everything conciliar. Most of all, they never grasped the special ‘spirit’ that came from the council.
“By and large, we, the new breed who matured in the wake of the council, were infected with the council and its spirit. Then a lot of the priests in Koesler’s age group and older got fed up. By their actions—and their attitude—they were saying, ‘Okay, it’s your Church now. It doesn’t resemble my Church. So, you can have it.’
“Some of these priests resigned their, positions as pastors and marked time until it was okay to retire. And that was another change that happened as a remote result of the council. Before this, priests didn’t retire; they died in harness.
“Some of the priests of my group got impatient with Church leaders who were scared by what was happening in all facets of theology, Church law, and, mostly, liturgy. Those leaders wanted to dig in and recapture whatever was salvageable from the past.
“That did two things: It discouraged my crowd; but they were too young to retire, so many of them left the priesthood outright. And it managed to turn seminarians around till they became more like the priests who are now retiring: they’re just marking time.
“So, Zoo, that’s the long way around answering your question of whether I represent the new wave or new breed. It’s a three-layer cake and my gang is the middle.
“Now you’ve learned something more about me: ask me the time and I’ll tell you how to make a clock.
“But it also should indicate that I’m not all that different from Bob Koesler. I wasn’t a priest before the council. But I was a Catholic who lived before, during, and after it.” He shook his head. “Just listen to me: I’m not asking for an extra job,” he explained. “I only thought I could put you at ease during what I’m sure will be a very brief vacation for one of your valued sources, Father Koesler. The way I’ve run on, anyone could swear that I was interviewing for the job.”
Now that dessert was finished they were on coffee refills.
Anne Marie smiled sweetly, leaned forward, and patted the priest’s arm. “Zachary, it helped. Believe me it did. I like to think I’m a pretty plugged-in Catholic. But some of what you said was new to me. Besides, it helped us understand what makes you you.”
“What about going into the living room? Let’s get comfy,” Zoo said.
Zachary felt reluctant to leave the intimacy of the kitchen. But, in the long run, it worked. The three newly introduced kinfolk talked far into the evening. They had so much to learn of each other. Anne Marie recounted her life before and since becoming a teacher. She spoke movingly of her first meeting with Zoo … how he had rescued her from a purse-snatcher. She counted the incident a product of Divine Providence. The priest found no reason to doubt that.
Zoo, ordinarily not garrulous, spoke sketchily of life in a large family—eight children. All the while his father was with them, they lived in modest lower-middle-class comfort. But after his unexpected departure, life hardened considerably. Now, five of the children had passed on. The remainder, aside from Zoo, lived in distant states. Anne Marie promised to give Father Tully addresses and phone numbers.
Zoo spoke of his life as a police officer and how he’d been “discovered” by Walt Koznicki and how close they’d grown. Koznicki had been Zoo’s sponsor in the Homicide Division—then the major league of the department.
Father Tully had already given a bit of a biographical sketch in trying to convince Zoo that there was life before and after Father Koesler. Now, he filled in the gaps.
So absorbed were they no one had thought to turn on any lights. They became aware of this only when it grew so dark they could scarcely see each other.
“Well,” Zoo slapped his knees as he stood, “it’s getting late. And I’ve got an early morning. What say I drive you home, Zack?”
“Good idea.” The priest felt
“By and large, we, the new breed who matured in the wake of the council, were infected with the council and its spirit. Then a lot of the priests in Koesler’s age group and older got fed up. By their actions—and their attitude—they were saying, ‘Okay, it’s your Church now. It doesn’t resemble my Church. So, you can have it.’
“Some of these priests resigned their, positions as pastors and marked time until it was okay to retire. And that was another change that happened as a remote result of the council. Before this, priests didn’t retire; they died in harness.
“Some of the priests of my group got impatient with Church leaders who were scared by what was happening in all facets of theology, Church law, and, mostly, liturgy. Those leaders wanted to dig in and recapture whatever was salvageable from the past.
“That did two things: It discouraged my crowd; but they were too young to retire, so many of them left the priesthood outright. And it managed to turn seminarians around till they became more like the priests who are now retiring: they’re just marking time.
“So, Zoo, that’s the long way around answering your question of whether I represent the new wave or new breed. It’s a three-layer cake and my gang is the middle.
“Now you’ve learned something more about me: ask me the time and I’ll tell you how to make a clock.
“But it also should indicate that I’m not all that different from Bob Koesler. I wasn’t a priest before the council. But I was a Catholic who lived before, during, and after it.” He shook his head. “Just listen to me: I’m not asking for an extra job,” he explained. “I only thought I could put you at ease during what I’m sure will be a very brief vacation for one of your valued sources, Father Koesler. The way I’ve run on, anyone could swear that I was interviewing for the job.”
Now that dessert was finished they were on coffee refills.
Anne Marie smiled sweetly, leaned forward, and patted the priest’s arm. “Zachary, it helped. Believe me it did. I like to think I’m a pretty plugged-in Catholic. But some of what you said was new to me. Besides, it helped us understand what makes you you.”
“What about going into the living room? Let’s get comfy,” Zoo said.
Zachary felt reluctant to leave the intimacy of the kitchen. But, in the long run, it worked. The three newly introduced kinfolk talked far into the evening. They had so much to learn of each other. Anne Marie recounted her life before and since becoming a teacher. She spoke movingly of her first meeting with Zoo … how he had rescued her from a purse-snatcher. She counted the incident a product of Divine Providence. The priest found no reason to doubt that.
Zoo, ordinarily not garrulous, spoke sketchily of life in a large family—eight children. All the while his father was with them, they lived in modest lower-middle-class comfort. But after his unexpected departure, life hardened considerably. Now, five of the children had passed on. The remainder, aside from Zoo, lived in distant states. Anne Marie promised to give Father Tully addresses and phone numbers.
Zoo spoke of his life as a police officer and how he’d been “discovered” by Walt Koznicki and how close they’d grown. Koznicki had been Zoo’s sponsor in the Homicide Division—then the major league of the department.
Father Tully had already given a bit of a biographical sketch in trying to convince Zoo that there was life before and after Father Koesler. Now, he filled in the gaps.
So absorbed were they no one had thought to turn on any lights. They became aware of this only when it grew so dark they could scarcely see each other.
“Well,” Zoo slapped his knees as he stood, “it’s getting late. And I’ve got an early morning. What say I drive you home, Zack?”
“Good idea.” The priest felt
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