Father Wagner walked down the sidewalk. It was only five blocks from the rectory to City Hall, so he opted for the exercise. It was out of character, but he was trying to be a better man. Most of the sidewalks were cleared as well as they could be, but that still left an inch or so of hard-packed snow to walk on in spots. It was cold enough that Wagner’s shoes made a metronomic crunching sound as he walked.
He looked up at the heavens. A weak funnel system had moved in during the day, starving for moisture, and the earlier sunshine had been replaced by partly cloudy skies. Wagner was certain he would walk headlong into snow flurries on his walk home later, maybe even a full-blown winter storm. Five blocks. You could do that in a blizzard, he reassured himself.
A snowbank rose six feet on his left, piled up over the past few weeks by repeated passes of snowplows. The bank ran the length of the road and was so high Wagner couldn’t see over it.
Still two blocks away from City Hall, he came upon the throng of people who showed up to support John Lawler’s cause since Michele’s story broke and statewide and even national media began running with it. Heavily bundled folks clogged the sidewalk on Blackhawk Avenue, and spilled into the main thoroughfare, rendering it a one-lane street.
Some carried signs with pro-life messages, while other signs read simply “Thank You, John” or “We love you, John.”
Wagner shouldered his way through the crowd and finally up the steps and into City Hall. His collar and his persistence moved him ahead of the people lined up to pass along words of encouragement to the man willing to die for unborn children he would never know. Wagner nodded to a couple of his parishioners as he passed, but didn’t recognize most in the crowd.
He saw Matthew standing at the end of the hallway, his back against the wall, and assumed John was sitting beside his son. Wagner was still twenty feet away when Matt saw him. Matt stepped forward and put his hands out in front of him. The crowd pulled back a foot or two and he said loudly, “Please, make way for Father Wagner. He’s my father’s priest.”
A narrow path opened in front of Wagner as the well-wishers sucked in their chests and stomachs and flattened themselves as much as possible against the walls.
Wagner approached John Lawler and saw the peaceful smile that lit his face. He had a radiance about him and the priest didn’t know if it was the patina of death or of everlasting life.
Matt pulled a plastic chair over for Father Wagner. The priest thanked him and sank onto the chair. In a soft, gravelly voice he leaned down near the elder Lawler’s ear and said, “John, what’s going on here? You have a lot of people upset and worried.”
Lawler met his gaze and spoke in a voice weak from malnutrition. “I’m doing what you said, Father. I’m trying to put the spotlight on the murders that are taking place every day in this country. I’ve still got a little faith in my fellow man. I believe in my heart that if people can open their eyes and see what’s really happening, that they’ll step forward and put an end to it. I guess you could say an old man is trying to make the scales fall from their eyes.”
“That’s noble of you, John, but misdirected. The Good Lord frowns on his followers taking their own lives. It doesn’t matter if you do it quickly or, in your case, in an agonizingly slow manner.” He nodded his head up and down a couple of times, trying to coax acknowledgment or, better, assent from his parishioner.
“Father. My life is coming to an end anyway. I’m not taking it, the Lord is. He’s calling me home. I’m doing something useful with what’s left of my life, this precious life God gave me.”
Wagner was becoming exasperated. His voice rose slightly, but his words could still not be heard by anyone but John Lawler. “I can’t let you do this. It’s not right and it’s not holy. When I called out the congregation on Christmas morning, this is not what I had in mind!”
“Settle down, Father. Know clearly that you did not make me do this. I do it of my own accord. If you’re here because of your conscience, then please, go in peace.” He said this last with a hearty twinkle in his eyes.
“Your words did move me,” Lawler continued. “I won’t deny that. But I believe you were no more than the Lord’s sound system on that wonderful morning. I’ve listened to your sermons for more than thirty years now and, to be perfectly honest, you never inspired me before. It seemed to me you were going through the motions most of the time, like you weren’t sure if you even believed half of what you were telling us.”
Father Wagner’s face flushed deep crimson as Lawler spoke his mind, averting John’s eyes and looking down at the floor.
“I’m sorry, Father. Forgive me. Maybe my hunger has given me an edge. I didn’t mean it to come out the way it did. I want you to know that I’m responsible for my own actions here, and aware of what the consequences of those actions will be.” He ran his hand through his sparse white hair and said, “Whew. I do run on, don’t I?”
Wagner looked at him again and shook his head. “No, John, you’re a man who speaks when he’s got something worthwhile to say.”
John broke into a faint smile again and any tension dissipated. “I suppose that’s right.” He licked his dry, cracked lips. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to launch into one of these diatribes.”
“I wish you’d given me that personal homily a decade or two ago,” the priest said, rising stiffly. “The part about me coasting through life. But maybe I wasn’t ready to hear it back then.” He started to leave but turned and looked into Lawler’s eyes. “You’ll let me stop by again soon and give you the last rites?” His eyes held back a wave of tears.
John nodded. “I’d have it no other way.” He paused and said, “I love you, Father.”
“I love you, too, John. Thank you.” The priest leaned down and gently hugged Lawler. He turned around then and the crowd parted before him. He pulled his coat close to his body and headed home.