No Greater Love (5 page)

Some held that the liberal label was the reason the Pope would not accept the Cardinal's resignation.

McNiff had heard, but did not understand this reasoning, until an explanation was offered by none other than Bob Koesler.

According to Koesler, the whole thing was vindictive.

According to Koesler, the generally accepted scenario was that the Pope, with a couple of exceptions, kept selecting very conservative priests as Boyle's auxiliary bishops. And of course, according to this explanation, these auxiliaries were imposing their conservative stamp on everything in the diocese they could touch.

In the midst of this, Boyle stood alone as the symbol of his reputedly liberal diocese, while the infrastructure kept growing in conservatism.

McNiff considered this theory deliberately Machiavellian, and he dismissed it because he could not believe that the Pope and his appointees could be that vindictive. It was unchristian and unworthy of those holy men.

But now Cardinal Boyle was wrapping up his statistical report; perhaps finally he would get down to McNiff's concern.

“So, that is a rundown of the numbers at our seminary. They are, admittedly, discouraging. The problem of the priest and seminarian shortage is, of course, for all intents and purposes, worldwide. It must be addressed on a global scale.

“But there is another problem that needs to be met on our diocesan level.”

The Cardinal leaned forward, elbows almost touching his knees. It was a posture McNiff had never before seen Boyle take.

“The problem is philosophical—an attitude, if you will. Those who favor labels would call it conservatism. As you may know, I do not believe in across-the-board categorizing.

“It does not greatly trouble me that a number of teachers and students follow a conservative trend. The trouble is that this approach to their training is shared by the vast majority in the seminary.
And
” Boyle emphasized, “that no other view is tolerated!”

He leaned back. “That is the sore point, Father: the intolerance. Respecting the opinion of someone whose opinion one does not share is a lesson we in this diocese learned only after much give-and-take. It pains me to see this hard-achieved openness and courtesy undone.

“This half-formed philosophy will close this diocese to forward movement. It will close our minds to the direction of the Holy Spirit. Do you not agree, Father?”

McNiff's vigorous nod evidenced wholehearted agreement. “I was aware that the seminary had drifted into a fairly conservative position, Eminence. And, frankly, I didn't think that was such a bad idea; I just thought it was merely a reaction to the previous liberal stand. But, if they won't admit any other approach, well …” McNiff hesitated. “Tell me, Eminence, how did it happen? How did they manage to pull it off?”

Boyle pronated his hands several times, a gesture that indicated that it had been done without his awareness or consent. “Appointments were made to the faculty over the years by a certain few members of the Curia. These appointments gradually changed the complexion of the seminary staff. My only contribution was to ratify the appointment of the new—now recently departed—rector. I knew little about the man. But my advisers assured me of his excellent qualifications.”

Boyle shook his head. McNiff didn't know whether Boyle thought the Curia had betrayed him or if his consulters had been duped.

“Now,” Boyle continued, “as you well know, the former rector has been named a bishop—an auxiliary, in Pittsburgh. In a couple of weeks, I will be attending his ordination there. That means that our seminary—St. Joseph's—will need a new rector.” He looking meaningfully at Father McNiff.

McNiff raised an eyebrow. He couldn't help it. He'd been following the Cardinal's narration carefully. It wasn't what Boyle had just said; it was that significant look.

There were several moments of silence. McNiff was waiting for clarification. Boyle was waiting for his drift to wash through McNiff's mind.

“A new rector …” McNiff mused aloud. “I knew the monsignor was headed for Pittsburgh. And I knew he was going to become a bishop. And I knew he must be replaced at St. Joe's. But … what? You want me to be on some committee to nominate candidates? I can understand now why you told me about the present status of the seminary. And if you want me on a committee, I can assure you I would keep in mind everything you've told me … your concerns about how single-minded everything is.…

“But … can a committee do this? It doesn't have to go to Rome—?” McNiff was babbling. He feared he knew what was coming. But it couldn't break through as long as he kept talking.

Cardinal Boyle understood. A smile played at his lips. “Father,” Boyle interrupted, “members of our Curia have already met and have nominated five candidates—each and every one of whom would assuredly maintain the status quo … of that I am certain.

“The committee is supposed to act in an advisory capacity—to make recommendations: recommendations for me to take under consideration. I have not yet revealed to this committee that I intend to become more involved than on previous similar occasions. Nor have I even hinted that I have already selected the next rector—that is, if he will accept the post.”

McNiff slumped slightly. “It's me, isn't it?”

Boyle nodded. The smile faded. McNiff's was a serious, difficult, and fraught decision. An affirmative response would run in the opposite direction from the retirement the priest had planned.

The silence continued.

“I'm no Jeremiah,” McNiff protested after a lengthy silence. “But I feel like him when the Lord called him to be a prophet to the nations.”

“At least you can't complain of being too young.”

“No. But what if I point out that I may be too old?”

“A consideration,” Boyle admitted. “But who among us can say how much time he has?”

McNiff considered the caliber of the man who was asking this favor—if it could be called that. How once each year for the past several years, Mark Boyle had submitted his resignation to the Pope. How each time it had been rejected.

How seriously did Boyle want retirement? McNiff had no way of knowing. Probably as much as most people who longed to rid themselves of the weight of authority, responsibility, and accountability. But the Cardinal continued to shoulder the burden at the command of his superior.

McNiff himself would desire to follow such a loyal example.

Still … there were practical considerations that needed to be resolved.

“Em—Eminence …” McNiff was stammering, something he'd never done … well, hardly ever. “Eminence,” he repeated firmly, “I'm just on the verge of retirement. I have plans—”

“Tell me about it.” This from a man who'd had to repeatedly postpone retirement plans.

“There's my health …” McNiff was reaching.

“Has your physician set any time limit on your active life?”

“Well … no.” McNiff was crestfallen. Then, more firmly: “But it could happen any time. That aneurysm—”

“In the end, Father, you are no different from me or practically anyone else our age. None of us knows when the end may come. We try to stay healthy. We carry our crosses at this stage of life. We use the time we are given in God's providence. We try to do God's will.”

“Eminence, are you telling me that my accepting the assignment as rector of the seminary is God's will?”

The Cardinal hesitated. His fingers formed a steeple and rested on his lips. “Let me ask you a couple of questions. Do you think—all other considerations aside for the moment—do you think yourself capable of managing the seminary on a day-to-day basis? Keeping in mind that there are very capable people working in the various administrative offices? Part of your responsibility would be to supervise them.”

McNiff did not hesitate. “After all the varied jobs you've given me over the years, yes, I think I could.”

“Then, Father, do you think you could try at least to instill a spirit of openness and tolerance as we have just discussed?”

McNiff bowed his head in thought, or prayer, or both.

“To be as honest as I can, I don't think so, Eminence. For openers, I doubt I'd be welcomed … particularly since my name evidently was not on the nominating committee's list. And I wouldn't have much, if any, clout. I am a simple priest. There are even a couple of monsignors on the faculty who outrank me.”

Boyle smiled. “I think we can resolve that problem.”

“How?” McNiff hadn't a clue.

“By making you a bishop.”

McNiff's jaw dropped. He could not think of a single response.

“A bishop!” he said at length.

“A bishop,” the Cardinal affirmed.

“At my age?”

“You would not be the first to become a bishop in later years.”

“With my health problems?”

“You would not be the first bishop in a delicate state of health.”

“B … but how could this happen?” As the words left his lips, McNiff realized they were the words spoken by Mary when the angel announced her divine maternity. To McNiff, they somehow seemed just as appropriate now. “A bishop!” he mused. “I can't imagine myself a bishop. I never in my life imagined myself a bishop.”

“Yes.” Boyle allowed time for the concept to sink in.

It had been no surprise when Mark Boyle began to climb the ecclesial ladder. A native of Cleveland, he spent little time in parish work—the service for which he had been trained. Always obedient to his bishop, Boyle filled one administrative post after another … including, oddly, that of rector of the local seminary.

Then, as would be expected, he was named an auxiliary bishop in Cleveland. Then Bishop of Pittsburgh, then Archbishop of Detroit. Finally, following in the footsteps of his predecessor, Edward Mooney, he became a Cardinal.

All as if it were foreordained.

Not so with Patrick McNiff.

While it was true that he had performed some special jobs on the parochial level, no one, including himself, could ever have suspected that he would be named even a monsignor, let alone a bishop.

“Is this tentative?” McNiff asked. “I want to be clear about this whole thing. You are offering me the position of rector of St. Joseph's Seminary.”

Boyle nodded.

“I am free to accept or refuse your offer.”

Again Boyle nodded.

“If I accept, I can forget about retiring in a couple of years.”

Boyle shrugged slightly, but nodded … as if to say this was true—unfortunately true, but true nonetheless.

“This appointment,” McNiff rattled on, “doesn't have to be ratified by anyone … I mean, it doesn't have to be cleared through Rome?”

“No. Not your appointment as rector. But we will have to get the approval of our Holy Father to ordain you a bishop.”

“That was my final question. And I guess there is no guarantee that the Holy Father will consent. I mean, excuse me, Eminence, but scuttlebutt has it that your track record is not all that certain when it comes to naming auxiliaries. I mean, rumor has it that you generally get an auxiliary when you want one—and not many Ordinaries can say that—but—and I know this is hearsay—you don't always get the man you ask for.

“Wouldn't this be a concern if you asked for my appointment—especially to a job as sensitive as that of seminary rector?”

Boyle fingered the chain of his pectoral cross. “That, Father, is where your rather conservative reputation comes into play. I feel confident my request will be granted, not only to have a bishop as rector of the seminary for the first time in our local history but also that that bishop be you.”

Then it was true! At least it seemed true. Boyle had not been getting the priests he'd been requesting. The Vatican must be extremely cautious, perhaps even fearful, in the face of Boyle's reputed liberal bent. Boyle had just admitted that the Vatican screened his nominees, substituting conservatives for supposed liberal candidates. The Roman hierarchy must feel exceptionally defensive to treat a Cardinal like this.

Maybe the entire scuttlebutt
is
true, starting with the Pope's refusal to accept Boyle's resignation.

Mark Boyle was at least perceived to be that rare creature, a liberal Cardinal. The Pope, as well as his administration, was staunchly conservative. With that as a premise, it would be logical to assume that when the liberal Cardinal submitted his resignation, the conservative Pope would accept it with pleasure.

Yet over and over again, the Pope had rejected the resignation.

Instead, the Vatican Curia, doubtless at the Pope's direction, continued to select as assisting bishops to Cardinal Boyle the most conservative of nominees.

McNiff conjured up the image of a prizefighter, a boxer, carrying his opponent. Rather than allowing the opponent to fall and thus ending the match, he keeps the adversary standing while continuing to punish him.

Is this what had been going on over the past few years?

McNiff did not want to believe it, but at this moment, it seemed the best explanation.

“If you wish, Father,” Boyle broke into McNiff's mental musings, “you may think and pray over your decision for a few days. Take a week, if you find that necessary. Then come see me again.”

“Thank you, Eminence. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Surely within a week.”

Six

“If I hadn't quit smoking years ago, I might just light up now.” Father Koesler spoke only half in jest.

“Isn't it nice”—McNiff paused to blow his nose—“isn't it nice,” he repeated, “to know that you have some corroboration for your theory about the conservative auxiliaries? Not to mention the reason the Pope keeps rejecting the Cardinal's resignation?”

“Yeah, that's nice.…” Koesler paused. “How many people have you told?”