“Ms. Sancini, is your client prepared to present his allocution?”

“Yes, your Honor.”

“Dr. Abrams?”

“Thank you, your honor. As stated before, I plead guilty to all charges, and I will accept whatever punishment you deem fitting. I apologize to all those who suffered because of my actions. With your permission, I would like to present a brief Torah passage. This is from Kohelet.”

“Go ahead.”

 “‘I communed with my heart, saying, ‘Look, I have attained greatness, and have gained more wisdom than all who were before me in Jerusalem. My heart has understood great wisdom and knowledge.’ And I set my heart to know wisdom and to know madness and folly. I perceived that this also is grasping for the wind. For in much wisdom is much grief, and he who increases knowledge increases sorrow.’

In conclusion, I beg the court, in future deliberations here and elsewhere, to grant the grendels, the innocent victims of my execrable vanity, all the privileges and protections of our laws and institutions. Whatever one thinks of their humanity, they are creatures possessing dignity and intrinsic worth, and should be afforded all the rights and respect that entails. If any mercy is to be extended, it should be to them.” – United States v. Bruno Abrams;  sentencing hearing transcript

Fr. Ed waited outside the Bishop’s office in Boise, kneading his damp hands.  The flight down in Mickey Thorsten’s aircar was easy and convenient.  He’d be back in Bonner’s Ferry before dinner. Reckoning with the consequences of accepting Mickey’s favors would come later.

“His Excellency will see you now,” the Bishop’s secretary informed him. She tipped her head to the door with a small smile, then turned back to her work.

The Bishop met him in the doorway.

“Edward! Good to see you.  How are things up north? So glad you were able to get down here so easily. How is Mr. Thorsten?” Fr. Ed’s expression was all the response the Bishop needed. He continued. “Businessmen have eternal souls too, Edward.  Remember Luke: ‘Go out to the roads and country lanes and bring them all, so my house is full.’ Tell me about your convert.” Fr. Ed took a deep breath.

“Your Excellency, it’s an unusual situation. I’m not sure how to proceed.”

The Bishop smiled. “That’s why we have you up there, Edward. But given the type of crowd you run with, this must really be something.” They sat in overstuffed armchairs in front of the Bishop’s desk. Fr. Ed began without preamble.

“The person who approached me about conversion, is, well isn’t, or may not be, technically, a person, which is why I need your guidance, because…”

The Bishop shook his head and waved a hand impatiently.

“Edward, please, just spit it out. What are you talking about?”

Fr. Ed took a deep breath.

“I’ve now spoken to him twice, and he told me that he’s been in our community for a while, and that’s he’s performed good deeds, which led me to believe he is the individual who people in the area call the Good Samaritan. Both times we met, it was at night, and he remained concealed in shadows. But the things he described doing, I found it hard to believe one person could do them alone.” Fr. Ed watched the Bishop closely for any indication of his reaction before he continued.

“Like what?”

“Supposedly, the Good Samaritan lifted a tree that was blocking a road, and moved a vehicle stuck in a ditch. Things that an ordinary human couldn’t do alone. Which lead me to wonder if…”

“Yes?”

“I’m fairly certain this person wasn’t… maybe they could be one of the creatures in the hills, the grendels.” Ed braced himself.

The Bishop held up his hand. “Stop right there. Have you notified the authorities? Has this creature committed any crimes?”

“Well, no…” 

“No crimes, or no, you haven’t contacted the authorities?”

“Both.  No crimes, at least, that I’m aware of. As I said, he…it…has actually been helpful around the community, although no one knows. Other than me, now, I mean.  Like a good Samaritan. I haven’t shared this with anyone.”

The Bishop frowned. “What else do you think it has done?”

“He rounded up some cattle that got out of a field, or at least he claimed to. The truck stuck in a ditch, I heard about in town. I think he brought an elderly woman with dementia back home. I have to confirm that.  He is not evil, as best as I can determine.”

The Bishop shook his head.  “You still need to contact the authorities. These creatures are a government…a military issue, not a matter for the Church. I hope what you are saying is true, but their mere existence is causing quite the uproar, especially after the unfortunate episode in Wyoming. In the meantime, this goes no further.”

Fr. Ed was as aware of the recent incident involving the armed vigilantes on their crusades to protect humanity. A group of armed men cornered one of the creatures. It went badly for the vigilantes. After the slaughter, the government required reports of any contact or sighting, no matter how trivial. 

For already deeply skeptical citizens of Idaho and the other Compact States, the battle at the lab and the escape of the genetically engineered creatures was yet another source of government mistrust. The additional involvement of the others, the mutants or whatever they were, only added to the wild speculation and conspiracies, leading to conflation of the few known facts into allegations that the government was replacing the human race with improved versions. It was these feverish theories that consumed the extremists in the Church and elsewhere that prompted the Pope to release his recent statements about tolerance and charity.

“I’ve been very discreet,” Fr. Ed responded. “Some of the factions have members in my parish. I don’t want to rile them up.”

“The extremists don’t represent us. You know that, Edward. But at the same time, we must be mindful not to bring unnecessary scandal on the Church. What you are proposing is something even the Holy Father has not given clear guidance on. Tolerance is one thing, but baptism?” The Bishop shook his head.  “No, no, no.  Not here.”

“The Holy Father mentioned the idea of sanctuary. Perhaps if there were a formal effort at conversion, that would foster acceptance…”

The Bishop seemed to consider this for a moment, then turned abruptly and strode to his desk. He sat and began typing on his computer.

“That is an intriguing idea, and certainly one that the offices of the DDF might consider, but again, that is not for our diocese to undertake unilaterally. I’m notifying them now to request assistance.” He looked up with a smile. “Maybe the Jesuits would want that task again,” he chuckled, but Fr. Ed didn’t reciprocate. His heart sank at the prospect of dealing with officials from the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith.

“His interest seems sincere, and he certainly knows Scripture, even some prayers.”

“I notice you keep saying ‘he’. Shouldn’t it be more properly called ‘it’?”

Fr. Ed was taken aback.

“Well, I…he…it…we talked about his family; he has siblings, a mother.”

The Bishop leaned back from his keyboard and shook his head vehemently. “That is the essence of the sin they…it…is the consequence of. They are the result of meddling with the essence of humanity in profane and unforgivable ways. Made, not begotten, in a sense.”

“But, they reproduce now. The younger ones do have fathers and mothers in the conventional sense. That is one of the reasons he wishes to be baptized, to bring the younger ones into the faith.” Ed tried out his practiced line of reasoning. “Isn’t the sin of their creation like a kind of Original Sin, which Baptism could remove?”

The Bishop appeared at a loss for words. He stared at Fr. Ed, shaking his head.

“Absolutely not. I must caution you, Edward, this is not an area you are competent to navigate alone. These kinds of theological speculations must first be decided by Rome. You should occupy yourself with your pastoral duties.”

Ed opened his mouth to reply then closed it, then looked down at the floor. The Bishop heaved a sigh.

“Edward, I am barely holding things together as it is. This diocese now covers an enormous area after the merger with Helena and absorbing Nelson.  I spend an inordinate amount of time tending to our Canadian brothers and sisters. The diversity of opinions, the political situation, and these disruptive forces occupy all my energies keeping everyone facing the same way, toward the Eucharist.”  The Bishop stood and came around the desk. He put his hand on Fr. Ed’s shoulder. “The unity of the Church has to be my first priority.”

Ed made one more try. “What about ‘Christians are made, not born?’”

The Bishop steered Fr. Ed toward the door. “Do you remember who first said that?”  Fr. Ed flushed, shaking his head slowly. The Bishop smiled and continued.  “That was Tertullian, in the second century. But then, maybe Tertullian isthe appropriate inspiration for your interest in this…”  The Bishop looked thoughtful, then snapped out of his reverie. “There may be an opportunity to help out with the football team at Bishop Kelly next spring.”

Fr. Ed’s heart fell. Every time he made even the slightest noise of dissatisfaction about his lonely posting in the north, the Bishop dangled the prospect of an expanded role in youth programming to buy his silence and continued cooperation. The Bishop’s gentle pressure on Ed’s arm clearly indicated the matter closed. Fr. Ed hesitated, gently resisting.

The Bishop continued. “Your charisms are surely not of the academic or theological variety. Play to your strengths, Edward. Minister to your flock.”

“But what do I tell him?”

The Bishop faced Ed. “First, I want you to file a report with the police, as soon as possible. Then, if it approaches you again, continue the conversation, draw him…it…out. Let it think this is part of the process, which it is, really. That’s not a deception. The period of inquiry for a potential catechumen should be lengthy and thorough. Of course, there is no possibility of it actually progressing through the Rites, but you don’t have to share that, at least not right away.”

Fr. Ed nodded, then departed, defeated. He messaged the waiting air car and sat on a bench outside near the empty parking lot where the vehicle would land. 

He sorted through his emotions in the manner recommended by his many therapists over the years of his rehab and managing the consequences of the car crash. Step back, consider your feelings, put them in context, understand their sources, always giving yourself the same charity and compassion any parishioner seeking counsel deserves.

The Bishop never failed to make him feel inadequate, always bringing up either his academic shortcomings, or the accident.

The years in Seminary set the tone. His dedication to the vocation didn’t mitigate his failings as a student.  Still, his close friendships with his fellow seminarians usually got him through. Some, like David Scanlan, were still his best friends today. He resolved to call David later.

Uneasiness was the dominant feeling. Something didn’t sit right. Although he understood the Bishop’s reasoning, the approach still felt dishonest, which quickly lead to his conflicted feelings about the Church’s painful history of abuse and inconsistent contrition. As a person with very real duties to children, as a coach, mentor, and spiritual counselor, that dual sense of betrayal and defensiveness toward the outside world was the source of the disquiet. Dealing with the accusations that the Church protected him from the consequences of his own tragic stupidity only exacerbated that problem.

There was something about Astyanax’s passion that touched Fr. Ed. That seeking, that intuition of something greater, that’s what Ed felt as well. From his very early childhood, staring up into the night sky and learning about the mysteries of the universe, Ed was always in awe of the ineffable beauty in the world, something he felt more than he understood. He experienced a twinge of envy at how well Astyanax articulated that, better than he, actually, making it much more difficult to dismiss it out of hand.

There was also a touch of fear, of not relishing the prospect of denying this intimidating creature, this person, seeking his assistance. Fr. Ed was a big man, a former lineman, now even heavier, but still strong. But the physical bulk of his visitor, shrouded in shadow and difficult to fully discern, radiated a definite feeling of menace and incipient violence, something he’d felt before in the bars near the border, amongst the truckers, smugglers, and violent criminals who he ministered to and encountered in his travels in the northern borderlands. He smiled at the recollection of his academic troubles in seminary evoking the same physical nervousness as facing down gigantic opponents across the line of scrimmage.

***

Ed remembered the feeling of sweaty slickness, sitting across from Fr. Schindler bracing himself for what he knew was coming.

“Relax, Edward, you are doing fine.  Really, this isn’t bad news.”

Ed furrowed his brow, wondering if they shared the same definition of ‘bad’.  He just nodded, damp hands clasped in front of him, kneading.

“Let me just cut to the chase to ease your mind. You are doing exceedingly well. Your struggles with your classwork are a definite challenge, but your success and outstanding progress in your other domains more than compensate.”

Ed exhaled and waited to hear more.  He felt a trickle of sweat trace a cool path from his armpit down his right side.  He swallowed, afraid to respond.

Sensing more encouragement was necessary, Fr. Schindler continued.  “The feedback from Fr. Smola about your Human Formation goals is excellent. You are diligent with your responsibilities around the house, especially the repairs you made, even though that did cause some controversy with the University; you are leader amongst your peers; you are taking care of yourself; you are taking care of your brothers.  The football games are especially appreciated, how you brought the non-Americans into the community, your openness to others, and now the soccer games.  It’s really something to see you lead the others, and you do it so unselfconsciously.” He paused, then said more quietly, “Although we do have to keep an eye on the drinking.”

The rounds of beer were a byproduct of the bonding with his fellow seminarians. Long hours of classwork and studying needed relief by laughing, telling stories, beers at the Ott, hiking in the Catoctins, learning how to ski at Liberty; with all of it, it was true, somehow Ed was in the middle, if not out front, keeping the team together, watching out for the stragglers.  His friends reciprocated, especially when it came to his struggles in the classroom.

“Your spiritual formation is also progressing nicely. I think your background, your family influences, the wonderful job your parents did raising you, all put you on a great path. You came to us with an already well-developed set of spiritual habits, and you’ve made continued progress. No concerns here either. And, by the way, your mother continues making a great impression with those cookie shipments.”

“But it’s your pastoral formation where you really shine, Edward. Your leadership with your brothers plays a role here, but it’s particularly gratifying seeing how you blossom interacting with parishioners at your assignments. For example, the latest evaluation from St. Theresa’s is exemplary. Though your Spanish isn’t progressing as well as we’d like, you more than compensate with your generous spirit and welcoming attitude. You have gifts of communication that transcend language, if I may be a little hyperbolic. Your openness and honesty radiate Christ’s love, and people see that and respond to it. You are a natural, Ed.”

Ed heaved a deep sigh of relief.  It was true. That was his favorite part, and it was deeply gratifying and reassuring to hear that his Advisors also saw that. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Fr. Schindler smiled reassurance.

“So… your intellectual formation…” he continued with a sympathetic smile and a hardening of the eyes that Ed feared. His heart sank.

“There’s no getting around it: your grades are deplorable.”

Ed braced himself for the lecture he knew so well. His gifts in other areas were now part of the problem. The time he spent on his pastoral duties was time away from the books. What he couldn’t absorb passively just didn’t stick, especially the obscure theology.

It really accelerated when he asked for, and was granted, permission to assist with coaching duties at Catholic University while he served as sports chaplain to the football team. He’d already been helping out at practice because of his close proximity during his assignment to St. Theresa’s, and he was liked by the players as well as the rest of the coaching staff. When the head coach fell ill, they asked Ed to take over coaching the offensive line. He did, loved it, and the team did well. He was recognized at the end of season awards dinner, given partial credit for the winning season despite the challenges. He was hooked.

Of all his pastoral duties, the hospital was most challenging.  Although his natural impulse was to reach out to and comfort the sick and dying, the anger he sometimes encountered, and the complex emotions of family members of the people he visited, were unexpectedly difficult. How could the children or siblings of a person dying in a hospital bed spend so much time and energy fighting with each other, or directing their own fear and anger back at that suffering person?  It mystified and exhausted him, but he persisted, knowing in his gut these situations were some of the most important.

Honestly addressing the mystery of suffering was one of his biggest struggles.  Instinctively, he knew, he intuited, that the most important response is the unconditional, unbounded love that they all were supposed to be the examples and emissaries for. But articulating the why of it, that was where he struggled. He knew the theology and philosophy classes prepared him for those conversations, but he also knew deep down that all the words, no matter how finely crafted, no matter how logically composed, still never reached to the heart of the matter, touching the other person in ways that provided real comfort. That, he knew, was most effectively conveyed using the skills he came by naturally: listening, hugging, reassuring, and sometimes, just being there and accepting all the pain, abuse, fear, and anger that often poured forth, and reciprocating only with compassion, acceptance, and, as best possible, understanding. That was the example of Christ’s suffering that meant most to him.

Early on at his posting in northern Idaho, one of his parishioners gave voice to his doubts in a precise, compelling way. Mrs. Scharff came to him for counselling after they worked together collecting toys for children and dropped them off at St. Luke’s. They spent a lot of time talking in the car on the long ride down to Boise, and he came to know the sad, bitter woman who lost her son in a senseless car accident, who nonetheless devoted herself to comforting others.  

After Ed held forth with the usual arguments about the redemptive value of suffering and Jesus’s example, Mrs. Scharff looked at him with a small sad smile. “Oh, Father, that’s all just a bunch of words. That’s not what people want or need. It’s all just noise.”

Ed sat back, baffled.

“But, why…why do you help me?”

She reached and grasped his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Because you have a good heart. That’s what people need, to just to have you close, showing that you care. The rest…” She gave a small shrug, dismissive.

His seminary brother David Scanlan helped Ed enormously with papers and tutoring him through some of his more challenging theology course work. The others more inclined to parish work, like Ed, ribbed Scanlan for his interest in the more obscure aspects of Catholic theology. The standing joke between them was Scanlan spends his life chasing ghosts on paper, arguing about angels and ontology. His friend took it with good humor, and now he wrote papers and went to conferences and argued with other amazing, brilliant people and seemed happy, while Ed toiled in remote northern Idaho. Their friendship continued to be a major source of comfort and mutual support through all their personal and professional difficulties.

***

Mickey Thorsten’s Condor finally arrived and Fr. Ed climbed in. With a dismaying surge, dropping his stomach to the floor, the vehicle lifted smoothly and banked out over Boise and turned north, gathering speed at an alarming rate. Already the houses and buildings were small and shrinking further. He messaged his friend and got an immediate reply, so he opened a video chat.

“Hey there, E-man! How’s it going?”

“Hi, David. Aren’t you supposed to be giving a lecture somewhere?”

“Even the very top of the ivory tower allows for recreational downtime. I’m actually unplugging a toilet in the faculty lounge. I wish you were here to take charge.”

Ed guffawed. “I hope my lessons stuck with you.”

“Learn by doing, Edward. Learn by doing. What’s going on?”

“Well, as usual, I need your advice.”

“Talk to me.”

Fr. Ed quickly recounted his meetings with the grendel, the request for baptism, and his conversation the Bishop.

Scanlan laughed. “You certainly have a knack for getting into a pickle, my friend.”

“I have a feeling this one is different from my usual screw ups.”

“Cut that out. Acting on your best intentions to help people isn’t a screw up, no matter how complicated it gets.” Scanlan grew thoughtful. “You are in the middle of something big, though.”

“He said he was contacting the DDF to get their input.”

“As he should. This is way bigger than any of us, and no matter what he, or they decide, it’s going to have repercussions.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. What do I do in the meantime, Dave?”

“Obey, Ed, and pray. You’ll find your way. You always do.”

“Oh, I’ve been praying.”

“Let me make some inquiries, do some research for you. I trust your discernment to figure out what to do, but maybe I can help you with explaining the why. Give me a couple of days.”

“Thanks, Dave.”

David Scanlan always found a way to give him comfort. He confirmed Ed’s suspicion that the Bishop’s guidance, such that it was, put him on a collision course with what his gut told him was the right thing to do.

He called the number the Bishop gave him to make his report, bantered with the AI agent, and shared everything he knew. At least that was something he could do in obedience.

NEXT