by phuc
Rachael frowned, wincing. “Has he gone back to using again?"
“No,” Father Glowacz shook his head. “Of course, he had long been hiding his marijuana use. But the possibility for getting back into heroin is there, especially in light of the recent events. I sat up with Danny a few times at his apartment in the weeks that followed his release from custody. He was so close to going over the edge, either getting back into using heroin or committing some horrible crime. I stayed with him as much as I could, prayed with him, tried to rally support at the church to give him strength. Through my help—well, really, myself and several other people here at the church—we succeeded in persuading Danny to take a sabbatical from his ministry and enter a drug rehabilitation hospital for therapy. He was surely dangerously close to using, and he needed the support of the substance abuse program one gets in a hospital to keep him focused and on track."
“And how's he doing?” Rachael asked.
“Fine.” Father Glowacz smiled. “Thank God. With the strength of his supporters here and some prayer, Danny will be back at Our Lady of Guadalupe once again using his talents."
Rachael continued her questioning. Father John Glowacz told her how it was becoming a priority for them—for himself, Father Murphy, and a few of the other counselors at the church and the neighboring St. Anthony's—to reach out to the community plagued by the aftermath of violence the killer had left. “Every time a body turns up,” Father Glowacz said, “the gangs go nuts. One gang accuses another of committing the murder, and since the accused has had an issue with the accusers for years, they retaliate with gunfire. And it goes on and on and on. For awhile it died down, especially late last year and early this year. That last victim wasn't from the barrio, and the gangs still don't seem to recognize the fact that all these crimes are the work of the same person. They still think it's the work of rival gang members. And now that summer has come, the heat has brought tempers rising to a boil again. Just normal stuff, actually. Drug turfs being protected, honor being upheld, all that stuff.” Father John Glowacz appeared to banish the normal everyday activities of gang warfare under the rug with a sweep of his hand. “I don't mean to sound crude, but it's finally getting back to normal, for which I'm glad in a way. We've only had three murders in the East Los Angeles and Echo Park area since summer started, which is one below normal. If the killer strikes again those numbers will most likely double, maybe even triple."
Rachael listened, getting it all on tape and making mental notes to herself. She supposed for those who lived and worked in the area, gang murders were a relatively common thing. Many of the children in these neighborhoods would have been first hand witnesses to death or would have personally known somebody who was murdered by the time they were twelve years old. It was a cruel fact of life.
“How well did you know the victims who attended this church?"
Father Glowacz frowned and leaned back in his chair. His forehead furrowed, as if he were concentrating on dredging up whatever memories he may had about the victims.
“Not well at all,” he said, softly. “You are Catholic, aren't you, Miss Pearce?"
Rachael started, blinking rapidly. The question caught her off guard, and she tried to hide her surprise by answering quickly. “Yes, I am. Why?"
“You're no doubt aware of what I see as the most negative thing about the Catholic Mass,” Father John Glowacz said, drumming his fingertips on his desk. He regarded her calmly as he spoke. “My superiors would probably have me excommunicated for saying that, but I mean it. It hurts to say it but it's true. One of the most negative criticisms leveled toward the Catholic Mass is what its critics call its ...
how should I say it ... its...” He appeared to struggle for the right words. “From what I've been able to understand from people who had been Catholics who deflect to non-denominational faiths, the Catholic Mass is impersonal. It's all a series of rituals: sit, stand, kneel and pray, sit, kneel, sit, stand, sit, rise to take communion, kneel, stand, sit and then it's over. With the exception of admonishing the parishioners to greet their neighbor and grant them peace, ninety percent of all those who attend Mass simply show up, go through the motions, then leave again. That's why there's been such an interest in the Charismatic movement lately. Have you been to a Charismatic Mass, Miss Pearce?"
Rachael nodded. She had been to a few ten years ago. They were held at the church she had been baptized in, St. Mark's in Redondo Beach. It was a Sunday evening mass.
“The Charismatic masses are slightly different,” Father Glowacz continued. “I preside over them every other Sunday. I like them very much. I've always believed that the feeling of a church, the ... essence, you might say ... comes from God. But it's up to the people to harness the love that Christ bestows on them. Those that complain about the unfeeling nature of the Mass are those that are holding back the gifts that Christ has given them. It takes action to receive the results one wants. The Vatican has held the Catholic Mass and its rituals in sacred regard for over a thousand years. Taken in the right frame of mind, the Mass is a beautiful ritual, designed to uplift the Spirit of Christ and bring Him glory and worship. It is intended to soothe the spirits of those who come to Mass as well.
But when people began wanting more, instead of attempting some method of reaching out, they leave the church and go to other Christian sects where they find something that fills their spirits. The Catholic Church saw this happening and many parishes adapted.
Our Lady of Guadalupe has its own Charismatic mass as I just mentioned, on Saturday and Sunday nights."
Rachael was listening closely, trying to figure out what this all related to Father Glowacz's knowing any of the victims. She was just about to interrupt him politely and ask him what this all had to do with her question when he beat her to it.
“It is sometimes because of the ... impersonal nature of the Mass that makes it almost impossible for me as a priest to get to know all of the parishioners on a personal level.” Father Glowacz looked grave as he spoke. He stopped drumming his fingers on the desktop and leaned forward over the desk. His light blue eyes focused directly on her.
His mouth twitched in a smile. “I make myself available to anybody who wants to speak to me after each Mass. I meet a lot of wonderful, joyful people. I wish I could meet more, but they don't hang around after Mass. Most people leave immediately after it finishes and head for wherever it is they go in their lives. I place myself at the entrance right by the parking lot so they can stop to meet me if they want to, but most don't. A few people stop by and it is always a pleasure to see them, to talk to them and get to know them better. But for the most part it is literally impossible to meet each and every single parishioner who attends all of our Masses. I conduct five Masses during the weekend alone, and with nearly two hundred people at each Mass, I probably talk to only fifty or so. Of them, I probably know half of those on very good terms.
“So, no, I can't say that I knew the unfortunate victims who attended Our Lady of Guadalupe at all. One of them, Louis Hernandez, was a familiar face, but the others I don't remember at all."
Rachael's heart sank. She knew very well what Father Glowacz was talking about when he spoke about the impersonal feeling of the Catholic Mass. You could attend church for ten years and sit next to the same person week after week and never learn their first name. It was one of the reasons she stopped attending church.
“Miss Pearce? Are you okay?"
Rachael turned and saw that Father John Glowacz was regarding her with a questioning gaze. He managed a slight smile. “I apologize if anything I said may have offended you."
“Oh no! Not at all."
“Good. Some people are very defensive of their faith, which is a good thing. Other people have such ... ideas about it, that anything you throw at them that countermands their belief hits a brick wall. For instance, if you were one of the little old ladies that comes here every day to pray the rosary and heard me say what I just told you, you can guarantee that I'd be
chased out of this administrative wing and out into the streets with such fury that it would make the gang killings that go on look like child's play."
Rachael laughed, putting her hand over her mouth as she did so. Father John Glowacz laughed as well and the tension eased. For a while a worm of guilt had burrowed into her stomach when he asked her if she attended church. She hadn't attended Mass in, well, in almost eight years. Ever since she had been trapped in her first marriage. She didn't know it then, but she supposed it was when she was with Bernie that she began to lose her faith in God. Once the divorce was over she hadn't even gone back to church; it wasn't as if she harbored any bitterness toward the church, she just decided to dive into other areas of her life. Some people attended church as a way to help them deal with their problems. Others dived into their careers or took up hobbies or went to the gym in order to work out problems. Others sought the help of professional therapists. For one who felt comforted by the familiar rituals of the Catholic Mass, returning to church might have been just what some people needed to see them through an especially trying time in life.
She saw nothing wrong with that. For Rachael, church just wasn't for her.
“How are you doing with all this?” Father Glowacz asked.
The question caught her off guard. She looked up, smiled, and answered. “Fine."
“Good. I hope everything is fine. I know that ... these things can be hard on you as well."
“I'm doing fine with it."
“Too bad about that suspect they thought they had,” Father Glowacz said. “Poor man. Danny went through the same thing.” He was referring to Peter Manuel, who they had to release two weeks ago due to lack of evidence. For his parole violation, Peter was able to count the time served as a part of his sentence when he went before the judge. As it turned out, there was nothing Daryl and the task force could hold him on: the bloodstained knife found in his home turned out to be his own when he had accidentally cut himself. He had airtight alibis for the nights the victims had disappeared, and by all accounts from friends and acquaintances, he was nothing more than a simple man trying to settle into the straight and narrow life, his sex life notwithstanding. “I surely hope they catch the real killer soon."
“So do I,” Rachael said.
Father Glowacz shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Well, is there anything else I can help you with, Miss Pearce?"
Rachael was about to say no, but then a thought popped into her head. It was a good sense of intuition and she ran with it. “Father, have any of the investigating officers asked you about any strange behavior in the area? Either from the neighborhood or here at the church?"
“Strange behavior?"
“Yes. Like ... you know ... people acting weird. Strangers hanging around I guess, or unusual rumors about other people. Maybe something mentioned in passing from one of your parishioners."
“I don't like to listen to rumors, Miss Pearce,” Father Glowacz chuckled. “Idle gossip plays right into the Devil's hands."
“I know. But sometimes rumors like this can help. Anything out of the ordinary you might have noticed, Father. Anything you might have heard in confession, or—"
“Wait a minute!” At the mention of confession Father Glowacz's eyes lit up, as if he had just had a sudden revelation. His face became livid, his eyes wide. “Yes, there was something."
Rachael crept forward to the edge of her seat. The change in character that came over Father Glowacz at the mention of confession alarmed her. “What! What was it?"
“Two years ago, maybe a little more, one of our priests took a confession,” Father Glowacz related, looking more animated now than during the whole interview. “The penitent kept the drape in place and his voice was garbled, guttural. He confessed to murder. At first Father Gregory thought the man was joking, but something told him it wasn't a joke. The penitent spoke of certain ... details..."
“Details?” Rachael's heart raced. If this were true—
“It was around the time of Louis’ murder,” Father Glowacz continued, looking at her with a sense of intensity. “In fact, I think it happened right after those first two bodies were found. It was a week or so later, something like that. The penitent basically revealed to Gregory that it was he who had killed the two of them and...” He shook his head,
“...remembering it again is just making it so damned hard to go through with it."
“Please, Father. Try to tell me."
Father Glowacz was leaning forward over his desk, his head cradled in his right hand. His expression had turned from surprise at having remembered the incident to a sense of seriousness. “He ... he claimed he killed those two men. Killed them, and ... he described everything he did to Father Gregory. And he said he liked it!” Father Glowacz looked up at Rachael, his features open and shocked from remembering the incident.
“Those were the exact words Father Gregory used when he told me about the incident later that day. You see, Miss Pearce, I was shocked about the incident for the simple fact that Father Gregory told me about it at all. He was so shaken I was afraid I would have to call an ambulance for him. He was simply stricken with shock."
“Why didn't you call the police?"
Father Glowacz shook his head. “That's one of the other reasons why I was concerned when Father Gregory told me. You see, Miss Pearce, if someone confesses to a crime, the priest cannot report it to anyone under any circumstances.” He leveled a serious gaze at her, emphasizing this. “He can encourage the penitent to confess the crime to the police and could even conceivably make it a condition for absolution, but the priest cannot tell anyone. The Seal of Confession also binds with respect to the penitent outside of Confession. That means if you come to Confession to me face to face and I see you ten minutes later outside the confessional, I cannot even discuss with you what we discussed in the confessional."
Rachael remembered this from the catechism classes of her youth. “So why did Father Gregory tell you about it if he wasn't supposed to?"
“Father Gregory was just beside himself with fear,” Father Glowacz resumed. He looked pensive. “He told he me absolved the penitent, blessed him, gave him his penance.
He heard the penitent leave the confessional booth and sit in the pews immediately outside the confessional. After a few moments he heard the penitent get up and leave the church. He sat in that confessional booth literally quaking in his shoes. He said that he was so shocked, so terrified by the whole ordeal, that he almost didn't respond when the confessional opened again and another penitent asked to be blessed for his sins."
He looked up at Rachael. “When Father Gregory burst into the rectory and told me about it he was so shaken I had to sit him down and calm him with some brandy. Once he was calmed down and speaking clearer, I had him start from the beginning. He told me everything, from beginning to end. He told me as a penitent would confess, and I listened to him and prayed with him as his priest. And it is because of that reason that I cannot discuss the matter further. I'm sorry I even let this much out.” Father Glowacz now looked merely disgusted with himself, as if part of him was struggling to break the chains of his religious faith and cooperate with Rachael fully, help her further down this track and identify this guy. “I must say, however, that except for such things as murder—and perhaps even those—God grants His priests a particular grace of forgetfulness. What we hear we tend to forget until we return to the confessional; otherwise we'd be dragging ourselves around burdened by the sins we've heard. I've had people come up to me outside of confession and say they really appreciated the advice or counsel I'd given them; it is extremely rare that I'd even remember having done so. The Holy Spirit also works wonders in the Sacrament of Penance, often giving the Confessor wisdom he would not otherwise possess, to reconcile a sinner to himself. Should a priest be burdened by a penitent's confessing a crime, or even threatening another crime, he is to give that burden to the Lord, since the Lord Himself calls the priest to lay the burden on the One wh
o carried all of Men's sins to Calvary. Although sometimes that is even hard to do.
Sometimes what we hear ... remains with us.” Father Glowacz cast Rachael a dark look, letting this sink in. Rachael got the message loud and clear.
“How often do you get confessions which have murder in them, Father?"
“Very rarely.” Father Glowacz regarded her with those blue eyes again, his once soft, boyish features serious now behind the wire-framed glasses. “Even here in the middle of the barrio. Sometimes the gang members will confess to murder, but when they do they're easily persuaded to give themselves up. It's not up to us to go to the authorities.
When a penitent confesses a mortal sin like murder, it is intended for the priest to hear and it is between the penitent and God. The priest only acts as an interceder."
“You could have helped catch this guy two years ago,” Rachael said softly, looking directly into Father Glowacz's eyes. “You realize that, don't you?"
Father Glowacz met her gaze. “I'm sorry,” he said. “But we've done all that we could here at Our Lady. I've done all that I could, too.” His features were hard and stony.
Rachael turned off the tape recorder and stuffed it into her purse. She could feel her anger rising and she tried to stem it. It wasn't his fault that the police weren't called; he was just acting out of his Catholic faith. Father Gregory hadn't looked out the confessional booth because he didn't want to break the Canon Law. She gathered up her notes, put them in her purse and stood up. “Look, Father, I'm sorry if I came across as a little, well ... pissed off, but...” She shook her head. “I just thought I had something there."
Father John Glowacz rose from his seat and went around the desk to open the door. “That's okay, Rachael. I completely understand where you're coming from. Believe me, I want to see this end as well. We're all on edge over this, I suppose."
