No Greater Love (18 page)

“Father Tully”—he directly addressed the pastor—“you're a priest. How come when you haven't got the Mass, when some other priest is the celebrant, how come you don't come over to the church to help him out with Communion? How come you leave that up to the ordinary people?”

Cody stared resolutely at Tully, awaiting a response to Kruger's question, or rather, Kruger's challenge. “Father?”

Tully had not anticipated being called up on so inconsequential a matter. He was taken aback.

“Hans,” he said, faintly, “it doesn't really matter whether I help with Communion or not. We're still going to have extraordinary ministers giving Communion. We always have at least three people distributing. If another priest has the Mass, and if I come over to help, we still need an extraordinary minister to help.

“Besides,” he continued, “that won't be a problem for you any longer. I'm not going to be asking for help from another priest. I'm going to take all the Masses—both weekends and daily.”

“Isn't that a bit much, Father?” Mrs. Cronin knew what work was. “We need you. We don't want you getting sick.”

Tully smiled. “Not to worry, Mrs. Cronin. I'm healthy and still fairly young. Besides, I have Father Koesler's assurance that if and when we need him, he will come unless something makes that impossible.”

Silence for several moments. Evidently, the pause was to allow Kruger to pursue the subject if he so chose.

“If you are satisfied,” Cody said to Kruger finally, “we'll move on.”

Another short silence.

“Eileen,” Cody addressed his wife, “you may resume.”

She hesitated briefly. “Well, there's the Folk Mass that's been added to the schedule—”

“Yeah,” Kruger dove in, “I was meaning to ask about that. What in tarnation is that? I sort of figured it was going to be some kind of group Mass. Like the Veterans of Foreign Wars, or the Knights of Columbus, or the Daughters of Isabella, or something like that. I figured it didn't involve me. So I just kept going to the ten o'clock.

“But some of the people have asked me what's going on. So … what's going on?”

“Father?” Once again Cody called on Tully to respond to a Hans Kruger question. This time, there was no sense of respect in the president's tone.

Tully felt like standing and pacing. He didn't think that would be appropriate. So he forced himself to stay seated.

“We have,” Tully said, “begun a Mass at five in the afternoon on Sundays. I intend it to be part of our regular weekend schedule—”

“Excuse me,” Kruger interrupted, “but they tell me that there isn't a single one of the three Masses we already have that is crowded. I know that's true of the ten o'clock one that I attend. So, my question is: What do we need another Mass for?”

Before replying, Tully looked around the table. All eyes were on him. But each face had a different expression.

Father Tully had been well briefed before he'd ever attended a council meeting, on the personalities of the members. Cody, of course, was a staunch conservative, bordering on the fundamentalist viewpoint. His wife, Eileen, might be liberal—or maybe just opposed to whatever her husband favored.

Hans Kruger was conservative, but could be swayed by sufficient argument. Although, at least at the outset of any matter brought before the council, he tended to agree with Bill Cody.

Molly Cronin leaned slightly left on most issues, but could be convinced otherwise.

Of the missing council members, John Falahee leaned right and Harvey Wilds favored the left.

If all members were in attendance, Tully could count on the probability of an even split: two following Bill and two responding to Eileen. The priest was able to break any tie vote.

This evening, even with two absentees, the same configuration applied. Except that now, one would be on Bill's team and one on Eileen's. The deciding vote was still Father Tully's.

Which, Tully knew, didn't make all that much difference. But thus far in his relationship with the parish council, he hadn't had to use all of his power as pastor.

Tully returned to Kruger's question. “That's true, Hans: We don't come close to an SRO crowd at any of our Masses.”

“Excuse me, Father,” said Mrs. Cronin, “what do you mean by an SRO crowd?”

“Sorry, Molly. That's a standing-room-only crowd.”

“The kind we get at Christmas and Easter?”

“That's the kind.” Tully smiled. “We're not doing badly, particularly for a core city parish. And for that, I'll tip my hat to Father Koesler. He gathered in a lot of those town house and high-rise people.”

He paused and glanced at Bill Cody. Cody was one of the high-rise people. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were not kind. His brush cut, in this context, created the image of a soldier. An angry soldier.

“So why the Folk Mass?” Mrs. Cronin asked.

“What is a Folk Mass?” Kruger dug for the root of the matter.

“Okay …” Tully took a deep breath. “I understand St. Joe's parish has never had a Folk Mass before. But I can tell you, it's a very popular liturgy. Almost all parishes have them regularly or from time to time.

“It's called a Folk Mass because it is not as formal as a regular Mass. And it usually has a specific theme. Maybe the most popular Folk Mass is one for children. The idea is to take the structure of the Mass and make each part relevant to the age and interest of the children. The hymns, the songs, the prayers will be ones that the kids can relate to. The children will take a much more active role in the liturgy. There's room for a lot of creativity in a Folk Mass.”

“You make it sound very sweet and attractive for the children,” Mrs. Cronin said. “It makes me wonder why we haven't had this kind, of Mass before.”

“You mean the new Mass on Sundays is going to be for children?” Kruger asked.

“Why don't you tell them the purpose of this Folk Mass, Father?” There was something almost sadistic about Bill Cody's smile.

“It's not for children?” Kruger seemed perplexed.

“Then why did you tell us about a children's Mass?” Mrs. Cronin demanded.

Tully sighed inwardly. “It's not for children,” he said. “There aren't enough Catholic kids in our parish to warrant that kind of program … at least we haven't been able to find enough as yet.

“Look,” he continued, “a substantial number of African-Americans came to me. They are Catholic, though some had not been practicing for some time. They wanted a liturgy that spoke to them and their families. They made a good case for it.

“So, after a lot of thought and prayer I said okay. At least we'll try it for a while and see what happens.”

“The Mass is for Negroes?” It was not an insulting designation to Kruger.

“It's for African-Americans,” Tully corrected, “and for anyone else who finds meaning in that liturgy. It's about the same thing as whether anybody besides African-Americans can appreciate Aretha Franklin, Bill Cosby, Sidney Poitier, Harry Belafonte, Paul Robeson, and so on.

“It started out being for and by African-Americans. But the clear idea at the outset was that anybody who wanted to participate would be welcome. As of now, quite a few white people have joined in. And, I should point out, we've gained quite a few new members for this parish.”

Kruger and Cronin seemed impressed.

“Maybe you could clarify some considerations,” Cody said.

“Yes?” Tully focused complete attention on Cody.

“Are there any other churches around here that offer this kind of thing?”

“Well, yes.”

“How many would you say?”

“I don't know.”

“There are four or five practically surrounding us. In fact,” Cody pressed, “just about every inner-city parish has got a program like this.”

There was a significant pause. Why, thought Tully, had Cody asked when he obviously knew the answer.

Cody pressed on. “You mentioned that Father Koesler offered to help. Is that offer effective right now?”

“Yes, I believe it is.”

“As a matter of fact, it is. I talked to Father yesterday. He would have come to this meeting if he had been able. Isn't it a fact”—Cody might have been in a courtroom—“isn't it a fact,” he repeated, “that you practically pushed Father out of the parish so he would not see this travesty for himself?”

“Of course not! And it is not a travesty. It's a legitimate form of Folk Mass.”

“We'll see about that. Father Koesler will observe that thing next Sunday. And I'm going to get the director of worship to come too.”

“You been at this Mass, Bill?” Kruger asked.

“I've been there,” Cody answered. “I've seen it with my own eyes! Hans, earlier tonight you brought up some things about the Mass that troubled you. Specifically, lay people doing the readings and distributing Communion. You were correct in saying that these functions used to be performed by priests. Priests did read from Scripture. Priests did distribute Communion. Then came the
Council
…”

He managed to make the Council's very name sound evil.

“Then came the Council,” Cody repeated. “John Twenty-third was described as opening a window to let in the fresh winds of change. They called the process
aggiornamento,
an Italian word.

“But once the window was opened, a lot of things flew out. The venerable Latin, the impeccable staging of the Mass, the time-honored reverence for the priest—another Christ—who always wore an impressive uniform that identified him, solid theology based on centuries of development. Now it's priests leaving by the carload, vocations to the priesthood bottoming out—”

“Bill,” Eileen said shortly, “what does any of this have to do with an innocent Folk Mass that's just being tried? Get hold of yourself!”

“What does this have to do with an
innocent
Folk Mass?” Cody's fierce eyes skewered his wife. “I'll tell you what!

“It was the mid-sixties. We had a Pope who looked and acted like Santa Claus. The bishops of the world gathered in Rome. Except that the bishops didn't do their homework. They didn't know what was going on.

“They brought so-called experts with them. The experts had done their homework. The bishops were like dummies sitting on the experts' laps. The bishops by and large did what the experts advised them to. That's when we got our bastard Mass language and plastic prayers. That's when we got the seeds of liberation theology. That's when we got this whole stinking mess we call the liberal Church.

“The Council ended and we got all this crap foisted on us. On you, Hans. And on you, Molly. We thought all these changes must be good; after all, the Holy Spirit guides His Church … doesn't He?” Cody's voice rose to a crescendo. “He does,” Cody answered his own question, “unless someone seemingly in authority betrays the Spirit.

“And that's what happened. We gradually accepted all those early changes, new rituals for our beloved Mass. Now it's too late.

“Hans … Molly … you remember how it was. It seemed one week we attended a Mass that had been celebrated the same way in the same language for a hundred years and more. And the next week we had this bastard ceremony with poorly constructed English texts.

“Well, we learned to accept that. We didn't realize that the changes were going to keep coming … that they would never stop.

“So, Hans, you can bellyache all you want about priests not carrying out their roles in the Mass. You can even go back to the earliest changes and argue against them. But it won't do you any good … not any good at all.

“It's too late … it's too late. It's a done deal.

“Now, along comes the Folk Mass. It's not exactly brand new. It's been around.

“But it's not been around St. Joseph's before. Not ever. Not until some weeks ago when our pastor, all on his own, with no one else's input, with not a nod to the parish council, starts having a Folk Mass, on Sundays, in an extra Mass we don't need.

“Well, Hans, Molly, it's not too late for this one! This one we can—and must—nip in the bud. Either we stop this Folk Mass nonsense right now, or we lose another battle for good and all.

“I motion”—Cody emphasized every word of his motion—“that the Folk Mass recently inaugurated in our parish schedule for Sundays be discontinued and never be revived.”

“I second that motion,” Kruger echoed.

“I feel,” Cody said, silencing what Tully was about to say, “that there has been enough discussion on this topic. I call for an immediate vote. Those in favor of the motion?”

Kruger and Cronin raised their hands along with Cody.

“Those opposed?”

Eileen raised her hand. Slowly, Tully raised his, then turned. “Molly!” Tully said the name softly. He seemed stunned. It was as if he'd said, “Judas.”

Molly blushed and stammered. “I … I'm sorry, Father. But if they have their own Mass in all these neighboring parishes …”

“That's not the point, Molly. This is their parish too,” Tully insisted. “This Folk Mass is geared for their needs, their lifestyles—”

“It's a little late to continue the argument, Father,” Cody said. “The vote's been taken. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. This time you lost.”

“What do you mean?” Tully addressed Cody.

“The vote, of course. This is the end of your Folk Mass.”

“You mean you don't know?”

“Don't know what?” Cody's voice had lost the edge of victory.

“Why,” Tully replied, “the role of a parish council.”

“It's an administrative body. It makes law for its parish,” Cody responded.

Tully shook his head slowly. “It's not an administrative body; it's consultative. I thought you knew that.”

“That can't be!”