in the wilderness, yet the alpha male listened for howling communications from others.
But what thesis comes here? Jerry thought. All academic thought comes first in symbols, dreams, and poems. The way the wolves structure their lives was symbolic of the structure of community life. Where was the alpha wolf in their community? The bishop?
A brief flash of an image of a running, loping wolf in the wilderness shot through his mind. Majestic beauty! Passion!
Yet my pack, my community, is loping not for beauty but now fighting against the powers of darkness. Our pack is being destroyed wolf by wolf. We are all weakened.
Jerry knew he must have patience as he waited for answers.
But patience was in short quantity in Washington, DC.
The mayor called the DC Police Department and spoke directly, “What happened at the Buzzards Point Marina?”
The police chief tried to sound positive. “Look, we had police watching parks everywhere but what kind of nut would go to Buzzards Point with all of those secure facilities there?” She made an irritated noise. “With both the Coast Guard headquarters and the National Defense University right there? Security everywhere? Who would do this at that spot?”
The mayor leaned back. “Rats.” This property was already a sore point with him. “And how did the military get that prime location anyway with the intersection of the Potomac and Anacostia Rivers? With all the development of the waterfront, I wonder if we could get this property back in the name of Native American history. You can almost see the hand-built canoes in those timeless rivers.” In his mind he remembered the beautiful V shape of the waterways of these two powerful rivers connecting one with the other. “What did these criminals do?”
“Cut more pinwheels into a large tree right at Buzzards Point Marina. But what is puzzling is some unexplained blood splatters and bloodied clothes. I think there is violence or sexual assault going on, like cultic rituals.”
The momentary peace the mayor had enjoyed disappeared stolen by a thief in the night. The IMF meeting was soon and the chief was telling him of odd spiritual rituals being conducted in public parks. Financial leaders from the world will live and play all over Washington, DC at the time of the Cherry Blossom Festival. And bizarre rituals are happening under the eagle eyes of security.
“Leaders of the entire world are going to be here and we can’t stop some kooks from defacing trees with knives? Get this situation stopped! We will look like crazy Americans.”
Late that day Luke overheard Peter’s raised voice talking on the phone in the church office, “Chancellor, what do you mean a priest from this parish solicited men in a park? Or are you saying that a man from this parish solicited a priest?”
Luke walked more slowly now.
“Nonsense. We have two fine priests here, Luke and Jerry. They wouldn’t do that.”
The old air conditioning system clanged on and all that Luke heard was “any authorities.”
Today Oscar’s songs were dismal. He started with, “Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen!” Father Luke bowed and Oscar responded, bowing, but he stayed bent over and low. Father Luke, leaning down, saw tears flowing from his eyes.
“Why, Oscar? What’s wrong?” Oscar lifted his arm up and bowed with tears dripping down his face. Unable to offer any comfort to the disconsolate singer, Luke walked toward the 5 p.m. church service. As he got his key out, he wondered, what is it about a church in the evening? There was the quiet presence of the flickering flame from the red lamp stating that Jesus was present, body, blood, and soul. The divine was here. Yet also he sensed ominous presences: spirits of the dead, fiends hanging around to torment the faithful, hoping to inhabit an open human heart. The sense of the restless presence grew as Luke hung his purple priest’s stole around his neck.
Luke walked up into the sanctuary. He saw the brown cross with Jesus’s contorted body hung, his head leaning on his right shoulder, with the ancient words INRI whittled into the crude sign over his head. INRI: Jesus the Nazarene, the king of the Jews.
Flashing through Luke’s mind came a memory from Kansas, a time in gym when Luke, the puniest kid in the class, got kicked in the stomach. Luke twisted in pain. The class bully leaned over him and said, “I’m sorry.” He then leered as Luke rolled from side to side. Luke winced at the sight of Jesus’s contorted body with nails tearing through his skin.
And then—out of the back of the darkened church, came the female voice, “How are you tonight?”
Jumping, he twisted his shoulder as if to deflect a blow. Looking around, he was relieved to see Hannah sitting in the back pew. Her long dark-blonde hair reached almost to her elbows and her face shone with alert energy. Her green eyes pierced into his.
His immediate response of “Fine” stopped mid-course. He looked and saw her bright eyes meeting his, waiting in hope for a real encounter. Breathing slowly, he walked past rows of empty pews where generations of worshipers had prayed. The souls of the faithful! Yet in spite of the soft red light glowing in the sanctuary, it seemed to be empty of love and faith. Now the consecrated church sanctuary seemed filthy, like a cluttered movie theater with littered sticky spilled soft drinks and empty popcorn bags. What are we watching here? Jesus on the cross looking for an encounter. Turning and waiting, for what?
Her voice penetrated his thoughts again. “What’s going on here?”
The back doors were open; the already-lit red-flaming candles on the altar created an eerie glow. The white walls were broken by the stations of the cross exhibited in colorful stained glass windows.
Sighing, he sat next to her on the nineteenth-century brown church pews. “You know also?”
“Yes. The church is dying. There are signs everywhere.”
Father Luke looked straight ahead, then a quote popped into his mind: “Our house is desolate.”
In the echoing, empty church, he asked, “What do you see?”
“Crisis everywhere. No one talks. Ministries fail. Who can miss seeing that the church is struggling?”
The flaming candles on the altar sputtered and Luke leaned forward to hold his head in his hands. The sound of screeching tires outside broke the silence.
Softly, he began, “Our church computers had some problems. So I called in the tech guy from the diocese.” The priest sat, shivering. Why am I cold all the time now? Then he leaned closer to Hannah, looking for any sort of enlightenment. “The man said, “Someone’s going to X-rated sites and they are leaving bugs on the computers.””
Hannah’s face turned to stone but she did not answer. The old building creaked.
Why am I telling this to her, Luke wondered. Then he knew the answer. Words rose out of the depths of his heart. I’m desperate. For the first time in my life, I feel utterly lost. And who can I trust?
He had attended the diocesan meetings for years. The bishop had his group of favorites and I’m not one of them. They thought he was irrelevant to take all of this devotion seriously. Yet that is why I am here. They taunted, “Take your place,” like it was a performance.
