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Authors: William X. Kienzle
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tenderly touched his lower lip. “It hurts.” He ran his finger inside the lip. “At least all the teeth are still there.”
“You gonna sue?” Angelo Luca wanted to know.
“The cops?” Carson said. “I been down that road. No future in it,”
“Geez, I feel like it’s my fault,” Luca said.
“Forget it,” Carson replied. “It ain’t your fault. You just saw the write-up in the paper. I’m glad you told us about it.”
“But, geez,” Luca insisted, “if I’d just kept my mouth shut, you wouldna got roughed up.”
“Forget it,” Carson insisted. “It’s just the price we have to pay every once in a while.” He spoke with all the pride a martyr might express.
In this instance, as in so many others, he did consider himself a martyr—a martyr for the good cause of truth, justice, right, and the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church.
Arnold Carson, a U.S. mail clerk in his early fifties, was, much of the time, an angry man. It had been Carson’s good or bad fate to convert to Catholicism just before the time when, in his opinion, Catholicism was converting to Protestantism.
Carson had been born into a committed Episcopal family. In his youth, he had been an eager participant in all manner of church functions, youth programs, etc. He had even considered the priesthood, But he was not an achieving student. He received and accepted excellent advice from teachers and counselors to lower his academic sights.
When he graduated from high school, Carson became a member of the postal service, first as a part-time flexible employee (PTF), then as a regular employee. Almost by accident he had found his niche in life.
He felt at home, compatible, with things that had specific answers, bottom lines, absolutes. He didn’t admit it to anyone, but he liked addresses. When he worked as a carrier, all he had to do was line up envelopes in numerical order, find the house with the matching number, and the job was done. Stamps were comforting too. One had either sufficient or insufficient postage. And the good old scale would provide that answer. Sufficient and one put it on its way to delivery; insufficient and one returned it.
It was that philosophical attitude which disenchanted Carson with regard to the Episcopal Church—all of Protestantism, for that matter, revealed by his investigation: Too many questions did not have absolute answers.
For instance: Could one be married more than once, more than twice, in the Episcopal Church? It depended.
Then, in I960, at age twenty, he had stumbled onto Catholicism. Catholicism was crammed with absolutes and comfortable numbers. One God, two natures, three persons, four purposes of prayer, five processions in the Trinity, seven sacraments, nine first Fridays, ten Commandments, twelve promises, fourteen Stations of the Cross, and so forth.
Could one marry more than once in the Catholic Church? Of course not. Not unless the petitioner could prove to scrupulous curiosity that a previous marriage was so null and void that it had never happened—or unless one’s spouse died.
Carson searched and studied and investigated and questioned until he thought he had found heaven without benefit of death.
Home! Home was the compulsive, home from insecurity.
Then what to his wondering soul should occur but Vatican II. He couldn’t believe it: They had a perfect system and they fixed it.
Carson didn’t take it lying down. He studied the new monster to the best of his limited ability.
Maybe Martin Luther was right! Maybe “Father Martin,” as he was respectfully treated by the hated new breed, was a saint! What happened to the ordinary magisterium? What happened to actions and thoughts that were evil to their very core? What the hell was situation ethics? What in hell was liberation theology? What happened to the enveloping, mesmerizing Latin? When did nuns start wearing miniskirts? Where did the priest’s lifetime commitment go? What happened to all the goddam
“You gonna sue?” Angelo Luca wanted to know.
“The cops?” Carson said. “I been down that road. No future in it,”
“Geez, I feel like it’s my fault,” Luca said.
“Forget it,” Carson replied. “It ain’t your fault. You just saw the write-up in the paper. I’m glad you told us about it.”
“But, geez,” Luca insisted, “if I’d just kept my mouth shut, you wouldna got roughed up.”
“Forget it,” Carson insisted. “It’s just the price we have to pay every once in a while.” He spoke with all the pride a martyr might express.
In this instance, as in so many others, he did consider himself a martyr—a martyr for the good cause of truth, justice, right, and the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church.
Arnold Carson, a U.S. mail clerk in his early fifties, was, much of the time, an angry man. It had been Carson’s good or bad fate to convert to Catholicism just before the time when, in his opinion, Catholicism was converting to Protestantism.
Carson had been born into a committed Episcopal family. In his youth, he had been an eager participant in all manner of church functions, youth programs, etc. He had even considered the priesthood, But he was not an achieving student. He received and accepted excellent advice from teachers and counselors to lower his academic sights.
When he graduated from high school, Carson became a member of the postal service, first as a part-time flexible employee (PTF), then as a regular employee. Almost by accident he had found his niche in life.
He felt at home, compatible, with things that had specific answers, bottom lines, absolutes. He didn’t admit it to anyone, but he liked addresses. When he worked as a carrier, all he had to do was line up envelopes in numerical order, find the house with the matching number, and the job was done. Stamps were comforting too. One had either sufficient or insufficient postage. And the good old scale would provide that answer. Sufficient and one put it on its way to delivery; insufficient and one returned it.
It was that philosophical attitude which disenchanted Carson with regard to the Episcopal Church—all of Protestantism, for that matter, revealed by his investigation: Too many questions did not have absolute answers.
For instance: Could one be married more than once, more than twice, in the Episcopal Church? It depended.
Then, in I960, at age twenty, he had stumbled onto Catholicism. Catholicism was crammed with absolutes and comfortable numbers. One God, two natures, three persons, four purposes of prayer, five processions in the Trinity, seven sacraments, nine first Fridays, ten Commandments, twelve promises, fourteen Stations of the Cross, and so forth.
Could one marry more than once in the Catholic Church? Of course not. Not unless the petitioner could prove to scrupulous curiosity that a previous marriage was so null and void that it had never happened—or unless one’s spouse died.
Carson searched and studied and investigated and questioned until he thought he had found heaven without benefit of death.
Home! Home was the compulsive, home from insecurity.
Then what to his wondering soul should occur but Vatican II. He couldn’t believe it: They had a perfect system and they fixed it.
Carson didn’t take it lying down. He studied the new monster to the best of his limited ability.
Maybe Martin Luther was right! Maybe “Father Martin,” as he was respectfully treated by the hated new breed, was a saint! What happened to the ordinary magisterium? What happened to actions and thoughts that were evil to their very core? What the hell was situation ethics? What in hell was liberation theology? What happened to the enveloping, mesmerizing Latin? When did nuns start wearing miniskirts? Where did the priest’s lifetime commitment go? What happened to all the goddam
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