No Greater Love by William Kienzle Page B

wanted to give the students the benefit of his many years’ experience along these lines.
    Increasingly immersed in the students’ lives, in this short three-week period, he had almost forgotten good old St. Joe’s. Thus he was surprised when he got a call from Bill Cody. So surprised that at first, Koesler drew a blank. Cody? Who was Cody? As memory slowly widened, Koesler recalled first the brush cut; gradually a more detailed mental image of Bill Cody followed.
    After meaningless pleasantries, Cody got down to business briskly: Could he meet with Koesler?
    â€œWell, yes, of course. Is it urgent?”
    â€œI think it is!”
    â€œCare to tell me what it’s about?”
    Hesitation. Then, “Better to do this in person.”
    â€œOkay. When and where? I’ve got some time tomorrow afternoon. Or Wednesday morning. Breakfast? Lunch? Dinner?”
    â€œHow about tonight? Your room at the seminary. Say, seven-thirty?”
    There’s no such thing as a free lunch, thought Koesler. “Okay. You know how to get here?”
    â€œYes, yes, of course.”
    â€œI’ll give your name to the guard, Bill. Security is pretty tight here.”
    â€œSee you then. And thanks.”
    Koesler hung up and leaned back in his chair, lost in thought.
    The wisdom of having a retired priest move out of his parish was being brought home to him for the first time.
    Bill Cody was president of St. Joseph’s parish council. He’d held the post for—what—about two years now?
    The parish council was one of the first offspring of Vatican II. Its purpose, patently, was to give the laity a voice in running the parish.
    But how large a voice? How much clout?
    From the beginning, in many parishes, pastors and councils were at loggerheads. At times, open clashes left the pastor furious and the. council frustrated. Now, after some thirty years of coexistence, there generally was a better rapport. Still, things could get dicey. This was especially true when a Bill Cody was on the parish council or, a fortiori , president of it.
    Although it could be said that there never was much friction between pastor Koesler, and council president Cody, that was due largely to the liturgies Koesler conducted.
    Everything was on the “A” list. The Scripture readings, the Mass prayers, the hymns—all were approved by the proper authorities.
    Once a month—again locally approved after Vatican permission was granted—there was even a Latin Mass—and a choir trained and capable to render both plainchant and polyphony. Bill Cody could have asked for little more.
    Koesler, in the privacy of his room, chuckled. It was a good thing Mr. Cody had been unaware of what went on in the rectory where Church law was benignly interpreted to shield and free troubled souls.
    Oh yes, Bill Cody would not have found Koesler’s implementation of law intended for the preservation of the institution amusing.
    As to the reason for Cody’s rapidly approaching visit, Koesler could only guess. Bill’s tone sounded barely controlled. This would not be a pleasant encounter. But then it was not Koesler’s experience that people rang his doorbell to bring unqualified good news.
    Whatever burr was under Cody’s saddle, it probably had something to do with the parish.
    It couldn’t be anything that had taken place on Koesler’s watch; Cody would have complained much earlier than this. So, what could it be?
    Koesler checked his watch, something over the years that he did regularly and frequently. Time enough to find out at seven-thirty what was troubling Bill Cody. Meanwhile, Koesler donned cassock and collar—a custom resurrected by the present faculty and one with which he had no quarrel—and betook himself to the faculty lounge for an appetizer and a drink.
    By and large the faculty might be a conservative lot, but Koesler enjoyed them and their spirited conversations. Although