the new rector after Pinckney retired. Anyway, in Father Pinckney’s time, Zelda picked the hymns. She also ran the choir and every aspect of the church’s music. Then Olson came. He appealed to a whole different group in the church. He wanted the music changed, and technically, according to church law, he was the one in charge of the services. So he and Zelda fought. And fought and fought and fought.” I shook my head, remembering some of the acrimonious exchanges.
“Did they talk about this … problem with the son who died?” Boyd asked.
“Oh, yes,” I replied. “Remember, Olson hated conflict. He said he wanted everybody to have a personal relationship with Jesus and be reconciled to each other. According to Marla, who hears everything, Zelda and Olson weren’t having any reconciliation in their weekly shouting matches. Supposedly it was over the hymns. But the rumor was that their conflict went much deeper, that he wanted to force her to make up with her widowed daughter-in-law. Zelda told him to mind his own beeswax. She had the Old Guard on her side though,” I added, “when it came to the music.”
“Why’s that?”
“Look. The Old Guard just doesn’t want anything changed from the way the Episcopal church was when
they
were little. As long as there are fund-raising luncheons, golf courses, and the 1928 prayer book, they’re happy.”
Boyd chewed on his match and wrote some notes. The inviting smell of popcorn wafted out of the kitchen. “Besides Zelda Preston, did these Old Guard people dislike Olson?”
“They did. Lucille is building a columbarium she intendsto dedicate to Father Pinckney. I think she believes when it’s done, he’ll come out of retirement and be our rector again.”
Boyd muttered sarcastically, “I don’t know if I’d want to return to a church with an ash cemetery dedicated to me. What a place. I thought this was where everybody loved each other. You know, sing songs and give money to the poor?”
I said quietly, “You haven’t been to church for a while.”
“Yeah, maybe I’ll go, and you can take me. All right, just a couple more questions. Did Olson get along with his assistant, this Doug Ramsey?”
Julian appeared with huge bowls heaped with hot buttered popcorn. The fragrance filled the living room, and I gestured to Helen and Boyd to help themselves.
“I guess they got along,” I said after I thanked Julian and he disappeared. “Doug’s on the Board of Theological Examiners.” I cast around to remember in what other contexts I had seen Doug Ramsey work. He was involved in diocesan work and was Olson’s liaison with the Aspen Meadow Habitat for Humanity. I told this to Boyd.
“Yeah, we know that. We also heard Ramsey was the bishop’s spy.”
“What?”
I was nonplussed. Father Insensitive, with his overtalkative, exaggerating way and his lists of things to do, a spy? Spying on what? Or whom?
Somehow, Boyd had rid himself of the match. He took a handful of popcorn, ate quickly, and said, “We heard that the bishop thought Olson was out in left field and moving toward the wall. As in going, going, gone, bye-bye Episcopal Church, hello new denomination.” He scooped up more popcorn, ate it, and reflected. “So tell me. Is moving out of your sedate church’s ballpark the kind of thing people would kill for? I know, you say, you have to look at the different groups.” There was still an edge of sarcasm in his voice.
“Look,” I said with more ferocity than I intended, “let me give you an example of the kind of thing that can happenin our oh-so-sedate church. On the national level, we had a prolonged and very public fight over the ordination of women to the priesthood. After that was approved, there was an incident at an Episcopal church. A man came up to the altar and tried to strangle a female priest administering communion. He didn’t protest, he didn’t go to another church,
he tried to strangle a woman he did not know.
He screamed,
“Did they talk about this … problem with the son who died?” Boyd asked.
“Oh, yes,” I replied. “Remember, Olson hated conflict. He said he wanted everybody to have a personal relationship with Jesus and be reconciled to each other. According to Marla, who hears everything, Zelda and Olson weren’t having any reconciliation in their weekly shouting matches. Supposedly it was over the hymns. But the rumor was that their conflict went much deeper, that he wanted to force her to make up with her widowed daughter-in-law. Zelda told him to mind his own beeswax. She had the Old Guard on her side though,” I added, “when it came to the music.”
“Why’s that?”
“Look. The Old Guard just doesn’t want anything changed from the way the Episcopal church was when
they
were little. As long as there are fund-raising luncheons, golf courses, and the 1928 prayer book, they’re happy.”
Boyd chewed on his match and wrote some notes. The inviting smell of popcorn wafted out of the kitchen. “Besides Zelda Preston, did these Old Guard people dislike Olson?”
“They did. Lucille is building a columbarium she intendsto dedicate to Father Pinckney. I think she believes when it’s done, he’ll come out of retirement and be our rector again.”
Boyd muttered sarcastically, “I don’t know if I’d want to return to a church with an ash cemetery dedicated to me. What a place. I thought this was where everybody loved each other. You know, sing songs and give money to the poor?”
I said quietly, “You haven’t been to church for a while.”
“Yeah, maybe I’ll go, and you can take me. All right, just a couple more questions. Did Olson get along with his assistant, this Doug Ramsey?”
Julian appeared with huge bowls heaped with hot buttered popcorn. The fragrance filled the living room, and I gestured to Helen and Boyd to help themselves.
“I guess they got along,” I said after I thanked Julian and he disappeared. “Doug’s on the Board of Theological Examiners.” I cast around to remember in what other contexts I had seen Doug Ramsey work. He was involved in diocesan work and was Olson’s liaison with the Aspen Meadow Habitat for Humanity. I told this to Boyd.
“Yeah, we know that. We also heard Ramsey was the bishop’s spy.”
“What?”
I was nonplussed. Father Insensitive, with his overtalkative, exaggerating way and his lists of things to do, a spy? Spying on what? Or whom?
Somehow, Boyd had rid himself of the match. He took a handful of popcorn, ate quickly, and said, “We heard that the bishop thought Olson was out in left field and moving toward the wall. As in going, going, gone, bye-bye Episcopal Church, hello new denomination.” He scooped up more popcorn, ate it, and reflected. “So tell me. Is moving out of your sedate church’s ballpark the kind of thing people would kill for? I know, you say, you have to look at the different groups.” There was still an edge of sarcasm in his voice.
“Look,” I said with more ferocity than I intended, “let me give you an example of the kind of thing that can happenin our oh-so-sedate church. On the national level, we had a prolonged and very public fight over the ordination of women to the priesthood. After that was approved, there was an incident at an Episcopal church. A man came up to the altar and tried to strangle a female priest administering communion. He didn’t protest, he didn’t go to another church,
he tried to strangle a woman he did not know.
He screamed,
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