must be stronger, since much of the support she could once expect from her community, and the straightforward demands made of her, are now gone. Before, she was supposed to feel compassion without expressing it. Now, she must not only feel distinctly womanly compassion, she must know intuitively how to share love without compromising the chaste life. Her faith must be stronger since she is no longer shielded by convent walls from a skeptical and agnostic world.

“She is also a challenge to the hierarchy since she obviously is qualified in every essential way to equal opportunity in the priesthood. Only the hierarchy’s obstinate ignorance keeps her in a secondary subordinate role. Her very existence is a silent challenge the institutional Church must face. Free of family demands, she can be a persistent advocate for the powerless. She is a voice against injustice with a deep desire that oppression of everyone will cease.

“With the old structures left behind, new unlimited boundaries of every human need will be sufficient challenge in her service to Christ and humanity in and through her religious commitment.”

She paused and Koesler remained silent. She was finished. It didn’t seem there were any more words either of them could say that might add to her statement of purpose. Koesler found himself wishing there were some way her rationale could be published somewhere. In the climate of today’s Catholicism, wherein too few could see any point to a religious vocation, hers was a voice that needed to be heard.

After a few moments during which they both reflected on what she had said, Koesler asked, “Before the convent, did you go to a parochial school?”

She smiled at the memory. “Yes. Grade school, high school, then off to Monroe and the convent.”

“And IHM blue.”

“Yes, and IHM blue.”

“Were you like me? That you always wanted the vocation?”

“No, Father, not like that. I’m afraid my class would not have voted me the girl most likely to be a nun.”

“Wild?” He was imagining the sort of behavior that would have been described as “wild” in a parochial setting of that era. By today’s standards, it would not even be mentioned among minor sinners. He’d even smiled as he broached the word “wild.”

But Marie didn’t smile for a moment or two. Then a hesitant grin appeared. “Let’s just say that conversion is good for the soul. Look what it did for Saint Augustine.”

“That’s true.” For an instant he looked at her in a different light. Even in her middle years she was still most attractive. As a young woman she had undoubtedly been a knockout. It was like seeing actress Loretta Young all dressed up in the traditional nun’s habit and regretting that all that beauty and charm was locked up inside countless yards of wool.

There was no time for further speculation in any case. The waitresses began wheeling in the food. Sister Janet invited all to dinner, and all responded eagerly.

Koesler reflected that just twenty-four hours ago, these had been the dramatis personae in Krieg’s little psychodrama. The waitresses, the kitchen crew, Sister Janet-they’d all been in on it.

Krieg dead. Murdered. A consummation devoutly to be wished? Banish it from your mind, Koesler, he told himself. Certainly not Christian. Hardly humane. But, given all that had happened in just the last two days, a fairly reasonable conclusion.

Marie did not seem at all surprised when Janet invited her to lead the group in a blessing. Perhaps it had been prearranged.

“Blessed are you, God of all creation,” Marie prayed. “Through your goodness we have this nourishment to share. May we share ourselves willingly and generously as You have shared yourself with us.”

There was a pause. And everyone said, “Amen.”

A nice ecumenical grace, Koesler thought. Yes, that must have been prearranged. No offense to Christian or Jew. Something for everyone.

He regarded the seating arrangement. The three women again were seated consecutively. Then, clockwise, Winer, Koesler, Benbow, Augustine, and Krieg. Thus Krieg and Winer, this afternoon’s adversaries, were seated opposite each other.