Chapter 25: “Once More Unto the Breach!”

June 1, 1986, Columbus, Ohio

“What does the bishop want to speak with you about?” Elizaveta asked as we walked back to the hotel after the reception.

“He didn’t say,” I replied, “and I can’t even speculate which of the dozens of things he might want to discuss. Don’t worry about it. We have about forty-five minutes at the hotel. How about we soak in the hot tub to relax?”

“Sounds great!” Elizaveta replied happily.

The warm jets of water were soothing and relaxing, and we stayed in the tub a bit longer than we should have, meaning we had to rush to dress and walk quickly to the Chancery so as to not be late.

“Vladyka is waiting for you in his office,” Subdeacon Anthony said when we arrived. “He’ll see Father Deacon Michael first; he’ll ask for you, Matushka, when he’s ready. You may join my wife in the sitting room to the left.”

She went to the left, while Subdeacon Anthony led me into Vladyka JOHN’s office. I asked his blessing, and once he gave it, we sat side-by-side in comfortable leather chairs.

“A little birdie told me this is largely your fault,” he said with a wink and a smile.

“I’m not the one who accepted ordination without being married,” I replied with a similar smile.

“There is that!” he replied mirthfully. “A difficult, but correct, choice on my part, despite the end result.”

“Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,” I offered.

“Henry IV,” Vladyka JOHN replied, “and fitting, given we’re fighting a spiritual battle. That said, I’m partial to Hamlet and Macbeth.”

“Two of my favorites as well.”

“This is mostly a ‘getting to know you’ meeting, though I do have a request which I’ll make after we speak, so would you tell me what else you read? Besides textbooks, that is.”

“Two medical journals — Lancet and JAMA, and I have little time for those.”

“How about before medical school?”

“Besides church stuff, mostly science fiction, though I was something of a history buff.”

“Which authors?”

“Heinlein, Asimov, Clarke, Bradbury, Philip K. Dick, Douglas Adams, and Jules Verne.”

“That’s quite the range, and I can see why you wouldn’t have had time to read much else. I assume you were an outstanding student?”

“I finished third in my High School class behind my two best friends and graduated from Taft as valedictorian. My study group just completed our first year with honors at McKinley Medical School.”

“I understand a friend of yours died recently.”

“Two, actually; one was murdered, and the other took her own life.”

“Lord have mercy! Would you tell me about those?”

I nodded, then related the stories, omitting only the fact that Sandy and I were lovers.

“I plan to attend her funeral Mass on Tuesday,” I said when I completed the story.

“As you should. Please keep in mind the canons against participating in heterodox services.”

“I wasn’t asked to speak or otherwise take part,” I replied. “My friends are all aware of the obligations of my clerical office.”

“Good. As for what led her to take her own life, I’ve heard stories of the extreme pressure medical students are under and it seems as if those stories are accurate.”

“Very much so.”

“And how are you doing in that regard?”

“I’m coping. Success at Taft and doing well on the MCAT helped. And now we’ve made it past the first real hurdle, which is anatomy lab, with honors, so I’m more confident and less stressed than I was when I first started at Taft.”

“You’re awfully young to be a deacon, especially not having gone to seminary.”

“You’re awfully young to be a bishop, though I know you attended seminary!”

“Touché!” Vladyka JOHN said with a hearty laugh. “May I speak plainly?”

I nodded, “Of course, Vladyka.”

“This must remain between the two of us, but I fear my predecessor often acted hastily, and without taking the time for prayer and careful consideration. You’re free to speak as plainly as you like — do you agree with that assessment?”

“Are you asking if I feel I shouldn’t have been ordained?” I asked warily.

“DO you feel that way? All things considered?”

“May I be somewhat impertinent?”

“I hear that’s par for the course,” Vladyka JOHN said with a slight smile.

“True! I suppose my answer is that I can’t even begin to imagine how I would have made it through the first year of medical school without Elizaveta’s help, and the only reason I even considered her proposal was because I was going to be ordained. And that proposal came for the same reason.”

“But marital bliss aside?”

“I was never, ever going to question the bishop’s request, though I have to say everything that has happened since my ordination has given me a different perception.”

“It is always incumbent on the laity and the clergy to hold the Bishop’s feet to the fire, so to speak. That must be done in love, of course, but it must be done.”

“Those who tried to do so under your predecessor were summarily disciplined,” I replied. “And inappropriately, I might add. A grave injustice was done to Vasily Antonov, and while not as severe, to my grandfather and the Parish Council at Holy Transfiguration.”

“And yourself.”

I shook my head, “I was actually disobedient, and was prepared to take my medicine, as it were.”

“Setting aside obedience for a moment, do you believe that you did anything wrong?”

“No, I do not. The Spiritual Court was a sham show trial; a kangaroo court with a pre-determined outcome no different from Soviet show trials. There was no credible evidence and no overt actions on the part of Vasily Antonov. Having been more or less in the middle of things because I was courting his daughter Tasha at the time, I have first-hand knowledge.”

“And what do you propose I do?”

“Restore his ordination and clear his name,” I replied.

Bishop JOHN nodded, “I’ll give that proper consideration. You were a member at Holy Transfiguration until you went away to college. Do you have an opinion you’d like to share?”

“The Parish Council should be restored and a new priest assigned. Someone who is not afraid of confronting grave sin.”

“Again, something I will consider. I have one request I want to make of you, and that is that you serve with me next Sunday. I believe that’s important given everything that has occurred. We need to show unity, and I want the laity to know that you have my complete support.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. I can do that.”

“Good. If I understand correctly, though, you have very little free time, and in a year, you’ll potentially have even less.”

“Yes, that’s true. The real trouble comes right after I graduate when I’ll have thirty-six-hour shifts, and work around ninety hours a week.”

“That’s going to greatly interfere with your service at church.”

I nodded, “Yes, and that was made clear in advance of my ordination.”

“I wasn’t doubting you, I was just trying to understand your situation. The Metropolitan thinks quite highly of you and encouraged me to consider you for my Protodeacon, but I don’t believe that would be good for you, or for your parish.”

“I’m awfully young for that,” I replied.

“And what did Paul say to Timothy about that?”

“To not let anyone look down on him because of his youth.”

“Exactly. I think, though, your plate is too full at this point. What I would like is for you to serve with me here, when you have the opportunity, and it’s not too much of a burden on you or on Father Nicholas. I will obviously speak to Father Nicholas, but is there anyone in your parish you feel is ready to be a subdeacon?”

“Two young men, Elias and Mark. Mark will marry in two weeks, but I don’t think Elias plans to marry until after college, though Serafima might have other ideas!”

Bishop JOHN smiled, “The women do tend to get their way. And on that note, unless there is something you need to discuss with me, we should invite your wife in.”

“I’ll fetch her,” I replied.

“Thank you. And ask Subdeacon Anthony to bring coffee, please.”

“Yes, Vladyka.”

I left his office, found Subdeacon Anthony, and relayed the bishop’s request, then went to the sitting room to see my wife.

“The bishop would like you to join us,” I said.

She got up and as we left the room, I whispered to her what the bishop had said about wanting to make me Protodeacon.

“But he can’t!” she protested.

“Relax, Kitten,” I counseled. “He said it would be too much of a burden on us and on the parish. Vladyka JOHN is not like Bishop ARKADY.”

“Sorry,” she said meekly.

We walked together back to Vladyka’s office, where Elizaveta asked his blessing. Once he had given it, we sat on the couch, while Vladyka moved to a cushioned armchair facing us.

“It’s good to meet you, Matushka Elizaveta,” the bishop said.

“And you, Your Grace,” Elizaveta replied.

We spent about fifteen minutes chatting as Elizaveta got to know our new bishop, and he got to know us. It was a real privilege to be his first guests, and have the first opportunity to speak privately with him after his enthronement, though I would gladly have given it up to avoid all the drama that had led to it. Now, hopefully, we could put that all in the past.

“Before I let you go, is there anything at all I can do for you?”

“No, Vladyka,” I replied. “We’re just hoping for peace in the diocese.”

“As am I,” he replied. “I would like to hear from you if there is anything that I can do to aid you, and I would like to hear about any important events in your lives. Michael, I’d like to speak to you at least once a month, please. And do recall my offer that you may serve with me at any time.”

“Thank you, Vladyka,” I said. “We’ll see you at the banquet later today, and then next Sunday.”

“Then, God bless both of you, Father Deacon Michael and Matushka Elizaveta.”

We kissed his hand, then left the Chancery for the walk back to the hotel.

“What’s next Sunday?” she asked.

“Vladyka asked me to serve with him as a symbol of unity and support. The Metropolitan suggested it to him, and I agree. He also made it clear that I may serve with him at any time, so long as it doesn’t burden our parish or our family.”

“That means missing one night in Marietta!”

“It does, but we could drive here on Saturday evening and stay in the same hotel, and go to the Vespers at the cathedral.”

“I think that’s OK. Are you going to have enough time to relax?”

“Yes. My stress levels are fine.”

“Which is what you said about Sandy.”

I nodded, “It is, but my stress levels were never as high as hers. Well, not since Freshman year at Taft, and as we discussed, I managed to bring it under control.”

“Bishop JOHN seems truly concerned about you.”

“He does, and I think it’s a combination of pastoral concern and Christian love. We were pretty much in the center of the nightmare.”

“Hopefully, all of that is in the past.”

“Hopefully.”

June 3, 1986, Marion, Ohio

The banquet on Sunday evening had been uneventful, and Monday had been a peaceful day, visiting museums and exploring Columbus, something I’d never done. I knew Cincinnati reasonably well, but not Columbus, save the cathedral, Ohio State, and the airport. Elizaveta and I had enjoyed our time together, including relaxing in the hot tub and cuddling.

On Tuesday morning, after breakfast, we’d left Columbus for Marion, where we navigated to Main Street and found Saint Mary Catholic Church. The building was impressive, though in the usual Catholic style, it did not have an icon screen. It did, though, have a traditional altarpiece, which would have been behind the altar table before the Vatican II liturgical changes were implemented.

We were a bit early, so we sat in a pew about three rows behind those which had been roped off, which I assumed were for family. We’d been sitting about five minutes when an altar boy, clad in the modern simple cassock the Romans used, came over to us.

“Father?” he inquired.

I smiled, “I’m a Russian Orthodox Deacon, not a priest.”

“Oh, excuse me,” he replied. “Father Butler sent me to ask you to join him in the sacristy.”

“I’m happy to speak with him,” I said.

“Let me check,” the altar boy replied.

He walked towards the back of the church, where the sacristy was located, unlike the Roman Catholic Church in McKinley, where the sacristy was through a door to the side of the altar, similar to the vestry at Saint Michael the Archangel. He was back a moment later and repeated the invitation. After checking with Elizaveta, I followed the altar boy to meet the parish priest.

“Deacon Michael Loucks from Saint Michael the Archangel parish in McKinley,” I said.

“Father William Butler,” he said, extending his hand.

I shook his hand and said, “Nice to meet you.”

“Your diocese just elevated a new Bishop, right?”

I nodded, “His Grace, Bishop JOHN, was enthroned on Sunday. Your bishop sent a Monsignor as his representative.”

He nodded, “His recent surgery necessitated that. I’ll assume the young woman with you is your wife, not your sister?”

“Correct. May I say I’m happy that the papal decree three years ago changed the church’s policy on funerals for individuals who took their own lives.”

“It did, though it’s up to each local bishop to decide in each individual case, which, I believe, is similar to how it is in your church.”

I nodded, “With very few exceptions, the bishops may enforce the canons strictly or leniently, whichever is in the best interest of the spiritual health of the individual or the congregation.”

“How were you acquainted with Sandy?”

“She was a close friend. We were students together at William Howard Taft University and were in the same study group at McKinley Medical School.”

“So you knew her very well?”

I nodded, “I did, and I wish I had done more to help her.”

“According to her parents, her friends — which I’m going to assume includes you — encouraged Sandy to get help, and supported her as best you could.”

“Sadly, it wasn’t enough.”

“There are many things which are beyond our control. If I recall correctly, you aren’t permitted to participate, despite our bishop being OK with it.”

“Correct. It’s one of those things our bishops need to agree on, but until they do, I’m bound by the canons.”

“Do you know Father Walter Clifton?”

“I do. He was my professor for Latin and for World Religions, and I spent some time speaking with him outside of class as well. Unfortunately, he was transferred, and I’ve been far too busy with my studies and my wife to spend any time with his replacement, or with the deacon at Saint Augustine.”

“Those kinds of relationships are valuable, as we do agree on many things.”

“I agree.”

“It was nice to meet you, Deacon, and I’ll let you return to your wife.”

“Thanks, Father, it was good to meet you as well.”

We shook hands again, and I returned to my seat next to Elizaveta, noticing that the church was beginning to fill with mourners.

“Did he ask you to serve?”

“No, he knows the rules. I’m going to hazard a guess that the altar boy saw me, thought I was a priest, and told Father Butler.”

“Morning,” Clarissa said, sitting down on my right with Abby sitting to her right.

“Morning,” I replied.

“How did things go on Sunday?” she asked quietly.

“Great. I will need to cut our Marietta trip short by a day, but we were taking two cars, so that won’t force you to do the same. I’m going to serve at the cathedral on Sunday.”

“Not that again!” she whispered urgently.

“No, just a special circumstance. Vladyka JOHN is nothing like Vladyka ARKADY.”

“I would hope not!” Elizaveta whispered from my left.

Peter and Maryam arrived a few minutes later and sat to Elizaveta’s left. Other friends from Taft, as well as some of the medical school administration, and some doctors and nurses, arrived just before Sandy’s family, Pete, Fran, and Jason arrived, and the casket was brought into the church and placed on a bier in front of the altar.

Unlike an Orthodox funeral, the Roman Catholic Funeral was a Mass, and the parts were familiar, though it was, at least as I viewed it, greatly simplified compared to the complexities of the Eastern Rite liturgy. When the service concluded, we joined the other mourners in a cortege to the cemetery, where our friend Sandy was laid to rest. There was no reception, so Elizaveta and I expressed our condolences to Sandy’s parents, then walked back to our car for the drive home.

June 4, 1986, Marietta, Ohio

“There is basically nothing to do here,” Abby observed as we sat in a diner eating lunch.

“Which is exactly the point!” I countered. “Nobody to bother us, no work, no school; just time to relax, take quiet walks, read, or whatever.”

“Which is exactly what we need,” Clarissa replied. “It’s sort of the anti-European vacation. We’ll be lucky to get away even for weekends after this next year.”

“Mike brought his guitar,” Elizaveta offered.

“Oh, joy,” Abby replied sarcastically.

Abby’s complaints concerned me, given Clarissa had said she and Abby had discussed the trip after my plans for Seattle had been scuttled by the combination of church and Sandy’s funeral. There wasn’t much I could do about it, and it was unlikely Clarissa and I would have a chance to speak privately before Monday morning. As we had no specific plans, they were free to do whatever Abby might want to do, including leaving Marietta if they chose.

When we finished our lunch, we checked into the motel, with a plan to meet up again for dinner.

“What’s wrong with Abby?” Elizaveta asked after we went into our room.

“I have no idea,” I replied. “Clarissa said they discussed it and agreed to change their plans once we changed ours.”

“It almost feels like how Abby was treating us at times in Europe.”

“Unfortunately, I agree. I think it’s causing a rift between Abby and Clarissa, but there really isn’t much we can do about it. Let’s worry about us for these four days.”

I’d just finished speaking when the phone rang. Elizaveta was closest, so she answered it.

“Dad,” she mouthed after hearing who was calling.

I had a strong suspicion as to what the call was about, and that was confirmed about twenty seconds later when she covered the mouthpiece with her hand.