Thou Shalt Not

By Bill Dantini

Thou Shalt Not is a story of faith, forgiveness, and spiritual redemption. The prime mover is Father Thomas Delaney, an errant priest, who, in the throes of renouncing his vocation, works a miracle. The story is told against the backdrop of a Roman Catholic Church witnessing a 40 percent falloff in ordinations since 1965, child abuse, evolving sexual orientation among its clergy, and the stifling vows of celibacy and obedience. A 38-year old nonconformist, Father Delaney is torn between the vows he took at his Boston seminary and the debilitating doubts that plague him. Unable to rationalize his commitment to the centuries’ old dictates of the Vatican, he lashes out against everything he once held sacred, including his vow of celibacy. Delaney reaches a point where he can no longer define what it is to be a priest. He suspects that his salvation can only come at the hands of divine intervention, in a booming voice, from a billowing cloud, that tells him unequivocally which way to go.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Dec 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781483476971

Bill Dantini

William R. (Bill) Dantini was born in Amsterdam, New York. He received his bachelor’s degree in English at St. Lawrence University in Canton, New York, and did his postgraduate work at the University of Louisville. He served as a writer and manager for General Electric before operating a communications firm in Raleigh, North Carolina. He has been a contributing author for magazines and newspapers, and has written video scripts and television spots. Aviation History magazine featured his account of the first transatlantic stowaway in its July 2020 issue. “CLOSURE and Other Stories” is his fourth book. He lives in Raleigh.

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Thou Shalt

Not

Bill Dantini

Copyright © 2017 William R. Dantini.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, places, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Special thanks to Scott Hellmann for his graphic touches on the background landscape of this book cover.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-7698-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-7697-1 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 11/21/2017

For Richard Henry Savage, friend and mentor,

who once told me that writing, like painting, was a journey worth taking.

I’ll always be grateful.

PREFACE

T he last fifty -t wo years represent a sea change in what it means to be a Catholic priest in the United States. To appreciate the world of Father Thomas Delaney, the protagonist of this story, and the situation confronting the men who receive the sacrament of Holy Orders, we need to understand the context of the priesthood in today’s cul ture.

In 1965, there were approximately 60,000 Roman Catholic priests in this country. Fifty years later that number had dropped to about 37,450 – a depletion of 38 percent. During the same fifty years, the number of U.S. Roman Catholics vaulted from 48.5 million to roughly 80 million. The ratio differences are staggering: In 1965 there was one priest for every 808 American Catholics. Today, there is one priest for every 2,133 American Catholics.

In 1965, the Roman Catholic Church ordained 994 new priests to serve its membership in this country. That number decreased to 554 in 2015, a deficit of 44 percent. While there was a slight uptick in ordinations during the past two years, it is readily apparent that the Catholic Church is not producing anywhere near enough priests to serve its growing U.S. population. The number of Roman Catholic parishes in this country is roughly the same as it was fifty years ago: about 17,500. However, there are 3,533 parishes without a resident priest today, compared to only 549 priestless parishes in 1965. The consequences are daunting. Many priests are now responsible for administering to the religious needs of multiple parishes in dispersed geographic areas in order to cover the 20 percent of parishes that don’t have a live-in priest. This is doubly difficult for American Catholic priests who average 63 years old (In 1970 the average age for a U.S. priest was 35). Simply put, American priests are old, stressed, overburdened, and their ranks are wafer thin.

The Catholic laity, primarily deacons, has assumed many of the traditional functions of parish priests, including the distribution of the Eucharist during Mass and administering to home and hospital shut-ins. But their intercession may be little more than a thumb in the dike. Rectories are being sold, rented, or razed at a feverish pace, and Catholic dioceses are being merged across the country. The Archdiocese of New York, for example, which comprises seven heavily populated counties in the Empire State and includes Manhattan, the Bronx, and Staten Island, consolidated 112 traditional parishes into 55 new ones. There just weren’t enough priests to go around.

Shrinkage and consolidation is most prominent in Catholic parishes north of the Mason-Dixon line. Southern parishes, on the other hand, have a mixed story to tell. Some of them are expanding. The Diocese of Raleigh, for example, which is composed of 95 parishes, has grown by 200 percent in the last 20 years. Most of the statistical uptick in the south, however, has come from emigrating Catholics who have moved there from northern states. The Diocese of Raleigh is one of the beneficiaries of that migration.

The average age for a newly ordained Roman Catholic priest today is 34, significantly higher than it was in 1965. There are 189 U.S. seminaries from which these men receive the sacrament of Holy Orders. Sixty-one percent of ordinands worked full-time before entering a seminary; 25 percent of them were born outside the country, most notably from Mexico, the Philippines, Colombia, Eastern Europe, Nigeria, and Vietnam. Nearly half of the men who accept the spiritual call to join the priesthood were discouraged at some point in their lives from doing so.

Equally concerning is the spiraling number of American women who opt to become nuns. Fifty years ago there were about 180,000 sisters of various orders in the U.S. Today there are an estimated 50,000.

So, what’s going on? In a nutshell, young American men and women are opting for secular careers at a time when the burgeoning number of American Catholics needs more of them to choose the priesthood and the sisterhood. It’s a trend not likely to change anytime soon. If change does come, it can only occur after a dramatic philosophical and canonical shift in the thinking of the pope, his Roman Curia, and his College of Cardinals. Furthermore, quantitative change may only occur if the Roman Catholic Church allows women to become priests. Catholicism is one of a few remaining denominations within the Christian faith that forbids the ordination of women to the clergy.

There are many theories regarding the causes for the plummeting U.S. numbers. Consecration to the Catholic priesthood requires that seminarians take vows of celibacy, poverty, and obedience. Once considered worthy challenges and acceptable sacrifices by the Roman Catholic hierarchy, these vows are now deemed impassable obstacles by many young men who might otherwise be candidates for the priesthood. Celibacy, for example, demands that priests not only abstain from sexual congress, but also from marriage. It is the primary reason why candidates shy away from the priesthood. The vow of poverty restricts priests to an annual parish salary ranging from $34,000 to $39,000 with an additional stipend for their retirement. This figure is far less than the average yearly remuneration for Protestant ministers who earn in the neighborhood of $50,000. The vow of obedience maintains that priests must follow Catholic Canon Law to the letter, as well as the pronouncements of the pope when he speaks ex cathedra. Priests must also obey the rulings of the ecumenical councils, the decisions of the College of Cardinals, and local diocese and archdiocese tenets. There isn’t much wiggle room for a nonconformist priest.

When one considers that these vows are lifelong commitments, it becomes understandable how candidates might have second thoughts in an era where self-gratification, permissiveness, and profligate materialism abound. It is harder than ever for a young man to answer the call of Holy Orders and remain steadfast to its vows for the duration of his life. Contrast this with the Episcopal and Evangelical Lutheran churches, both Christian denominations, which have seen the number of clergy increase while actual congregation membership has fallen.

Others have speculated that the alleviation of many of the traditional Church rituals, pomp, and ecclesiastical solemnity, introduced by the Second Vatican Council in 1965, may have soured many would-be seminarians, who preferred the more formal, staid Catholic Church – the one that required its Masses to be said in Latin with the priest celebrant facing away from the congregation. Vatican II changed all that. In effect, it replaced priestly performance with parishioner participation. In many churches, electric guitars deposed pipe organs, lay lectors delivered readings from the altar lecterns, and congregants were allowed to sit more than they kneeled. Post 1965, priests began celebrating the Mass in the vernacular (e.g. English in the U.S.) rather than Latin. The change was profound. Before Vatican II there was something miraculous about the Latin incantations that turned bread and water into the body and blood of Jesus Christ. For many Catholics it fizzled out in English. Priests became less mysterious to the congregation, less wondrous. You might say that priests transformed into ordinary men reciting from the printed pages of the Eucharistic liturgy. It is arguable that Vatican II, for better or worse, stripped the Wow factor from the Catholic Mass, as well as from the Catholic priest. It demystified nearly two thousand years of Church ritual. An accurate assessment or not, seminary enrollment began its decline after Vatican II.

It is plausible, if not verifiable, that men are also avoiding the priestly profession because of its concomitant stigma of homosexuality. In his book, The Changing Face of the Priesthood, Reverend Donald B. Cozzens estimated that upwards of 58 percent of Catholic priests were gay. He went on to suggest that the percentage might be higher for younger men entering the seminary and those recently ordained. Demographers, analysts, and sociologists offer wider latitude, pegging homosexuality among priests at between 10 and 60 percent. Father Gary Meier, a gay Catholic priest in the St. Louis community, stated that, in his experience regarding ordained priests, 30 percent are gay, 30 percent are straight, and 30 percent are in denial. To illustrate the evolution in thinking regarding gay priests, consider the following statements by the two most recent Roman Catholic popes: In 2005, Benedict XVI, wrote that homosexuality was a strong tendency ordered toward an intrinsic moral evil. His church document went on to say that men with deep-seated homosexual tendencies should not become priests. Pope Benedict XVI later boasted that he had dismantled the Vatican’s gay lobby. In 2013, Pope Francis, Rome’s current pontiff, said something quite different regarding priests: If someone is gay and he searches for the Lord and has good will, who am I to judge? One could argue that, while the priesthood has become more welcoming and tolerant to gay applicants, it has become more discouraging for straight candidates.

There is another, darker possibility for the falloff in the number of Roman Catholic clergymen during the past fifty years: the association of priests with child abuse. According to information published in May 2016 by the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB), more than 6,500 clerics who were practicing between 1950 and 2015 – about 5.6% of the total – were credibly accused of sexually abusing minors. It should be noted that it is difficult to find unassailable data on these occurrences, especially in the U.S. However, where investigations and admissions have produced legitimate statistics, the rate of child abuse among American-based clergy over this fifty-year span might be as high as 10 percent, or more than 11,000 priests. While the overwhelming majority of Catholic priests and bishops are holy and honorable men beyond suspicion regarding pedophilia, the crime is so grave that it shines the media spotlight on all Catholic clergymen. The target, so to speak, is on each of their backs, including the young men who are considering the vocation but, as yet, haven’t applied to a Catholic seminary.

There is speculation that laicization rates are also rising in the U.S. Laicization is the process by which Catholic clergymen, including priests and bishops, relinquish their clerical duties and return to lay society. Catholic clergy can be forcibly laicized as a penalty for a serious canonical infraction or crime, or they can voluntarily request laicization from the Church hierarchy. During 2011 and 2012, nearly 400 Catholic priests were laicized.

While the causes are debatable, the facts are not. The ranks of Roman Catholic priests in the United States are alarmingly low and falling. This is the milieu in which Father Thomas Delaney, the central character in Thou Shalt Not, finds himself. A nonconformist, 38-year old, parish priest, Delaney is torn between the vows he took at Boston’s Weston Jesuit School of Theology, and the debilitating doubts that plague him. Angry and confused, he finds it increasingly difficult to cope with the changing realities of the Roman Catholic Church and his vocational calling. When he can no longer rationalize his commitment to the centuries’ old dogmas of the Church, he lashes out against everything he once held sacred and non-negotiable. His is a balancing act, teetering between righteousness and guilt, hope and despair. He craves resolution but doesn’t know how to achieve it. The ghosts of his past haunt him; the prospects for the future pain him. Delaney reaches a point where he can no longer define what it is to be a priest. He suspects that his salvation can only come at the hands of divine intervention, in a booming voice, from a billowing cloud, that tells him unequivocally which way to go.

Thou Shalt Not is a work of fiction. But it shines true-to-life on today’s Catholic priesthood. Father Delaney’s dilemma is a blip on the radar screen of what’s happening within the community of Roman Catholic clergy. But it is one of too many blips. For so many priests just like Delaney, the dictum Thou shalt not, is no longer acceptable and no longer sustainable.

— Raleigh, NC, November 2017

TERMINOLOGY

Acolyte: person assisting the Catholic priest in a religious service, including the Mass

Alb: white outermost vestment worn by clergy and servers in the Catholic Church

Altar Server: assistants to the priest or celebrant (often children) in Catholic services, including the Mass

Apostasy: abandonment or renunciation of religious beliefs

Archdiocese: large pastoral district under the leadership of a Catholic archbishop, comprised of multiple parishes; larger than a diocese

Breviary: book of daily Roman Catholic services (usually used by a priest)

Canon Law: ecclesiastical law in the Roman Catholic Church, authorized by papal pronouncements

Cassock: single-colored (usually black or crimson), floor-length garment worn by the Christian clergy, church choirs, and acolytes

Catechism: principles of Catholic religion, usually in the form of questions and answers, used for instruction

Chalice: wine cup or goblet, often gold, used in the Christian Eucharist

Chasuble: ornate, sleeveless outer vestment worn by a Catholic priest during Mass

Chrism: consecrated oil used in certain rites of the Catholic Church

Collar: white liner worn around the neck, formally denoting a Catholic priest

Confessional Box: isolated, private compartment, usually in a church, where a Catholic priest hears the confessions of penitents

Curia: the central governing staff and committees within the Catholic Church that assist the pope in his administration of worldwide duties and services

Diocese: pastoral district under the jurisdiction of a Catholic bishop, comprised of multiple churches in a geographic area

Ex Cathedra: infers the full, indisputable authority of the papal office and underscores the Pope’s infallibility in making official pronouncements

Excommunication: the action of officially excluding someone from participation in the sacraments and services of the Catholic Church

Extreme Unction: traditional name for the sacrament of anointing the sick and dying in the Roman Catholic Church

Holy Orders: one of the 7 Catholic sacraments; officially ordains a man into the priesthood

Laicization: process of defrocking a priest or bishop in the Catholic Church by denying him the right to perform sacraments; it reinstates layman status on the priest

Monsignor: title of various senior positions within the Roman Catholic Church

Novena: worship consisting of special prayers or services, sometimes on nine consecutive days, within the Catholic Church

Novitiate: novice preparing for ordination as a Catholic priest

Ordination: act of conferring the sacrament of Holy Orders on a man, thereby making him a Catholic priest

Pontiff: Roman Catholic pope

Prelate: high ecclesiastical dignitary in the Church, sometimes used to refer to priests and clergy in general

Rectory: residence of Catholic priests, traditionally on or near the church grounds

Rosary: string of devotional prayer beads used to recite a series of prayers, including the Hail Mary, Our Father, and Glory Be

Scapular: short cloak covering the shoulders, frequently with a hood

Seal of the Confessional: rule of the Roman Catholic Church that forbids priests to disclose anything heard from penitents during the course of the Sacrament of Penance

Seminarian: student in a Roman Catholic seminary

Seminary: college that prepares students to be priests

Soutane: type of cassock worn by Catholic priests, usually black

Stations of the Cross: series of images (usually 14) depicting Jesus Christ on the day of his crucifixion; each station has accompanying prayers; a tableau of the Resurrection of Jesus is sometimes included as a fifteenth station

Stole: long, thin ecclesiastical vestment worn by Catholic priests during various sacraments and rituals; draped over the shoulders

Surplice: white linen vestment worn over a cassock by priests, acolytes, altar servers, and members of Christian choirs

Thurible: chain censer that burns incense, used in Catholic services

Thurifer: priest or acolyte carrying a censer or thurible in a Catholic ceremony

Vestments: garments worn by priest celebrants during a Catholic ceremony

Chapter 1

The First Sunday of Lent

Jesus was led by the Spirit into the desert to be tempted by the devil. He fasted for forty days and forty nights, and afterwards he was hungry.

The tempter approached and said to him, If you are the Son of God, command that these stones become loaves of bread.

He said in reply, It is written: ‘One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes forth from the mouth of God.’

Then the devil took him to the holy city, and made him stand on the parapet of the temple, and said, If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down. For it is written: ‘He will command his angels concerning you and ‘with their hands they will support you, lest you dash your foot against a stone.’

Jesus answered him, Again it is written, ‘You shall not put the Lord, your God, to the test.’

Then the devil took him up to a very high mountain, and showed him all the kingdoms of the world in their magnificence, and he said, All these I shall give to you, if you will prostrate yourself and worship me.

At this, Jesus said to him, Get away, Satan! It is written: ‘The Lord, your God, shall you worship and him alone shall you serve.’

Then the devil left him and, behold, angels came and ministered to him.

Matthew 4:1-11

F ather Thomas Delaney wedged the purple ribbon into the gutter of the gilded Book and closed it. The thump reverberated throughout the church. He coughed, pursed his lips, and looked at the thick wooden crossbeams that had kept the church’s nave from collapsing for nearly two hundred years. He planted his hands on either side of the lectern and leaned his trim, six-foot-two frame toward the congregation. Head bowed, he tasted the acrid bile of doubt and swallowed.

I beseech you, Lord. Purge these uncertainties. Make them go away. Fortify my faith. Inspire me. Help me reach these good people, not for my sake, but yours.

The devil made me do it, Father Delaney said to the gallery of vacant faces. He peered at them and smiled. "The devil made you do it," he blared, scanning the faces for a reaction. He worked his mouth into a scowl.

How many of you have prostrated yourselves at the foot of the false god and claimed those words as an excuse?

The woman in the faux fur nearest him twitched in the pew. She glanced at the man next to her who didn’t budge. The man sat expressionless, his chest rising and falling in rhythm to his distant thoughts.

We are all tempted. We all tempt. We are equal parts victim and victimizer in the eternal game.

A child grabbed a hymnal from his mother’s hand. She slapped his wrist and the book thudded on the stone floor. The thunderclap bounced off the old walls. She bent to the stone slabs to pick it up, spilling the contents of her purse down the sloping aisle.

Father Delaney spied her in the transept to his left. He sighed as she dropped to her knees and swept the splatter with her cupped hands.

Our heavenly father teaches patience. Satan entices us to impatience.

The woman looked up at him, unsure if this was an observation directed at her. She inched back into her seat and took her child’s hand.

Delaney raised his arms, palms to the rafters. Where do you stand, my friends? Do you stand firmly on that mountain and resist the temptation to look down and covet? Or do you long to throw yourself off and call the hand of the ageless teaser?

Father Delaney bent over the lectern, leaning on his elbows, yearning to make eye contact with a receptive spirit. Knock, knock, he said.

A baby wailed and his mother wafted him up, smothering his sobs in her shoulder. She nodded pardons as she made her way past cramped knees to the aisle and vestibule beyond. Delaney closed his eyes. He absorbed the coughing and hacking, the rustling of garments and pocketbooks, the crunch of a cracker eater, and the whimpering of infants.

Work with me, Lord. Work with me. There are untapped reservoirs out there waiting for your hand. Come on, Lord. Turn the spigot. Make the waters flow.

The priest detached the microphone from its stem and circled in front of the lectern. He took two steps downward toward the congregation, reached back to brace himself, and sat on the riser. Eyebrows arched. Whispers flowed. Here was Father Delaney about to improvise again. For some, it was reason enough to get out of bed and slog to church on an inclement Sunday morning. A teenage girl craned her neck to see if priests actually wore pants under their robes.

Delaney tucked his chasuble under his legs. Drafty, he said.

A handful of congregants tittered.

You ever feel like jumping? the priest said. You ever wonder if angels would lift you up before you dashed your brains out on the rocks?

The congregation sat stone-faced.

I do. Delaney shifted on the riser. I wonder all the time. He chuckled. You think that’s where the old saying, ‘Take a leap of faith’, comes from? Makes you think, doesn’t it?

A cell phone yelped from the handbag of the woman with the faux fur. Delaney glared at her. She jabbed at the thing until it died on the third shriek.

Jesus, fortify me.

Ah, he said. The tempter calls.

This time the congregation reacted. Some laughed. Bolder parishioners, mostly pensioners who pitied the talon-like grip that smartphones had on the young, impressionable congregants, clapped.

The woman squeezed the clasp on her handbag and smiled. Sorry, she mouthed through thick, painted lips.

Delaney sealed his eyes and tried to erase the image. He told himself to concentrate. Instead his head filled with uninvited visions of what lurked inside the handbag. He saw lipstick tubes smeared at the rims in garish reds, pinks and garnets. He saw tissues and gum, peppermint candies with the wrappers off, a dog-eared checkbook, torn receipts, an aspirin bottle, wallet photo, mirror smudged with fingerprints, key ring, tampon, Altoids, nail file, dental floss, notepad, paperclip, a topless Bic fine-point. He also saw the infernal smartphone, snug in its nylon, fishnet compartment, ready to defy his authority.

Did you have to give us the acumen to harness this technology, Lord? Didn’t we have enough addictions already?

As I was saying, I wonder about the leap of faith. I wonder what it would be like to jump headfirst into the abyss. I’ll bet you do too.

Father Delaney scanned the throng and nodded. He detected scattered smiles of concurrence.

Just getting through the day can be a challenge, can’t it? What with cars and kids and the job and bills to pay. Then you turn on the television and see all the easier ways out. Greed and lust and homage to mammon. Wouldn’t if be easier to just give in? Just succumb to the temptation? If you’re like me and every other human on the planet, you ask yourself what for.

Delaney’s legs stiffened and his backside was getting sore on the riser. He shifted his weight and leaned on his left arm. The folds of his chasuble fanned out under him like a picnic blanket. With his free hand he pointed to his flock. The altar servers, a brother and sister, fidgeted on the bench and eyed each other. One of these days, he’s gonna sprawl out up there and pass out. I’m not kidding either, the boy murmured.

It’s okay to ask what for, my friends. But you better have an answer. Matthew tells us that Jesus fasted forty days and forty nights to find his answer. Forty days and forty nights – the same amount of time that Noah waited in his sodden ark for an answer.

Delaney chuckled. God seems to like that number, doesn’t he? Forty days and forty nights must be the perfect gestation period for a well-baked answer. What humbles me is that Jesus fasted the entire time. Why? To cleanse himself. He wanted to free his body and mind to know the truth. He wanted to hunger for the knowledge of right and wrong.

Noticing that his shoe was untied, the priest stretched along the riser on his backside, brushed his chasuble to one side, and retied the errant laces. Then he stood, stretched, and smoothed his purple robes. Still lithe at thirty-eight, he strode to the lectern like the athlete he once was. He bent at the waist and kissed the gilded Book. The church speakers amplified the rustle of his layered vestments.

Let me leave you with this thought, he said. You will be tempted every day of your lives. We have Adam and Eve to thank for that. And Lucifer too. God threw him out of heaven, yes. But He didn’t defang the serpent. Rather he allowed the dark angel to fulfill his purpose. You, my friends, know the purpose as well as I. The devil exists to tempt you into choosing the easier course. He exists to lead you astray, to question your faith, to make you falter on your journey to God’s finish line. But he also exists to make you appreciate the counterpoint. Heaven wouldn’t be worth it if it were easy to get there. Think about it. If getting to heaven were a piece of cake, it wouldn’t be much of a reward for a lifetime of struggle, would it? Heaven, my friends, is the biggest reward there is. It’s better than hitting the lottery. It’s better than hitting a walk-off homerun in the seventh game of the World Series. He shook his head. But sadly, it’s not for everyone. While the statistics have never been published, my guess is that there’s billions who succumb and choose the other fork in the road. Don’t do that. Don’t be one of the lost souls. And whatever you do, don’t kid yourselves into believing the devil doesn’t exist. The devil, my friends, is closer than you know.

* * *

Father Delaney brushed the snow from his boots and entered the rectory through the kitchen door. The old clapboard house was only a hundred yards from St. Barnabas Church, but on a day with howling winds and diving mercury it was enough to make him wish for a parish in Palm Beach.

I left them spellbound today, Mrs. Sokash. Hanging on every word. Delaney winked, removed his parka, and hung it on the usual peg. He glanced in the wall mirror, saw the snow clods caked to his head, and shook his brown, wavy hair until the clumps fell to the floor. He noticed that a few of the shortly cropped strands above his sideburns were fading into white filaments, and frowned. He exhaled, steaming the mirror glass. After his spruce blue eyes emerged through the fog, he zeroed in on a white bristle and plucked it. He studied the tiny, white shaft as if it belonged to someone else’s head. Yup, left them spellbound.

We would expect nothing less, Father Tom, the housekeeper said. She thumped him on the shoulder and offered to pour his tea.

To the brim, Dolly. I’m iced over, he said. He chose the cup with the moose antlers, his favorite, and slid it along the tiled table to the plump, orange-haired housekeeper. She filled it to flood stage and waited until the priest dropped in two sugar cubes.

So it went well, did it?

Delaney shrugged. Nah. Nothing exceptional. Same old, same old. I don’t know if it’s them or me.

We all have our ups and downs, Father Tom. You’ll get your stride back.

The priest reached for the Sunday paper. I suppose, he said. It’s just that I’ve been off stride for too long. I feel like I’m arguing both sides up there on the altar.

You’re open-minded, you are. You see the whole picture. That’s a gift, don’t you know? She buttered a popover and handed it to him. Good turnout?

A third, I’d say. It’s hard to get out of bed on a day like this. The other two-thirds were probably smarter.

Mrs. Sokash caught her reflection in the small mirror that was magnet-bound to the refrigerator. She tortured her orange hair to behave and tugged the cowl of her sweater to admire the latest tattoo she’d added to the nape of her neck. El Mysterio, the tattoo artist at OctoInk, promised that the magenta lotus flower would promote inner contentment and a refreshing sense of spiritual renewal. The housekeeper felt comforted by the thought even though she knew it was hogwash. She rearranged her sweater to hide her widening hips. Ah, she said, Who am I kidding? I’m never going to see fifty again.

What’s that? the priest said.

Oh, nothing. I’m just thinking it’s going to get worse before it gets better. Say, I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up some. She waddled to the counter on the other side of the kitchen and opened a small bag tied with a ribbon. She handed it to Delaney and said, For you. Think of it as a way to improve your communications skills, not that you need improving, of course not. Better still, look at it as a new tool of the trade that every Catholic priest should have.

Delaney reached into the bag and pulled out a box with the logo of a bitten apple on the clear plastic window.

You got me a smartphone?

The housekeeper bobbed her head profoundly. "Not just any smartphone. That there is the latest iPhone. Picked it out myself, I did. Black, to match your wardrobe."

It might have been a monkey’s paw, considering how the priest twisted the box, holding it at arm’s length. Well, thanks, Dolly. But you know, my old flip phone works perfectly fine, and this thing is really expensive.

Forgive my saying so, Father Delaney, but you need to get with the program. Even an old gal like me knows that. Besides, it’s in the budget and you were due for an upgrade. In fact, you were due for an upgrade five years ago. With that thing there, you’re in touch with the world, you are. Later on we’ll charge the battery and I’ll show you how to fire it up. It comes with a manual that tells you how to operate it and download what they call apps.

Well, I’m grateful, Dolly, Delaney said, hoping the inflection in his voice sounded convincing.

The wind attacked the kitchen window in waves, rattling the shutters and pelting the panes with ice BBs. Dolly shuddered and fastened the top button of her sweater.

Thank your lucky stars you only have one Mass to say today.

Thank you, lucky stars, Delaney said, looking at the flaked ceiling. He lipped the moose cup and let the warm brew pool in his mouth. You realize, Dolly, that’s a pagan invocation.

What is?

Praying to the stars. Pre-Christian paganism of the purest kind. Father Delaney wiped his nose with the napkin Mrs. Sokash had laid out for him. The ancients, some of them anyway, practiced this type of astral science that gave godlike power to the sun and stars. I’m going back a long time, pre-Judaic, pre-Levant even. Delaney sniffled and blew into the balled napkin. Take Sunday for example. It was the holiest day of the sun worshippers. In fact, the name itself is pagan. Sunday is the sacred day of the sun god. The Egyptians called him Ra. To the Greeks he was Helios. Bet you didn’t know that. He lobbed the sodden napkin into the plastic garbage can and wiped his fingers on the napkin Mrs. Sokash had laid out for herself. And just for yucks, the Romans called him Sol. Today, my dear Dolly Sokash, we celebrate the Catholic Mass on a pagan holy day. And as you so adroitly point out, we pray to the stars.

The housekeeper threw her shoulders back and stuck out her jaw. "Who said anything about praying to them? I said thank them."

So that’s the distinction, is it?

She wiped the tile where he’d dripped tea. Father Tom, you must’ve been a heller when you were young. I’ll bet your mother had a handful, the poor woman. And to think there were two of you!

Delaney flinched. The cup clinked on the tiled table, splashing tea in a wave.

I’m sorry, Father. That’s so insensitive of me. I forgot, I did.

The priest patted her hand as she sopped up the brown liquid. It’s okay, Dolly. He took the dishtowel. My mess. Let me do it.

Mrs. Sokash walked to the sink and ran some water. Delaney heard the clinking of silverware and squirt of detergent. He turned his head and watched the housekeeper tie the red-checked apron to her ample hips. He inhaled deeply and blew a stream of exhaust at the dried flowers on the table. He’d overreacted. After all these years he still couldn’t stand to be reminded.

When will I learn? When will I put it behind me?

The housekeeper rinsed a dish and placed it in the strainer. She caught Father Delaney’s reflection in the window glass and frowned. Father McCardle wanted to see you.

Delaney looked at his fingers and realized he was drumming the table. He does, huh? What about?

Not very forthcoming, that man. He didn’t say, and far be it from yours truly to pry.

Course not. I wish he’d bug Gerald once in awhile.

Mrs. Sokash wiped her hands on the apron and strode to the table. She stood behind the priest and studied his wet hair and frayed collar. You’re a kidder, you are, Father Tom, she said and wondered if it was the right thing to say. She lowered her shoulders and whispered into Delaney’s ear. And by the way, he bugs Father Francini just as much as he bugs you.

I am deeply consoled that he bugs Gerald impartially.

She tweaked his earlobe. And don’t you go saying anything, you hear?

Do I ever, Dolly?

Delaney rose from the chair, squeezed the woman’s arm, pecked her on the cheek, and pointed toward the back of the house. In there?

Where else?

To Oz, the priest said. He skipped loose-jointed like the brainless scarecrow on the yellow brick road.

You’re a kidder you are, Father Tom.

He danced sideways and sang. A wiz of a wiz, a wonderful wiz, if ever a wiz there was.

Mrs. Sokash shook her orange head and made for the sink. Priests! she said under her breath.

Delaney stopped at the French doors and peered through the glass. He saw the white-haired pastor sitting before the fire with his feet splayed on a hassock. His bifocals, suspended from Croakies that circled his neck, rested on his abundant stomach. Black, irregular stitches revealed where the old man had mended his socks. Delaney knocked. The pastor straightened in the cushy armchair, brushed crumbs from his faded cassock, and waved his assistant in.

Morning, Cyrus, Delaney said, sticking his head inside the great-room and wrinkling his nose.