Read Online Dead Wrong by William X. Kienzle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William X. Kienzle
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any case, Mary Lou gave indication that she might make Oona’s birthday party somewhat unpleasant. It would not be the first time. The food would be good. It always was. The tension might make it difficult to digest.
Koesler joined the others. They were standing at their places waiting for him to lead a prayer before dinner.
“Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord.”
“Amen,” they answered.
It was an ancient and traditional Catholic grace before meals. But the three sisters at least were slightly ancient and quite traditional ladies.
There was so much food on the table that some time was spent simply passing dishes around until everyone had an opportunity to partake of everything. After everyone had finally settled into eating, Koesler asked, “So, Brenda, what’s new in the Archdiocese of Detroit?”
“You don’t know?” Maureen twitted good-naturedly. “You’re a priest. You’re on the inside. You ought to know everything that’s going on in the Church.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Maureen. I’m pretty far down the information line. Brenda’s at the top.”
Brenda swallowed some mashed potato, then said, “Hard to say. Almost nothing happened today. There are days like that, when it’s just business as usual. But not many. One thing I can say about the chancery: More often than not, it is not a dull place to work.”
“You ought to be grateful you work there,” Mary Lou said. “If it hadn’t been for Father Bob …”
“I didn’t have that much to do with it, Mary Lou.” Koesler sought to defuse the engendering of bitter words. “Brenda just happened to apply at the right time. They were adding staff at the chancery. All I did was to give her a letter of recommendation. Believe me, my letter could have been as much a hindrance as a help. It all depended on who in the chancery happened to read it.”
“Just the same—”
“Wait a minute …” Brenda was as anxious as the others to head off Mary Lou and her chip-on-the-shoulder attitude. “We did have a celebration of sorts today. But it was a celebration of a nonevent. I guess that shows how hard up we are for excitement.”
“A nonevent?” Maureen said. “I don’t—”
“We didn’t get a shipment of bones.” Brenda was smiling.
“I still don’t—”
“As far as anyone can remember,” Brenda said, “today is the tenth anniversary of not getting bones from Rome.”
“Bones from Rome. It’s got a nice ring,” Koesler said. “Let me guess: relics?”
“Right on, Father Bob.”
“It wasn’t that hard. Bones from Rome would almost have to be relics of the saints. But after that, I haven’t got a clue.”
“You don’t?” Brenda chuckled. “Who do you think used to put all those relics in the altar stones so you could say Mass on them?”
“Who put them in the stones? Well, if they didn’t come all put together, I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“Excuse me,” Eileen interrupted, “but what is this all about?”
“It seems to me,” Maureen said, “that we learned something about this in school. Doesn’t the altar where you say Mass have to have a relic—a bone or some such—of a saint? A martyr? Doesn’t it have something to do with the catacombs?”
“That’d get you a hundred percent, Maureen,” Koesler said. “Or at least ninety-eight. Christianity in ancient Rome became an outlawed religion. So the early Christians there had to be very secretive about where they met. Many of them gathered in the catacombs, which were underground cemeteries. Many of them were eventually buried in those catacombs. The majority of them were martyrs. Eventually the Eucharist was celebrated over the tombs of the martyrs.”
“And that’s where this custom came from—having a relic in the altar?” Eileen asked.
“Uh-huh. Not so long ago the Church made a distinction between ‘permanent’ and ‘portable’ altars, which
Koesler joined the others. They were standing at their places waiting for him to lead a prayer before dinner.
“Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord.”
“Amen,” they answered.
It was an ancient and traditional Catholic grace before meals. But the three sisters at least were slightly ancient and quite traditional ladies.
There was so much food on the table that some time was spent simply passing dishes around until everyone had an opportunity to partake of everything. After everyone had finally settled into eating, Koesler asked, “So, Brenda, what’s new in the Archdiocese of Detroit?”
“You don’t know?” Maureen twitted good-naturedly. “You’re a priest. You’re on the inside. You ought to know everything that’s going on in the Church.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Maureen. I’m pretty far down the information line. Brenda’s at the top.”
Brenda swallowed some mashed potato, then said, “Hard to say. Almost nothing happened today. There are days like that, when it’s just business as usual. But not many. One thing I can say about the chancery: More often than not, it is not a dull place to work.”
“You ought to be grateful you work there,” Mary Lou said. “If it hadn’t been for Father Bob …”
“I didn’t have that much to do with it, Mary Lou.” Koesler sought to defuse the engendering of bitter words. “Brenda just happened to apply at the right time. They were adding staff at the chancery. All I did was to give her a letter of recommendation. Believe me, my letter could have been as much a hindrance as a help. It all depended on who in the chancery happened to read it.”
“Just the same—”
“Wait a minute …” Brenda was as anxious as the others to head off Mary Lou and her chip-on-the-shoulder attitude. “We did have a celebration of sorts today. But it was a celebration of a nonevent. I guess that shows how hard up we are for excitement.”
“A nonevent?” Maureen said. “I don’t—”
“We didn’t get a shipment of bones.” Brenda was smiling.
“I still don’t—”
“As far as anyone can remember,” Brenda said, “today is the tenth anniversary of not getting bones from Rome.”
“Bones from Rome. It’s got a nice ring,” Koesler said. “Let me guess: relics?”
“Right on, Father Bob.”
“It wasn’t that hard. Bones from Rome would almost have to be relics of the saints. But after that, I haven’t got a clue.”
“You don’t?” Brenda chuckled. “Who do you think used to put all those relics in the altar stones so you could say Mass on them?”
“Who put them in the stones? Well, if they didn’t come all put together, I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“Excuse me,” Eileen interrupted, “but what is this all about?”
“It seems to me,” Maureen said, “that we learned something about this in school. Doesn’t the altar where you say Mass have to have a relic—a bone or some such—of a saint? A martyr? Doesn’t it have something to do with the catacombs?”
“That’d get you a hundred percent, Maureen,” Koesler said. “Or at least ninety-eight. Christianity in ancient Rome became an outlawed religion. So the early Christians there had to be very secretive about where they met. Many of them gathered in the catacombs, which were underground cemeteries. Many of them were eventually buried in those catacombs. The majority of them were martyrs. Eventually the Eucharist was celebrated over the tombs of the martyrs.”
“And that’s where this custom came from—having a relic in the altar?” Eileen asked.
“Uh-huh. Not so long ago the Church made a distinction between ‘permanent’ and ‘portable’ altars, which
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