“What is the appropriate behavior for a man or a woman in the midst of this world, where each person is clinging to his piece of debris? What’s the proper salutation between people as they pass each other in this flood?” – Leonard Cohen, Washington Post interview, 1988

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was Tuesday.”

Father Edward Francis Ryan suppressed an uncharitable thought about how much sinning sweet little Mrs. Olzyck could possibly have engaged in over the last seventy-two hours, then immediately resolved to confess that at the next opportunity.  He maintained a placid demeanor while the wizened old woman continued.

“I just worry so much, and then I wish bad things for the people causing all the problems.”

God bless her, at least she’s paying attention to the outside world. The wars, the incessant political conflict here and abroad, the ever-accelerating AI and genetic engineering craziness; it was overwhelming.

“I just don’t understand how people can say such hateful things about the Pope. That’s my biggest weakness, wishing bad things for those people. And some are our own brothers and sisters!”

The positions of Pope Gelasius III were a challenge for every priest he knew. How to reconcile the demonstrated evils of genetic engineering with the unavoidable reality of the consequences they’d wrought?  Hate the sin, not the sinner, or the consequence of the sinner’s work?  They didn’t choose to be created, but here they were, the altered offspring of Dr. Bruno Abrams, now loosed into the world.  Father Ed had no appetite for the extreme positions of the zealots screaming for a crusade to eliminate the monsters, for monsters were certainly what they were in every sense, but he also couldn’t quite grasp the scope of the compassion the Pope preached.  And now the world wrestled with Pope Gelasius’s ideas in last year’s encyclical, Amor Dei.  Mrs. Olzyck’s voice snapped him out of his reverie.

“…and I still haven’t returned Charlene’s casserole dish.  I know it’s hers, but I also know she took my salad set after the summer picnic. I’m trying to be the bigger person, Father, but it’s so hard.”

Father Ed resisted the urge to rub his eyes. Face to face confessions were certainly more intimate and impactful, but there were times he missed the anonymous darkness of the confessional booth.  Father Simeon falling asleep and loudly snoring ended the practice at St. Anselm’s.

He smiled at her and she reciprocated, clutching her purse in her lap, plain dress, legs primly crossed in front of her, neatly coifed white hair.

“Well, Mrs. Olzyck. I think the penance from last time still pertains. Why don’t you add five additional Hail Marys and we’ll call it even.”

He concluded with the absolution, and she stood to leave.

He waited to see if anyone else entered the room, then rested a few minutes longer for some time to himself while he could: another trip to the border; check again about the Boise Boys and Girls club’s interest in new programming up north; confirm the week’s schedule for the pre-Cana classes; visit the jail. It was going to be a busy week.

He stood up from the folding chair and stepped out into the main part of the church, and there was Mrs. Olzyck. He made of a big show of looking around for another parishioner waiting for confession, knowing full well there weren’t any. She waited patiently while he locked up.

“May I walk with you back to the rectory, Father?”

Father Ed steeled himself. “I’m actually heading to Bonner’s Ferry for some appointments. Can I walk you to your car?”

“My son is sending his car.”

Father Ed nodded mechanically, praying for the punctuality of her ride. They stepped outside the church, and she waited while he locked the front doors. He turned and concealed a sigh of relief to see the green car waiting at the end of the parking lot. As they walked down the steps, the vehicle approached, rolling to a silent stop at the curb in front of them.  Father Ed made a show of assisting the automatically opening door.

“Father, are you available next Thursday for dinner?  We’re having a Sodality meeting, and we thought it would be nice if you came and spoke to the group. We’ve been discussing the encyclical, and the there are some sharp opinions. We’re hoping you can keep the peace.”

She remained outside the vehicle, making no move to enter despite his hand on her elbow gently urging her forward. He felt a subtle resistance, the unspoken determination to compel his answer. 

“Next Thursday…well, let’s see. I’ll check with Mrs. Zmuda to see what the calendar looks like,” he fibbed, knowing full well he was free.

Mrs. Olzyck beamed. “Thank you, Father. The ladies will be pleased.” She started to duck into the vehicle, then stopped again. Father Ed’s heart sank. “Oh, and did you hear the latest about Sam?”

For the first time, Father Ed genuinely attended to her next remark. 

“Dottie Freeman’s herd got out of their paddock again, and three got stuck in the creek behind her fields.  Before she could call Stanley to come get them out, somebody else did, but no one saw. She thinks it’s Sam.”

Sam was the mysterious person, or persons, performing good deeds around the community, shortened from The Samaritan.  Having shared her gossip, she settled into the vehicle, and it departed.

He walked to his car, debating whether to actually drive into town, or just go back to the rectory and work on sermons and his correspondence. Or he could run errands, hit the liquor store…  He stood next to the car, wrestling with indecision.  The drinking was under control, for now.  His last sober stretch was now a few months gone, and so far, he managed to moderate sufficiently to avoid outside attention and maintain his duties. He said his prayers of contrition.

His exile (assignment! This was his assignment!) to this remote part of northern Idaho was now into the third year, and seemed to be going as well as could be expected. Most importantly, he thought the Bishop might be considering his request to resume the youth programs cancelled years before in the wake of a predecessor’s involvement in ‘inappropriate activities.’ Fr. Ed’s argument was that his true strengths for being a shepherd of the faith lay with youth mentorship, important work in itself, as well as part of the slow, arduous journey rehabilitating the Church’s reputation.  But the Bishop always pushed back: “Your parish needs all of your attention.” Despite Fr. Ed’s pleas, the Bishop knew the parish loved their priest, even with his shortcomings as a homilist and theologian. The irony of being punished for doing a good job was not lost on him. The Bishop’s counselling echoed:

Obedience to God should never be grudging, Edward. Joyful submission, always joyful. Remember, ‘Yet not as I will, but as you will.’”

Mrs. Olzyck’s questions re-stirred his own doubts. The Pope’s encyclical continued dividing the already long-fractured Catholic world, further inflaming anti-Catholic sentiments as well, ironically from several directions: those who saw it as too permissive, and others as not welcoming enough. The Pope’s attempts to heal the rifts between the many conservative and progressive factions in the Church were making some headway, synthesizing and building on the efforts of past papal decrees addressing the needs for stability and tradition and the unavoidable realities of the modern world. But then the emergence of new forms of humanity, naturally and through human agency, challenged religious, political, and academic thinkers. Of course, the main problem was the denial of any humanity of these new forms of life.  Definitions of who was what, long unchallenged, were all now subject to debate. Responses ranged from discomfort, disbelief, to rage. Uncomfortable arguments about rights, morals, and law now seemed to consume everyone. He briefly wondered what he would say to the Sodality group.

The wind stirred, colder every day as the autumn days raced toward Idaho winter. The spectacular colors emerging on the foliage would fade to depressing brown, until the snow came. The first dead leaves swirled and skittered like demons dancing in the cold autumn air, spinning eddies that seemed alive. They coalesced to form an amorphous living thing questing and seeking, for what? Sustenance? Comfort? Purpose? Fall always reminded him of death.

Father Ed shook his head to clear those intrusive thoughts that inevitably lead to the accident, the cause of his exile. He was the driver, his passenger the young seminarian killed, as well as the new mother in the other car. What if they’d left earlier? What if they hadn’t had that last round? Questions lead to doubts, doubts lead to drinking, drinking lead to guilt, more drinking, then stupid decisions which got him into this mess in the first place. No amount of confessions, acts of contrition, and self-flagellation erased the burden of past mistakes.

He pulled his jacket tighter against the cold wind, his face turned up to the cold blue sky.  He looked at the trees again, hesitating, then touched the door to open the vehicle, resolved to run his errands so that he wouldn’t have lied to Mrs. Olzyck.

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