Chapter 13
Two somber looking men in black suits placed the lid on the coffin in the center aisle of the All Saints Episcopal Church. The Center for Traditional Catholicism had been granted the use of the church for purposes of the funeral as well as for other large ceremonies at times. The Requiem Mass, complete with black vestments and Latin chant, was beginning. Gold felt the Abbot tighten as the service began. Chantal looked on with the mind set of a social psychologist. Eventually, the detective whispered to Francis: "I thought you guys wore white for funerals these days."
"We do," said Francis. "They don't. Part of the mentality of the traditional Catholic movement is to keep what occurred between the fifteen hundreds and the mid-sixties when the liturgical changes began. Some of them think they're keeping what is integral to the Church. If they would go back before fifteen hundred, they would find a lot of things that were quite different from the experience they grew up with. I think there's enough room in the world and in the Church for all of this but we can talk about that at another time."
A lady with a large hat turned around and gave us a disapproving look. Well, well, look who's here, thought Gold. Our boy who lost his vocation to the priesthood because the priest was late for his appointment is sitting a few seats up and to the left. Father Andrew gave the sermon, assuring us all that the murderer would be punished, that God was just, and the murderer would get his. On the way out of the church, Miss Von Kiel went by, dabbing her eyes. The detective touched her arm and expressed his sympathy. She said she was grateful. She also said she knows it was wrong but that she was in love with the deceased priest. Nobody knew it but her and God--not even Father Theophane. A man of about thirty who had once been on retreat at the Salesian Monastery greeted Abbot Francis and the Abbot answered his unspoken question.
"Yes this is not my style of Church but we're all God's sons and daughters and here I am to celebrate that. What about you?"
"I guess I'm still searching, Abbot Francis. May I come back and spend some more time at your monastery?"
"You certainly can. Just let us know when."
Chantal caught up with the two men as they walked toward the car. "Wow, that incense makes me sneeze, but it sure takes me back to my Catholic school days."
"I bet you were a knockout in that plaid jumper," Francis laughed.
"Yes I was and I spent years in therapy getting over it," she retorted. "Actually," Chantal said, "I have a lot of fond memories of my Catholic school days. They taught me to be strong and stand up for what I believe in, and I really liked the nuns. Some people tell horror stories and call themselves "recovering Catholics" but my experience was good. I have a sense that there was just as much harshness with some of the teachers in public schools as with some of the nuns. It's just part of life."
"We had a Rabbi in Hebrew school," announced David, "who scared me to death. When he talked about the netherworld, I wanted to go there then just to get away from him!"
Francis synthesized the feeling of the little group by reflexively offering a summary statement much like he would in group therapy. "I guess we're all pretty lucky that religion didn't get in the way of our believing in God or at least wondering about that possibility." Chantal opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it.