Without Armor

By E.L. Peregrino

Roman Catholic bishops who hold all power in a diocese are officially called the "Ordinary". The Ordinary, auxiliary, and retired bishops in the United States gather twice each year in a clandestine meetings as the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB). On the agenda of an upcoming meeting is a controversial proposition

• Language: English
• Publisher: URLink Print & Media, LLC
• Release date: Jul 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643676746

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Without Armor

Copyright © 2019 by E.L. Peregrino. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

The opinions expressed by the author are not necessarily those of URLink Print and Media.

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Published in the United States of America

ISBN 978-1-64367-675-3 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64367-674-6 (Digital)

12.07.19

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

PREFACE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Like many authors I have so many family, friends, high school and seminary classmates, teachers, colleagues, mentors, protagonist and antagonist to acknowledge for their contribution to the writing and publication of this book. I want to name them all, but that would reveal my true identity. I have chosen not to do that because of the experience of other clergy who were sanctioned or lost faculties [ability to minister and provide pastoral care that a Catholic clergyman is charged to perform] for writing similar books that call the Church to be the true Church Jesus intended by constantly asking, What Did Jesus Do? and What Would Jesus Do?

I will simply say that a work like this does not happen without inspiration [from that pesky Holy Spirit] and the encouragement of many people to use God given talents to do what God created us to do.

PREFACE

THIS IS A WORK of fiction. It is not a theological treatise. Most of what is in this work was written twenty years ago before cell phones, social media, and instant global communications. Twenty years ago the Roman Catholic Church was still struggling to understand and implement the work and decrees of the Second Vatican Council, and deal with the maneuvers by those who opposed and refused to accept them. The original manuscript of this book was revised to accommodate for the technology. But the story has not been changed to account for the intervening period in the institutional church that ended with the election of the current pope. Twenty years ago this book would have been considered radical; recent developments in the institutional church would have made it prophetic. But this is the right time to publish this book. The timing may be the work of the Holy Spirit. But, then, the Holy Spirit is blamed for a lot of things.

I am a lifelong Roman Catholic. I have been an ordained cleric for more than half of my life and have served in many parish and diocesan pastoral assignments, ministries, boards and commissions. My relationship and experience with the dwindling percentage of Catholics who do actively participate in the life of the Church, and many Catholics who, for a variety of reasons, are not engaged with the Church, has caused me concern. Many of them are hurting. I hurt because they hurt. Many who are participating seem to do so more out of a sense of obligation, than conviction. They appear to have faith because they are afraid not to have faith. Often, their faith is grossly uninformed, and in many ways, immature. Those who do not participate, love the Church, but express the feeling that the institutional church is an obstacle, not a pathway, to God.

This book is not a condemnation of the Church that Jesus founded. It is an attempt to instigate an honest, open, and prayerful conversation by ALL Catholics about the Church they love, without an agenda controlled by the hierarchy of the institutional church that too often produces councils, synods, town hall meetings, studies, surveys, etc that are structured or manipulated to justify a pre-conceived conclusion or result.

The institutional church has engaged in elaborate and expensive publicity and evangelization campaigns to encourage disenfranchised Catholics to come home, and non-Catholics to join the Church, without making fundamental structural and operational - NOT DOCTRINAL - changes to the Church. The institutional church has avoided addressing those fundamental changes by claiming they ARE DOCTRINAL. Thus, the church that a few Catholics do return to is no different than the institution they left. They have no incentive to stay. And non-Catholics have little desire to join.

If this book leads to an open and honest discussion of such fundamental structures and operations that includes BOTH laity and clergy, without pre-determined agendas, restrictions or recriminations for those who bare their heart and speak their mind, it will have, in a small way, served the Church that Jesus intended and give great hope to the People of God.

E.L. Peregrino

CHAPTER ONE

IT RAINED HARD DURING the warm early June night, leaving water laying in calm pools on the sidewalk and in the parking lot. Larger puddles on the black asphalt streets reflected the few remaining clouds, colored gold by the sunrise. The just-after-dawn joggers were out in force, passing each other with only the slightest acknowledgment of each other’s existence. One of the regular runners turned into the parking lot of the Catholic Life Center and made a few fast laps around the concrete before coming to a stop in front of the door of the residence. The runner, a solid, slender man with a full head of brown hair accentuated by an increasing number of gray strands, leaned forward to gulp in several deep breaths, then stood up and took several more. All five feet eleven inches of him was enjoying the cool, moist morning air and bright new sun.

At the sound of squeaking hinges, the runner looked up to see a young priest pushing open the door of the residence. Smiling, the young man said, Good morning, Your Excellency. Already finished your morning run? The young priest reached down and picked up the morning paper.

Yep! But on mornings like this, I wish I could run farther. You should come running with me sometime.

I used to run, but I have bad knees, replied the younger man.

Bad hit in football?

No, bad genes in parents! They both laughed, then the young priest handed the paper to the runner. But I like to ride my bike on those mornings when I don’t have the eye-opener Mass. Perhaps I can join you then.

I would enjoy that, the runner said. He then walked into the rectory and entered the elevator. He pushed the button to the second floor residence and thought, I run three miles and then take an elevator instead of the stairs. On the ride up, he glanced at the headlines. Same old news is no new news, he thought. He stepped out of the elevator into the foyer and dropped his keys into a bowl on the ornately carved table below an equally ornately carved mirror. He checked the slot in the mail and message bin labeled Bishop Thomas Patrick McGuire. It was empty. When he was young, that would have been a disappointment. Now it was a relief. But there would certainly be other mail and other messages in his office.

Bishop McGuire finished his morning routine and emerged from his room at 7:20 a.m., all tidied up and ready for a full day’s work. It would be eight to ten hours before he would return to his room to freshen up before taking on his evening duties. With a grin growing on his face, he recalled an old bishop who responded to the question, How much do you work? with the answer, Half a day! It was not until McGuire became a bishop himself that he realized half a day meant twelve hours.

The back door of the rectory led to a path through a garden filled with the most beautiful fauna and flora south Louisiana had to offer. When meditating in his garden, McGuire often reflected, Only God can make a tree, but God also gave some people the talent for placing God’s trees together for maximum visual effect. When time permitted, he would take a short detour to visit the Blessed Mother’s shrine nestled among huge azalea and camellia bushes. This morning, time did not permit even a brief visit, so the bishop walked straight to the back door of the Chancery building and let himself in.

He had asked his secretary, Blanche, to come in early. He needed to finish up correspondence he had been putting off, and he wanted to conclude some important items before he left for the meeting with his brother bishops. Blanche Woods was the secretary of his predecessor, and was one of the few treasures he had left. She knew her job and did it to perfection. She had the combined knowledge of the sensitive information from her duties as his secretary and the scuttlebutt from the chancery lunchroom. That combination of professionalism and loyalty is difficult to find. It was no surprise that her car was already in her reserved spot in the parking lot.

He walked up the stairs that provided access to his private office in the corner on the second floor. As he entered, he could hear the tapping on a computer keyboard coming from Blanche’s office. She had resisted giving up her IBM Selectric for a computer, but eventually gave in to the avalanche of technology. As bishop of his diocese, he was supposed to challenge his flock to change, but he readily acknowledged he was not man enough to tell that lady she had to change. So he had delegated the job to the IT department.

He did not call Blanche right away, but the sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard stopped, and he felt sure she was in the kitchenette next to his office. Moments later, there was a distinctive light rapping on the door. Come in! The bishop responded.

Blanche backed in through the door with a cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. Good morning, Your Excellency. Coffee? she asked, lifting the cup in his direction.

Yes, thank you, and good morning. The need to exchange greetings had long since passed, but the need to maintain a certain air of formality in their communications would always remain. When she was certain they were alone, she would occasionally risk a humorous remark to lift his spirits.

As she moved to hand him the cup, the bishop glanced down at the stack of papers Blanche put on his desk. He spotted an envelope on top with a Mexican stamp and a return address indicating the sender was Rev. Jerald Ignatius Stephen Wright.

The bishop quickly picked up the envelope, slit it open, and removed a one-page letter. He and Fr. Wright had been close friends long before their time in the seminary. Everyone knew Wright as Jerry, but he wryly pointed out that his name, using his middle initials, is Jerald I. S. Wright. Jerry had a way of making his own situation, however bleak, seem like Disneyland in the middle of summer.

Jerry was on outside duty as a missionary in a parish near Mexico City. He was the only priest among thirty thousand people living around a disease infested mountain of garbage in an equatorial municipal jungle. He had resisted every effort to assign him as pastor to a parish in the diocese. When pressed to return home, his pat answer was, Get someone to permanently replace me, and I will consider it.

As he read the letter, Bishop McGuire said to Blanche, Jerry is coming for a visit. It will be good to see him. Then he thought, Maybe this time I’ll be able to convince him to stay home. When he finished reading the front of the page, he turned the single sheet over, hoping there was a postscript or additional note on the back. There was none. A short letter with few details meant Jerry was saving the important material for a face-to-face session. The bishop finished reading, then looked up to see that Blanche was still waiting for instructions. Fr. Wright sends his greetings to you and says he hopes to see you while he’s here.

Blanche let that pass without comment. The bishop knew Jerry had counseled Blanche through some rough times with her teenage son, and that she had her own memories of him. If she was happy he was coming home, she did not show it.

The letter from Fr. Wright was apparently more important to the bishop than other matters she intended to discuss. It was not the first time a letter from the bishop’s lifelong friend had taken precedence over everything else.

Looking up from the page he was reading, the bishop said, Please ask Monsignor King to come meet with me this morning. For McGuire, the letter from Jerry was a pleasant distraction, but his agenda was packed with irritants that could not be put off. He called his desk the aircraft carrier deck because the top was so big and Blanche kept dropping bombs on it. He unlocked the center drawer, which released all of the other drawers.

The large drawer on the right side of the desk held the folder he was after. The label read Analysis of Priest Personnel. Leaning back in his chair, he read the document inside. After a few moments, he leaned forward in his plush executive chair and highlighted a passage. He mumbled to himself, This is a nightmare. He got up and paced around his office. When he passed by a picture near the corner of the office, he stopped. There, staring back at him, were the forty-three faces of his twelfth-grade classmates in the seminary. In the middle of the front row were he and Jerry. The distinctive light rap sounded again. Come in, Blanche, he said. He was standing in front of the picture when Blanche entered. Forty-three in our freshman year, and only three left, the bishop mused.

Excuse me, Excellency?

There were forty-three of us in our freshman class. I know most of us had a sincere desire to serve God as priests, but just six were ordained, and only three are still in the priesthood. There’s something wrong about that. He turned and walked back toward his desk. Fr. Wright is not coming here just for a home visit. Something must be seriously wrong. Maybe you’d better reach him by phone so I can try to find out what’s up. He looked down at the papers in his hand and threw them on the desk, Have you reached Msgr. King yet? he asked.

Msgr. Dennis King had been a bright light in the candelabra of clergy of the diocese from the moment he was ordained. Intelligent and savvy, he had clearly received the gifts of wisdom and courage when he was Confirmed. He was well respected by his fellow priests. He possessed the ability and diplomatic skills to overcome resistance to the agenda and directives of the bishop that, as Moderator of the Clergy, it was often his unpleasant task to deliver. Bishop McGuire depended heavily on Msgr. King, but kept him from getting too close, for the monsignor’s sake, and for his own.

Yes, he said he would come right over, Blanche told him. Just then, there were three quick knocks on the door. That sounds like him now.

He must think he’s in trouble, Blanche mumbled to herself as she opened the door.

Good morning, Msgr. King.

Good morning, Blanche.

Care for a cup of coffee?

Will I be staying long enough to drink it?

What do you want in it?

King knew that was Blanche’s way of saying he would be staying a while. Just cream, thank you.

Blanche poured a cup of coffee and gave it to King, then he stepped into the bishop’s office.

The bishop was back at his desk and waited for King to advance and stand in front of the chair he normally occupied and put his coffee on the bishop’s desk.

When the monsignor was settled in his chair, the bishop asked, Have you read this report yet?

Yes, sir. I read it last night.

Were you able to sleep after reading this horror story?

Not very well.

King kept his eyes fixed on McGuire. The bishop glanced up from the report and saw the monsignor staring back at him, then thought, This is bad news for me. But he’s twenty years younger than I am; it’s terrible news for him. He then asked, Who’s on the copy list for this report?

The president of the Priests Council, your Consultors, the Vocation Director, you, and me.

Has everyone received their copies yet?

I feel certain they have. Mine was hand delivered to me yesterday. Is there a problem with that?

No. But I’m leaving for the bishops’ conference next week. I want to meet with everyone who received a copy of this report when I get back.

I’ll make the arrangements. When do you want to meet?

See if you can arrange a breakfast meeting at my residence for seven o’clock the Monday morning after I return.

Yes, sir.

Tell Sister Emelda how many to expect and ask her to fix her famous Eggs Benedict. The bishop grinned and said, A little bit of sugar helps the medicine go down.

Yes, sir.

And, Dennis, be sure those who have received a copy of this report understand I will be very unhappy if the contents are made public before I have a chance to meet with them.

I’m sure they know that.

Make sure! Send them an e-mail and a text and insist on a reply to confirm they got the message.

May I ask why you do not want the information released? King asked. There are very few people in the diocese who do not already suspect some or all of the contents in this report, he noted.

Well, suspicion is one thing. But a copy of a report that I eventually have to put my signature on is another. I want everyone on the same page and playing the same tune when this report is released. Also have copies prepared for the heads of the Permanent Deacons, Office of Religious, Pastoral Council, Development, Communications, Family Life, Catholic Charities, Catholic Schools, and Religious Education, but do not distribute them until the meeting. He handed the list to King.

Yes, sir. Still want Eggs Benedict for that many? King asked.

Yeah, why not? The bishop moved on. Next item. What is the status of the standardized server-based parish household data management computer software?

I think it’s still too early to bring the matter to a vote before the Priests Council. I’m sure we would win a majority, but there is the usual concern about ‘big brother looking over my shoulder.’ I suggest we wait a few months. I think by then we can be sure of a near unanimous vote.

Dennis, we’re way behind the curve in the use of computers because of the clergy’s fear of big brother. I know they mean me, but there isn’t much I can do about that. It took the Church three hundred and sixty years to admit we were wrong about Galileo. We don’t have that kind of time to waste. We need to be the first, not the last, to understand the implications of new technology and direct them to good use as fast as they get directed to evil. Get that on the agenda for the next Priests Council meeting. Let them know how strongly I feel about it. We don’t need a near unanimous vote. Even Jesus lost one of the twelve. I can’t hope to do better than that.

Yes, sir.

And I want a detailed plan for a census of the whole diocese on my desk within three months.

There will be much wailing and whining about that.

There already has been too much of that. I will present this myself at the next Priests’ Council meeting. I need to keep you to sacrifice for something else.

That is very kind of you, Bishop, King replied with a smile.

The bishop smiled and said, Kindness has very little to do with it. I can only shed so much of your blood at one time and still keep you alive.

King was familiar with the bishop’s tactics and accepted his role in his strategy.

That reminds me, the bishop muttered as he picked up the handset to his phone and buzzed his secretary. Blanche, please make an appointment for lunch with Paul Parker at Henri’s Restaurant sometime during the first week of the July.

Yes, sir.

Turning back to Dennis, the bishop said, Paul is a high school classmate of my brother and a high-level Microsoft official. I’m hoping to get Microsoft to give us a donation to help cover the cost of our computer hardware and software. Next item. Where do we stand on the negotiations with the Public School Board about renting some of our school buildings? the bishop asked.

They’ve said they want to do it, but we are far apart on the dollars, responded King. I told Jack Hamilton to work up a proposal to put them on the selling block so we can consider that option.

I told you I don’t want to sell them, King noted.

I know that. But if the School Board thinks you are going to sell them, they may bump up their numbers to rent them.

Good idea, Dennis. Let me know how you want me to play this so I don’t stick a monkey in the wrench works. McGuire had a penchant for reversing metaphors.

The buzzer on the bishop’s intercom sounded and interrupted their discussion.

Blanche said, Your Excellency, I hate to disturb you, but there’s someone on the phone I think you might want to speak with.

Can you take a message?

It’s the call you asked me to put through, Blanche added.

Oh, of course! Dennis, will you excuse me? I need to take this call. Yes, sir, I understand. McGuire knew that a bishop’s right-hand man was supposed to understand he could not listen in on some of the bishop’s phone conversations. But he remembered his feelings of disappointment when he was in King’s position as a bishop’s right-hand man. Very briefly, an expression appeared on the monsignor’s face that suggested to McGuire his displeasure at being shunted aside for someone of more interest to the bishop. The bishop knew the diocesan pecking order is very important to those who are in it, particularly those who are at the top, or think they should be. King would be on the alert for any sign that someone might be moving up behind him, or worse, getting ahead of him.

Yes, sir. I’ll get back with you later. King moved slowly toward the door. McGuire had not forgotten the tricks of the trade from the days when he was in the monsignor’s position, so he waited until King closed the door behind him before picking up the receiver and saying anything that would indicate who was on the other end of the call. Hello, Jerry! How are you doing, you ole’ St. Francis wannabe?

"Hey, Tom. That’s a clever phrase for a guy I had to drag screaming and shouting through English Lit. Have you been curling up with that English for Dummies I gave you?"

According to the way I read the rules, a good book is the only thing I am allowed to curl up with, Tom laughed.

I understand there are a growing number of priests who are reading the rules differently.

Not now, Jerry. McGuire did not want to discuss that issue with Jerry in a long-distance phone conversation.

OK, Tom.

That was too easy. There really must be something wrong, McGuire thought.

It’s good to hear your voice, Tom, but I must be in for some real bad news for the boss to be calling me personally. I usually get good news secondhand, from a secretary who overheard it in the chancery lunch room.

Actually, I got your one-page letter about your visit, and I thought I would call to find out what theological issues to bone up on before you get here. They both laughed, then the bishop continued in a more serious tone. Is there anything special about this trip, Jerry?

"Why would you suspect that this trip is any different from my other ad limina visits?"

McGuire did not miss Jerry’s little dig comparing his visit home