Chapter 3: Locum Tenens

February 1, 1986, McKinley, Ohio

“No breakfast?” I asked when I went to the kitchen on Saturday morning.

“José called yesterday and said he was bringing doughnuts and coffee. It slipped my mind until I came into the kitchen this morning.”

“That means we have an extra thirty minutes. Whatever could we do?”

Elizaveta laughed, “I think it starts with F...”

I took her hand, and we went back to the bedroom. Twenty-nine minutes later, we were freshly showered and dressed, having removed all evidence of our coupling, and were on our way to Taft for band practice.

“Surprise!” about fifty hollered when Elizaveta and I walked into the practice room.

“Happy birthday, husband! It’s a day early, but you have to be in Columbus tomorrow.”

José and Dona came over, he shook my hand, and Dona moved to hug me, but given my cassock I couldn’t so I shook my head slightly and she got the message.

“Happy birthday, Mike!” José exclaimed. “A catered breakfast is being set up in the large music classroom.”

“I can’t believe you got some of these sluggards out of bed this early!”

José laughed, “You’re a popular guy, Mike, and it’s been some time since we got the old gang together. Sandy and Clarissa have another surprise for you.”

He nodded and waved, and I turned and was shocked to see Angie and her mom come into the room with Clarissa.

“Hi, Ang!” I exclaimed.

“Hi, Mike,” she replied, still about half-a-beat slow. “I’m glad I could be here.”

“I’m glad you could be here, too. Would you and your mom sit with Elizaveta and me for breakfast?”

Angie smiled broadly, “I’d like that.”

It was a great morning, and then, at our usual mid-day meal with my in-laws, there was a second celebration. That night, after Vespers, Elizaveta and I had a private birthday party, most of which was spent in bed.

February 2, 1986, Columbus, Ohio

On Sunday morning, Elizaveta and I drove to Columbus together, having agreed with Father Nicholas that our wives would take his car back to McKinley and he’d ride with me after our dinner with Bishop PAUL.

“Will you see Vladyka ARKADY?” Elizaveta asked.

“No. From what I understand, he’s basically restricted to the chancery and except for subdeacon Alexi, he’s not supposed to see anyone.”

“That seems almost cruel,” Elizaveta protested.

“I don’t disagree, but he’s suspended, so it’s better to avoid any chance of giving the appearance he’s not abiding by the suspension.”

“What would happen to him if he were deposed?”

“Historically, a deposed bishop would retire to a monastery and live in relative seclusion as a monk, because monastic vows don’t change if a bishop is deposed. I’m not sure what would happen, but that’s the most likely outcome.”

“And Protodeacon Seraphim?”

“He’d simply become a layman again. He’d have to find a job, because he’d obviously be fired from his role as chancellor of the diocese. Of course, it’s also possible that criminal charges would be filed, though that would be up to the Holy Synod.”

“Not a prosecutor?”

“There would have to be a complaint to the police or prosecutor. I’m not sure that the Holy Synod would contemplate that, because the last thing they would want to do is air dirty laundry in public. There was a brief article in the Columbus paper, but a trial would be splashed all over the newspapers. Vladyka ARKADY being deposed would get a brief article, especially if it’s just over ‘financial mismanagement’.”

“You think that’s how they’ll handle it?”

“Jocelyn called Melody, our friend who is in law school, and Melody suggested that might be the way they spin it to try to protect the archdiocese.”

“Have I met her?”

“I don’t think so. She graduated a year before me and she’s at Ohio State. She’s the one who got her uncle who works at the ACLU involved to get some of the rules changed at Taft. She was part of Student Government when I got involved in politics for the first time in my life. I only wish it could be the last.”

“You don’t plan to run for political office, do you?”

“Oh, hell no!” I chuckled. “But hospitals are notoriously political, and it’ll be tough to avoid politics.”

“Political? How?”

“Who gets the Chief Resident job, the Chief Attending job, the best shift assignments, and so on. Being the best isn’t enough, unfortunately.”

“But that’s all that should matter!” Elizaveta protested.

“I agree, but that’s not how things are. Heck, we have politics in the Church, though, thankfully, our parish isn’t political the way some are. That said, politics will figure into the election of our next bishop, if that happens.”

“That’s just wrong!”

“I didn’t say I liked it,” I replied, “but it’s going to happen if there is an election.”

“You seem convinced.”

“I still can’t think of any other answer that satisfies the conditions of everything that’s happened.”

“It’s just so sad.”

“I agree.”

Several hours later, after Matins, Liturgy, and lunch in the cathedral hall, Elizaveta and Matushka left for McKinley and Father Nicholas and I joined about fifty other clergy in the nave of the church to meet with Bishop PAUL. As was usual for such gatherings, the first order of business was saying the Trisagion Prayers. Following that, Bishop PAUL addressed the gathered clergy, and explained how things would operate until the situation with Bishop ARKADY was resolved.

For the most part, nothing would change, though the usual pastoral visits made to each parish during Great Lent would not occur. That didn’t surprise me at all, because the other bishops all had to attend to their dioceses, or ‘eparchies’ as they were officially called in the Slavic tradition, and Bishop JOSEPH had the additional duty of overseeing what was being called the Special Investigative Committee.

We did get some details on that, and I was totally not surprised that the three clergy appointed were from outside our diocese—a priest from Chicago, a priest from Philadelphia, and a Deacon from Detroit. I was also not surprised that Dmitry Malenkov, Katy’s dad, had been appointed as the financial expert, given his role at the bank in Columbus. The other two laypeople were an accountant from Cleveland and a retired tax attorney from Cincinnati. In my mind, it was a good committee, and I trusted Mr. Malenkov to ensure the truth came out, no matter what it might be.

Bishop PAUL then discussed what he expected from the priests, deacons, and parish councils, none of which was different from how Bishop ARKADY had administered the diocese, though there was one additional requirement—all parishes were to submit a monthly financial and status report to the chancery, something which was being implemented across the entire archdiocese. From what I knew, Bishop ARKADY had only required an annual report. Though I wasn’t directly involved with parish finances at either Holy Transfiguration or Saint Michael the Archangel, being in charge of charity did put me in a position of trust with regard to small amounts of money.

That made me wonder how long Protodeacon Seraphim might have been engaged in ‘financial impropriety’ and what level of reporting the Holy Synod expected from each diocese. Technically speaking, no bishop could be made to do anything by any other bishop, with the only recourse being deposing the recalcitrant bishop, much the way a US President could only be removed by impeachment by the House of Representatives and conviction by the Senate if he refused to follow the law. That said, given the way the archdiocese operated, I couldn’t imagine a bishop refusing to send financial reports to the Metropolitan’s chancery on request.

Once Bishop PAUL finished, he took questions, but the answers I most wanted wouldn’t be available until the investigation was complete. After the question period, we went to the parish hall so that everyone could socialize and have coffee, tea, and cookies. I had a chance to meet the other deacons, none of whom I knew, and all of whom were older than me, most by at least twenty years.

About ten minutes into my chat with Deacon Robert from Toledo, the bishop indicated he was ready to speak with me, something he’d indicated in his letter that he intended to do, but without any detail. I had a sneaking suspicion, which was confirmed during our conversation.

“How are you, Father Deacon?” he asked as we sat down with cups of tea.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I replied.

“Good. I understand you are in medical school, is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Grace. I’ll complete my first year at the end of May.”

“And you’re married, correct?”

“Yes.”

“But no children and none on the way?”

“No, not as yet.”

“Does your schedule allow you to serve at the cathedral?”

Which was the question I’d expected to be asked.

“If you mean for Matins and the Divine Liturgy on Sundays, I could do so. I would just need to be back in McKinley by 3:00pm. Vespers on either Wednesday or Saturday would be a significant challenge.”

“I’ll speak to him, obviously, but do you believe Father Nicholas could serve effectively without you?”

“I think only Father Nicholas can answer that definitively, but he did manage from the time of Deacon Grigory’s first heart attack until I was ordained a deacon. That said, I was a subdeacon, and Bishop ARKADY granted «ekonomia» for me to sing the little litanies, to help preserve Father Nicholas’ voice.”

“Do you know how many people receive the Eucharist on Sunday?”

“I’d guess about sixty to seventy, out of our usual attendance of about a hundred.”

Which was about half of the actual members of at Saint Michael, and from what I’d heard and observed, par for the course. A number of the ‘missing’ were college students, but others were those who attended irregularly. ‘Membership’ was, as Father Herman had once explained, anyone who was baptized and received Eucharist once a year. One ‘married-in’ spouse had never been baptized, so despite being a regular attendee, he wasn’t a member.

“It’s about twice that at the cathedral, if I understand correctly.”

“About that, though somewhat higher on Feast days,” I replied. “At least that’s my belief from the times I’ve served here.”

“That makes it quite difficult for Father James to serve alone, and unfortunately, there are no available recent seminary graduates to assign as associates, and the one retired priest who was immediately available was Father Patrick, who’s been assigned to Holy Transfiguration.”

“If I may be bold...” I queried.

“You may.”

“If there are no eligible recent seminary graduates in our diocese, perhaps a transfer is in order.”

Bishop PAUL laughed softly, “Thus creating a problem for one of my brother bishops, or for myself. I’m sure you’re aware we have a serious shortage of clergy.”

Including one who had been inappropriately deposed! Unfortunately, I couldn’t say that, though I decided I could bring it up.

“I think a review of Deacon Vasily’s case might be in order,” I said.

“Father Deacon, that’s not your place,” Bishop PAUL said firmly.

“Your Grace,” I continued, undeterred, “I apologize for the impertinence, but I was on the Spiritual Court and I believe a review is warranted. My grandfather appealed to the Metropolitan.”

“And that is where it must be left. The Holy Synod has no position at this time. So, please, no more on that topic.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” I replied, relenting. “I apologize for interfering.”

“Let the system work, Michael.”

“I will.”

“Good. Are you willing to serve at the cathedral until such time as I can find a priest or deacon to assign here on a more permanent basis?”

“As you command, Vladyka,” I replied.

He smiled, “That’s not quite what I asked, but I’ll take it as a ‘yes’. There would be a small stipend to cover your costs of driving back and forth, which I’ll arrange. Now that I have your agreement, I’ll speak with Father Nicholas. Assuming he’s amenable, it would begin next Sunday. I promise to do my best to find someone to assign here.”

I held out my upturned hands for a blessing, and once I’d received it, I rejoined the group of deacons as I saw Father Nicholas leave the room with the bishop.

“Woodshed?” Deacon Filip from Cleveland asked.

I shook my head, “No. I’m the closest deacon to the cathedral, which means I’m the primary person to fill in for an absent deacon. Normally, in the past, it would have been Deacon Vasily.”

“A tragedy,” Deacon Filip said, shaking his head. “Rumor had you and his daughter marrying, but that obviously didn’t happen.”

“When Natalya Vasilyevna graduated from High School, we sat down and talked through what the future would be like, and given her obvious desire to have children immediately, as well as my inability to give her the amount of attention she would need, and her preference to not marry a clergyman, we elected not to marry.”

“By obvious, I take it you mean the fact that she’s already pregnant?”

“Yes, and due in April. Fundamentally, as a medical student, I couldn’t support a family and I spend quite a bit of time at school, the hospital, and studying, and that would have made things somewhat difficult for Tasha.”

“A few heads turned over your marriage to Elizaveta Viktorovna.”

“More than you know,” I said, shaking my head. “There are quite a few people who were surprised by her age. Fortunately, that’s mostly died down, but her timetable is much more amenable to my studies, and her personality is much more amenable to the amount of direct attention I can give her.”

“Who gave you grief?” Deacon Robert asked.

“Who didn’t?” I replied, shaking my head. “Doctors, teachers, Customs and Immigration, the Ohio BMV, and others. Some of it was just not knowing the rules, but there was quite a bit of outrage that I would marry a sixteen-year-old.”

Deacon Robert nodded, “There are days when I would prefer my three daughters were married.”

“I’ve heard that expressed MANY times,” Deacon Filip replied. “I have three sons.”

“I see a match made in heaven!” I chuckled.

Both Deacon Filip and Deacon Robert laughed.

“We’ve tried,” Deacon Filip said. “The kids, who are all teenagers, are having none of it!”

“The matchmakers are slowly losing their power,” Deacon Timothy from Cincinnati interjected with a wry smile. “Though I think my son, who is at seminary, hopes they still have some influence!”

“There are a number of eligible girls at the cathedral and Saint Michael,” I replied with a grin. “I did something of a full survey about eighteen months ago!”

The other deacons laughed.

“No desire to be a monk?” Deacon Robert asked.

“None whatsoever!” I replied, then lowered my voice, “And if things go badly, no desire to be a bishop, either!”

“Lord have mercy!” several deacons replied in agreement.

I saw Father Nicholas return, and the bishop left with another priest, and the ‘social time’ ended up lasting better than two hours as the bishop met privately with various priests and deacons. When the bishop completed his private talks, we gathered in the nave while some members of the parish set up the hall for the meal we’d have later in the day.

The second session was focused on pastoral issues, which was the norm for clergy meetings, though I’d never attended one. I simply listened to the priests and bishop discuss challenges they had in their parishes, and wondered what Father Nicholas might say. Father Herman, being at a new parish, didn’t speak, and neither did Father Patrick, who was his interim replacement. I still wondered exactly what had happened, but it really wasn’t my business.

I was happy when Father Nicholas spoke, as he discussed the outreach we’d done on campus, rather than any ‘problems’ in the parish. That sparked a thirty-minute discussion of the best way to do evangelism on campus, with a consensus forming around the way we had done it.

Following that was a brief discussion of the Evangelical Orthodox Church, and their lack of progress in finding a jurisdiction which would accept them. They had approached the OCA, but despite the strong advocacy by Father Schmemann, they had been rebuffed over concerns about married bishops, which they had, and lack of apostolic succession. According to Bishop PAUL, they had sought a meeting with the Ecumenical Patriarch, but had been rebuffed by him as well. The Antiochian Metropolitan had met with them, but there was no word on the results of that meeting.

Once that discussion wrapped up, we had dinner, and then celebrated Vespers. After the service concluded, Father Nicholas and I got into my Mustang for the drive back to McKinley.

“First,” Father Nicholas said, “let me apologize again for this being on your birthday.”

“It’s fine, Father,” I replied. “Celebrating yesterday didn’t cause any trouble, and Elizaveta has a special dessert waiting for me when I arrive home!”

“She’s certainly found her groove as a Matushka!”

“Absolutely. Changing topics, can I ask you about the EOC? Have you actually met any of them?”

“No,” Father Nicholas replied, “but some priests I know in Chicago have. The main sticking point is that their bishops are married, as was mentioned earlier, and they want to remain bishops.”

“That tradition would be tough to overcome,” I replied.

“You sound as if you think it would be OK.”

I laughed softly, “As if it were up to me!”

“And if it were?”

“It would certainly increase the pool of eligible candidates and might work if the men in question had only grown children. But I think, in the end, the controversy would be too great to even consider such a thing. It’s in the same realm as ordaining female deacons—there is support for it in the history of the Church, but it’s so controversial that it’s better left the way it is. And even if such ordinations happened, they wouldn’t be for liturgical purposes, because there is no history of THAT outside of limited things done by nuns in women’s monasteries.”