The Greatest Evil (16 page)

At this point, a student exited Father Finn’s office. The young man appeared chastened. Father Finn could effect this with little effort. Koesler knew from first-person experience.

The student, obviously embarrassed beyond words, beyond even a glance, walked past Koesler without eye contact.

Koesler wondered idly about the offense. It could have been almost anything. What the young man probably did not comprehend was that if Finn had given him hell, at least the rector was trying to save the lad’s vocation. If he were considered dispensable, Finn wouldn’t have expended so much emotional firepower on him. Still, as Koesler knew full well, the drill was painful.

Like an abruptly diminishing storm, Finn’s demeanor changed.

For the offender, Finn’s countenance promised thunder and lightning. But as the door closed behind the student, the rector’s face cleared to welcome Koesler.

Father Finn had perhaps two interests in life: one, the priesthood; the other, those who wanted to enter it.

A few years ago, Koesler easily could have been that chastised student. Now he shared a priesthood with Finn; the rector would greet Koesler like a long-lost relative.

And so he did, ushering the young priest into his office.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about the rector’s office. Two walls were lined with bookcases filled with works in his fields: moral theology and Canon Law. The oak desk was uncluttered. The wall behind the chair Koesler selected was opaque glass on either side of the entry door. Behind Finn was a picture window overlooking a well-kept courtyard and one of the transverse cloistered walkways.

The rector smiled. “Well, Bob, how are things going with you?”

Bob.
In Koesler’s four years in these buildings, Finn had called him “Koesler,” “Mr. Koesler,” or its Latin form—“Domne Koesler.” Never anything close to “Bob.”

“Pretty good,” Koesler replied. “Really, very good.”

“Much difference between St. Norbert’s and that east side urban parish?”

“Quite a bit. Most of the people in St. Norbert’s are my age, roughly, and starting their families. Couple of years ago we built our grade school. Staffed it with Dominican nuns. It really seems to have pulled the parish together. Quite phenomenal.”

“Really.” Finn seemed to be taking mental notes.

Koesler had come to believe that if Father Finn were vulnerable anywhere, it was in his experience—or rather, lack of it—of life in a parish.

In his day in the seminary in San Francisco, Finn had been invited by the Sulpician faculty to join their society. Finn had accepted the invitation. So, after ordination, off he went to prepare for a life of teaching seminarians.

All Sulpicians were, in reality, diocesan priests, on loan as it were to the Society of St. Sulpice. Finn, for example, belonged to the archdiocese of San Francisco. Should he at any time leave the Sulps, as they were sometimes familiarized, he would revert to his San Francisco diocese.

The point being that he never had: He’d never left the Society. Thus his parochial experience was zilch.

Koesler reasoned that the fact that Finn was preparing young men for a life he had never experienced must be frustrating, embarrassing, and even intimidating.

Koesler could almost see the file drawer in Finn’s head slide open for the insertion of “Parochial school: presence tends to pull parish together.”

“And how are things here?” Koesler knew he was going to have to introduce the subject very soon. Finn was not one to shoot the breeze interminably. He really worked at his job and even now was spending time that had been allocated for something else.

“Everything appears to be on schedule,” Finn replied. “The academic year is ending and we’re getting ready for the ordinations.”

Every word of that statement could have been previously supplied by Koesler. It was March. Easter was just around the corner. And in a couple of more months, June would see sophomores ordained to the minor orders of porter and lector; juniors would receive the first major order of subdeacon; and of course the seniors would become priests.

“That”—Koesler tapped tobacco into firmness and lit a cigarette—“is, mostly, what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Finn had already inserted a cigarette into its silver holder and accepted a light from Koesler’s Zippo. Smoke streamed from his nostrils. “Can we be of any help?” Finn opened wide the door to whatever was concerning Koesler.

“Quite frankly …” Koesler made firm eye contact. “… I’m here about Vincent Delvecchio.”

Finn grew a bit more guarded. He was not happy with anyone who might meddle with the students given unto his care. “Delvecchio isn’t here just now. I gave him permission to go home for the day … something about his mother.”

“I know.”

Finn cocked an eyebrow.

“His mother hasn’t been well for quite some time,” Koesler said.

“I know.”

“What was different about today,” Koesler continued, “was the diagnosis—or rather the verdict.”

“That bad!” Not in so many words had Koesler spoken of Mrs. Delvecchio’s terminal condition. But Finn had divined the conclusion.

Koesler nodded. “Pancreatic cancer.”

Finn exhaled audibly. “Is there any hope? Radiation?”

“Her doctor doesn’t hold much hope. No, change that and let’s be realistic: no hope.”

“And the family?”

“Holding up better than I expected.”

“We will, of course, pray.”

“That’s one of the things I wanted to mention.”

“Prayer?” Finn had taken that for granted.

“Vincent has gone a bit beyond a prayer asking for relief of suffering, resignation to God’s will, that sort of thing …” Koesler paused. “He wants a miracle. No, stronger: He
expects
a miracle. To happen as a result of prayer.”

“And his mother?”

“Well, she wouldn’t turn down a miracle. Like all the noble mothers I’ve known, she wants to be preserved so she can care for her children.”

“She really expects a miracle?”

“Hopes … prays; I don’t think she
expects.”

“Vincent’s brother and sister?”

It somewhat surprised Koesler that Finn would—off the top of his head—know that Vincent had two siblings. There were so many students here. But that was Finn’s way: He knew everything he could about everyone.

Koesler snuffed out his cigarette. “Tony agreed to pray. But as far as enlisting others … not much of a chance. It’s hard to imagine him making a plea to the faculty and students of Western Michigan to join in prayer for a miraculous healing.

“As for Lucy …”

“She’s just graduating high school, isn’t she?”

If not surprised, Koesler surely was impressed with Finn’s familiarity as to his students’ families. “Yes,” he acknowledged. “She’s going to have to be the mainstay of this effort. She’ll have the day-to-day responsibility. She was supposed to enlist the special prayers of the parishioners and students at St. William’s parish. But I’ve already talked to the pastor, and it’s no dice.”

“Surely he would not turn down a request for prayer!”

“No, no. I’m sorry; I didn’t phrase that very well. Of course he’ll ask the parish for prayer—but not for a miracle.”

“Hmmm … interesting,” Finn mused. “Was there a stated reason?”

“Uh-huh. Father Walsh feared that their faith would be harmed or weakened if and when the miracle was not granted.”

“So Father Walsh is convinced there will be no miracle.”

“He’s been around.” It was Koesler’s best evaluation of the situation. Probably Walsh had asked for his share of miracles that hadn’t been granted. To the point where he believed that a miracle was an extremely rare event—and doubted that he would see one personally.

As it happened, the same line of thought occurred to Father Finn. One more parochial experience for the mental file cabinet. What might have been a smile played about Father Finn’s lips. “Well, then, since this petition for a miraculous cure seems to have originated with Mr. Delvecchio, and since he has tried to enlist his brother and sister to start such a crusade in their schools and parish, may I assume a similar proposal will be made to this institution?”

“That is one of the reasons I’m here.”

“You are going to make the plea?”

“No, not really. My purpose is to prepare you for Vinnie’s request.” He figured he might get away with this straight-from-the-shoulder presentation because he was no longer a student but a graduate. Finn was a priest, but no more so than Koesler. And vice versa. Clerically, they were on the same level now: equals.

The rector set his already firm jaw. “I’m afraid we’ll have to disappoint Mr. Delvecchio.” The statement was emotionless, a simple declaration of fact. While the rector might feel himself on shaky ground when it came to practical hands-on parochial experience, he was more than sure of himself when seminary training was the issue.

“It’s just a prayer,” Koesler stated.

“Oh, we will pray. Not for a. miracle, but that God’s holy will be done.”

“Then you agree with Father Walsh that if there is no miracle, the faith of the seminarians will be shaken?”

Finn hesitated only a few seconds. Had Koesler been a student, he would have received no explanation. But since Finn was discussing this matter with a fellow priest, he would amplify his statement. “My thinking has something—but very little—to do with Father’s Walsh’s reason. But I must admit this is the best of times for a future priest to learn that he cannot—
cannot—
rely in any way on miraculous intervention.

“As a priest, he will have to deal many times over with people who have nothing left to turn to but a miracle. The seminarian learns that God does not multiply miracles. Now—
before
ordination—is the time to learn this. And if it must be learned in the school of hard knocks, all the better. It will save him from supporting the plea for God to change the course of nature.”

He paused, then continued, with emphasis. “But I am
much
more concerned with the impact such a singular campaign would have on the student body. We, in these final four years of the theologate, are a community. We cannot permit a student or group of students to fragment this community.

“Do you remember, Bob, when, after you were here a short while, your class wanted to continue your custom from the minor seminary of reciting the Rosary together as a group each Saturday evening?”

At first Koesler recalled the request only vaguely, and that only because Finn had brought it up. Then, memory jogged, he recollected clearly the custom, the request, and the rector’s rejection. “Now that, you mention it, I do remember: You refused our request. But I’ll bet you never heard the rest of the story.”

“Oh?”

“Patrick McNiff was the one who acted as spokesman for our class. When you turned him down, he came to the rest of us and announced, ‘The old man hates the Blessed Mother.’”

Finn did not find this humorous. “That of course is not true. I gave my reason, and it had nothing to do with rosary devotion. I did not want any one of our four classes to set itself apart from the rest of the student body. And for the same reason: I do not think it wise to set a precedent in singling out one student’s petition from the rest. Soon we could be dealing with petitions for miraculous cures from all parts of the prayer hall. I think Father Walsh was wise in not involving his parishioners in a cause that is more or less doomed to frustration. That, as well as not allowing a divisive element in this community, will prompt me to refuse Mr. Delvecchio’s request—if and when he presents it.”

Koesler could recognize a blind alley when he was trapped in one. “Well …” He thought better than to light another cigarette with this visit obviously concluding. “… there is one more request that Vinnie will make, I’m pretty sure.”

Finn waited without comment.

“Any chance,” Koesler said, “that Vincent can be granted extra time at home with his mother?” Koesler sailed on through a possible but premature reply from Finn. “I know that these will be the last couple of months before ordination and they’re important. But we both know that Vincent is close to being a genius. He can absorb these courses with no sweat. And it would be such a great comfort to his mother. I would wager that, to a man, everyone—students and faculty—would not begrudge him extra time at home.”

No response. Finn was loath to set any sort of precedent. He well knew how students could and usually did take advantage of exceptions to the rule. But what Koesler said carried a lot of truth. Probably no one—at least very few among either faculty or students—would object to a modest latitude in home visitation for Delvecchio. And how many students would have a terminally ill parent … especially as ordination approached?

“I think we might be able to reach some sort of accommodation in this matter,” Finn said finally. “If Mr. Delvecchio wants to talk to me about it, we’ll … talk.”

The meeting was concluded. Finn would not steer his visitor to the door, but Koesler sensed that this impromptu chat had disrupted the rector’s schedule. With a handshake, they parted.

Koesler slid into his black Chevy, rolled down the window, and lit a cigarette.

As he drove away from the seminary, he assessed what, if anything, he had accomplished. It was mid-afternoon, yet it seemed as if he’d been up and about for more than a day. He’d gotten nowhere with Father Walsh. Koesler knew that the pastor’s decision on a parishwide prayer crusade for a medical miracle was written in stone. No matter how Lucy might plead the case, there would be no change in the course Walsh had set. And, in his heart, Koesler didn’t believe that Lucy was 100 percent in agreement with Vincent’s plan of prayer.

Further, Father Finn would disappoint Vinnie in not. committing the student body to a radical form of prayer. On the other hand, Koesler felt confident that Finn would cut Vinnie some slack on the matter of home visits. Koesler figured that was one round he’d won. The young man would have to be satisfied with that.

Next, Koesler would see how his present pastor felt about the miracle prayers. Actually, he anticipated a charitable veto. After all, the sick person had no remote connection with St. Norbert’s parish.