Wrapped in Rain(77)

Having come to a pause in his story, Father Bob wiped his brow with a white handkerchief and seemed to tremble a bit, but his voice never slowed and he never skipped a beat. I looked at the other priests, and the closest to Father Bob seemed poised to jump if Father Bob fell. Father Bob noticed the consternation painted across the faces of those closest to him and said, "Oh, don't look so worried. Yes, the chemo has made me weak, but it won't kill me." He turned and looked at the cross hanging above the altar. "I don't think He's finished with me just yet." He turned, folded his handkerchief, and spoke to all of us. "My dear brothers are worried that I'm too weak to preach. That this cancer, which the doctors say is eating me up, is winning. That preaching today might further weaken my already crippled immune system and just kill me on the spot." He smiled, looked at them, then back at us, and finally at the cross. "But my, my, my! What a way to go."

The congregation laughed, and the other priests sat back in their chairs and relaxed. Mutt was sitting erect, face forward, hands gripping the pew in front of him. He too was poised to spring.

"Which brings me to my conclusion." Father Bob smiled and walked in between the first two pews and then pointed back to the cross above the altar with his cane. "Many times in our lives, we act like He's still dead. But sev eral times today, we've testified that He's not. So which is it? Why say one thing with your mouth and yet live another with your life? If He's alive, act like it. He either is or He isn't. You can't be half-alive."



He paused for a moment and gathered himself. "I have been to Jerusalem, walked the garden of Gethsemane, the Temple Mount, even walked into the tomb where most scholars think our Lord was buried. Now, I'm not saying that particular place was His tomb-or that it wasn't. I don't know. It's really not important. But I do know this." Father Bob paused, and Mutt moved farther forward on his seat, his hands trembling. "He wasn't there." He smiled and stared out the stained glass high above him. "That rock casket made an impression on me. Why?" He paused and then whispered, "Because, like Him, I walked out."

He let his words echo off the back wall. When they had finished, he asked, "How is that?" He took a step between the pews and pointed his cane at all of us. "The stone had been rolled away." He leaned on his cane again, and his eyes scanned the rafters. As if speaking to the ceiling, he said, "That fact alone demands a response from us." His eyes leveled and focused on the packed pews where few backs rested against them. "We can either crown Him with thorns, spit in His face, pierce His side with a spear"-Father Bob sliced the air with his cane-"and decry Him the Lord of lies, or"-Father Bob turned to the altar and limped forward-"we can run with reckless abandon to the foot of that same tree"-Father Bob knelt heavily-"fall on our knees"-he bowed his head and whispered-"and call Him Lord of all."

Moments passed while Father Bob buried his head in his hands.

Finally, he whispered as if to himself, `Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up." Another moment. "But He was wounded for our transgressions, bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and by His stripes we are healed." Father Bob's shoulders rose and fell, his head pressed hard into his hands. "And upon Him was laid the iniquity of us all." He stood and turned to face us, leaning more heavily now, his cane bowing slightly in the middle and a tear cascading off his cheek. He waved his hand across the altar. "Which will it be?"



Child?

Yes ma am.

You ought to hear the chorus up here that's warming up for that man. These folks are planning a party in his honor so you best listen to what he has to say.

Father Bob climbed the steps, patted the first priest on the shoulder, and sat down as the organist softly led us into the offertory. While the ushers began passing plates, Jase asked me for a quarter and then watched quietly as the plate made its circuitous route to us. When the plate arrived, he dropped it in and then handed it to Mutt. Mutt emptied his pockets and dropped in a wad of onedollar bills and about two handfuls of change. The ushers collected the plates, and the priests blessed the offering and then prepared the altar for the bread and wine.

When Father Bob had finished praying the blessing over the elements, retold the story of the Last Supper, and prayed a final time, the ushers once again appeared and began leading people forward. The usher signaled our row, and everyone stood up except Katie, Jase, and me. Mutt was focused on the railing and following the leader. His right hand was holding on to the collar of his suit like a parachute cord.

I pulled on the tail of his coat. "Mutt!"



He waved me off and kept his eye on the railing.

I pulled again. "Mutt!"

He turned and I whispered, "You can't go up there."

He shrugged. "Why not?"

"Well"-I looked around-"you have to be Catholic."

"And?"

"Well ... it's disrespectful."

"I know that."

"Oh," I said and let go.

The row in front of Mutt had emptied and they were waiting on him. So he brushed me off, straightened his coat, and jogged down the center aisle.

Katie poked me in the leg and pointed forward. "Don't you think you'd better go with him?"