Chance Encounters

By M. J. Benson

The good-looking and beloved Fr. Alexander Vanos has served his church and community well. But, he’s no ordinary priest. Bored to death with the mundane rituals and routines of priestly life, he studies centuries old church policies and doctrines and asks the question….do they line up with biblical doctrine? Thus begins his quest for truth, leading to a life-changing decision that threatens to destroy close and supportive relationships. As if that wasn’t enough, a chance encounter with an African American Protestant female with her own issues, will dramatically reshape the course of their lives and set them on a collision course with their respective families. Will he choose love, or devotion to God? Can he have both? Will she do the unthinkable?

But his decision to accept the challenge to spearhead an organization of ex-priests explodes into an international initiative and proves to be his boldest move yet. Described as a ‘modern day Martin Luther’ by some, Fr. Vanos and
this organization embarks on an extraordinary journey, one that threatens
the boundaries of family relations, and ultimately…challenges Rome on an international platform, continuing in the sequel The Silent Majority, (available now at on-line book stores, and www.westbowpress.com.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Mar 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664219960

M. J. Benson

This is a revision of the author’s first book titled No Ordinary Nothing (originally released in 2008 by another publisher), which she says developed from childhood dreams. But the childhood dreams developed into a passion for reading and writing; and for the plain truth of God’s word after receiving Christ as her Savior. Single, and the mother of three grown sons, she makes her home in Columbia, South Carolina. She enjoys teaching a Sunday School Youth class at her church. One of her passions is to inspire her students to love God’s Word and be committed to reading it.

Book preview

Chapter 1

S he yearned for it, wanted to embrace it. But for all her efforts and prayer, it eluded her again, and now after the last disaster, she doubted she’d ever find it. Her confidence and self-esteem, already fragile from the first incident, crumbled. Now, the pity party had begun, but after what she considered a sufficient ‘mourning period,’ she would dust herself off and move on, swearing to stay away from men for good.

Evian Denin, affectionately called Evie by her friends, pulled into the parking lot near the main post office and sat for a few minutes leaning against the headrest. This is the last time my heart’s going to be broken, d—. She started to swear then quickly repented. Jesus, I’m so sorry, I repent. Please forgive me. But I’ve had it with the first half of your creation. I didn’t deserve this. I know it’s my fault, it’s what I get for … anyway, I’m sorry, Lord, and no more. I mean it—this time. Tears flowed freely before she could stop them, and for several minutes, she cried her heart out. She was angry, irritated, and just plain mad! Revenge. Sweet revenge. If only …

But Ian Montgomery wasn’t worth the headache. Still, it hurt deeply. He proved on more than one occasion that fidelity was not his forte. How can a relationship survive without trust? After much convincing, she usually believed his lies, but in the deepest part of her soul, she knew they were just that … lies. Before a parting of the ways, there’s always ‘the last straw that broke the camel’s back.’ For Evian, it was dropping by Ian’s apartment on her lunch hour to surprise him for his birthday. But … Ian forgot Evian had a key. Now, three months later, it was still fresh in her mind—walking in on them, the muffled seductive moans still echoing in her ears. Stunned, and barely breathing, she stood in the doorway, completely immobile and watched them for a few seconds. The pain and literal heartache were almost unbearable. Horrified, she screamed at the top of her lungs ‘police!’ She had never seen two people move so fast, jumping and scrambling off the bed, grabbing anything for cover and practically falling on the floor. The scene was so comical she would have laughed had she not been so angry, mostly with herself for trusting that snake. In a fit of anger, she flushed her birth control pills down the toilet, right along with her many tears.

The entire time she dated Ian, Evian shied away from the church, making one excuse after another. She hated her own hypocrisy. Why bother to go to church, throw up holy hands and praise God one minute, then sin the next? Hands could not have been too holy, she thought. Ignoring the conviction of the Holy Spirit, she went her merry way, feeling downright miserable and guilty. But a praying grandmother heeded the unction of the Holy Spirit and interceded for her. Growing weary, missing fellowship and worship, and other church activities, she made up her mind to tell Ian once and for all to make a choice. They had been together long enough for him to know if marriage was the next step and he needed to take that step. Or else.

Funny thing about God. He may give you your ‘or else.’ It may not come the way you intended but that ‘or else’ could be used as a catalyst for change for your good. A month after that disaster, Evian rededicated her life to God.

As far as Evian could remember, family, friends and strangers alike acknowledged her beauty, some describing her as stunning. Ian always said her figure was a ‘knock-out’ and her ‘perfectly shaped legs’—thanks to participation in sports at a young age—needed to be insured. Her mother enrolled her in tennis and ballet during elementary school, and though she continued both for many years, tennis outlived ballet. But she was also told she had a great personality, and her friends certainly thought she was loyal. Yet, that was not enough to hold on to a man.

She inhaled deeply and looked around. If one needed a good hiding place, this park was it. In addition to huge oaks, immaculately sculpted bushes and mazes of flowers, the stone pathway leading to the man-made lake and the nature trail were favorites with everyone. Paddleboats were available, and of course, ducks abounded. A stadium had been built for summer concerts and other special events throughout the year. Then there were the people—Evian thought they seemed friendlier and smiled more. It allowed them to be free, to do whatever. But what do I know? Maybe they were always like that, maybe it’s just my imagination.

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It took you long enough, the priest exclaimed, exasperated as he read and reread the one-page letter. Four months to be exact. The original letter, though penned under great sadness, removed a heavy burden; but also gave him a sense of freedom to investigate, to speak openly and honestly, to ask hard questions. Too many questions needed answers, and the same old answers were unacceptable. He needed the biblical truth and nothing but—no additions or opinions. Even at a young age, his heart and mind were set on becoming a priest. As an adult, his heart and mind sometimes waged war for a lifetime commitment, but seven years into the priesthood brought new challenges and struggles, new issues and irritations.

There was certainly more than one way to serve God, and he simply wanted to explore other options. At St. John, too much emphasis was placed on obtaining an office or title and not much effort on serving the people or the church. At least, it seemed that way to him. He thought it was supposed to be more about serving people than drafting policies and laws, some of which seemed to change course with the wind; more about salvation than raising money, which never seemed to be enough. This sometimes stiff, legalistic approach only cemented his decision. He put the letter in his right-side desk drawer and locked it.

He would make his hospital visitations early to ensure he could return before the boys started their Saturday afternoon basketball practice. Fifty-year-old Ellen Warren had major surgery Friday morning, and John Carlisle’s blood sugar level soared, resulting in an admission via the emergency room. He glanced at his watch, 11:30. His first visit with Ellen only lasted a few minutes because she was still groggy from the anesthesia. He would return after his visit with John Carlisle. Thankfully, they were in the same hospital.

If time permitted, he would take his usual stroll in the park, a half-mile from the church. Like many others, he loved walking in the park, not only watching people but also talking to them about themselves. About Jesus. A person’s salvation was important to him, but he was always careful in approaching the subject. Sometimes, people found it offensive and would get angry or walk away. Then there were times when the subject of salvation was embraced by a few. But Fr. Vanos was not concerned with numbers, or policies, or tradition. Even if only one person accepted Jesus Christ through his talking and sharing, he considered it time well spent.

The slightest increase in temperatures during the winter months found people dashing for the outdoors, and the unseasonably warm temperatures for January drew people to the park like a magnet. The immaculate landscaping burst forth with just a hint of green sprinkled here and there, and the gardens teased with soft colorful splashes of their splendor in full spring. Several Southern landmarks, hundred-year-old oaks and colorful magnolias, as well as cascading waterfalls-graced the landscape. It was peaceful but teeming with life. Fr. Vanos wanted to embrace that life, get involved, and be carefree like the people in the park … Not boxed in. Trapped.

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As Fr. Vanos entered the hospital through the front lobby, he ran into one of his church members on her way out. After a cheery greeting and two-minute conversation, he casually remarked that he hoped he would see her at Mass that Sunday. Caught completely off guard, the young woman looked around nervously, and mumbled something about working late, bid the priest good-bye, and made a beeline for the door. The priest chuckled to himself. One minute everyone is freely discussing secular things, and the next minute hurrying for the door as soon as you mention going to church.

A nurse was in Mr. Carlisle’s room checking his vitals, as he inhaled and exhaled at her directions. Rosa Carlisle was in a chair next to his bed. She jumped up when the priest stuck his head in the doorway, and beckoned him to come in.

Father, I’m so glad you came. Now maybe you can talk some sense into this old goat. The doctor says he might stay here longer if he doesn’t get it together.

Well, we’ll just have to help him, won’t we?

The nurse finished up, said his vitals were fine, and nodded to the priest as she walked out. Man, what a waste, she thought, simply dumbfounded that a man that good-looking would choose to be a priest.

So, how’s the patient? Fr. Vanos asked, extending his hand.

Better than last night for sure, Father. Blood pressure’s down, and my sugar is good too.

Praise God! I’m glad to hear that. Prayerfully, it’ll stay that way.

And I’ll help with that. He wouldn’t be here if he had ignored that big piece of German chocolate cake calling his name and—

Well, it was right under my nose! John exclaimed.

Which will never happen again, Rosa said good-naturedly.

Yeah, right. Father, she’s trying to kill me and then blame me for it.

The priest chuckled, enjoying this exchange between the two. They clearly loved each other after forty years of marriage and this kind of bantering back and forth was typical. It was delightful to the priest. Just watching them made him wonder. He pulled a little paperback from his Bible and gave it to Rosa. A book of healing foods directly from the Bible; it also included some wonderful recipes for all kinds of conditions, including diabetes. Rosa flipped through the book every now and then making comments. Pleased with what she saw, she looked up and exclaimed, Thank you, Father. I’ll definitely put this to good use.

Please do and let me know if it helps you. After a few more minutes of small talk, he glanced at his watch. Well, I’d better get going. I want to stop by and see Ellen, too.

Thanks for the reminder. I’ll check on her when I leave.

He prayed for the family, and then left for his visit with Ellen but not before stopping by the hospital cafeteria for lunch. Fr. Vanos was known by many of the hospital staff from his frequent visits. He surmised that some people spoke just to be polite, but he was acutely aware that some of the nurses openly stared him up and down. Many times, he opted to order take-out to avoid that uncomfortable feeling and this time would be no exception. He would eat his lunch in Ellen’s room.

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Fr. Vanos headed to the gift shop looking for something for Ellen. As was his custom, he took a gift when visiting a patient or someone’s home as an invited guest, and whatever he bought never came out of the church budget. The monsignor would never approve such a request. There was the usual stack of get-well cards in the benevolent box, but Fr. Vanos never took one. His parishioners were always telling him how different he was from the other priests. Moreover, Ellen was wonderful, loved by everyone, and many times the first to lend a helping hand to individuals and the church.

Like Fr. Vanos, Ellen butt heads occasionally with Msgr. Rathbone. The elder priest was stiff-necked, somewhat antagonistic to anyone who seemed a threat, and appeared to have not one compassionate bone in his body. Fr. Vanos thought he held his big nose a bit too high in the air. But what he resented the most was the tyrannical approach the monsignor used when talking to women, and even some of the younger nuns. His unspoken but well-known my way or the highway motto irked a lot of people. Some of the parishioners expressed sheer exasperation to Fr. Vanos but he would simply tell them he understood and to pray for the monsignor. He refused to bad-mouth his superior but did tell him nicely, on more than one occasion, that he would get more participation out of others if he was kinder and more compassionate. The monsignor politely reminded him who was the superior, and basically threatened to transfer him ‘to another parish across town’ if he continued to ‘stir up confusion.’ But threat or no threat, Fr. Vanos continued to express his opinion—as did Ellen on occasion—but it was usually lost on the elder priest.

As Fr. Vanos walked around the gift shop, a young girl stood behind the counter flipping through a hairstyle magazine which she desperately needed. Plastered in makeup, she looked to be about eighteen with tri-colored hair, half of which was pulled up in a mile-high pouf and the other half pulled back in a tight off-centered ponytail. Loudly popping gum, she looked up when she saw him. May I help you?

I’m looking for something to take to a female patient, one of my church members.

The clerk closed the book and came from behind the counter. Pop … pop … Young or old?

Well, middle age, but you might consider that old.

Pop … pop … She snorted and then cleared her throat. Sometimes middle age women like silly things, somethin’ to make ‘em laugh. Like a silly balloon or silly card … Pop … pop … pop … a nice magazine for homes, a cute little teddy bear. If she got a green thumb, a plant might do. Pop … pop … pop … pop …

The nerve-wracking, incessant gum popping continued in rapid succession. It was baffling to the priest how she could talk and pop gum simultaneously and he could not wait to get out of there. Thanks for those suggestions. And I think I see just the thing. He picked up a colorful, get-well teddy bear balloon hooked to a plant inside a big white cup trimmed in red. Ellen loved plants, bears, and dolphins but there was nothing in the shop with a dolphin motif. As she rang up the purchase, he asked, You’ll be in your church on Sunday, right?

She looked puzzled. Huh? Pop … pop …

Church, he repeated. Do you belong to a church?

The clerk was unprepared for the question and could only nod her head about as fast as she popped gum.

Chapter 2

T he problem plaguing Fr. Vanos was not in submission to authority, but rather the denial of opportunities to freely express his opinion of issues when they conflicted with biblical truths. Even in seminary, he questioned certain teachings when there was no biblical basis. Thousand-year-old traditions and teachings were being challenged, though not for the first time. Pleasantly surprised to learn that many priests shared his views and opinions, he was unable to find anywhere in the Scriptures where Jesus mandated a state of ‘single blessedness.’ He seemed to think that even Jesus left it optional. In stating the qualifications of a bishop, Paul told Timothy that a bishop must be the husband of one wife … one that ruleth well his own house, having his children in subjection with all gravity (KJV). Didn’t that mean an elder, bishop, preacher, or priest could marry? After all, the Scriptures use those terms interchangeably; therefore, it would refer to anyone with any of those titles, regardless of denomination or church. Weren’t those in the priestly order of the Old Testament such as Aaron and Eli married? Didn’t the Lord give the directive that a High Priest could marry?

When did the rules change? Who changed them? If there was a non-biblical mandate for clerical celibacy, was it relevant today? If there was a biblical mandate, was it based on the Apostle Paul’s statement that he would prefer that unmarried men remain as such? Fr. Vanos believed that unless the Holy Spirit spoke a directive to a specific priest or other individual to remain celibate—as the Lord commanded the prophet Jeremiah—he should be free as Protestant clergy or various sects of Catholicism to enter a state of matrimony. Being married certainly could add to your ministry, especially if the spouse were a Christian and shared the same beliefs and values. Priscilla and Aquila proved that, as well as married priests in the Old Testament and well-known married Protestant ministers. What distressed him was that the rules varied according to the specific denomination. Why couldn’t they all follow the same rules? Orthodox priests could marry before ordination, whereas Anglican priests could marry before or after. He knew of a few married Catholic priests but none of those marriages had the blessing of the church and some of the priests had to resign or were ex-communicated.

And what about women in leadership roles in the church? Didn’t they have much to contribute? Fr. Vanos visited non-Catholic churches on occasion and noticed that if not for women, Catholic and Protestant churches alike would be almost empty. Women usually took the lead in organizing various programs and services, especially those dealing with children, and some were even preaching. He believed women should not usurp authority over male leadership as the Bible states, but they should be recognized for their contributions in supporting that leadership. All too often, they were simply overlooked. Thankfully, that was changing—if ever so slowly.

Other issues plagued him in his quest for knowledge and understanding. As a teenager, he questioned the distinction between certain types of sin. He thought the Bible taught that sin was sin regardless of the type, and in his mind, telling a lie and taking a life was the same. No category, no distinction. After all, Proverbs chapter six groups them together. Fr. Vanos never recalled reading in Scripture that an act of penitence was necessary for forgiveness of sin or salvation. Scripture makes it clear that salvation does not come by works but by faith in Jesus Christ. Salvation produces works and should be done out of love and obedience to God. One of the first Scriptures he ever memorized was Ephesians 2:8–9: For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God. Not of works, lest any man should boast (KJV). He focused on another as he got older, in Ephesians 1:17–18: That the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give unto you the spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of Him. The eyes of your understanding being enlightened; that ye may know what is the hope of His calling, and what the riches of the glory of his inheritance in the saints (KJV). Questions and doubts began to creep in, but slowly and surely revelation and understanding emerged.

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He began his usual stroll through the park, speaking to everyone he met, occasionally engaging in small talk with those he recognized. He spotted a young couple from St. John with their seven-month-old baby in his stroller under one of the huge oaks. The parents were seated on the grass on a blanket, the mother involved in a babbling and giggling exchange with her baby. Thankfully, even in the unseasonably warm weather, the little fellow was appropriately dressed. The father called out to the priest as he approached. Hello, Father.

Hello, Tim, Angela. Enjoying this beautiful day?

Every chance we get, especially days like today.

The priest directed his attention to the baby. Hello, Aiden. I see you’re enjoying this day too. My, how you’ve grown!

The parents eyed each other, surprised that the priest remembered Aiden’s name. They had only been to church once since his baptism months ago.

May I? he asked.

Sure.

The priest gently plucked the chubby, curly-haired infant out of the stroller and kissed him on the forehead. My, my, you’re one handsome little guy. He bounced him in the air once or twice, then abruptly stopped and eyed his mother. Has he eaten recently?

She laughed. You’re ok, Father.

He tickled Aiden on his right side, much to the infant’s delight as he squealed, giggled, and babbled. Fr. Vanos just laughed as he held the baby in the air, goo-gooing and babbling right along with him. When he held him at eye level, Aiden tried to grab his collar, but the priest leaned back. No, no, can’t have that. But Aiden continued to grab at the priest’s collar, or anything else within reach.

Be careful, his mother warned. At this age, he’ll try to grab whatever he can latch on to, especially jewelry and hair, and anything else that’s not nailed down.

Fr. Vanos chuckled again. You’re a busy li’l something, aren’t you, Aiden?

Aiden clapped his tiny little hands, laughing and blowing bubbles as if agreeing with the priest. His parents eyed each other again, amazed that Aiden took to the priest so easily. He was somewhat fussy and reserved around strangers. Yet, they noticed he was excited, and seemed happy.

Well, I gotta go, little one. Hopefully—he glanced at his parents— I’ll see all of you at church real soon?

We’ll be there this Sunday, or the next, the father replied rather sheepishly.

Smiling, and clapping his hands, Aiden’s gaze was fixed on the priest. What a happy and delightful little guy you are. Fr. Vanos placed his right hand on the baby’s head and silently blessed him and then handed him back to his mother. Take care of that little guy now, and I’ll see you at church soon, he said as he walked away. He turned around and saw Aiden trying to wave at him.

He waved back two or three times, then continued on his way.

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Oh, well, time to go. Evian had been in the park for a good while now, daydreaming, reading a page every now and then from her book, moving from one spot to another, or just people watching. Earlier, when she first arrived, she chose one of the swings near the top of the hill. But she moved to a bench near the stadium steps partially hidden by a huge oak. A perfect spot. She looked around the park, just people watching, and spotted a priest holding a baby. His coo-cooing with the baby was comical and people turned around as they walked by. He seemed to really enjoy it. A few people even stopped to watch. She noticed the priest heading in her direction but did not pay him any attention. She stared at a page in the book, not concentrating much on anything.

The priest slowed down near her bench and spoke. Hello.

Hello, she mumbled, without looking up. She picked up her purse, digging for something that was not there. If she had looked up, he would have noticed her watery eyes.

He stopped. Miss, are you all right?

Evian sighed heavily as if a truck just dropped off her shoulder. Uh-huh, thanks. She still did not look up.

He sensed she really was not all right but didn’t want to interfere. Well, if you’re sure … he said, while slowly walking away.

The woman never looked up, and he resisted the strong urge to look back. He had seen situations like this enough to know that she was probably upset over a love gone bad or something. He hated to see sad, depressed people. There was so much to life, so much to do, to live for—yet he had counseled people who had no clue, no hope, no will to live. Many times, it was young people depressed over being dumped for another, or with serious self-esteem issues, not good enough or pretty enough or thin enough … blah, blah, blah. Here he was, a priest, and couldn’t do a thing for a hurting soul.

Evian watched him as he walked away. He seemed to be about six feet tall, of average build, with an air of confidence just from the way he walked. He seemed very friendly, continuing to speak or stop for a minute to chit-chat with someone, whether he knew them or not. Not wanting to move, she stayed on the bench for several more minutes just drinking in the gentle breeze. There was no need to think about anything. Just sit and daydream. But daydreaming flashed the image of Ian in his bedroom with another woman. Oh, that dirty, low down …

I see you’re still here, the voice said.

Evian jumped, so caught up in her thoughts. She quickly wiped her eyes, and this time, looked up. Must be Catholic, she thought, when she noticed his collar and black cassock.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I—, he noticed her watery eyes.

Evian gathered her composure. No problem, Reverend—The man’s a priest, Evian— I meant Fa—

Fr. Alexander Vanos.

She frowned. Strange name for a priest, isn’t it?

He smiled. So I’ve heard.

Well, I’m fine—uh, Fr— Lord, what’s his last name? Van something? Sorry, I’m just not— She huffed. I swear! Can’t even sit in the park in peace.

It’s ok. You seemed to be a bit down or something. I’m sorry if I intruded. He started to walk away.

How could you tell?

He turned around, pointing to her face. You still have a little evidence right there. May I?

Good grief! She nodded.

He sat down on the other end of the bench, took a tissue from the handy little disposable pack from his shirt pocket, and handed it to her. Is he worth crying over?

Oh, no he didn’t! Now, how could he have known that? Perhaps he was just fishing, trying to get information. Thanks. She sighed again, wiped her eyes again, and thought for a minute. Finally, she said, Actually, he’s not. I’ve just been replaying an image in my mind, but I’ll get over it without any counseling or pills.

The priest smiled to himself. What a refreshing thought! I’m glad to hear that. Sometimes, and I do mean sometimes because I’m not knocking psychiatry. But if people just tried to clear their head and consult with themselves like Nehemiah and David, and pray, they would put a dent in the need for psychiatrists and pills.

Evian chuckled. True. Sometimes, though, we get so caught up in our own little struggles and need someone to talk to. But—

Would you care to talk about it?

She wasn’t sure she heard him. Excuse me?

I just asked if you wanted to talk about—

No, I wouldn’t, she answered rather abruptly. I’m not Catholic and see no need to talk to a priest. I can go to God on my own. Instantly regretting her snappish tone, she lowered her head in shame. I apologize, didn’t mean to come off like that. I was—

Please, don’t apologize, the priest responded sympathetically. And you don’t have to be Catholic to talk to a priest. I care about all of God’s creation, and yes, you can talk to God on your own. I encourage my members to do just that. I just like helping people if I can.

She apologized again, then said, You’re good with babies, though.

He was quite a little character, wasn’t he?

That he was, and he liked you for sure. Everybody passing by was turning around and staring. It was amusing. And wonderful.

Well, I love little ones. They’re incredibly special little people and special to God. He looked around the park, not looking particularly for anyone. Several minutes passed, then he said, I’ve intruded long enough. Listen, your religious affiliation doesn’t matter to me. Besides, we all serve the same God, right?

We’re supposed to. But with all these different religious denominations, I wonder.

It was the opening he needed. I know. I’ve wondered about that myself. All the different beliefs for this or that doctrine can really confuse people and drive a person away from God instead of closer to Him.

You’re right. I think God is more concerned about whether we have accepted his Son as our Savior than our denomination.

Absolutely. But if you ever want to talk, though, please call me at St. John’s on Peter Dr.

He could tell from her quizzical expression that she was surprised. Evian just faked a smile and said, Ok, thanks. I don’t think so, she thought as she gathered up her stuff and began to walk away. It was nice talking with you.

Same here. Take care.

She noticed the priest was going in the same direction. For some reason, it made her uneasy. He sensed it and said he had parked somewhere in the same vicinity. As they neared the parking lot, Evian stared in disbelief, and so did the priest. They just happened to have parked next to each other.

What are the chances of this happening? the priest asked, looking somewhat perplexed.

A million to one, Evian replied. Strange, she thought to herself. His car was not there when she arrived earlier, she was sure of it.

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As Fr. Vanos turned into the parking lot at St. John, some of the boys were sitting on the benches waiting for him. He waved, rushed in, and changed into basketball clothes. By the time he came out, they were already playing. He watched them for a few minutes, noticing the improvement in some, then joined in for some fun.

The priest noticed the absence of sports programs and recreational activities for young people upon his arrival at St. John years ago. Shortly thereafter, he conducted random surveys to get opinions of both teenagers and adults and found they were bored to death with things as usual. He presented the idea of young men’s sports programs to the church to include basketball and volleyball. A volleyball fanatic in high school and college, he was good enough to have played professionally until thoughts of the priesthood invaded his dreams. When Msgr. Rathbone scoffed at the idea, the congregation tried in vain to convince him that the program would keep the young men occupied and off the streets, and possibly reduce the time spent on social media, cell phones and playing video games. Even so, he continued his objections, saying the time could be better spent elsewhere. However, the congregation, as well as Fr. Vanos, continued to press the issue and ultimately received support from the archdiocese. Eventually, games were held at the park near the church and drew large crowds—enough to finally convince the Msgr. it could become a fundraiser.

Fr. Vanos believed in utilizing the time and creative energy of young people whenever possible and when he was not available, many of them were recruited to help tend the church gardens. After the dust settled with the young men’s programs, he pondered the idea of recreational programs for the clergy, reminding the monsignor that it was just as important to be physically healthy as well as spiritually healthy. He explained that he was not embracing the idea of a gym membership, but rather a simple program right in the church gym led by an experienced exercise instructor. There might even be an exercise instructor in the church, he pleaded. The elder priest scoffed at that idea as well, commenting to other clergy behind his back, ‘What other brilliant ideas will Mr. Radical come up with next?’ But much to the monsignor’s dismay, many clergy including Bishop Cavanaugh embraced the idea immediately. Even so, it still took many months before the exercise program officially began. It fast became one of the most popular, and much-needed programs at St. John. Clergy from other churches participated as well, which eventually led to a feature on the local news, thrusting Fr. Vanos into the spotlight again.

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Occasionally, Evian relived her encounter with the priest. She knew she was a bit harsh but the nerve of him asking a stranger if she wanted to talk about a problem. In her mind, if there was a problem, she would deal with it in her own way.

She plopped down on the couch and sifted through her mail of mostly junk. Except for a few bills, the rest was thrown in file 13. She turned on the television, and after a few minutes of channel surfing left it on a cable news channel. The network repeated the previous year’s program, A Year In Review: 12 Events That Rocked The Nation, which included the stories of priests molesting boys and the rising tide of undercover racism. Those stories and others sickened her as it did most people. Unable to ingest anymore, she quickly switched to the History Channel. Here we go—another documentary on ancient Egypt. Watching documentaries of ancient civilizations—biblical and non-biblical but particularly Egypt—was one of her favorite pastimes.

She finished the leftover chicken salad and crackers, then called her mother Laura and her grandmother Noreen, affectionately called Nana. Evian was close to her Nana, and at one time, was close to her mother. But after her father died, her mother became distant, aloof, and difficult to be around. Noreen was different. Evian could talk to her about anything and sometimes sought her advice on everything from cooking to men. Noreen, now seventy-seven and a spiritually strong church mother, possessed an uncanny ability to read people from the first meeting, and her impressions were usually spot-on. Though Ian was appropriately dressed, polite and respectful during their first meeting, Noreen picked up on something. Nothing specific came to mind but she suspected this man would break her granddaughter’s heart. She sensed deceit in his character, something about the way he looked at you, or rather through you. He tried too hard to impress her as if he knew she was the one to impress. Chill bumps quickly surfaced on her skin causing her shoulders to quiver. She usually kept her opinion to herself until she was asked, but not when it came to family. She certainly didn’t want to ruin anyone’s character, but at the same time, she would protect those she loved and say what she thought.

Evian thought about her grandmother’s opinion that Ian seemed somewhat sneaky and was not the right person for her. She knew better than to question her grandmother because she was usually right. But as fate would have it, her heart took a beating. And of course, Noreen’s shoulder was the one soaked with her many tears. Her mother was still grieving.

She was also close to Barry, her thirty-one-year-old brother and only sibling. They both were Army brats born in Germany during their father’s tour overseas, and shared a passion for tennis, baseball, and outdoor grilling. Barry was a master on the grill and used those occasions to play matchmaker for his sister with a friend or two which resulted in nothing more than one or two dates and much aggravation.

David Denin joined the Army after high school, and married Laura three years later. After two children, many transfers and moves overseas finally took its toll. When David received orders for a two-year tour at Ft. Gordon, Georgia, she talked him into a permanent move to Atlanta for the family while he continued his service. Years later, he was transferred permanently to Ft. Gordon, then finally retired after thirty-plus years of active duty service, a third of which was served in Germany, Japan, Korea, and Saudi Arabia. Shortly after retiring, he founded a computer consulting firm which in a few years became quite lucrative. Barry also worked in the firm part-time.

But David Denin succumbed to a fatal heart attack at age fifty-nine. This close-knit family was completely devastated. Laura received the phone call late that Friday evening, and just screamed into the phone. Fortunately, Evian was there and the two met the ambulance at the hospital. It happened while he sat in his office, the doctor said. Laura thought it incomprehensible that a strong, perfectly healthy man could fall victim to fatal heart trouble. There were no previous history of heart issues, medications, elevated cholesterol, hypertension or chest pains … nothing. Laura fell completely apart in the emergency room, and it was all Evian and Barry could do to keep her from hitting the floor. Of course, it was a service with full military honors, but Laura seemed to be in a trance, and cared about nothing. Her David was gone. In a fit of grief and anger, she promptly threw that precision folded American flag against the living room wall. The once vivacious and well-groomed Laura was now apathetic and indifferent. It seemed her eyes were always peering into another time and space, another dimension somewhere. Nothing made any sense.

Evian missed her father terribly. They all did. Besides his presence, what she missed the most was his contagious laugh. Those nearby would chuckle right along with him, not knowing the reason for his merriment. She learned much from him about finances, savings and investments, business practices—about life in general. A gentle and humble soul, David Denin barely raised his voice above a whisper. If he did, something serious was up. Partly responsible for Evian choosing a career in design consulting, he advised her to pursue her passion, or whatever brought her the most joy, and to never give up on her dreams.

Besides competing in local and state tennis championships, Evian modeled part-time as a teenager through her early twenties, in addition to reading interior design magazines, visiting antique galleries, flea markets, furniture expos and rearranging furniture. There was no shortage of flea markets and antique galleries in the Atlanta area, but once or twice she even traveled to the Carolinas for ideas. Once when her parents were away for the weekend, she redecorated her entire bedroom, including putting up new wallpaper and accessories and buying inexpensive linens for her bed. She enlisted Barry’s help with the wallpaper and paint despite his many objections. She took before and after pictures for her scrapbook and later transferred the scrapbook into a career portfolio. Satisfied with her new look, she started downstairs to tackle the den, but Barry warned her to leave it alone. Evian persisted and had her way but limited her efforts to just rearranging the furniture. Laura had a first-class fit. She stomped her big toe on a chair that seemed to have moved from one spot to another by itself. Her father loved the effect and encouraged her, but for her mother’s sake, please limit redecorating to the upstairs area. He became her strongest supporter, God bless him!

She enrolled at Emory University in Atlanta, and then transferred to the prestigious New York Institute of Design for two years. She studied under Sherita Beyer, one of the country’s premier designers. Sherita was tough to work with, and her blunt manner made an already strict work environment even more difficult. On a couple of occasions, Evian literally bit her tongue to keep from cursing the woman out. She would just have to repent afterwards. Good thing she held her tongue. When her apprenticeship ended, Sherita gave her a superb evaluation and strong letter of recommendation and tried to persuade her to stay in New York. But her heart was in Atlanta.

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Every city has a special, intoxicating spirit that beckons people to it, sometimes recreationally, professionally, or even permanently. That same spirit, primarily baseball, drew Evian back to Atlanta after leaving New York. A die-hard Braves fan, she attended every home game when her schedule allowed or was glued to the television. One need not look hard to find Braves souvenirs of every sort scattered throughout her apartment, office, and car. Not long after she returned to Atlanta, the design firm of Smith & LaRoche offered her an entry-level position. She considered not taking the offer and discussed it with her father who encouraged her to accept it, work hard, and prove herself. After all, he said, you could count the number of Black designers in the area, or in the country for that matter, on one hand. A year later, she was featured in Interior Design magazine as one of the up-and-coming designers of the future. Following that just a few years later, she established herself as one of the most sought-after designers in the state, an achievement her father never witnessed.

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Evian thought about her encounter with the priest and recalled the entire conversation. On the surface, it didn’t seem that strange. After all, he was a priest. She had to admit he was good-looking and wondered how many hearts he left in the wind as a young man. What in the world possessed him to desire the priesthood? she thought. Surely that decision must have devastated many a young woman.

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Alexander Vanos was of mixed heritage, from his Italian father Michael and Swedish mother Margarite, and inherited his dark, good looks and black hair from his father. At thirty-two, he was the second oldest, born in Milan five years after his brother John. Two girls followed a few years later. While in elementary school, the family moved to Seattle where they were educated at private Catholic schools. Even as a young boy, he could remember always wanting to be like the man in the black robe. Once at Mass, he asked his mother quite loudly why the man was always in black and not another color. But Alex asked the same question when he saw a priest wearing white at communion, or why another was wearing green to which his mother ‘shushed’ him. Alex followed the priest’s every move and wondered what it meant. He wondered who God was, and what He wanted. When an elderly church mother asked him who God was, he shrugged his shoulders and replied, I dunno, He just showed up one day and never left. And He talks a whole lot too!

Though the young Alex had no idea what it meant, the thought of becoming a priest was ingrained in his head. He remembers announcing it to his parents at the dinner table one evening. I wanna be a priest when I’m all growed up. Michael Vanos almost choked on his glass of wine. What! he remembers his father yelling. But his mother thought it was a wonderful idea. God would be pleased, she said. The sometimes tensed and heated discussions that followed alarmed him, but he didn’t understand why. He thought he was supposed to tell his parents what he wanted to be.

A third-generation architect, Michael Vanos followed in his father and grandfather’s footsteps, and assumed his two sons would do likewise. His father and grandfather started Vanos International with only three employees including themselves and an architectural engineer. Now, the company was a thriving, multimillion-dollar business. Alex worked at the company during the summers and excelled in architectural engineering courses in high school and college. He received his engineering degree, graduating magna cum laude with his major in architecture and minor in religious studies. His father was thrilled, for a moment it seemed as though he would join the firm. But his hopes were soon dashed. Not long after graduating, Alex decided to seriously consider the priesthood. The idea simply never left him. He discussed it with his mother and his priest, Fr. Benito Avilah. Naturally, Fr. Avilah thought it was wonderful, but questioned and cautioned the young man about his motives. He advised him of continued prayer and to become more involved in the church. If that still, small voice continued to call him, perhaps then would be the time to decide.

Of course, Michael Vanos refused to embrace the idea. He hoped Alex would forget all about being a priest. His anger boiled over when Margarite declined to dissuade him. Not that he had anything against priests or the church. After all, somebody had to be a priest. He just wished it were somebody else’s son. It was paramount to him that the business remained in the family. He tried relentlessly to persuade his son to change his mind, or at least postpone the decision, especially since John had other career plans. But Alex was convinced the time was right for him to make the decision final, one that severely strained a once close relationship.

Alex was sent to the Atlanta archdiocese because the need was immediate. Unbeknownst to anyone else, he received permission to take a couple of night courses in architecture, explaining to the bishop that he simply wanted to ‘keep abreast of new technology in the field.’ It was an unusual request, one that would interfere in his duties, the bishop said. Alex assured him it