Читать книгу Father Luke’s Journey into Darkness - Nancy Carol James - Страница 12

What happens when a priest falls? The Body of Christ, so gravely wounded, hemorrhages in terror. The priest’s soul had been flooded with grace, yet now he will find the grotesque and the bizarre. And when fallen priests meet committed ones, the monstrous meets the sublime and only God knows what will happen.

In a Washington, DC park, the priest looked at the two rivers flowing one into another. Power, he thought, where the Potomac and Anacostia rivers join: the pure power of flowing river currents symbolizes the joining together of different worlds.

All geniuses recognize places of power.

We’ll claim this one now. What pure excitement, pleasure, and power.

And who do we have for this ceremony?

He called the official. “We are helping the market again. I ordered some from the Nationals game, just a mile from here.”

Listening for a moment, he replied, “Yes, Buzzards Point. Not well known, but out of this world. You’ll love it!”

Later in the mysterious dark of the night, he searched through his pocket and dug out a gold-colored knife emblazoned with the seal of the Vatican, two keys crossing each other. He took the caged hamster out of his back seat. He saw the men waiting and quickly grasped the animal by its neck and strode into the middle of the group. “Moloch! Moloch!” they prayed reverently. And soon the squeals of the animal with its dripping blood promised an answer from Moloch.

Then flicking his knife open, he chose the largest tree and approached it in reverence. He raised the knife up and with a quick gesture, penetrated the tree’s thick bark, gashed a pinwheel and with worship-filled strength, encircled an open wound around the tree, whose sap immediately sprang forth from the deep wounding.

Now bring on the celebration; and with the advent of car headlights, he saw approaching people. Chaotic wildness visits the waiting mob.

Early the next morning, Jerry once again thought of the wolf and instantly upon reaching his desk felt new words. Wolves, and particularly the alpha male and female wolf, watched for predators and in an organized fashion fought back. Their hierarchical pack allowed them to fight off any threats to their young.

Jerry wondered, how do wolves have the instinct for hierarchy? To become alpha wolves, they were tested by winning a long and often brutal fight to prove their strength. After an alpha wolf took command, together he presented a formidable defense to any threat. Jerry thought of the beauty of the open pack loping along in the wilderness, yet the alpha male listened for howling communications from others.

But what thesis comes here? Jerry thought. All academic thought comes first in symbols, dreams, and poems. The way the wolves structure their lives was symbolic of the structure of community life. Where was the alpha wolf in their community? The bishop?

A brief flash of an image of a running, loping wolf in the wilderness shot through his mind. Majestic beauty! Passion!

Yet my pack, my community, is loping not for beauty but now fighting against the powers of darkness. Our pack is being destroyed wolf by wolf. We are all weakened.

Jerry knew he must have patience as he waited for answers.

But patience was in short quantity in Washington, DC.

The mayor called the DC Police Department and spoke directly, “What happened at the Buzzards Point Marina?”

The police chief tried to sound positive. “Look, we had police watching parks everywhere but what kind of nut would go to Buzzards Point with all of those secure facilities there?” She made an irritated noise. “With both the Coast Guard headquarters and the National Defense University right there? Security everywhere? Who would do this at that spot?”

The mayor leaned back. “Rats.” This property was already a sore point with him. “And how did the military get that prime location anyway with the intersection of the Potomac and Anacostia Rivers? With all the development of the waterfront, I wonder if we could get this property back in the name of Native American history. You can almost see the hand-built canoes in those timeless rivers.” In his mind he remembered the beautiful V shape of the waterways of these two powerful rivers connecting one with the other. “What did these criminals do?”

“Cut more pinwheels into a large tree right at Buzzards Point Marina. But what is puzzling is some unexplained blood splatters and bloodied clothes. I think there is violence or sexual assault going on, like cultic rituals.”

The momentary peace the mayor had enjoyed disappeared stolen by a thief in the night. The IMF meeting was soon and the chief was telling him of odd spiritual rituals being conducted in public parks. Financial leaders from the world will live and play all over Washington, DC at the time of the Cherry Blossom Festival. And bizarre rituals are happening under the eagle eyes of security.

“Leaders of the entire world are going to be here and we can’t stop some kooks from defacing trees with knives? Get this situation stopped! We will look like crazy Americans.”

Late that day Luke overheard Peter’s raised voice talking on the phone in the church office, “Chancellor, what do you mean a priest from this parish solicited men in a park? Or are you saying that a man from this parish solicited a priest?”

Luke walked more slowly now.

“Nonsense. We have two fine priests here, Luke and Jerry. They wouldn’t do that.”

The old air conditioning system clanged on and all that Luke heard was “any authorities.”

Today Oscar’s songs were dismal. He started with, “Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen!” Father Luke bowed and Oscar responded, bowing, but he stayed bent over and low. Father Luke, leaning down, saw tears flowing from his eyes.

“Why, Oscar? What’s wrong?” Oscar lifted his arm up and bowed with tears dripping down his face. Unable to offer any comfort to the disconsolate singer, Luke walked toward the 5 p.m. church service. As he got his key out, he wondered, what is it about a church in the evening? There was the quiet presence of the flickering flame from the red lamp stating that Jesus was present, body, blood, and soul. The divine was here. Yet also he sensed ominous presences: spirits of the dead, fiends hanging around to torment the faithful, hoping to inhabit an open human heart. The sense of the restless presence grew as Luke hung his purple priest’s stole around his neck.

Luke walked up into the sanctuary. He saw the brown cross with Jesus’s contorted body hung, his head leaning on his right shoulder, with the ancient words INRI whittled into the crude sign over his head. INRI: Jesus the Nazarene, the king of the Jews.

Flashing through Luke’s mind came a memory from Kansas, a time in gym when Luke, the puniest kid in the class, got kicked in the stomach. Luke twisted in pain. The class bully leaned over him and said, “I’m sorry.” He then leered as Luke rolled from side to side. Luke winced at the sight of Jesus’s contorted body with nails tearing through his skin.

And then—out of the back of the darkened church, came the female voice, “How are you tonight?”

Jumping, he twisted his shoulder as if to deflect a blow. Looking around, he was relieved to see Hannah sitting in the back pew. Her long dark-blonde hair reached almost to her elbows and her face shone with alert energy. Her green eyes pierced into his.

His immediate response of “Fine” stopped mid-course. He looked and saw her bright eyes meeting his, waiting in hope for a real encounter. Breathing slowly, he walked past rows of empty pews where generations of worshipers had prayed. The souls of the faithful! Yet in spite of the soft red light glowing in the sanctuary, it seemed to be empty of love and faith. Now the consecrated church sanctuary seemed filthy, like a cluttered movie theater with littered sticky spilled soft drinks and empty popcorn bags. What are we watching here? Jesus on the cross looking for an encounter. Turning and waiting, for what?

Her voice penetrated his thoughts again. “What’s going on here?”

The back doors were open; the already-lit red-flaming candles on the altar created an eerie glow. The white walls were broken by the stations of the cross exhibited in colorful stained glass windows.

Sighing, he sat next to her on the nineteenth-century brown church pews. “You know also?”

“Yes. The church is dying. There are signs everywhere.”

Father Luke looked straight ahead, then a quote popped into his mind: “Our house is desolate.”

In the echoing, empty church, he asked, “What do you see?”

“Crisis everywhere. No one talks. Ministries fail. Who can miss seeing that the church is struggling?”

The flaming candles on the altar sputtered and Luke leaned forward to hold his head in his hands. The sound of screeching tires outside broke the silence.

Softly, he began, “Our church computers had some problems. So I called in the tech guy from the diocese.” The priest sat, shivering. Why am I cold all the time now? Then he leaned closer to Hannah, looking for any sort of enlightenment. “The man said, “Someone’s going to X-rated sites and they are leaving bugs on the computers.””

Hannah’s face turned to stone but she did not answer. The old building creaked.

Why am I telling this to her, Luke wondered. Then he knew the answer. Words rose out of the depths of his heart. I’m desperate. For the first time in my life, I feel utterly lost. And who can I trust?

He had attended the diocesan meetings for years. The bishop had his group of favorites and I’m not one of them. They thought he was irrelevant to take all of this devotion seriously. Yet that is why I am here. They taunted, “Take your place,” like it was a performance.

“And they are trying to get rid of you, aren’t they, Father?”

“I don’t know but it sounds like you do.” He paused. “I have been here for ten years.”

“I can see it. I think one of the other priests is behind it.”

Hannah continued, “Some boy keeps calling the voice mail. He screams, “The water’s running! Please stop!””

Father Luke paused.

Hannah said very softly, “I think a criminal is on the loose here.”

He nodded. “Watch and wait. Waiting is difficult but answers will come to us.”

Then they heard footsteps coming up the side stairs. How long had this person been here? Had he heard? Or was it a spirit? Then the door swung open. His hair looking askew, Father Peter walked in, with an immense grin on his face. “I am so full of thanksgiving. I just came in to pray.”

Quickly Hannah and Luke looked at each other. Luke sank back: could it be thanksgiving for over-hearing Luke confide in a woman about his personal fears?

Luke stood and briefly turning to Hannah said, “Will you stay for the mass and have a cup of tea after?”

She smiled, but quickly declined. “Not tonight. I’ll see you on Saturday at our luncheon for the homeless.” With a slight emphasis on the first word, she ended, “Wait for me then, Father.”

Later at the Saturday evening mass, dressed in his purple chasuble, Luke looked out at the usual suspects. These churches in Washington, DC changed membership with every change in the president’s administration. Yet tonight he saw a few that he recognized. The lovely woman Annette in the elegant hat. The officer, General Knight, who had taken responsibility for the parish records. And then, Luke saw him. That tall Vatican priest Leo, loaned now to the diocese, sitting in the back of his St. Charles parish.

The liturgy continued. Luke placed his hand over the bread. “He said the blessing, broke the bread, gave it to his disciples.” Then Luke held the host high. “Take this all of you and eat of it for this is my body, which will be given up for you.” Then hands shaking, he took the chalice, “Take this all of you and drink from it for this is the chalice of my blood, the blood of the new and eternal covenant, which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sin. Do this in memory of me.”

And then as Luke reached for the chalice, his hand hit it. As if in slow motion, he watched the gold chalice fall to its side and the wine splashed out in a circle of spreading blood swarming all over the pure white linen. Fiery red holiness crying out “Holy! Holy! Holy!” Or maybe, Luke thought, this blood announces, the end of innocence.

Following the service, Luke stood outside the main door greeting the waiting line of parishioners. Leo walked up and with complete eye contact announced himself. “You know I’m working for Bishop Cahill,” Leo said, enunciating each word. This seemed as effective to Luke as starting a new Inquisition and he stared in return.

Leo continued, “I work in all the churches now. We are starting several new confirmation classes and hope to restructure the diocesan confirmation program. We want to keep the young confirmands active and involved.” He walked rapidly away without acknowledging Luke’s startled eyes.

The ghost’s warning had struck home.

Jerry continued his solitary journey. Why would Ignatius use wolves as a symbol? Jerry thought of everything he knew about them. They lived in packs and they were incredibly committed one to another. To be part of the pack was to have a family and belong. To be part of the pack was to experience a shared structure of relationships that endured. To be part of the pack was to have the benefit of knowing that they look out for each other.

Jerry stared out his window. “Maybe that is what I want.” He smiled. “I want what wolves have. A pack bringing strength, comfort, and adventure. I want to run and be part of the pack.”

Early the next morning, Luke heard a soft knock on his personal door. His shiny black hair attractively combed, an alert Father Jerry stood there.

“Can we talk, Luke?”

All of Luke’s usual excuses flooded into his mind but then he pushed them aside. He slowly opened the door. “Come in. Please?”

Jerry’s face softened. He said, “Yes.” Then he lifted up his arm to show Luke a white bag he carefully bore. “My cinnamon rolls, Luke. I know you like them. I also made my St. Bruno cream.”

Luke stared. One of Jerry’s specialties, this rare concoction consisted of a pudding made from sugar, eggs, and cream, then laced with strong coffee, becoming truly an adult delight. He heard echoing through his mind phrases from Jerry: “The eleventh-century Saint Bruno knew the rigors of monastic life and made this life sweeter with the goodness of custard.” Luke poured the hot dessert-like beverage. “Please, Jerry, do sit by the window. I have had this room forever and the morning sun is delightful.”

After Jerry offered the rolls on china plates, Luke found himself actually enjoying this. Could this be why they had those required group interactions? “Maybe we could do pizza next time,” he said.

Then Jerry sat back. “I want to talk about your changed mass schedule, Luke. I know how unfair it is. It is amazing you carry on the way you do.”

Luke’s mouth fell open and then he swallowed and answered in a soft voice. “Thank you, Jerry. This has been very difficult.”