Nun and the Priest

By J.A. Ortiz

Joe and Fran lost contact for nearly two decades. It was the 1950's and, from two very different ethnic and cultural backgrounds, the two had formed an immediate bond of friendship in grade school. Then, in their teenage years, both are sent away from home, neither by their own choice but by their parents and religious leaders. There, one is tra

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aspire Publishing Hub, LLC
• Release date: Sep 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781960758811

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J.A. Ortiz

Nun and the Priest

Copyright © 2023 by J.A. Ortiz

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN

978-1-960758-80-4 (Paperback)

978-1-960758-81-1 (eBook)

978-1-960758-79-8 (Hardcover)

Table of Contents

Altar Boy

The Little Nun

Memories beyond a Seminary

A Daughter’s Love

Arriving Home

A Dream Come True

Going Home

The Calling

From Priest to Preacher

From Nun to Missionary

A Preacher’s Life

A Mother’s Love

A Brother’s Faith

The Adoption

Forgiven

Missionary and the Preacher

The Call to be a Father

Prologue

It was August 1967 when Joe Pena stood outside the seminary, staring at the wrought iron gates, remembering the first time he had come through them. On that day, they didn’t seem as large and intimidating as when he was fifteen, and doubts ran through his mind about whether he had made the right decision. Three days earlier, he had been ready to take the vows of priesthood. Almost ten long years of preparation and studies going down the drain, and he saw no future in sight. Thoughts of changing his mind weighed heavily on his shoulders. Looking around, he noticed the trees changing to their fall colors. Just like the changes in his own life, the change of seasons was inevitable. Recalling his conversation with Bishop Mallory brought an even heavier weight to his heart. Had God put it in his heart to leave this place, or was it his own fears? Turning around, he muffled a prayer and slowly began to walk. Where do I go from here? he asked himself, smiling for no reason. He picked up his pace as peace came over him the more distance he put between himself and those gates that held bittersweet memories. Thoughts from three days ago came rushing back like a whirlwind to the forefront of his mind.

For the first time in his life, Joe found himself totally alone— no friends or family, no one to talk to. For the first time, he found himself feeling empty inside, not knowing what to believe. He had many questions with no answers and not a soul could answer them for him. He found himself at a crossroad without any direction or guidance. Leaving the priesthood is the right thing to do, the only thing to do, he told himself over and over again.

Years ago, Bishop Mallory had taken a liking to Joe since he first entered the seminary before his fifteenth birthday. He’d always worked with Joe and kept a close eye on him and his progress. The bishop had hopes that someday, Joe would become a good man and a fine-and-worthy priest. Joe, now twenty-three and about to be ordained entered Bishop Mallory’s chambers. Even the knock on the heavy door rang out in his head.

Come in, said the bishop from behind the door. Joe turned the knob and pushed. The hinges squeaked, spiking his nerves more tense than they already were.

Good morning, Bishop. May I speak with you for a minute, sir? Joe asked.

Good morning, Joseph. What can I do for you today?

Joe was a little nervous at first but relaxed as he went in. Bishop, after much thought, I have decided to leave the seminary before taking the oath of priesthood and see if this is what God really wants me to do with my life. He spoke quickly, afraid he would lose his nerve.

The bishop looked stunned, and it took him a minute before he could speak. Joseph, I know that at times we are all a little confused, but I assure you, this is your calling. The bishop tried his best to sound calm, having been in this situation before and certain that he could persuade Joe.

Joe looked at Bishop Mallory with as much confidence as he could muster and, once again, continued to make his case. When I was a child, I wanted to serve the church, but it was Father Garcia and my mother who made the choice for me to be here. I have no regrets about my time here, but this is something that has been brewing and bothering me for the past two or three years. Joe, you’re making a bad decision. Do you know that your salvation is at risk of being lost and that you stand the chance of being excommunicated from the church for this action?

Yes, I know all the penalties the church can impose for such a drastic and life- altering decision Bishop, Joe replied, looking straight at the bishop.

Joe, this is sinful, and it saddens me that you do not reconsider your actions and, most of all, your soul in this decision of yours. Joe could hear the sadness and the sincerity in the bishop’s voice, but he let nothing that the bishop said change his mind about what he felt in his heart he needed to do with his life. After an hour behind closed doors and more talking, Bishop Mallory and Joe came to an agreement.

"Joe, take some time off. Go and find yourself before making

a final decision," the bishop finally said, sounding a bit worn out and disappointed at not being able to turn Joe around from his decision.

With no money to travel or care for himself, Joe prayed that night and told God that if this was his will, he would have to provide for him. The following morning, Bishop Mallory found Joe in the hallway and asked him how he would care for himself and what he would do for traveling money. When Joe had no answer, the bishop offered Joe one hundred and fifty dollars and told him to keep it to himself for fear of repercussions from his superiors.

On that hot summer morning in Massachusetts, they were calling for rain, and Bishop Mallory made one last attempt to persuade Joe to change his mind; but determined to follow his heart, Joe was ready to leave. The bishop told the rest of the interns and the cardinal that Joe was just taking a leave of absence before being ordained.

After all the farewells, Joe exited the seminary for the first time in eleven years. He looked back as he gave the property one last look, knowing in his heart he would never return. Uncertain of his future and returning to a world that, without a doubt, had changed, Joe looked up to heaven, said one last prayer, and with all the faith he could muster, continued to put one foot in front of the other.

Joe had not been in touch with his parents or siblings in many years. Unbeknownst to Joe, his parents had moved back to Puerto Rico about five years earlier, and his older brother Ben was serving five to ten years in prison for armed robbery. Fran, his best friend, had been sent to a convent about one year after he went to the seminary while Fran’s mother had moved to California after her dad died in a car accident. In the days to come, Joe would piece all this information together, and his life would never be the same.

After leaving the seminary with only the robe on his back and a lunch bag with a meager sandwich and an apple in it, Joe walked about ten miles before entering a small town where he would board a bus that would take him back to New York. The whole world felt and seemed different to Joe. He felt a sense of freedom he had never experienced before and could not under- stand. Before leaving the seminary that morning, and for the past six months, Joe had been very uneasy and had trouble sleeping. Joe was up most of those nights, asking God and himself ques- tions he could not answer. In fact, he could remember question- ing his faith and beliefs as far back as his childhood conversations with Fran. Remembering those talks with her always made his eyes well up with tears and had him missing her terribly. It would be a five-hour ride back to Penn Station, and Joe had much to think about, still uncertain what he would do, where he would stay, how he would support himself. Joe had no skill other than being a priest, and he knew that was not his destiny.

Arriving in New York was a shock to Joe. Drugs, violence, and immorality were at an all-time high. Everybody was lobbying for freedom and peace, but they were at war with one another. Drug addicts and drunks were on every corner. Times Square had become a place for pornography houses and prostitution, and Central Park was a haven for illegal drugs by day and murders by night. The subways had become tunnels that smelled more like sewers than public transportation. At JFK and La Guardia, one had a better chance of running into or meeting a hijacker than a pilot.

Joe’s world had become a chaotic and unpredictable one with more than a slight touch of the dangerous. Joe wondered where God was in all this, and why he had pulled him out of the seminary and back to these streets. Joe arrived back to the building he and Fran had lived in as children—the last place he had seen her.

Mrs. Sanchez lived on the first floor whose window faced the street. Her husband have been the building’s superintendent for over thirty-six years. They raised all four of their boys there. She knew everyone who had ever lived there since they first arrived there. Joe knock on the Sanchez’s door. After waiting for a few minutes, an elderly woman answered the door with a heavy Hispanic accent. Can I please help you, young man? She spoke through the crack in the door with the safety chain still intact.

It’s me, Mrs. Sanchez, Joe. My parents used to rent one of the apartments from you when I was a kid. My mother’s name was Anna Maria.

Joey? Benny’s son?

Yes, Mrs. Sanchez, that’s me.

She unlocked the chain and invited Joe in with a big welcome. You are a priest, no?

No, not yet, Mrs. Sanchez.

I heard you went off to be a priest, yes?

Yes, I did, but I am not ordained.

Oh, Mrs. Sanchez replied, a little surprised.

I have come looking for my parents, but I found somebody else living in our old apartment.

Sonny, your parents moved back to Puerto Rico over five years ago.

I didn’t know that, Joe said, sounding a bit saddened by the news.

Didn’t they write and tell you these things?

We did not receive much mail at the seminary.

Yes, your parents left after the last time your brother, Benny, was arrested. Your mommy said she was not going to lose any more of her children here.

I don’t blame them one bit. Things have really changed around here and not for the better.

So how long will you be staying? she asked. And where are you staying at?

I will be around for a while. Don’t really have any plans right now.

So you’re not going back to the seminary any time soon?

No, I have to find out first what God wants me to do, Joe told her.

Where will you stay?

Well, I was going to try and find a room, some place I can sleep, and find a job.

You know, Joey, all my boys are grown up. Two of them moved to California. One lives in New Jersey, and the youngest is a doctor at Colombian Presbyterian—she waved into the apartment behind her—so I have two empty rooms. I will speak to my husband, and maybe you can rent one of the rooms from us.

That is sweet and kind of you, Mrs. Sanchez, but I don’t want to be a bother to anyone.

It’s not a bother. You’re like family around here. Your mother was very good to me when I was sick years ago, and it’s the least I can do for one of her children.

Joe told Mrs. Sanchez he would come back in a couple of hours, and maybe by then, she would have a chance to speak to her husband about the room. Joe walked around the old neighborhood and visited the local grocer whom he had worked for over ten years ago. Joe had no clothes other than his robe, so shopping for some regular attire was on the top of his list. He made a few stops before deciding what to buy. Shopping for clothing was one of the many things Joe had never done. After deciding on a few new duds, some socks, and a new pair of shoes, Joe went straight back to see if living with Mr. and Mrs. Sanchez was going to pan out.

This time, when he knocked on the door, it was Mr. Sanchez who answered. He welcomed Joe into their apartment and told him how glad he was to see him again. Mr. Sanchez also conveyed to Joe that he was one of the finest young men he had the pleasure to watch growing up and that he was proud of him and how he had turned out.

Mr. Sanchez and Joe sat and talked for hours over some coffee and then dinner, which Mrs. Sanchez insisted that Joe stay and enjoy with them. In the midst of all the conversation during dinner, Mr. Sanchez revealed to Joe that even though he had no problem with Joe being Catholic and wanting to become a priest, he and his wife were Protestant. He went on to explain that they attended a Pentecostal church called Thessalonica Christian Church. Mr. Sanchez briefly told Joe his testimony about being raised by devoted Catholic parents and how years ago, God sent someone to share the truth with him. Joe sat there, stunned about the similarities between his own feelings and the story he was listening to. He said nothing, but knew that a few of his questions had been answered without even being asked.

That evening, Mrs. Sanchez showed Joe to a room with a full- sized bed, a dresser, and one nightstand with a lamp and an old King James Bible on it. Joe already knew that God was looking out for him, that only God could be the one orchestrating all the events that had taken place that day. Joe did not have much to put away in the empty drawers except a few books that Bishop Mallory had given him in the hopes he would read them and a few pair of new socks and underclothes. In the closet, Joe hung the two pairs of pants and the two dress shirts he had bought earlier.

At the seminary, Joe had read many books, but the Bible was not one of them. Studies at the seminary were all from books that Catholic churches use to educate their future priests. The only Bible that was taught consisted of a few verses that were quoted to justify their faith; this and their belief in the Catholic church were the thoughts that at the moment consumed Joe’s mind.

After the Sanchezes went to bed, Joe lay down in his new bed and stared at the ceiling for hours. His mind was like a spinning wheel that wouldn’t stop, with thoughts of the past and what the future had in store running through his head. Mostly, though, he thought of his old and dear friend, Fran. Of all those thoughts, what troubled Joe the most and scared his soul to pieces were the words Bishop Mallory last spoke to him about losing his salvation if he left the Catholic Church. Nothing scared him more than that. As had been his habit since his youth in this same neighborhood, Joe prayed and decided to close his eyes and get some much-needed sleep.

Joe woke up that first Saturday morning confused as to his whereabouts. Nothing looked familiar. It took him a minute or two to find his bearings and realize where he was. A smile grew on his face at the thought of freedom, accompanied by that peace once again, the peace that he could not explain or even understand. Joe rolled out of bed and into a hot shower, and for the first time in over ten years, he dressed in a normal set of street clothes.

Mrs. Sanchez offered a hot cup of coffee made in the old- fashioned Puerto Rican style, brewed through a cloth strainer.

While sipping his coffee, at the table Joe asked Mrs. Sanchez about Fran and her mother, Victoria.

Oh, you mean the little girl you were friends with, the Italian one?

Yes, Mrs. Sanchez, that same one. Do you know where they moved to?

Mrs. Sanchez replied, Last I hear, her mother moved away, but before that, she sent your little friend to a boarding school for nuns. Funny how you two were very close and you go to be a priest, and she to be a nun. Mrs. Sanchez smiled as she spoke with her native Puerto Rican accent.

Whatever happened with her father? Do you know about him?

I heard he was killed a few years after you left, and so after that, her mother moved away, but I never knew where.

Shaking his head, Joe chuckled. A nun, huh? Funny, I have always missed her. She was the best friend I ever had.

Yes, you two were always together. I would hear you two talking in the alley between the buildings when the windows were open. My husband said he found you two up on the roof a few times and warned you to be careful.

Those were happy times, Mrs. Sanchez.

Altar Boy

Fran sat on her windowsill or out on the fire escape on the days when Joe was at church. A smile always appeared on her face when he would return and eagerly join his friends, not wanting to miss out on the action of the ongoing game of stickball on the street. Joe, Joe, she would yell out from her perch position and wave. His friends and the rest of the boys would make fun of him. Go give your girlfriend a kiss, Joey, they would all say as he went upstairs to let his mother know he was back from church. They also made fun and teased him about his altar-boy calling. Joe never seemed to mind what any of them thought because he always followed his heart. Fran would intently watch him come up the stoop and run to greet him at the front door with genuine interest and curiosity, asking how his class had gone, shooting questions in rapid succession, barely giving him time to catch his breath between answers while navigating through her broken English. How was your class? Did you learn anything? Did you make new friends? Do you like the priest?

With plenty of enthusiasm, Joe would reply with a big smile and say, I can’t wait to do what the older boys do on Sundays.

Father Garcia was the devoted and beloved priest at St. Mary’s parish where he’d been in ministry more than eleven years. From the start, he had taken a liking to Joe, who showed his enthusiasm for serving as an altar boy. Joe would always be early, the first to show up for class. As the years went by and Joe was entering his teenage years, his habits and readiness to learn and serve did not change. Father Garcia would invest extra time after class and on his days off to bring Joe along. On many occasions, Father Garcia would tell Joe’s mother that he had no doubt that someday, Joe would be a fine priest.

Fran and her mother mainly attended Mass at a church across town whose members were of Italian descent. The nuns always fascinated Fran. With a life of social isolation, a father on the run from the mob and hiding out in a Puerto Rican neighborhood, Fran’s mother started thinking of options for her daughter. As early as nine years old, Victoria would ask her daughter about her thoughts about becoming a nun. Fran would answer that she would rather get married, raise a family, or just be a missionary. Just like her pal Joe, Fran had the heart of a servant and the willingness to serve others.They both loved God and spoke about him often. Neither knew much about whom or what God was, but they seemed to know in their young hearts that he existed, and that He was real. During those talks, they would share their prayers, wishes, and hopes with each other.

Over the years, Joe told Fran that he wanted to join the priesthood. Fran never let Joe know, but she did not want him to go into the priesthood, fearing that she would lose him and his friendship.

Life for Fran was not always easy with a father who was not only bad tempered but more often than not came home drunk. She instinctively knew that it was in her best interest to be home before her father arrived. She also knew how he felt about her friendship with Joe. Frank hated the fact that he had to live in hiding among his Puerto Rican neighbors, and he let that be unequivocally known.

Joe and Fran used to climb up the fire escape to the roof of their building and secretly sit and talk for hours. Other times, they would sit in the alleyways between the buildings to hang out together, away from the rest of the neighborhood kids who teased them. There was also a fear of being picked on because of the racial differences. Many times, the boys would not let Joe in on a game and would send him home with bruises because of his friendship with Fran. Fran also got a taste of their cruelty as she walked home from school. She would be called names and have garbage thrown at her, even the occasional spoiled milk. Avoiding the bullies became a way of life for both of them. Despite all that, they endured, always remaining loyal to each other.

On Joe’s tenth birthday, his mother invited Father Garcia and a few of the other altar boys over to cut a cake she had baked for her middle child. Joe invited Fran, and with no permission from her mother or father, she went over to his apartment. All was going well till Fran’s father just happened to come home early from work. Looking for Fran, he furiously and loudly banged on Joe’s door. Looking in, he fixed his eyes on the object of his search and exploded in a fit of rage. The next day, Fran had deep red welts from the brutal beating her father dished out while loudly forbidding her once again not to see or be friends with the little spic next door.

Joe and Fran continued to sneak off to the roof or the alleyway for their meets. They seemed to always have things to talk about. Playing checkers became a way of being together in silence so that no one would be the wiser. In time, they both learned to play chess and spent hours quietly engulfed in the game with only silent smiles acknowledging that they enjoyed each other’s company.

There were days Joe would call out for Fran through the fire escape window. It was their stealth way of contacting each other.

Some mornings, Fran would sadly say she was unable to come out and play because of her chores, her house work she called it. Victoria became increasingly depressed and did not feel good most of the time. Her health and mental stability were showing signs of debilitating stress and duress. Her husband was less than kind to Victoria subjecting her to constant and unrelenting physical and verbal abuse. Living in a predominantly controlled environment and not being allowed, for the most part, to go anywhere was starting to take its toll on her health and emotions. Victoria spoke with no one for fear of retribution, and even when she went to church or attended a school play, she shied away from the crowd without making conversation.

In the early morning hours, as the sunlight shone through the