Conceived Without Sin (47 page)

He attended regular meetings on spiritual subjects led by numeraries–unmarried members of Opus Dei who answered a call to give up married life to serve the group, often while holding down full-time jobs outside of Opus Dei.

Bill was not a numerary, and didn't feel called to become one. He wished to get married. Despite serious relationships with several women
over the years, he had not been fortunate enough to find the right woman. He was at peace with keeping the norms, working at his secular job, and letting his life be a silent beacon leading other souls to Christ.

He drove to Saint Christophers, where he attended morning Mass. He noticed that Buzz was not in attendance, something that was not unusual lately.

Perhaps he's found a midday Mass? I
haven't met him for lunch in how long? Two months?

Taking his thoughts as a small prompting of the Holy Spirit, Bill offered his communion for Buzz. After Mass, cognizant that Christ remained fully present in the Sacred Host before digestion took place, he prayed his daily Rosary. He concentrated on speaking directly to the Savior within his body with every prayer.

After Donna's decision to become
a Poor Clare, Buzz had approached Bill about the possibility of accompanying him to Fatima in her place.

"Not now," Bill had told him. "Maybe in the springtime. I can't get away from work this time of year."

Bill had noted the disappointment in Buzz's eyes, despite Buzz's "No big deal" reply.

I've got to call him,
Bill told himself. He reached for his pocket calendar, and made a note on his to-do
list for the day.

7

Donna dressed and showered in complete privacy, as all religious do if their congregations are serious about maintaining a high level of purity.

Religious life is not natural; it is not natural for women who are not related by blood to live in such close quarters. In fact, religious life is supernatural, and impossible without grace and a special charism given by the Holy Spirit
to the world through their founders.

She was not tired. The schedule, tested over the centuries, allowed for plenty of rest for a healthy person, young or old. After a few weeks, she found herself growing accustomed to the rhythm of the schedule, and the ringing of the bells which punctuated the different activities of her day.

She took special pleasure in this part of preparation for the day.
She knew that, barring illness requiring medical treatment or attention, that only her betrothed, Jesus, would look upon her body. She had not only given Jesus her time, her prayers, her desires for worldly things, but also her very body.

It didn't seem like much to give. Oh, she took pains not to abuse her strong, almost powerful, figure. The Poor Clares led a surprisingly active life. There
was time in the schedule for exercise and work. She knew the Father had blessed her with health and strength.

But my spouse has given me His body. And His body was perfect, sinless, and glorified.

She would consume His Body at Mass before breakfast.

That's wild,
she thought, pulling on the special garment of the postulant. She thought of Buzz, and his musings about the spectacular mystical wildness
of the Catholic faith during their trip to New Jersey so long ago.

I wonder how he's doing?
she thought sadly.

She was still not habituated to being out of touch. She had an urge to call him, but knew the urge would be unfulfilled.
I'll write to Ellie and ask her for an update.

When her superior had come to her with the news that Sam and Ellie had contributed one thousand dollars to the chapel
fund, Donna had been required by the rules to write a thank you reply because the check had come in a letter with Donna's name on it.

Donna had told Ellie and Buzz about the rule the day before she left the world, with a wink. "Just make sure you put five bucks in every letter you send me! I'll be under obedience to write back to you!" (There were also rules, centuries old, about when letters
could be read and written by the nuns. For certain months of the year, associated with the Church calendar–Lent was such a time–the Poor Clares even gave up the pleasures of correspondence.)

Thus empowered, Donna wrote back to Ellie immediately, excitedly describing in great detail how the mother superior had been in tears while announcing to the community that an
additional
gift of ninety-nine
thousand dollars had been earmarked for the expansion of the chapel. She further described how the larger donation had arrived from a bank through a designated third party, making it completely anonymous.

"Your one thousand dollar gift added to this surprise anonymous donation means we have exactly the right amount," Donna wrote. "It's a direct answer to all of our prayers. I'm so psyched! Please
tell Buzz! I know he's been praying for us all."

Donna would never know that she was writing to the anonymous donors. The anonymity had been Bill White's idea.

She opened the door to her cubicle, filled with hope for her day.

Yes sir, I'll have plenty of time to pray for Buzz today.
The world was all right.

8

It was a Saturday afternoon. She had muttered one sentence to him after she came down
the ramp at the gate.

"Not here, Buzz," she said when he tried to give her a hug.

"When did you decide to stop calling me Daddy?" he asked his daughter.

She made a bored face, and didn't favor him with a reply.

Buzz and Jennifer walked up to his car in the parking lot of Hopkins Airport. She was seven years old, and already had her mother's world-weary eyes. She had Buzz's thick, brown hair. His
heart sank when he saw the disappointed expression on her face. She was embarrassed by his beat-up Festiva.

She saw his disappointment and pounced. "Mommy's new husband drives a Cadillac."

"Is that so?" He feigned innocence.

He knew all her tricks. Even though he knew what she was doing to him, he still ached to be able to afford a nicer-looking car.

He resolved not to let it get him down.

"So
what's new in school?" he asked her when they got onto the road.

"Nothin'."

Silence for three minutes. She was wearing a dreadful tie-dyed T-shirt that was too tight for her already too thin torso.

Is she being fed down there?

Her fingernails were painted black with grey polka dots, and she chewed a huge wad of gum with her mouth open.

The T-shirt made her look like a tramp.

"How's Mommy?"

Silence.

He cleared his throat. "Jen, sweetheart. I asked you how your mother was."

"'kay," she muttered, looking out the window.

We're off to our usual start,
he thought.

Sometimes she warmed up toward the end of the week. But he only had today and tomorrow.

He thanked God that Bill had called and volunteered, with a little help from the Johnsons, to look after Jenny while he was at work. It had been a
blow to Buzz's pride to ask Bill for help, but he had no other place to go. He had resolved not to burden Sam and Ellie. Bill, for his part, made the idea of taking the bulk of his days off the week before Christmas sound trifling.

Bill's a good actor. I'll never be able to repay him.

Ten minutes later, Buzz pulled into the parking lot of Saint Angela Merici Church. He left the motor running to
keep the heat blowing.

"Let's go thank God for being together again," Buzz suggested brightly, acting the part, knowing what would come next. "Just a few prayers."

He expected hemming and hawing, or at least silence. He wasn't prepared for her answer.

"Is that a Catholic church?" she asked.

"You know it is, sweetie. We go here every time you visit."

"Mommy says that I can't go in there. That when
you got a nullmint, that the Church made me into a bastard."

Buzz's jaw dropped. The man who was so glib and witty with his friends was speechless.

She looked away from him, chewing her gum loudly, both of them knowing that she knew the sound annoyed him.

Finally, he found his voice. "That's not true."

She spit two foul words at the window, making him the target of the sexually explicit epithet.

Now she's cursing! Did she learn that from Sandi's new husband? Is that what he's like?

He's probably a lot like you used to be,
a little voice taunted him.

It took all his strength to ignore the voice and keep his usually deeply-buried temper in check. This was turning out to be worse than ever. And they were only in their first hour of the visit.

Buzz wearily shrugged off despair, as he had done
a thousand times before over the years, which hugged him intimately, like a dead lover. Buzz shook his head, and rubbed his face with his hands.

He realized that he had forgotten to shave this morning.

"Look here, young lady!" He had conjured up his sternest fatherly voice, sickly aware that by using it so early in the visit he would have little effective recourse to it later. By forcing him into
this mode, she was punching a screwdriver into the gas tank of his thinly armored authority.

She turned her head slowly, an utterly jaded look in her eyes. She rolled them in her head with a practiced
I've heard that a thousand times before
expression. She blew a bubble and popped her gum.

He opened and closed his mouth. He gave up.

"You can treat me like you hate me for the rest of the week,
Jennifer. I know you love me somewhere inside that heart of yours. But I get the picture; I don't expect you to show it. But I will not stand for you treating me with open disrespect. I'm still your father. Do you understand me? I'm–I'm drowning in sorrow here."

He saw a small spark in her eyes. Was it love or resentment?

"Okay Buzz," she said disdainfully, then offered him a wan smile.

He took
what she offered, as little as she offered, knowing that the pickings were going to remain slim.

"Now I'm going inside to pray. You can stay here or come in with me. I won't take long either way."

"I'll stay here," she said, turning back to stare out the window. "Can you leave the keys so I can listen to music?"

"No," he said quickly, and jumped out of the car into the cold winter air. At half
past four, it was almost dark already because of the setting back of the clocks.

These few days before Christmas, in fact, were the darkest days of the year.

PART FOUR

The Ocean

When you are young and dying, when your heart was made for a love stronger than death, but your body wasn't, you get trouble in the soul. Buckets of trouble. Ages of grief. Death comes like release.
Michael O'Brien,
Strangers and Sojourners

I layed down for a while, and I woke up on the ocean, floating on my back, and staring at the rain, it was completely still, 'cept the pounding
of my heart.
School of Fish

I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.
Rick to Ilse in
Casablanca

When principles that run against your deepest convictions begin to win the day, then battle is your calling, and peace has become sin.
Abraham Kuyper

But if I can't swim after forty days,
and my mind is crushed by the thrashing waves, lift me up so high that I cannot fall.
Jars of Clay

Chapter Nineteen

1

Somehow, Buzz Woodward survived the horrible week with his daughter. Bill tried his best to entertain her by taking her to museums, playgrounds, and malls. She gave him the same silent treatment she had given her father. She warmed up a bit during afternoon visits to the Johnsons. She played fitfully with Sarah, who was a year older.

On the following Saturday, the day before
Christmas, Buzz gave her his Christmas present (a Nintendo game for her player in Florida). He put it on his one credit card. He drove her in silence to the airport, and put her on the plane, getting a dirty look from the attendant at the gate, who had seen dozens of divorced kids walk alone down the ramp that week.

He spent Christmas Eve with Sam and Ellie. They gave him a woolen Red Sox jacket
with leather sleeves which almost made him cry. He gave them a bottle of wine, the best he could afford. He spent Christmas at the Johnsons with Bill White. It took all his energy to appear energetic, all his wit to act humorous, all his stealth to hide his sorrow.

Two weeks later, on a freezing January night, Buzz arrived late for a gathering at Mark Johnson's house. It was late; the Johnson
children were in bed. Bill, Ellie, Sam, Mark and Maggie were reclining in the living room, Leo Kotke guitar music playing softly in the background.

Buzz helped himself to a can of Pepsi from the fridge and plopped down on the floor between Bill's rocker and Sam and Ellie's love seat.

"What's the topic of conversation tonight?" he asked.

"Nothing much," Mark answered. "Maggie and I were telling
Sam about being married, having kids."

A silence passed.

"Let's talk about grace," Buzz suggested out of the blues. They were accustomed to his quick tangents.

"Grace Kelly?" Sam said with a straight face. "I married her."

Everyone smiled or chuckled.

"What do you mean, Buzz?" Maggie asked.

"How it works. It's a catchall phrase for most of us. I mean, how come I don't get it when I ask for it?
When I need it the most, it seems. I've prayed for my daughter to get it, but every time she visits, it's a disaster."

"God isn't like a vending machine," Mark said after a moment of pondering. "For weeks, I asked for help when Maggie kicked me out, but nothing came, even though I was plunking quarters into the machine. Maybe I wasn't ready for what happened to me at Steubenville until it happened."

One way or another, the group had become familiar with Mark and Maggie's story. During the New Year's party at Bill White's, Mark had held them all in rapt attention when he told them about his dream in the Port at Steubenville.

Maggie, who was sitting next to Mark on the couch, turned to look at him. "Maybe it was grace that prompted me to kick you out. It doesn't sound right–kicking your husband
out–but I decided that I wouldn't deal with you until you treated me with respect. The decision took a lot out of me. I needed strength to cope without you. It felt like that strength came from outside of me. Maybe that's grace."

"I never know where the line between grace and my will ends," Bill threw out for the group. "If I get up early and read the Bible, is it a response to grace, or my will?
My whole day is different depending on what I do when I get out of bed."

Buzz nodded, and took a sip of Pepsi. He noticed that Sam was following the conversation closely.

"The Church says grace comes through the sacraments," Bill continued. "I'm just plain different after I go to confession. It's easier to pray, easier to jump out of bed. Easier to go the extra mile for somebody. It's easier to
be good knowing my sins have been cleansed away. That's grace."

"I get grace at work," Mark piped in. "I don't exactly feel it. It's like it works through my instincts. I don't have much concern for losing my life in the White Collar Unit, but I prayed all the time for my guardian angel to protect me when I was tracking down Mafia guys. Once or twice, it was like a little voice told me not to
walk through a particular door. Sure enough, there would be a loaded gun behind that door. Other agents could tell you stories…"

"Even ones who don't believe in God?" Sam asked.

"You know the old saying, Sam. There are no atheists in foxholes. I've seen cold-blooded murderers pray when they were in danger."

Buzz looked at Ellie.
What do you think?
he asked silently. She felt emboldened by the
ensuing lull in the conversation.

"I think," she started, pausing just for a second. "I think that I'm not sure what you're all talking about. I never gave much thought to grace before meeting–before meeting all of you. I've always felt that God was out there, watching over me, but not, you know, very active in my day-to-day life. I don't think of grace in terms of voices, or getting out of bed,
or anything like that. I think of Donna, right now, praying for us. It's like she's joined with God in watching over us."

"I like that," Buzz said. "I think about Donna a lot lately. I miss her."

"I do too," Sam said.

Ellie gave her husband a look. Sam didn't mention Donna unless somebody else brought her up.

"I don't know much about grace," Sam added. "But I believe in love. What else explains
why someone would marry another person? A voice inside says: this is right for you."

"I think, if Sam doesn't mind me bringing this up," Buzz offered, "that grace works with great power for people who don't believe in it. I've watched Sam build his company. Every decision he makes at work affects the lives of a lot of people. He provides jobs for families, and indirectly helps provide jobs for
his client's workers. It really is uncanny how he makes his decisions involving tens of thousands of dollars based almost solely on his business intuition–what do you think, Sam? Do you feel an outside force guiding you at work? Or is it just intuition?"

Sam paused to ponder. "To tell you the truth, it's intuition. I don't feel anything outside of me. I just try my best. I know people depend on
me to make good decisions, but even if they didn't, I would still try to make decisions according to…" he paused again, searching for the right words.

"According to right reason?" Bill prompted.

"Sort of," Sam answered. "If what you mean by right reason is logic and reality. I've noticed that my worst decisions usually come out of a false assumption; that is, I make a mistake because I base my
decision on something that turns out to not be true, or not in tune with reality. I assume the market wants a certain kind of software, but in reality it doesn't, so we waste resources trying to sell customers on it. I usually don't find out what the reality of a situation is until afterwards, though. There's a lot of guesswork–a lot of guesswork. "

"So if it's guesswork, how come your decisions
turn out so well most of the time?" Maggie asked. "And thanks for being so open, Sam."

They all knew she was referring to his unbelief.

Sam laughed softly. "After two years with Buzz, I'm used to being the token nonbeliever. But I don't feel like the odd man out here. You all let me be me. Uh, what was the question again?"

"How come your decisions come out right more than your competitors' decisions?"
Maggie repeated. "Is it guesswork? Or could it be that you're guided by grace you don't believe in, for the sake of the people you employ?"

"I don't really know," he answered honestly. "Other competitors, men and women, have better educations, more financial backing, more experience–even better relationships to start with customers–but the combination of me and Johnny Traverse outperforms them
every time. Johnny doesn't pray or go to church, by the way, although he says he's a Methodist.

"Another thing. They're not strictly my decisions anymore. Half the time, I just trust the people who work for me. I'm a programmer at heart. I don't like to sell. People in the industry don't believe me when I tell them that I spend thirty percent of my time in the office reading about the industry,
customers, trends. You'll all love hearing this: even the things I hear at Mass help me at work. I look for sound principles to base my decisions upon."

"For example?" Bill asked.

"You know what I mean, Bill. You run a company. Principles like 'if a customer has a problem with your product and you fix it, he becomes more loyal.' That's a big one at Edwards & Associates, because computer systems
always have problems. The best 'fixers' win the long-term contracts. That's not too far off from 'If your brother asks for your shirt, give him your coat and your sandals as well.' Didn't Jesus say something like that? Our company provides that level of service."

Sam felt odd. The conversation had started on the subject of grace, and had turned into a business lecture featuring the agnostic.

"The advertising industry doesn't forgive mistakes," Bill began thoughtfully. "Too much money is involved that you can't get back if the campaign fails. There are absolutes in morality; I think there are almost absolute principles in business, too. Example: 'Poor cash flow kills your business.' I know several talented admen who failed in this town because they had negative cash flow."

"I'm not
following you," Buzz addressed Bill. "I don't understand stuff like cash flow."

"You're not the only one," Ellie said. "I remember struggling with it in my courses at Saint Marys. Basically, it means that even if your company has a good product, unless you get paid in time for the products you have sold–with more money than it costs you to produce those products, yet with enough to spare to fill
the new orders you're getting–you'll grind to a halt. Someone will order your product, but you won't have the money to produce it."

"I'm more confused than ever," Buzz said.

"That's what I like about you, Buzz," Mark interjected, smiling, leaning forward on the couch, placing his elbows on his knees. "You're never afraid to say when you don't understand something. I have no idea what cash flow
is–"

"That's why I keep the family checkbook," Maggie chided gently, patting him on the back. "Buzz, it's not so complicated. Negative cash flow is not having enough money in the bank to pay your bills. If your income doesn't cover your expenses, the phone company turns off your phone. If you need that phone to make money, you go out of business."

"Well said," Sam agreed. "I knew the definition
of cash flow before I started Edwards, but I didn't
understand
it for about a year. I took three contracts that didn't pay me enough in the first year, and lost all my savings before I caught on that I had to either charge more or deliver my services for less cost. Or both, as it turned out. I came this close to going under many times in that first year."

Sam looked through a tiny gap between
his index finger and thumb.

"So what does any of this have to do with grace?" Ellie asked.

"Nothing," Buzz answered.

"I don't know about that," Maggie mused. "Maybe grace is like cash flow. If you choose to live according to right reason, as Bill calls it, or good principles, as Sam calls it, then you are opening yourself up to enough grace to overcome the negative things in your life, even if
you don't believe in God. Maybe being a Catholic is a matter of having the best grace-flow, because we have the sacraments." She took a breath. "There's another thing we're all missing here."

"What's that, hun?" Mark asked.

"There's no grace without suffering. It sounds like Sam suffered to build Edwards & Associates. We suffered before we got back together, Mark. The joy of married life, raising
children, is just plain day-to-day sacrifice."

That gave the group something to ponder.

"But what about–no forget it," Ellie said.

She felt lost in this conversation, except for the business talk. She loved to talk business.

"What is it, Ellie?" Maggie asked.

"Well, when I was a kid, I suffered when my mother left us. I suffered every time she had an argument with Bucky. I cried myself to sleep
every night. I was so young. I thought I was somehow responsible. I didn't get any grace out of that."

She looked down at her hands, fumbling with her engagement ring, turning it over and over.

Sam reached for her hand. There was an old, old hurt in her voice. She never talked about her mother leaving, even in private.
What's gotten into her?

Grace?
a little voice asked him.

"I cried myself to
sleep when I was a kid," Buzz said sadly, looking down at the carpet in the middle of the room. "I thought it was normal to be sad. I'm still that way. I know I was happy last summer, but that's like a dream. I might look happy on the outside, but inside, I'm crying. I'm doing it right now. That's why I asked about grace. I'm waiting and waiting and waiting…"

His words trailed off.

In his mind's
eye, Mark saw again the flies crawling into the wounds in Christ's feet.
No one came for Him. While His mother wept, He waited.

They all loved Buzz. They had suspected that he was down. It was one of the reasons why Mark had planned the gathering; Buzz had been avoiding their phone calls.

"Buzz, I admire you," Mark said with a strong voice. "I admire anybody who fights the battles you fight."

"Sorry I got maudlin," Ellie threw out quickly. "Sorry, Buzz."

Buzz looked up. His eyes were watery.

"Hey Mark!" he cried out suddenly. "This is better than AA! Let's do it again next week!"

They all laughed politely.

"Let's all pray for each other," Maggie said with a serious tone a moment later. Then she remembered Sam. She looked at him.

He smiled and gave her a quick shake of his chin.
Don't
worry,
he told her with his eyes.

"Sure," Ellie said. She had prayed a few Rosaries in the last month after gentle promptings in Donna's letters.

Bill and Mark nodded. They had been praying daily for Buzz.

Bill, who was the most well-read theologically, thought:
I don't think any person on this earth really understands grace. Believe in grace? Sure. I can quote you chapter and verse. But understand?