The Senator and the Priest

by Andrew M. Greeley

  Mary Therese (Marytre) is the youngest of the brood and the loudest. She doesn’t mind a good fight with anyone, inside the family or out, but is as quick to make peace as she is to make war. She wanted to stay and fight the priest at the parish.

  The Chicago Examiner carried a headline the next day which said

  CHURCH DENIES SACRAMENT TO TOMMY, FAMILY

  Leander Schlenk didn’t add that we later received the Eucharist at the Georgetown chapel.

  My brother called me that afternoon and bawled me out.

  “What kind of example are you giving to your poor children? How dare you countenance their embarrassment in public.”

  “I’m thinking of filing a canonical suit,” I fibbed, “against the pastor for denying the sacrament to my wife and children.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “He violated the Code of Canon Law. I am entitled to seek relief.”

  “You’d be a laughing stock … . I suppose you missed Mass?”

  “We went to the Georgetown chapel in the afternoon.”

  “They let you in!”

  “Actually they welcomed us.”

  “They’ll let anyone in,” he snapped.

  Lee Schlenk had yet to supply such labels for me as “Renegade Catholic,” “Cute Little Tommy Moran,” and “The Tom Cruise of the United States Senate.” Those would come later.

  When I had begun my campaign without much hope of winning, but trying to make a point about negative ads, I consulted with a certain theologian about these issues.

  “What do you think about these matters, Tom?” he had asked me.

  “I’m opposed to abortion. I’m not sure you can call it murder. It is also a right sustained by the law of the land. It’s not going to change. The public does not want it to change. Most of my constituents don’t want it to change.”

  “And gays?”

  “I think they’ve been dealt a bad hand and the Church should leave them alone.”

  “And stem cell research?”

  “I’m told that half of fertilized ova are never implanted. I can’t imagine God causing that many abortions of human persons.”

  He examined my face silently for a moment.

  “It would seem you have done your research, Thomas.”

  “The Church expects us to follow its orders when we vote.”

  “Yes, it does. Your moral decisions should be ‘informed’ by church teaching.”

  “That makes it very difficult for those of us working in politics.”

  “It makes it impossible, Thomas.”

  “The Bishops don’t care. They’re trying to persuade themselves that they still have power despite the mess they made of the sexual abuse crisis.”

  “That may well be part of it. Better say ‘some bishops.’”

  “All right … And they want to force us to use our political position to impose Catholic teaching on all Americans.”

  “Precisely.”

  “And I believe that Catholics have struggled for hundreds of years to destroy that impression of the Church.”

  “And your conscience tells you?”

  “That, finally, I have to make my own decisions as to what is best in the circumstances.”

  “Then you must follow your conscience, must you not?”

  “That’s what I was taught in college … but my brother says that the Church has the right to tell me what the right prudential choice is.”

  “Forgive my language, Thomas, but your brother, dear sweet man that he is, is also an asshole.”

  The sound for a quorum call was echoing throughout the chambers, calling everyone away from their booze and their naps and maybe their women. I glanced at my watch. Eleven. Too late for the last flights. Serves them right for talking so much.

  “It looks like we’uns a gonna win, Brother Tom!”

  “Shunuff, Brother Hatfield.”

  “Brother Tom, you lookin’ like hell. You a needin’ time off.” Shunuff we did win.

  I found a cab to take me back to Georgetown. I avoided the office, fearful that Robbie might be waiting for me there.

  I was too dependent on my brother’s opinion, I told myself. Maybe I should see a psychiatrist about that. That would take too much time. My work in the Senate had worn me out. The constant assault on me and my family was sapping what little energy I had left. Maybe I should have told Tony that I had no intention of running for reelection. That would have pleased him somewhat, but it would not satisfy him. I would never satisfy him. I remembered in the cab the experience with my wife after our first Georgetown dinner, the sheer joy of taking off her clothes, slowly, one by one, as she stood motionless, save for mischievously dancing green eyes, and lips twitching with suppressed laughter.

  “Tommy, even your most lascivious fantasies are sweet.”

  Such love between us would never happen again as long as I was a Senator.

  CHAPTER 5

  POOR TOMMY had lunch with his idiot brother today. That’s the last thing he needs with voting this afternoon on Pension Protection and a hearing tomorrow on rape at the service academies. He’s been caught between the two of us for twenty years. I’m winning. At least I think I am. Sex has gone out of our lives only because we’re both exhausted at the end of the day. I don’t think that’s directly Tony’s doing. But he is part of the reason Tommy is so tired. He and those goons at the Examiner and Rodge Cripsjin and Bobby Bill Roads.

  I asked Rosie—my Mom—when I was twelve whether I was too young to make a decision about the man I wanted to marry. Way too young, she had said. When did you decide about Chucky? I was real old, maybe ten. No regrets. No way. Is it Tommy?

  “Do you like him?”

  “He’s kinda cute.”

  “Like Chucky when you were ten?”

  “Not nearly as crazy.”

  “Are the things that men and women do always fun?”

  “If there’s love and respect, yes—sometimes more than others, but that’s the way of life.”

  “Chucky is always nice to you?”

  She thought that was very funny.

  “Poor dear man can’t help himself. He’s always nice. Nicer than I am.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, so I didn’t push it.

  “Well, I think I’ve made up my mind about Tommy Moran.”

  “And you want my approval?”

  “I guess.”

  “Go for it,” she said hugging me. “Go for it.”

  That’s not what most moms would say.

  So Tommy hung around, my knight errant according to Chucky. We were very cool about everything, but we both had crushes and were kind of falling in love, but not quite, not yet.

  Tony did not even notice that I existed, not till he returned from his first year in the seminary. The first time he saw me, he devoured me with his eyes, so openly and clinically that I felt my face grow warm. I wanted to stare him down, but I didn’t have the self-possession those days to do it. All right, I’ll grant him the excuse that he was just back from the seminary and the second excuse that he didn’t think his little brother could possibly have collected a woman like me. But the truth was that he wanted me and instead his little bro had me. The animosity between us never went away after that moment. To be candid (a word Tommy laughs at) I find him disgusting. He still looks at me that way.

  Yet he is a good and hard-working priest, respected by most of the laity who know him.

  When he argues that celibacy is a good thing for priests, I sometimes say to him that it is a good thing for some poor woman that he’s celibate. He turns deep red and says that I’m being impertinent.

  Which of course I am.

  Not that celibacy is bad, my Uncle Ed and my brother Jimmy are good arguments for celibacy, but there’s a kink somewhere in my brother-in-law’s soul that makes him a bad argument for it. Tommy and I went to Loyola together, living at our homes for the first couple of years. I loved my family too much ever to leave home.

  S
o one day Rosie asked me at dinner, “So what about Tommy?”

  “So what about him?”

  “Shouldn’t you get a ring from him pretty soon?”

  Good question.

  “We haven’t discussed marriage,” I said firmly.

  “Isn’t it time you should?”

  “First year in law school.”

  “Maybe I should leave the table,” Chucky said.

  “Don’t you dare,” we both said together.

  “Ring at college graduation? Wedding at end of first year?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Chucky observed.

  “You stay out of this,” we both said together again.

  “Monstrous regiment of women,” he said, one of his favorite phrases.

  “Sounds good to me,” I agreed.

  “The woman has to bring closure,” Rosie warned me.

  “That’s certainly true,” Chucky said.

  “I know THAT!”

  So it was settled in our family. Everyone liked Tommy, my little sister Shovie said he was too good for me. Which was probably true. Well, he’s mine, just the same, I snapped back at her. Tears filled her eyes and she apologized. I was only kidding. Then we embraced and both of us had a good cry.

  When we graduated from high school, I changed my mind about the University of Chicago. I decided I’d attend Loyola with Tommy and then go to law school with him too. We didn’t discuss my change in plans, but Tommy seemed delighted that I’d still be in the neighborhood. But then he was always delighted with anything I did. Still is. I think.

  My plan was off by a year. He gave me a ring at Christmas of our junior year in college and informed me that we would be married the week after we graduated.

  “It’s too early!” I said, my careful plans ruined.

  “No it’s not,” he laughed. “Now put on the ring!”

  I did, quickly before he could take it back.

  Most of my family has always thought that Tommy was a nice little guy who sort of hung around hoping I’d notice him. Rosie knew better.

  “He’s like your father, dear. He has a spine of steel when he makes up his mind. You’d better get used to it.”

  I had kind of known that all along. I’d never doubt it again.

  Besides I was flattered that he wanted me that badly.

  “He likes you,” Chucky said, “because you laugh at his little jokes.”

  “Not the first man in history to do that,” Rosie told him.

  His brother, ordained that very Christmas in Rome, was furious. He persuaded Tommy’s elderly parents to oppose the marriage. Tommy was too young to marry. I was not the right woman. I would ruin his life. My family were not really good Catholics. The marriage must be stopped. We were certainly sleeping together (we weren’t).

  My first hint of the family fight was when his mother hung up on me when I called their house, returning a call from Tommy. I called again and she hung up again. I cried myself to sleep that night.

  “What’s happening?” I demanded when I met Tommy on the L platform for our daily ride down to Loyola. “Why did your mother hang up on me?”

  “I didn’t know she did that, Mary Margaret,” he said sadly. “I’m sorry. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I do worry about it.”

  “Father Tony disapproves of our engagement. Mom and Dad always agree with him. I’m afraid I will have to move out of the house.”

  “Why?”

  “Why move?”

  “No! Why does your brother disapprove?”

  He hesitated.

  The L train rumbled to a stop and we got on.

  “Why? What’s the matter with me?”

  “He says you seduced me.”

  “I’ve been doing that since high school.”

  “Eighth grade,” he laughed, “that’s not what he means.”

  “He thinks I’m an immoral woman?”

  “That’s one way of putting it … . Don’t worry, I’ll move out of the house and turn him off.”

  “He’ll haunt us all through our marriage.”

  “I won’t permit that.”

  Tommy couldn’t prevent his brother from intervening at every major event in our life together. However, he did fight him off every time.

  Father Tony behaved badly at the wedding rehearsal and at the wedding itself.

  Monsignor Raven, the pastor emeritus of St. Agedius and the man who had presided over my parents’ marriage, was supervising the rehearsal—which meant we were doing what Rosie and I wanted, which he cheerfully acknowledged was true. It was a wonderful nostalgic interlude until Father Tony arrived, rushing in from the back of the church.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Father,” he said briskly, “Rush-hour traffic on the Eisenhower. Thanks for the help. I suppose the bride’s family couldn’t wait. I’ll take over now.”

  I stopped breathing. Rosie, Aunt Peg, my two sisters, my cousin Rita (née Margaret Mary) looked liked they were prepared to riot.

  My father intervened.

  “Ambassador O’Malley, Father,” he shook hands with Father Tony. “It’s the custom here at St. Agedius that one of the parish staff does the rehearsals to make certain that all the liturgical regulations of the parish are observed.”

  There were no liturgical regulations for marriages at St. Agedius. Chucky is truly awesome when he puts on this ambassador face. Rosie spoiled it all by giggling.

  After the rehearsal, Father Tony offered to hear the confessions for the wedding party. Monsignor Raven suavely said that it was not the custom at St. Agedius to impose confessions on a wedding party. There ensued a discussion of how the various priests in our families would divide up the work.

  My groom, head bowed, shoulders slumped, face agonized, said nothing.

  “I am the groom’s brother,” Father Tony insisted, “I should do the whole ceremony.”

  “Father James O’Malley is the bride’s brother, Father, and Father Ed O’Malley is her uncle. They both tried to reach you several times to discuss the matter. You did not return their calls … .”

  He dismissed that with a wave of his hand.

  “We have a very busy parish, Monsignor. I don’t have much time.”

  “In your absence we decided that you should have the honor of doing the ceremony yourself while Jim will say the Mass and Ed will preach.”

  “I want to preach,” Tony said firmly.

  “We will do it as Monsignor suggested.” My beloved, in a loud, clear, and confident voice ended the conversation.

  I squeezed his arm in support.

  No rehearsal dinner was scheduled because the groom’s parents “could not afford it.”

  Chucky announced that he had told the cooks over at the club to put on a few extra hot dogs, so if anyone wanted to have a bite they should come along. Everyone did except the groom’s parents and brother.

  “He’s my brother,” Tommy apologized, “my big brother. He feels he has to be in charge.”

  “I understand, my love, but you’re really the big brother.”

  “I’ll really be in charge in our new family,” he hugged me, “subject of course to the rules the queen consort lays down.”

  “Naturally.”

  The Catholic wedding ceremony actually has three vows. The priest asks the bride and the groom separately for their consent, then they both repeat their vows, then they exchange rings with yet another promise. The Church apparently wants everyone to understand what has happened.

  So Father Tony asked me if I, Mary O’Malley, took Thomas Moran to be my lawful wedded husband. I said yes in a loud and strong and very determined voice. Then, he asked me to repeat my vow after him, “I, Mary, take you, Thomas …”

  “I, Mary Margaret, take you, Thomas …”

  My husband, fortunately for all of us, called me by my proper name in both his vow and the exchange of rings.

  “He just doesn’t notice,” he whispered to me when Jimmy continued the Mass. “All people will remember is you
r uncle’s wonderful sermon.”

  Uncle Ed had preached about the bride and groom at the marriage feast of Cana consummating their love while Jesus was changing water into wine, lest their party be a failure. I couldn’t see Father Tony’s face, but I was betting he was shocked about a hint that penis was entering vagina while a miracle was happening.

  But it was not true that no one would remember the contretemps between me and Father Tony. Every woman in my family would remember it in every last detail. The Irish never forget affronts at weddings and wakes.

  At the wedding, Chucky, the Master of Ceremonies by acclimation, toasted us with the comment, “Every father thinks that no one is good enough to take over his daughter’s life. Tommy you are more than good enough. God bless you both.”

  Joe McDermott, a big, blond, power forward of a man, one of our classmates from Loyola, toasted the groom in a few short sentences of which all I can remember was that we would have a wonderful family life, with cross examinations every night at supper.

  We had insisted that the toasts should be brief.

  Then my husband toasted me with a sonnet he had written. Modesty prevents me from repeating it, though, mind you, every word was true.

  Chucky, as I’ve called my father since I learned to talk, was about to announce the end of talks. Father Tony took the mike away from him.

  “I’m the brother of the groom,” he began genially. “I want to say a few words by way of a toast to my little brother.”

  My poor husband cringed next to me. I put my arm around him and held him tight. I prayed that the Crazy O’Malley clan would restrain their fury. Rosie and Aunt Peg were two jungle animals waiting to pounce.

  For ten minutes Tony preached about St. Paul and the relationship between men and women, the complementarities between men and women, the father’s role as head of the family and the woman’s as the heart. The woman could not be an effective heart unless her husband was firm in his role as the head. The husband must at all times be firm with his wife and children, though lovingly firm. These two roles were part of God’s design. Tom must remember that the reason there were so many divorces these days was that husbands had abandoned their obligations to exercise authority in the family because of the pressures of radical feminism. Etc. Etc.