Call No Man Father Page 3
Such was the case with Father Paul Smith, as with many of his vintage. He was “in residence” at St. Gregory’s parish, which happened to be the one in which the Koznickis were members. He helped with the Mass and other sacraments. He counseled by appointment only. He had pet projects. But he never ever met with the parish council or bothered with any administrative business. And, by and large, he was happier than he would have been in retirement.
As for Father Koesler himself: Despite the problem areas he had encountered in his nearly forty years as a priest, he felt fulfilled in his ministry. He was open to learning new things. He enjoyed helping people. He saw his Church with all its warts, and still basically prized it.
If only he could escape this periodic involvement in police investigations.
4
Wanda was not one to dissemble. She accepted her guests’ praise graciously. She had learned—from Father Koesler, in fact—that humility was truth. She lived by that principle. It was a good meal.
“It’s too bad,” Wanda said as the compliments segued into appreciative gustatory sounds, “that we couldn’t have had this dinner closer to Christmas. But I suppose most of us are going to be all wrapped up with the pope’s visit. Certainly our two Fathers will.”
“Speaking for myself,” Father Smith said, “I think I’ll just be a spectator. They don’t want old geezers like me around cluttering up big shindigs like this. But I’ll be watching. Wouldn’t pass up a spectacle like this for the world.” He turned to Koesler. “How about you, Bob?”
“Just window dressing,” Koesler said. “I think I’m supposed to be on some panel or other. And then I’ve got some routine duties at the Mass.
“But I would imagine that you two”—he addressed Koznicki and Tully—“would be busier than we will.”
Koznicki nodded as he swallowed a bite. “We will be busy enough. We will have a total of 3,241 officers covering various duties.”
“Hmm.” Tully made an interested sound. “I didn’t know. That’s almost everybody.”
Smith grinned. “Who’ll be protecting us?”
Koznicki chuckled. “The three thousand figure is an overall one. Not all those officers will be on full-time duty with the Holy Father. Most of them will have, oh, perhaps some traffic duty. After that they will go back to their regular assignments. And some”—he looked pointedly at Tully—”will not be involved at all.”
“I appreciate it.” Tully’s smile was relaxed.
“You didn’t tell me,” Anne Marie said.
“You didn’t ask,” Tully replied. “Walt was able to exempt my squad from special duty.”
Koesler knew that Koznicki considered Tully’s squad the most effective in handling homicides, and that, undoubtedly, was the reason they would be permitted to escape this papal detail.
“But why so many?” Anne Marie asked Koznicki. “I know the pope is a celebrity guest, but he’s just one person and he’s only going to be here a couple of days. I don’t see why you need so many officers.”
“The Holy Father,” Koznicki explained, “is not only a celebrity guest, he is also a head of state—the Vatican. So, not only will more than three thousand of our people be on the detail—at least from time to time—the Wayne County Sheriff’s Department and the state police will also share in the responsibility. And, because of the pope’s chief-of-state status, the U.S. Secret Service will be here also.”
“I’m afraid I share Anne Marie’s puzzlement,” Smith said. “It seems like an awful lot of layers of protection for just one man. Unless you’re expecting something …?”
“Expecting something? More like being prepared,” Koznicki said simply.
“Like the Boy Scouts?” Smith joked.
“More like the military. Semper Paratus. Very serious business,” Koznicki replied.
“Oh, I didn’t mean …” Smith was embarrassed.
“We have a list of trouble spots in previous incidents—”
“Eat, Walt,” Tully interjected. “I can handle this one. I was in on the initial briefing”—he turned to Anne Marie—“before the inspector exempted me.
“Back in 1979, the American Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia claimed responsibility for three bombs that exploded in the Trans-World and British Airways offices in Spain, to protest the pope’s visit to Turkey.
“In ’80, in Zaire, seven women and a couple of children were trampled to death at an open-air Mass. Later, in Brazil, crowds trying to see the pope broke through a barrier, and several women were crushed to death.
“In ’81, there were three incidents. First, in Pakistan, just twenty minutes before the pope arrived, a man was killed at the entrance to a stadium by a bomb he was carrying.
“Then, in St. Peter’s Square, an assassin named Ali Agca shot and wounded the pope.
“And in St. Peter’s Basilica, a man carrying a bomb was apprehended just minutes before the pope was scheduled to appear.”
It was obvious, as Tully spoke, that he had committed a lot of information to memory.
“Two in ’82. In Nigeria, two men and a woman were arrested just after the pope’s arrival. They claimed the pope was trying to introduce European ideas into black Africa.
“Also in ’82, a former Roman Catholic priest attacked the pope with a bayonet in Paris.
“Then three in ’83: Just before the pope’s arrival, a religious statue was blown up in Lourdes. Also, on this same date, telephone lines went dead under suspicious circumstances in a town about twelve miles from Lourdes. Later that year, in Italy, the stage where the pope was supposed to speak from was blown up by a Molotov cocktail. Still later that year, a Vatican workman’s daughter was kidnapped as a hostage to be exchanged for Agca, the guy who previously shot the pope.
“And finally, in 1987, Chilean troops used a water cannon and tear gas to chase antigovernment demonstrators at an open-air Mass that the pope was offering.
“And that’s about it,” Tully summed up, as he returned to his meal. Anne Marie wore her Nancy Reagan gaze of adoration.
“What a remarkable performance,” Smith enthused. “You aren’t even assigned to the pope’s security detail and you have all these facts at your fingertips.”
Tully shrugged. “It’s a police matter. And I’m pretty good at those. Besides, you never know, we might get called in. Anything’s possible. The important thing is to be ready so if we do get called, we can hit the ground running.”
“As you can plainly see from what Alonzo has cited,” said Koznicki, “it is possible—indeed, it has happened—that violence of various kinds can visit the appearance of the Holy Father.
“The problem can be as ordinary as crowd control, as was the case in Zaire, or as deadly as the attempt on the Holy Father’s life, as in St. Peter’s Square. Whatever the thrust, it will be a challenge to provide absolute security for His Holiness even though he is here for only a short time and even though an impressive number of local and federal officers will be on hand.”
“Yeah,” Tully added, “it was Kennedy who said if they want to get you, and especially if they are willing to pay the price, they’ll get you.”
“But,” Koznicki said, “we will do everything humanly possible to make sure nothing happens to him here.”
“It would be interesting,” said Smith, “to get an idea of what sort of measures you’re taking. Is there …”
“… anything in writing? There sure is,” said Tully. But it’s top secret. If we let outsiders in on our arrangements, they wouldn’t be a secret anymore. And if they’re going to be effective, they’ve got to remain a secret.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Smith shook his head. “Stupid of me.”
“I wonder though”—Tully turned to Koesler—“outside of some nut who wants to become famous by killing somebody famous, why would anyone want to off the pope?”
“Well, dear,” Anne Marie said banteringly, “we’ve already ascertained that you are not exactly a religious fanatic.”
Koznicki and Tully were the only diners still working on the main course. The others, who had been listening to the officers’ explanations, were anticipating dessert.
“Yes,” Smith added, “there certainly are enough ‘causes’ that have some people all stirred up. Optional celibacy for priests, women in the priesthood, situation ethics, abortion—you name it and there’s a group of Catholics on the fringe agitating for it.”
“Sounds like a small army,” Wanda said.
Tully shook his head. “With all that brewing, why in the world is he coming here just before Christmas? Sounds like he wants to turn a happy holiday into one helluva lot of contention.”
“It’s birth control, isn’t it?” Anne Marie asked softly. Her gaze alternated between the two priests, who looked at one another seeking silent agreement on which of them would field the question.
“Birth control!” Tully exclaimed. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“I’ve been reading,” Anne Marie said. “The local press hasn’t gone into this very deeply. But some of the magazines, especially the religious ones, have been speculating on the birth control issue as being the real reason for his visit ….” Her statement seemed to be a question aimed at either priest to answer.
Finally, Koesler spoke. “I think the secular press has, by and large, decided to pass on that aspect, because it may be too complex a concept to explain to their readers in any coherent way.”
“It’s that complicated?” Tully wondered.
“Only if you’re not more familiar with the history of it than the average reporter,” Koesler explained.
“First, that the pope plans to make some sort of statement about birth control seems no more than a rumor. He hasn’t yet made it clear just what he plans to do during his stay here. And that—the nonspecificity—is unprecedented, at least in this pope’s style.
“It’s just that there are some indications that bolster the hypothesis that he may be going to make some statement on family planning.”
“That’s what has me confused,” Anne Marie said. “I thought the Church had said everything it’s going to say about birth control. Unless the pope is going to change his mind,” she added thoughtfully. “But then, he doesn’t do that, does he?” she concluded.
“Not often.” Koesler smiled. “I think it was the Protestant theologian Robert McAfee Brown who said that if the Catholic Church were ever to change its stand on any doctrine, the statement would have to begin with the words, ‘As the Church has always taught …’ Because our Church doesn’t have ‘oops’ in its vocabulary. And this pope doesn’t seem like he’s going to be the first to say ‘We blew it!’”
“Well, then,” said Wanda, “if he’s not going to change anything, what’s the big fuss?”
Koesler sighed inwardly. Interpreting Church scuttlebutt, politics, the convolutions of dogma, or merely everyday goings-on to the laity was rarely easy or simple. And when trying to explain things to outsiders, i.e., non-Catholics, Koesler felt like Einstein trying to explain the theory of relativity in German to listeners who understood only English.
But for the sake of Lieutenant Tully specifically, and to some degree for those besides Smith, Koesler decided to essay a brief explanation and history of the official Catholic stand on birth control from when the moral doctrine began to change to the present moment.
Wanda, waving Anne Marie back into her seat, began clearing the table.
“Let me try to explain,” Koesler said, “and maybe it will become clear why there’s not much about this in the secular press.”
“Talk loud so I can hear too.” Wanda propped the kitchen door open.
“To begin with, there’s the stereotype of Catholic families with an awful lot of kids. That’s because until relatively recently, there was only one morally acceptable way for Catholics to avoid conception: abstinence. And no sexual expression was permitted except intercourse.”
Even in the simple narration of how things used to be, Koesler felt—and not for the first time—a degree of embarrassment. “And that’s the way things stood until the early fifties, when Pius XII delivered a famous—to Catholics anyway—address to Italian midwives. The pope reflected on a then new awareness that not only is there a time in a woman’s cycle when she is infertile, but it is possible to pinpoint that exact time. So the pope in that speech gave official approval to use this ‘rhythm method’ for family planning.
“During much of a woman’s cycle the egg is not in position to be fertilized. Thus, having natural intercourse during this time, while abstaining during the fertile period, was unobjectionable. The rhythm method became known as Catholic birth control. And because in some women the cycle was not all that regular, making it impossible to pinpoint the precise infertile period, it became known as Vatican roulette.”
That Tully had heard of.
“Then,” Koesler continued, “came the birth-control pill. With a success percentage in the high nineties, the pill might literally be an answer to prayer. But the official Catholic position was that it was morally objectionable.
“Once again, in order to be faithful to official Church teaching, Catholic couples had to go back to relying on the frequently unreliable rhythm method.
“Then, brought to the fore by grass-roots pressure, the question was seriously raised as to whether the Church would actually admit new opinions and possibly change its position.”
At this point, Wanda suggested they move to the living room where the discussion could continue in more comfortable accommodation. She also accepted Anne Marie’s offer to help serve dessert and coffee.
5
Pontificating was not Father Koesler’s style. After everyone was resettled, he suggested that Father Smith finish the tortuous history of Family Planning According to Rome.
“Well,” Smith picked up, “there really isn’t very much more to it. The grass-roots pressure that Bob mentioned surfaced about the same time the birth-control pill become popular.
“Pope Paul VI removed all discussion of family planning from the Second Vatican Council, and instead appointed a committee to study the matter and report its findings to him.
“And so they did—after leaking their majority report to the media. Hopes—at least liberal hopes—were high that the pope would accept the committee’s findings and change the Church’s stand. But … he rejected his own commission’s conclusion and issued perhaps the most controversial encyclical of all time. It was called Humanae Vitae and the sentence in it that most people remember is, ‘Each and every marriage act must remain open to the transmission of life.’
“The trouble was that most of the Catholic laity had already made up their mind. They were convinced the pope was wrong. And they had been brought up to believe that the pope is never wrong. That’s why this encyclical was controversial. It was pivotal. And that is pretty much where we are now,” Smith concluded.
“That’s it?” Tully said after a few moments. He had been following the explanation with some interest. Odd for him, since religion—as well as anything else that did not pertain to his work—did not particularly concern him. “It looks like you’ve got Catholics between a rock and a hard place.”
Smith gave no indication he intended to respond.
Once more unto the breach, Koesler silently exhorted himself.
“Well, at this point, another consideration comes up. When this encyclical was published in 1968, Pope Paul went out of his way to assure everyone that this document was not in the realm of infallibility.” Koesler hesitated, taking a mental breath. “And here again it gets complicated. But the complication now doesn’t involve birth control or family planning; it has to do with Church teaching. Typically, the Church teaches from the top down.”
“That makes sense.” Tully was used to getting orders from superiors.
“Sort of,” Koesler agr
eed. “But what we’ve been tinkering with since Vatican II is some way to get the entire Church in sync—a system whereby the pope, the bishops and clergy, as well as the laity, move as one entity. But so far the pope has kept a firm hand on the reins.
“And even in that context, the pope has two vehicles he can use for teaching purposes. One is when, as head of the Church, or ex cathedra, he teaches the universal Church on a doctrine of faith and morals. Such a pronouncement is considered infallible. And that happens far less than one percent of the time.
“The much more common teaching office is called the Ordinary Magisterium. And that—the Ordinary Magisterium—is what Pope Paul was referring to when he issued Humanae Vitae and specified that it was not an infallible doctrine.
“The difference between the two teaching devices is how they affect the rest of the Church.”
Noting his listeners’ deepening expressions of less than total comprehension, Koesler, once more sighing inwardly, moved further afield. “See, an infallible statement is supposed to be received with what’s technically called ‘an assent of faith.’ Which probably means you’d be a heretic if you denied it. And, by the way,” he digressed still further, “according to most observers, there has been only one expressly unequivocal infallible statement since the doctrine of infallibility was defined in 1870. And that was Pius XII’s pronouncement that after her death, Mary, the Mother of Jesus, was bodily assumed into heaven. And”—he smiled—“no one I know wants to go to war over that.
“But”—returning to his main theme—“what we are dealing with all the rest of the time is the Ordinary Magisterium. And Catholics are supposed to give this sort of teaching—again technically—‘a religious assent,’ in effect, a respectful hearing and prayerful consideration.