Thursday, July 27, 10:15 a.m.
I was brewing a pot of coffee after morning Mass when RJ flew a green-plastic jet into the kitchen. He landed his plane on the table with a loud varoom and said, “Whatcha doing, Uncle Jake?”
I’d never thought that I would ever be an uncle but had already come to love the sound of the word—and my nephew.
“Making coffee.”
“How?”
“Well, first you chop the beans into tiny pieces.” I showed him a handful, put them in the grinder, and turned it on. “Then you put them in the coffee maker and it pours hot water over them and poof, coffee comes out here.” I took a sip from my cup. “And like magic, the coffee makes me wide awake and ready for action.”
RJ tilted his head to the side, pondered my explanation with a puzzled expression, then grinned.
“Oh, I get it, Uncle Jake. They’re … magic beans. You know, like Jack and the Beanstalk. Cool.”
I laughed, but before I could delve further into the wonders of the four year old mind, he flew his jet into the living room to join his mother, filling the rectory with explosions and machine gun fire. Clearly, the little general needed some more constructive and less violent toys and games.
I went up to my study to finish my research on fraudulent miracles, closed the door, and spent a few minutes staring out of the window, wondering what I would do if I were in Father Marek’s shoes.
The fact that the bishop had resisted Marek’s claims of a miracle was no surprise. Organized religion was not unlike the medical establishment; both produced red tape and bureaucrats much faster than results. Lucci may have weighed the risks to his career verses the benefits. He was a rung-climber who desired to rule over his fiefdom in peace until a bigger and better empire came along. Cleveland was a mere pit stop on his journey.
I knew that St. Joseph’s Hospital was strapped for cash and the lab wouldn’t run expensive tests on the material I’d collected on my handkerchief, so I needed Lucci’s help. I dialed his office and did a song and dance to get past his secretary.
“Jacob, my son. How nice of you to call. I was just thinking of you.”
Saving Lucci’s life had temporarily transformed me from an S.O.B. to a favorite son. While I still had his approval and his ear, I described what I’d witnessed at St. Wenceslaus Church.
His voice took on an icy edge. “Father Marek and his holy-roller circus! Exactly what I don’t need … another distraction. I should have shut that parish down years ago for lack of parishioners and funds. With the recent publicity, now I can’t. Marek’s a cagey old fox, Jacob. He probably put the blood on the statue as a ploy to keep the church doors open. Please don’t spread more rumors of miracles in my diocese.”
“Your Excellency, you don’t understand. I was looking directly at the Virgin Mary when a red substance appeared below her left eye. He couldn’t have put it there. Marek wasn’t anywhere near the altar. He’d left the room to answer a phone call.”
Lucci was quiet for so long that I thought my cellphone had dropped the call.
“So, you believe this might really be a miracle, Jacob?”
“No, I believe this occurrence needs to be evaluated. The substance is consistent with blood, but it needs further analysis to determine if it’s human … and to exclude Father Marek as the source.”
“Oh, it’s human blood, and definitely not Marek’s. I had it analyzed. Two of my priests spent a week examining every inch of the church. They even x-rayed the statue and found no explanation. No hidden compartments or tampering of any kind.”
“Doesn’t that suggest that this might be a true miracle? Why are you so skeptical, Your Excellency?”
“I’m not, I’m … reluctant. The Church has always underplayed these events publicly, because the vast majority prove to be either fraudulent or due to natural causes, like old pipes dripping rust-colored water. I would prefer that Catholics base their faith on Jesus Christ, rather than … extraordinary occurrences.” Lucci released a weary sigh. “I’ve prayed on the situation a great deal. No one wants this to be an authentic miracle more than I do, but I’m also practical, realistic, and very suspicious. The Cardinal knows Father Marek to be a heavy drinker, and His Eminence is skeptical. We … consider him unreliable.
Ah, the royal “we.” The Cardinal was Lucci’s boss. Enter the church pecking order and politics.
The bishop took a slurp of something. “Anyway, how are you feeling, Jacob. Are your injuries any better?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” I said, massaging my right ribs.
“And how’s your sister? I’ve been praying for you both.”
“Thank you for your prayers and for asking. Justine’s barely hanging on. They’re admitting her to the hospital next week. I didn’t want to interfere with my duties at Sacred Heart, so I’ve arranged for the rectory housekeeper to help care for my nephew until Justine recovers. But the cost may devastate the parish finances.” I swallowed hard. “She’ll need to be paid, and I don’t have much money of my own. Is there anyway the Diocese could subsidize Sacred Heart during my family crisis?”
Spending money, Lucci’s least favorite subject. His usual officious tone replaced the empathy in his voice.
“The diocese already provides you with room and board, my boy. Can’t your Camillian Order cover the cost?”
“I’ve made the request, but they didn’t sound encouraging. Being as you are friends with my Superior General, I’d appreciate it if you’d ask on my behalf.”
The Very Reverend Father Stefano Demarco ran my Camillian Order. He was on the Vatican fast-track and a rising star in the Church, with access to the Pope’s ear and maybe God’s. He and Lucci had earned their doctorates together as seminarians at the Gregorian in Rome. The bishop had hitched his ecclesiastical ascent to Demarco’s coattails, and I was sure that the last thing he wanted to do was to bother the Superior General over petty cash.
Another slurp.
“I don’t know. My budget is tight as it is. Here’s an idea. The priests who investigated Marek’s so-called miracle didn’t have your scientific background. Tell you what, Jacob. Use your training to prove Marek to be the fraud that I believe him to be, and the diocese will cover the cost of your housekeeper’s overtime during your sister’s illness. I will also finance any ancillary services you require, like X-ray and lab testing.”
Lucci paused and cleared his throat.
“Come to think of it, Jacob, you’re a perfect choice for the job. The priests I sent were bullied by Marek, which may have limited their investigation. Given your effort to save my life during the incident, I doubt that his intimidation will work on you.”
“Intimidation? Marek? Did he threaten them?”
“Not in so many words. He obstructed their efforts, and every time they drove there, they had … car trouble. A tire punctured by a nail, engine problems, a shattered windshield. Some of their equipment mysteriously vanished. Marek’s doing, no doubt, but we couldn’t prove it.”
My turn to hesitate.
“Do we have a deal, Jacob? You help with Marek and the diocese will cover the additional cost while your sister recovers.”
I needed Lucci’s help and was drop-to-my-knees grateful to get it, but it sounded like His Deviousness was pressuring me into undermining St. Wenceslaus parish in exchange for helping my family.
Two, however, could play the manipulation game.
“Yes, we have a deal. Thank you.”
“Wonderful. Keep me posted on your progress. And remember, Jacob, the outcome of your inquiry is very important to me.”
“I can assure you, Your Excellency, that I will conduct a thorough investigation on your behalf.”
And an unbiased one.