Man Who Loved God Read Free Page B

show. So a woman who was taking theology and liturgy classes at Orchard Lake’s Saints Cyril and Methodius Seminary conducted a satisfying and proper Communion service.
    Afterward, one of the male parishioners, congratulating her on her performance, said to her, “They’ll probably ordain you now.”
    “No chance,” she replied.
    “Why not?”
    “I’m overqualified.”
    Most of the priests who heard this story thought it hilarious.
    Koesler’s second reason for not taking time off was that finding a substitute for a couple of weeks just wasn’t worth the bother. Frankly, he enjoyed what he did as a priest. Leaving his work was like vacationing from a vacation.
    But this time off had been handed him on a platter. Out of the blue, a priest had phoned and offered to substitute for Koesler while he got away from it all for two or three weeks.
    Koesler had not sought this relief. That the offer was made so spontaneously made it seem like a gift from God. Manna in the wilderness.
    With little time to plan, Koesler had selected Georgian Bay in Canada. He’d always wanted to visit that area, rich in missionary lore. Besides, one of his priest friends was stationed in a parish in that vicinity.
    The visiting priest who would substitute for him was now upstairs in St. Joseph’s rectory. He had arrived this very day and Father Koesler had already given him a tour of the buildings and a briefing on how things were done at old St. Joe’s.
    That was another new wrinkle. Before so many changes had followed the Second Vatican Council, there was little, if any, diversity in the way Mass was offered or services were conducted from one parish, or even one diocese or country, to the next.
    The language was in Latin within the Latin Rite churches throughout the world. Rubrics—instructions—were identical and told the priest what tone of voice to use, what gestures to make, and where to move and when.
    That was then. Now there were subtle and some not so subtle nuances from parish to parish within the same diocese.
    In the 1950s and earlier, a visiting priest could walk into a sacristy, vest, and go to the altar without even a greeting to or from the pastor. Now the common question before attempting Mass in an unfamiliar parish was, “How do you do it here?”
    For Father Koesler the most unusual part of this present improbable arrangement was the identity of the visiting priest: He was a member of the religious order of St. Joseph’s Society of the Sacred Heart, or, more popularly, the Josephites.
    The Josephites, an order small in number, were dedicated to a parish ministry for African-Americans. Possibly their most famous member was Father Phil Berrigan, who, with his Jesuit brother, Father Dan Berrigan, raised consciousness over the issues of war, injustice, and poverty.
    That was the visitor’s background. His name was Tully—Father Zachary Tully. And at this moment he came downstairs and stepped into Koesler’s office.
    “All settled in?” Koesler asked brightly.
    “It didn’t take long.” Tully wore a black suit and clerical collar.
    Koesler himself regularly dressed in clericals; he appreciated other priests in uniform. “I notice you didn’t bring much with you. I hope our Michigan weather doesn’t surprise you too much.”
    “We’re just out of August,” the other protested.
    “It gets tricky in Michigan. After all, you’re up here from Dallas.”
    Father Tully took a chair opposite Koesler. “That’s Texas, and that probably sounds warm to a Northerner or a damyankee. But we have our winters too. Oh, granted, not like yours,” he said, anticipating Koesler’s exception. “But we need our warm clothing too.” He chuckled. “I remember one Christmas when we had an ice storm in Dallas. Knocked out the electricity and really threw the residents for a loop. Some of the neighborhoods didn’t get the power back on for eleven days.” He grinned. “Which led to the headline on the front page of one of