by John Ayang
There are numerous ethical issues which arise every day in the world of medical science, religion, and healthcare. Many of them are related to new technologies invented to solve life’s problems. When such inventions and their use go against the religious dictates of a people and what they hold dear in their faith life, there may arise a moral impasse which can affect such people for better or for worse.
The Magisterium of the Roman Catholic Church condemns in vitro fertilization (IVF) as a morally unacceptable method of human reproduction. But when Father Cletus Nicholas McCarthy is outed in court as the first IVF-conceived Catholic priest, Pope Benedict XVI must do either of two things: annul his ordination without any canon to back his action and risk a backlash from the people, the press, and the general public, or let him be and continue to exercise his priesthood, thereby indirectly endorsing IVF as morally acceptable. Either way, he cannot win. In the throes and turmoil of it all, coupled with the demands of other huge problems in the Church, the pope, already advanced in age, resigns his papacy. Was Fr. McCarthy the last straw that precipitated the Supreme Pontiff’s resignation? Your guess is as good as you believe it…or not.
THE
MIRROR
APOCALYPSE
JOHN AYANG
Copyright © 2017 John Ayang.
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ISBN: 978-1-4897-1185-4 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4897-1186-1 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-4897-1187-8 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017905913
LifeRich Publishing rev. date: 5/23/2017
Contents
Part I
Houston, Texas October 9, 2012
Houston, Texas October 9, 2012
Houston, Texas October 23, 2012
Houston, Texas October 26, 2012
Houston, Texas November 22, 2012
Part II
Houston, Texas Spring, 2012
Missouri City, Texas Spring, 2012
Norfolk, Virginia Spring, 2012
Missouri City, Texas November 22, 2012
Part III
Houston, Texas December 10, 2012
Part IV
Houston, Texas December 11, 2012
Rome, Italy December 13, 2012
Houston, Texas Thursday, December 20, 2012
Houston, Texas December 21, 2012
Venice, Italy January 1, 2013
Houston, Texas January 8, 2013
Part V
Houston, Texas January 21, 2013
Houston, Texas Thursday, January 24, 2013
Houston, Texas Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Houston, Texas Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Rome, Italy Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Rome, Italy February 11, 2013
Houston, Texas Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Houston, Texas Thursday, March 7, 2013
Galveston, Texas Sunday, March 17, 2013
Part VI
Virginia State Thursday, March 21, 2013
Houston, Texas Saturday, April 6, 2013
Houston, Texas Memorial Day, May 26, 2014
Glossary
About The Author
To my parents, Martin and Dymphna, who taught me the value of honesty and hard work and who, themselves, were great storytellers. To my uncle, Augustine, who nurtured my vocation, and all my teachers and mentors for being such wonderful people.
Jennifer’s thoughts were inundated with Barbara’s words of admonition. She was not to grieve so much that she distressed the child in her womb. She understood her perfectly well, both of them being nurses and knowing full well the implications of fetal distress and possible miscarriage. That, of course, was not an option on Jennifer’s list of things she would welcome.
“That’s him living inside you,” Barbara kept reminding her in the days leading up to the funeral. “That child is the only handle you’ve got on him. Lose that, and you lose everything of the person you loved so dearly.”
Jennifer thought that was the most profound way to perpetuate the memory of Father Cletus McCarthy. And it was a very real one. She was carrying his child and, metaphorically speaking, she was carrying Cletus McCarthy…The first Cletus McCarthy came from the test tube—produced, not begotten—according to Catholic doctrine. The second Cletus McCarthy will come from her womb—begotten, not produced—according to Catholic doctrine. He will be the new beginning for the McCarthy family. He will start the lineage of the begotten, not the produced or adopted. She will name him Cletus McCarthy.
PART I
In blowing your nose,
you must expose your teeth.
- Yoruba Proverb
Houston, Texas
October 9, 2012
IT WAS JUST like another Tuesday morning as Father Cletus “Nick” McCarthy eased his Lexus SE 350 into the parking lot at the back of the Downtown Chancery. The car hissed to silence as he turned off the engine and pulled out the ignition key. It was not a particularly sunny day, but it wasn’t gloomy either. The early morning fog, the tell-tale sign of the rains of the previous two days, had just lifted. All around were the typical signs of mid fall as Mother Nature seemingly conferred her rainbow attire of brilliantly colored foliage on the trees and shrubs that lay thick at the outskirts of the city’s concrete jungle, and even the ones that sparsely dotted it. Traffic seemed to be snaking its way insipidly along the streets that crossed each other at right angles between the high rises. Pedestrian traffic was sparse and Fr. McCarthy thought this was somewhat untypical of the usually boisterous Downtown Houston. A few of the beautifully colored leaves lay on the ground around the bases of the trees that lined the block on which the Chancery building stood. For a brief, ridiculous moment, he felt greatly piqued at nature for such irony: ‘The shame of it all!’ he thought. ‘Why should death sever the leaves from their trees at just the highest moment of their glory when they finally break free of their greyish verdant monotony to provide such visual delight to men?’ He couldn’t understand. Looking away
angrily he glanced at the dashboard of his car, and the time on the car LED read 10:12 a.m.
Always conscious of the bad traffic situation that Houston was famous for, Fr. McCarthy had started out quite early to beat it to his ten-thirty appointment with the Cardinal. He was a big stickler for punctuality. So, arriving eighteen minutes early wasn’t bad at all. It gave him ample time to recollect himself, marshal his thoughts, and rehearse the right opening words before going in to meet with the Cardinal.
But what were the right opening words with which to start a discussion on a case that was no case at all? He wondered. He knew that a couple had called the Chancery to report him to the Cardinal for stopping them from receiving Holy Communion. And he knew who they were. Fr. Brady Callahan had left that much for him on his voice mail. What baffled him was why the Cardinal should summon him over such a trivial matter. It had been a long time since he was ‘summoned to the Principal’s office,’ as his staff members at the parish usually joked when he would call any of them into his office for a discussion. His last summon was during his second-year theology, eight years previously, when he posted a controversial article on the Seminary Popular theology board. After that he knew to avoid such summons if he was to be selected for ordination in his final year.
He unclicked his seatbelt, reclined slightly back, creased his forehead and pondered hard over nothing. Thoughts refused to form logically in his mind or, at least, assume some coherence. His mind dangled between a void and a fleeting cacophony of words: Confusion. Injustice. Ignorance. Change. Who is right? Who is wrong? What is right? What’s the morality of it? Cafeteria Catholics. Are Church teachings out of date? Is the famous Catholic mentality changing? Who is really a true Catholic these days? Are Bishops losing control, no longer able to get their flock in lock step?
Another quick glance at the dash board showed he had seven minutes left. Suddenly peeved at feeling like a trapped game he opened the car door and pushed it too fast and so hard that it bounced back on its hinges and slammed into his knee cap with a painful thud as he put out his leg to alight from the car. He hissed with pain and gave voice to some unpriestly choice word. Quickly taking a hold of himself he glanced around self-consciously, and was glad nobody was within earshot. Not that it mattered, but a passer-by hearing the dirty “F” word coming from a black-coated, Roman-collared, white man, would have added to the confusion that was eating up the world. ‘Yes, the world is giddy with confusion,’ he thought. He grabbed his desk diary on the passenger side of the front seat, banged the car door to – gently this time – and walked round from the parking lot in the back to the front doors of the Chancery building, effortful in concealing the pain in his knee by consciously refusing to limp.
“Come in, Father Cletus. Come in,” the Cardinal said, as Fr. McCarthy stood by the open office door, about to announce his presence. “Just in time before I get spirited off to the next meeting. You know I have so many meetings during the day with so many groups that I sometimes think it is only the good Lord keeping me from collapsing with an attack of meetingitis.”
“God morning, Eminence,” Fr. McCarthy said, taking the Cardinal’s proffered hand and permitting a spurt of mirthful laughter to escape him at the latter’s humor. “That must be a strange illness I guess,” he added.
“Very strange indeed,” the Cardinal concurred, waving Fr. McCarthy to a chair. “One that hasn’t yet come under the purview of the medical community, but which will add to their list of odd diagnoses when it does.” He took his seat in the high-backed leather swivel chair behind the ornate, glossily polished mahogany desk. A slender-looking man of sixty-two, Umberto Cardinal Pacino Felice, at five feet, eight inches, oozed a strong presence that always gave his visitors the impression of a powerful church lord. He had an equally strong baritone voice that seemed to be ringing from a throat thoroughly washed by countless gulps of good Italian Chianti. His eyes were piercing like an eagle’s, separated by a ridge of beaklike nose. ‘Typical Italian trademark,’ Fr. McCarthy thought. With a thin-lipped mouth and a cheek slightly dimpled, he looked like he was forever wearing a very faint toothless smile as a tribute to his Italian name, Felice, which means joy. A wavy mane of hair, slightly thin at the forehead, neatly brushed back and well cropped around the neck region gave the Cardinal the persona of primness. Equally swathed in black coat and a Roman collar, the only thing that distinguished him in rank from Fr. McCarthy was the silver chain diagonally crossing his chest from the right shoulder to a pocket under his left breast, hiding his pectoral from view. He settled in his chair, looked at Fr. McCarthy straight and inquired, “How is Our Lady Queen of Peace these days? I hope the good parishioners are behaving, and everything is peaceful.” He smiled impishly, at his acrid humor.
“We are trying our best, Eminence,” Fr. McCarthy replied, searching for the right words to match the Cardinal’s effort at conversation openers. “Our Lady of Peace is okay, though at times not very peaceful. But the parishioners are generally very supportive, and they tell me they always pray for me.”
“Good to hear that, Fr. Cletus,” the Cardinal affirmed. “Good to hear that, especially now. You really have a lot on your mind. We all do. And we all need lots of prayers, Fr. Cletus. I pray for you: not just you but all my priests. Hopefully, you are doing the same for me.”
“Thank you, Eminence. I do pray for you too. In fact, I pray for all Bishops, I know it can be a little bit hectic at the top.”
“Thank you, Fr. Cletus. But we are here to talk about you. I know it’s quite hectic for you too, right now.”
“Yes, Eminence,” Fr. McCarthy bit his lips, realizing he was beginning to sound patronizing. He didn’t miss the gentle chiding in the Cardinal’s voice. He thought he got a little too excited.
“Fr. Cletus, I’m sure the Vicar for Priests, Fr. Brady, informed you of the reason why I wanted to have a discussion with you. Please, look at this session as a friendly chat, a conversation within which you and I will try to explore together how best to handle the crisis. You understand?”
“Your Eminence, I do,” Fr. McCarthy replied. “But I don’t know that I can call the situation a crisis. I mean, the Eshiets did something quite contrary to the teachings of the Church. Donum Vitae clearly states that In Vitro Fertilization is not an acceptable solution for infertility for Catholics. Moreover, the entire process separates the unitive and procreative ends of marriage and makes the child so conceived, a manufactured product instead of a begotten person. I believe this has deep moral implications, Eminence.” He concluded, somewhat professorially.
“And a scandal for the rest of the faithful too, Fr. Cletus, I agree with you,” the Cardinal concurred. “You were right in suspending…um, what’s their name?” He briefly consulted a paper on his desk. “Oh, yes, Edidiong and Ima Eshiet. You were right to suspend them from the Sacraments for using IVF to conceive a baby contrary to Church teaching. Also, as their letter of complaint indicates, they weren’t, and are not ignorant of Church teaching on the subject. What I want to ask you, though, is whether they talked to you before they made the decision.”
“Your Eminence, they did,” Fr. McCarthy replied, beginning to feel at ease, seeing, at least, that the Cardinal seemed to be leaning toward supporting him. “We had a couple of lengthy sessions during when I expounded to them the moral teachings of the Catholic Church concerning the new reproductive technologies springing up every day and everywhere around us. The Eshiets are well educated and they understood everything. What just escapes me is why, understanding perfectly well, the moral, and even the spiritual implications of their action, they went ahead with the decision to use IVF.”
“I see in this letter they wrote, they signed it, Doctor and Doctor Mrs. Eshiet?”
“That’s right, Eminence,” Fr. McCarthy replied. “Edidiong is an Obstetrician/ Gynecologist. And the wife is a PhD, Pediatric Nurse. They both work at Mercy and Children’s Hospital here at the Medical Ce
nter.”
“I didn’t know that. I thought they were academic doctors. Well, either way, I think there is a bit of academic arrogance at work here. It really seems these are not your average ‘good’ Catholics, always ready to agree with Father because ‘Father has said it.’ That’s why I wanted to talk to you to make sure you are confident and comfortable in your own skin, and strong in your stand, which I support one hundred per cent. But you don’t need to worry too much. Stacy Donovan, our Attorney, will handle everything. All you need to do is to articulate the position of the Church on reproductive technology if you are called to the stand.”
“Stacy will handle everything! Wait …, Your Eminence,” Fr. McCarthy stuttered, looking confused. “I think you have lost me. I’m not quite sure I follow… or, that I understand what you mean by ‘if you are called to the stand.’”
“Oh, I thought you were served your own papers?” The Cardinal said, looking confused, too. “This legal notice of a suit citing discrimination and emotional battery came in yesterday. Haven’t you got your copy?”
“I am sorry, Eminence. I’m usually off on Mondays. So, yesterday I visited the bay area for the day and came back late. I had no time to check my mails. I also, forgot my Secretary is on vacation this week. I came this morning because I got the message left on my voice mail by Fr. Brady Callahan. So, immediately after morning Mass I decided to come here first thing.”
“Well, a letter from the law firm of Turner and Stendhal is probably waiting in your mail box for your attention,” the Cardinal said. “The Eshiets allege that your act of denying them Holy Communion amounts to discrimination, emotional battery and unjust stereotyping. They also allege that you have not treated others who are in the same situation as they are, as you have treated them. They are asking for damages in unspecified amount for the emotional pain and social degradation that your action has caused them. Their suit names you and the parish, then myself and the Archdiocese of Galveston-Houston, as defendants.”
