SO SIMPLE THE CHOICE
Pete Germaine knew something was wrong as soon as he walked into Father Bill Delcoe’s office in St. Simon’s. Immediately, Father Bill’s stare, reptilian in its shocking coldness, jarred him into the realization that he should have paid attention to that tiny twitch of misgiving he felt when he found, posted on his office door, the new pastor’s curt, “You have a meeting with me today at 3:30.”
Pete Germaine was the kind of man who did what was right day after day. No fanfare. Just a dogged pursuit of duty. He had left the seminary just before ordination, choosing, after a three-year hitch in the army, to return to the family farm.
For the last eight years he had been employed as the Religious Formation Coordinator at St. Simon’s. He could honestly say that he had lived a life of obedience to God, to his country, and to the parish, something he attributed as much to the army as to his religion. He was proud of the fact that he always went the extra mile.
Now he was hearing Father Bill say, “I don’t know who you are. I am concerned about some of your work in the parish and in the community.”
No other introduction. Then that chilling stare. Was he supposed to say something? He waited.
He knew he was doing good work and was respected for his ministry.
“You will have to discontinue your hospital ministry,” Father Bill continued.
“My hospital ministry?”
“I’ve done some checking and I have talked to some people. I have also been in contact with the canon lawyers in the chancery office. We are concerned that you are posing as a priest and doing ministry only priests can do.”
Unbidden thoughts crossed Pete’s mind. Then why are there no priests around to do it? Why don’t those who are here do the work? Why do they have unlisted phone numbers? But Pete said nothing. He thought of the many people whom he had served in their dying moments, of those to whom he had brought the Lord in Communion, praying with them, and assuring them of the love of the all-forgiving God. He had slipped into this work so gradually that it seemed the natural thing to do.
“You will also stop doing funeral services of any kind.” The priest was now no longer looking at him. “You will no longer do any Communion services in church or any preaching. You will confine yourself to administrative tasks only, and coordinate the catechetical program of the children. That is all we have in your original job description.”
“You mean I can’t. . .”
“Yes. I say you must stop all other ministry as of now.”
Pete was painfully aware that his fatigued clothing and pudgy form must have been a poor vehicle for God when compared to the elegantly pressed black suit and the pure white Roman collar of the ordained priest.
For a moment he thought, how odd it was that he ever imagined that his knobby workman hands could be vehicles of sacramental grace when compared to the meticulously manicured and anointed hands of Father Bill, hands now indulgently stroking a gold pen, now making powerful pyramids. Years of pride in his ministry evaporated from Pete in less than ten minutes. He felt contaminated somehow, as if he had betrayed his values in his work. In those few minutes this arrogant man upset his sense of fulfillment and turned it into vainglorious pride.
But Pete’s mind refused to stop there. Does God’s grace flow only as if by magic through the stark formulas of the Roman Ritual and the speck of oil on the sacred thumb of the ordained priest? Did he not experience God at work in his loving touch when he rubbed great gobs of the holy oils into the forehead and hands and feet of the sick while praying for healing of body, mind, and spirit? Did not God’s word flow from his lips and from his heart when he conducted funeral services for people who had turned away from the church?
“You mean to destroy me, don’t you?” Pete blurted it out before thinking, before considering what effect this might have. He should have remained silent.
“Are you questioning my authority?” Father Bill demanded angrily. “May I remind you that the Scripture clearly says that Jesus gave the power of the sacraments only to priests. You are acting in heresy when you use the holy oils or the ritual as if you had the power of the priesthood. He who hears you hears me, Jesus said. The authority of the magisterium of the Catholic Church has always taught this.”
The priest finished, “You must listen to me to find the will of God for your ministry. I expect you to obey me without question. If you do not, you have two weeks notice as of today. A letter will be in your mail to that effect later today.”
Pete left the office in confusion, drained of courage or resolve. At 75 years of age, with a semi-invalid wife, and no savings, he felt he could not begin again. But could he work under the authority of a petty tyrant like this and retain any sense of honesty? He rushed to the church and knelt before the altar in deep anguish. The lingering scent of incense heightened his acute awareness of the divine presence. “Tell me, Lord Jesus, what am I to do now?”
The answer came swiftly, without a trace of ambiguity. This was not about Peter Germaine doing priestly work. This was all about power and control. He had roused the sleeping giant of the clerical establishment. He had never imagined that some day, today, he would be choosing between Jesus Christ and his church authority. Yet, here it was, so stark, so clear, so simple.
The rush of gladness and freedom caught Pete by surprise. Hope burst forth in a mighty surge as the words of Jesus struck home.
“Do not worry yourself at all about having enough food and clothing. Those without faith are always running after these things. You have no need to be concerned about them. Your heavenly Father already knows perfectly well that you need them, and he will see that you have enough. So don’t be anxious about tomorrow. God will take care of your tomorrow too. Live one day at a time.”
Pete could not wait to go home to tell Clara that they were now free to pursue their dream of returning to a simpler life on the farm.