in Washington? Reminds me of a different era when the main problems in DC were growling dogs and a boatman on the Potomac River who had had a few too many Guinness Stouts.” For indeed the Washington DC police sat squarely on their bicycles looking more like kids masquerading as the arm of the law than real authorities. The doctor continued, “What do you do when you arrest someone? Insist they balance on the seat with you while you struggle towards a car somewhere. “Hold on while we pump. Don’t squeeze me too tight or we will fall!””
An older woman laughed, “Sometimes you can see a whole crowd of policeman practicing on their bicycles in parking lots, teetering around orange cones as they train for quick turns on streets.” Everyone smiled in recognition of the ways of the DC police.
Now Peter walked up to the parish hall stage, climbed a few stairs, and over to the waiting microphone. “I am so glad that you have come to our Mardi Gras gala on this Shrove Tuesday! Look at all the wonderful treats we have here—so many thanks to our chefs! I am sure that we can indulge tonight and come to confession tomorrow. We will have extra time available to forgive you for whatever you do tonight, won’t we, Father Luke?” Flushing, Luke waved his hand in agreement.
Peter continued, “Lent is upon us starting tomorrow, folks, with its prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. This Christian practice began centuries ago to prepare to baptize or to renew their baptism at Easter. We are thankful for our Jesuit Pope Francis and pleased with our endeavors this Lent. We might not see many changes in ourselves, but God will be pleased. Yet we can’t leave here without talking about money, can we? We have to give Caesar his due and our building does need some work this year.” He ordered the waiting janitor, “Open the curtains to see our new capital campaign goals for St. Charles!”
As the curtains drew apart, the relaxed crowd saw the teenager preparing to unveil the drawn thermometer on a poster board. Peter raised his voice and called out, “Thanks for helping with our little kids!”
Then Peter continued. “The goal this year is one hundred thousand dollars for our new air conditioning system. That will be nothing from us, though, because God blesses our finances and gives us everything we need.” The attuned crowd shook their heads in agreement. “And this year, I want us to give a special gift to Bishop Cahill: such a great leader we are blessed with! Do you know what our good bishop said to me: “Peter, your parish is the best one in DC. Now that I am close to retiring from this divine burden of being a bishop, I might just give you a run for your money and take the parish for myself!”” Laughter interrupted Father Peter’s talk. He continued. “But enough said: eat, dance, enjoy! You have come to the best party in Washington, DC.”
Standing in the crowd, Luke heard the laughter as if from a distance with his head spinning. He reached for the wall to hold himself up: were his springtime allergies acting up already? An inner ominous thunder persisted. Instinctively he looked out the window, only to see the same cherry blossom trees with their delicate, unopened buds, yet the vast skies shone with not a dark cloud in sight. Luke put down his plate and shakily walked towards the door. Maybe he had better have a moment of quiet.
“Is something wrong, Father?”
Looking up, he saw the church administrator, Hannah. “Just a little dizzy.”
Putting down the microphone, Peter headed for the dinner buffet adorned with warm chafing dishes supporting alluring fish creations and warm cherry cobblers. Balancing her full wine glass, the red-haired Annette stopped him. “Monsignor, did you get to go on the bishop’s winter Caribbean cruise?”
“I would not have missed it.” Then smiling, “As a monsignor I was invited. For those priests who stayed behind to fill in, we prayed a blessing for them.”
“Oh, Father, you are too much!”
“Enjoy yourself, my dear. This is a night to remember.”
Intent now, she added, “My son, Father, he needs to be confirmed.” Looking down, she said, “Andrew is doing so well in school and now with confirmation, everything will be great for him. Father, he has scored tops on his SAT scores and is good in basketball also. Hard to believe he is my son!”
“And we must celebrate also! Bring him directly to my office and I’ll take care of this for you. Bishop Cahill leads a great confirmation service and has one coming up soon. His new assistant Father Leo will educate our children.”
She looked directly into his grey-blue eyes.
“My dear Annette, maybe you could come by tomorrow afternoon. We could have a little sherry and talk about all the good going on in your life.”
He clasped her hand closely and then moved closer to the table with the well-dressed people chatting everywhere.
That night, Luke had the same nightmare he had suffered for several months. They started in the same way. Howling sounds came from a mysterious mountain: the tall steep peaks covered with dense curly green vegetation with not a sign of life anywhere except beneath the bizarre plants. But from the underbrush emanated scratching and long painful howls: then an even more painful silence. Night after night of howls from an unseen source.
Howls reaching out, echoing in oddly blue skies, starting low and then reaching high to tense warbling, crying out what: the end of something? A warning?
Luke woke up again, desperately sitting up, wanting to charge away from here to be anywhere else. All he knew was danger. Opening his eyes he saw his clerical shirts hanging calmly in the closet and his Bible where he left it on his nightstand.
Luke knew the bizarre message. The human race had lost the will to survive. Luke understood the human race was in danger of annihilation. “So much suffering everywhere!” he murmured to himself. He remembered that Pope Francis had written that “We have come to see ourselves as lords and masters, entitled to plunder her at will.”2 And he knew the truth that plundering happened everywhere.
And Luke also knew that other howling forces felt this ultimate lack, mourning, moaning, and warning humanity.3
1. Ignatius of Loyola, Spiritual Exercises, 327.
2. Francis, “On Care for our Common Home.”
3. Central Italian fifteenth or sixteenth century (Possibly Roman fifteenth or sixteenth century), The Capitoline Wolf Suckling Romulus and Remus, National Gallery of Art, Samuel H. Kress Collection.
Chapter Two
What happens when a priest falls? Bishop’s hands had been on his head, praying for the power of the Holy Spirit. And when priests’ hands reach out in destruction to others, the spirit worlds collide and evil grows and flourishes, all covered by the name of Holiness.
In the dark of the night, the priest, dressed entirely in black, walked by the closed Washington DC Convention Center, then looking both ways, walked to the side of the Andrew Carnegie Library to the hidden place under the immense, old tree. There he exercised a secret ritual. Taking out a vial of warm blood, he poured it on his hands and rubbed his wet hands through his arm, saying “Moloch! Moloch!” He waited and soon his glassy eyes spun
