Behind the Altar

By Robert Henman

BEHIND THE ALTAR by Robert Henman
Xlibris Publishing 2008
ISBN 978-1-4363-2487-8

This is a work of fiction reflecting on the role of contemporary institutional religions in the modern world. Over the past 500 years science has emerged as a challenge to contemporary religions that have their origins in the mythical and classical consciousness of the past 3000 years. Those modes of consciousness have collapsed into an eclectic mix of consciousness. Do traditional forms of religion have a role in the future of humanity? This story, based on the authors 24 year experience of working in pastoral and educational positions with the Roman Catholic Church, attempts to raise this question. It challenges the reader to reflect on their own authentic way of moving forward. As all issues in contemporary society, the issue is global and serious, as we witness the tension between religions, not unlike that of the Medieval Period in Europe and its destructive colonization of valid cultures world wide. History, or perhaps the longer cycle of decline, will perpetuate itself until some cross cultural, cross gender, and foundational human commonality is empirically discovered. This story is an attempt to reveal local functioning problems as a manifestation of a much larger historical problem. The story ends with a subtle pointing towards solution.

This novel is about personal survival within the context of modern institutions, more specifically, contemporary religions. The main character, Jimmie Deveau, and his wife Mel, work as pastoral associates with the Roman Catholic Church. The institution begins to take its toll on their personal lives. Jimmie has had to deal with numerous problems in his career and he accepted them as part of his job and life in general. As ongoing problems emerge within the institution, Jimmie discovers a secret about his childhood that has been kept from him. Jimmie finds himself wondering whether he can continue working in the institutional church. Relationships become strained as Jimmie attempts to work through to a decision. These events send him into a deeper reflection on his career, his life, and the role religion plays in contemporary society. Through dramatic fiction, the story explores a growing self-interest in contemporary religion and the difficulty of personal change.

See below or go to Roberthenman.com for a review of this book and more information on the author.

Review by William Zanardi of Behind the Altar by Robert Henman
Published by Xlibris Publishing April 2008
ISBN 978-1-4363-2487-8
Available at Amazon.ca/com and most online bookstores worldwide> Love and betrayal, anger and distrust such are the phases of relationships ending in pain. In Behind the Altar, Robert Henman narrates his protagonists journey through these phases. The love was for a Church that offered a secure home, moral ideals, a purpose for living. Betrayal took the form of institutional authorities putting personal gain and the Churchs reputation above service to those they professed to love. If anger is proportionate to love lost, then the greater the original love, the greater the distrust betrayal evokes.

The reader will suspect much of the story is autobiographical, an insiders report on the psychological flaws and rationalizing defenses of fearful individuals: authority figures desperate to hang on to power and prestige and their too trusting followers anxious about leaving the only secure home they have known. The authors careful depiction of the wrenching trauma of betrayal is so nuanced that it must have a basis in personal experience. There is no sudden shift from nave belief to disillusionment. Instead, trust erodes slowly; doubts arise and subside; resolve takes shapes and retreats; efforts to overcome fear and to accept financial and spiritual risks only gradually build momentum.

The grea

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 29, 2008
• ISBN: 9781462815890

Robert Henman

Behind the Altar is Robert Henman’s first work of fiction. He has published articles in philosophy, psychotherapy, theology, and ethics. He is the author of a text on the Educational Psychology of Religion, The Child as Quest, University Press of America, 1984. He recently retired as a Pastoral Associate with the Archdiocese of Halifax. For over two decades Robert has been lecturing in philosophy and ethics to undergraduate and medical students. He and his wife Olive Dewan have two adult children and live in Halifax, Nova Scotia. For more information or to contact Robert see his website http://users.eastlink.ca/~rhenman50/

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

St. Mary’s Basilica, Halifax, July 1958

The roar of the pipe organ thundered through the church, sending quivers through Jimmie Gorman’s little three-year-old body. Jimmie looked up. The church was so big. The ceiling was so high. To look up made him dizzy. Tall windows with coloured pictures were everywhere. A strange woman wearing a black gown and hood stood stiffly beside Jimmie, holding her hymnbook straight out in front of her. She was singing extremely loudly. Jimmie thought that perhaps she was in pain. Every now and then, she looked down at him and produced a smile, but almost immediately, it transformed into a sad pout. There weren’t many people in this church today, not like there usually was when he and his mom went to their regular church. At the front, there were a few men dressed in strange dark costumes. Jimmie didn’t know any of them except for one, saying the strange words that Jimmie could never understand.

Father Peter, as Jimmie’s mother used to call him, came down from the big table to the front of the aisle. He walked around a big box shaking a funny looking shiny thing hanging from a chain. Smoke came out of the shiny thing and it smelled awful. Jimmie held his hand to his nose. The strange woman beside him reached over and took his hand away, motioning for him to keep his hand at his side. When Father Peter finished swinging the smoking thing, everyone stood up and left the church. Jimmie, Father Peter and the strange woman got in a big black car and they went very slowly for what seemed like a very long time. Father Peter spoke quietly to the woman about finding a place for the boy to live. The woman told the priest that it might take time, but that she would do her best.

Eventually, the car drove into a large field where short little stones were lined up in rows. Jimmie had never been here before, but he suddenly felt very afraid. The car drove around the field and finally stopped near a large pile of brown earth. Father Peter got out of the car. The strange woman took Jimmie’s hand and they walked behind the only person there that Jimmie knew. They stopped at the pile of dirt and the men Jimmie didn’t know carried the big box up to a very deep hole. Jimmie looked up at Father Peter and reached to hold his hand. Father Peter held his hand for a moment and stared down smiling at Jimmie. It’s okay Jimmie. he said quietly. Jimmie looked at the big box. Father Peter opened a book and spoke more strange words, while another man moved something and the big box began to slowly sink into the deep dark hole. The strange woman and the men said ‘Amen’ and Father Peter again took Jimmie by the hand and they walked back to the big black car. They got in and began to drive away. Jimmie stretched up and tried to peek out the back window to see what the men at the hole were doing. They were shovelling the dirt into the hole. Jimmie began to cry. Father Peter put his arms around him, held him close and spoke to the woman in black. You will keep me informed about how he is doing?

Yes, Father Randall. The Home will do everything possible to place him with a good family.

I want to know who they are. I made a promise.

Yes Father Randall. I understand. They spoke as if Jimmie was somewhere else, or as if they believed the feelings of a child to be short-lived. The strange woman sat still and straight in her seat, never moving or speaking unless spoken to. Jimmie felt all alone. He put his little hand in Father Peter’s and rolled his fingers up tight. Father Peter held his hand, but did not look down at Jimmie’s face. The car drove on and no one spoke anymore. They arrived at a big house, and the strange woman got out of the car and motioned for Jimmie to come with her. Jimmie looked up at Father Peter. Father Peter could see the boy’s fear. It’s okay Jimmie. This very nice Sister is going to take care of you for a while. I’ll come and visit you soon. It’s okay. Jimmie trusted Father Peter. He was the only big friend Jimmie had now. Jimmie got out of the car and the car pulled away. Father Peter never turned around to wave. Jimmie stood on the sidewalk and watched as the big black car drove away. It was a warm summer day, but Jimmie felt cold and when the woman took his hand, he was surprised that he could feel some warmth from her. However, when he looked at her face, he could not see or feel any of the warmth he was looking for. They had told him that his mother had gone to heaven and that he would go there someday and see her. But he didn’t know where heaven was or why his mother would go there without him. He began to cry as the two of them walked up the steps and into the big strange house out of the sun.

CHAPTER TWO

2005

Father Pete and Jimmie had been good friends for as long as Jimmie could remember. Father Pete had befriended his mother during her fatal illness when Jimmie was only three. Jimmie had never known his father and after her death, Father Pete had arranged for him to be adopted. He would come and see Jimmie whenever he could. Jimmie loved Jack and Mary Deveau, his adopted parents, but always felt a little unsettled about his past. Father Pete was like the uncle he’d never had. His adopted parents had had no siblings and Father Pete knew that, to Jimmie, he was extended family.

Jimmie had had a good life with his chosen parents. He could no longer remember much about his biological mother and whenever he asked about her, Father Pete shared from his own personal memories, so different from that of a child. So, Jimmie was left with a few faded photos and even fewer memories of his earliest days.

When Jimmie was eighteen he had met Melanie MacDonald. It was love at first sight. They had dated all through their undergraduate years at Saint Mary’s University and after being very involved in the Catholic community there, they decided that they wanted to go away and do graduate studies in theology. Father Pete witnessed their marriage on June 14th, 1975. After a very brief and inexpensive honeymoon, Mel and Jimmie headed off to Boston College, where the largest gathering of Jesuits are purported to reside, to further their studies. He and Mel both felt that was where they would get their best education. Two years later, they returned to Halifax, both with graduate degrees in theology. They were ready to work in ministry and fulfill a dream they had had for sometime. That was almost thirty years ago and those years had been fulfilling and exciting. They had raised a daughter, Joeanne, who was now living in Toronto and for the most part, creating her own independence. The post-Vatican II church fitted their sense of community and provided an opportunity to be part of something that they felt was a major turning point in the history of Catholicism. For many years now, they had both worked as Pastoral Assistants in different parishes. Those years had been good to them.

Jimmie was working away at his desk clearing paperwork that he had left undone over the weekend when Father Sean Delaney, his boss, friend, and the pastor of St. Jude’s Parish, walked in.

Good morning Jimmie. How are you this morning? Father Sean Delaney was a tall man, with a slender build and greying hair. They had been working together for six years. He was a reasonable man who had supported the changes in the church over the years but at the age of 65, it was obvious to Jimmie that his pastor was growing tired. The new bishop, who had been appointed a few years ago, was tending to tow the traditional, conservative line of the Church, and what had come to be called the roll back was becoming more and more evident all over the Diocese.

Good morning Sean. I’m fine thank you. And you? Jimmie turned in his chair to face him standing in the doorway.

May I sit?

Please. Jimmie motioned with his hand to the chairs.

Father Delaney looked not only tired this morning, but also distracted. He sat down and stared at the books on the shelf, as if he was searching for what to say or how to say it. Jimmie sat quietly and waited. The silence went on.

Sean, is something wrong? Jimmie decided to give him an in.

Well, I don’t know if wrong is the right word, just more of the same I guess. I received a fax this morning from the chancery. He paused and looked back again at the books.

Oh, and what’s the news this week from his Grace? Jimmie wasn’t overly happy with the new bishop and faxes often meant something disturbing, something that would contribute even more to the roll back that had been emanating from Rome over the past two decades.

He’s moving Mel’s pastor this spring. Sean looked worried. He looked at the floor and tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair searching for more. The fax also told me who the bishop is assigning to her parish. Sean looked up at him with his bad news face.

Give it to me straight Sean. Jimmie sat up in his chair and prepared himself for what Sean seemed to feel may not be a good one.

Father Jeffries. Sean looked away immediately to the books again, avoiding Jimmie’s gaze. Jimmie could feel the priest’s embarrassment and sense of helplessness.

Well, this should be fun. Jimmie tossed out. Father Jeffries was not just a traditionalist; his reputation was that of a control freak. It was general knowledge throughout the diocese, that he had not a thought of his own. What Rome and the bishop said was the Truth and getting the Truth across to ‘the hungry masses’, justified being an arrogant man. Rumours had circulated of his controlling brutality throughout the diocese, towards both co-workers and the people he ‘served’. His ass-kissing tendencies could be observed anytime he was in the presence of the Bishop or anyone else further up the ecclesial pecking order than himself.

I am concerned about Mel’s job security Jimmie. Father Jeffries has a poor track record when it comes to working with people who hold any position beyond kitchen help. I don’t know how he will respond to Mel. I called the bishop this morning and spoke to him about the wisdom of putting him there, but he did not seem to be concerned. Father Sean clasped his hands together and stared at them expressing a sense of futility in his efforts. He was not on the personnel board which made recommendations of personnel changes to the bishop but at that moment he wished he was.

Well, let’s wait and see what happens. Mel’s weathered a few tough clerics in her day. Jimmie kept the optimism afloat.

Yes, she has, but if anything did happen, what would she do? Father Sean appeared genuinely concerned.

I don’t know. We’ve both been pretty lucky I suppose, managing to keep non-contractual positions all these years. Mel and I certainly can’t live on my salary. Jimmie wondered whether Father Sean knew something more and if he might be preparing him for the worst.

Father Sean stood up and cleared his throat. Well, we have a few months before it happens. We’ll talk about it again, I’m sure. Will you tell Mel?

Most certainly, Jimmie stood up and faced Father Sean. I want you to know that these years here with you have been good and in the midst of Rome’s efforts to tighten up and close its mind, you’ve showed courage and support to Mel and I in ways that many would dare not express. We both appreciate that a lot and we’ll remember that, no matter what happens. Jimmie held out his hand towards him.

Thanks Jimmie. He reached for humility within himself. They gave each other a manly hug and Sean turned and left without giving eye contact. Jimmie watched the tall man’s stature suddenly appear to shrink. He felt glad that he had never been indoctrinated quite as deeply as the clerics. There was less to lose when things slid away.

CHAPTER THREE

That evening Mel and Jimmie relaxed after dinner with a glass of wine. Mel was a very attractive and striking woman, only a year younger than Jimmie. She kept her hair cropped quite short with just a hint of highlight blond through the dark brown. It always seemed to be in step with the current styles. Her figure had maintained a youthful look, although Jimmie knew gravity was beginning to have its way. Jimmie was a few inches taller than Mel and although he had hit the big 50, his hair had yet to show the grey that so many men his age experienced. His waistline could grow from time to time, especially in the summer when beer became the drink of choice. But when the autumn returned, he quickly reverted to red wine and scotch. The waistline always responded appropriately, at least so far. He knew his day would come.

As he walked across the living room and handed Mel another glass of wine, he saw the fullness of her beauty in her face that had unchanged over the thirty years they had been together. He wondered how his news would affect that beauty. He sat down beside her and told her what Father Sean had told him.

What will I do Jimmie? Mel tried to appear calm, but he knew she was deeply concerned. She had lucked out over the years with pastors, who had been for the most part, gracious and open-minded men. Part of the reason Jimmie was so worried now, was that Mel had such limited experience with authoritative personalities in general. She was not a confrontationalist in any sense of the word. Jimmie, on the other hand, had had just the opposite experience, and far too often. He wondered whether the pastors responded differently to men than women and if so, why.

I don’t know. But hell, Jeffries might turn out to be likeable. He’s getting older and perhaps he’s mellowing. He was trying to ease her concern.

Don’t patronize me Jimmie. You know, as well as I do what Jeffries is like. He’s cleaned house everywhere he’s been. I find it odd that the bishop would move him again knowing what he might do. Do you think the bishop is trying to get rid of me? She sipped her wine peeking over the rim of her glass.

Well, he knows he is not our favourite person, but I doubt that he would put any effort into contemplating your demise. I suspect he’s focused on higher things, if you know what I mean, Jimmie smiled at Mel, and you have no influence on that either way. Jimmie leaned forward and took Mel’s hand in his.

So, I just wait and see? Is that it? Mel pulled her hand away from his, in a show of personal strength.

Let it ride for now Mel. We’ve always managed to survive these things and we’ll survive this one. He didn’t want Mel to get upset over this, at least not yet. But he did know that she had a right to be concerned. By the way, have we heard from Father Pete lately? He changed the topic.

No, not for some time. I wonder how he’s really doing. I know he’s not well, but he never tells us anything, and the staff at that care facility is sworn to secrecy. Retirement was never really his thing. He never did well with idleness and it’s only being further complicated by the cancer. Mel sat back, attempting to relax with the shift in conversation, but Jimmie knew the news of the pastoral change was still in the air.

Between his illness and his struggles with the bishop, Father Pete had little choice. I’ll call him tomorrow and see how things are going. It’s not like him not to call. We usually hear from him at least once a month or so, and it’s been that long at least, I think.

Well, maybe he’s waiting for you to call? Mel gave him a smile of ‘Do you think?’

Jimmie smiled back acknowledging the truth of her comment. He considered for just a moment whether Pete’s lack of communication might mean more bad news.

They both stared off across their living room, Jimmie wondering what their future would be and suspecting Mel was doing the same. He reached out again and held her hand. She squeezed his hand, but neither of them looked away from the Renoir print that hung on their living room wall.

CHAPTER FOUR

Pete, how are you? It wasn’t just all good old Catholic guilt that had gotten the best of Jimmie; in truth, Father Pete was one of his best friends and Jimmie was concerned about his health. Jimmie sat in his office with his early morning coffee in hand and a copy of the Catholic New Times. He had been reading an article about some priest who had spoken out in support of the women who had been ordained in Ontario that past summer, and the bishop who was asking him to recant. He put the paper down as Father Pete’s frail voice came through the phone.

Good morning Jimmie. I’m getting on for an old fella’.

Com’ on now Pete, really, how are you doing? Jimmie had not seen Father Pete in a few months. He had retired at seventy-four due to ill health, and Jimmie was concerned about him. They had moved him into a nursing home in Truro, in order to get the care he needed. He had no family and very few friends visited him, including Jimmie. He had wanted to visit when Pete had first moved, but Pete would always put him off and told him not to worry—that the roads could be slippery, or some other lame excuse—Jimmie felt the guilt pass through him for not trying harder or just going anyway. Pete had been very reluctant to give him any details about his condition. His silence on the matter gave Jimmie reason for grave concern. He decided, at that moment, to visit him next weekend.

Mel and I were thinking of driving up this weekend to see you. Is there anything you need? Jimmie wasn’t going to give him an out this time.

Now Jimmie, I’m doing fine and you and Mel have lots of better things to do I’m sure, rather than drive all the way up here and visit me. His voice sounded tired and weak.

Jimmie stuck to his guns this time. It’s okay Pete. We haven’t seen you in a while, and it’s only an hour’s drive. We’re coming up, and that’s that. I have a few things I’d like to chat about with you anyway, besides seeing your old self.

Father Pete hesitated in silence. Jimmie could hear his shallow breathing. Well, if you must, I could use some decent reading material. There’s nothing here but magazines, and all my own books are still packed in the rectory at St. Dominic’s. They were to send it on, but the stuff never arrived. Would you mind Jimmie?

I wouldn’t mind at all Pete. I’ll pick them up and Mel and I will be there Saturday afternoon after lunch. How’s that? He had given up too easily this time. Jimmie wondered again if things had gotten worse.

That would be great Jimmie. How are Mel and Joeanne? His voice picked up a bit when he mentioned their daughter. He had come to know her so well, that she considered him an honorary uncle.

Mel is fine and Joeanne is really enjoying Toronto, and more importantly, she’s paying her own bills. She loves the teaching and seems to be getting very serious about this guy she’s been dating recently. He’s Muslim Pete, from Israel. He came here to study, and I think Joanne has persuaded him to stay.

Well, if the religious leaders and politicians can’t get it together, let love lead the way, eh?

We may be getting a son-in-law sooner than we thought. Can you witness a marriage from a sick bed?

I won’t be in this bed forever Jimmie.

What did he mean? Jimmie knew there were two ways to leave a bed.

Pete’s voice was weakening. Jimmie decided to cut the conversation sooner than he had planned, Look, Mel and I will get those books and be there on Saturday. You take care. Until then?

Okay Jimmie, my love to everyone. He hung up the phone before Jimmie could even say ‘Good-bye’. He hadn’t sounded great. Jimmie hoped Mel had no plans for Saturday. He knew he should have run this by her before making the plans, but this was long overdue. He needed to know how the man who had stood by him all his life was truly getting on. He called Mel right away. She was glad he had called Pete and looked forward to visiting him. Jimmie called St. Dominic’s and made arrangements to pick up the books later that day.

He relaxed back in his chair and finished reading the article in CNT. He was in support of women as priestesses. But women did not need his support. In fact he wondered whether support was even the right way to go. When you are convinced you are right about something, you go for it. But you also know something else. Your opponent holds the same conviction, that they too are right. So, whose revelation is Revelation? These women were going for it. They did not need anyone’s support, least of all, Rome’s. Men liked the game, and went after it, often in very clandestine ways. Women, well at least these women, showed incredible strength, Jimmie thought. There was a courage and honesty about that approach to life that made Jimmie feel small for a moment, and yet proud to have Mel, a woman, as his best friend. He put the paper down and wondered if this priest would become a martyr or another victim of patriarchy—perhaps both. His coffee had cooled. He put the cup down on his desk and looked out of the office window. The sunlight was dancing off the new leaves of spring—that sense of newness that mixes with the stirrings of change and struggle.

CHAPTER FIVE

Mel and Jimmie arrived at Father Pete’s nursing residence shortly after lunch. Jimmie carried the box of books that he had retrieved from St. Dominic’s. He looked up at the three storey building that had become Father Pete’s home. It was a beautifully designed building on the outside. The interior vestibule was spacious and the floors were so clean and shiny, you could have had a picnic on them at any time. The desk clerk was on the phone and nodded in recognition as they headed off down the corridor. They didn’t get too far when he called to them, saying that Father Pete had moved rooms a few days ago. When Jimmie asked him why, the clerk attempted a smile and said; I’m sorry, but you’ll have to ask Father Peter about that. He’s in Room 107, just down the corridor.

As they walked down the long corridor of gleaming marble, Jimmie began to feel anxious about seeing Father Pete. During their phone conversations, he was always ‘fine’. Jimmie realized at that moment, that he had never quite