Chapter 29: Altered Plans

"As I see it, we have a number of problems to deal with. Some are moral and spiritual, and some are practical."

Mike and Fr. Ambrose rested in their hotel room after a light meal. Both were troubled. They were confronting a massive problem, head on, and neither was sure how to proceed. Following the first rule of consultation, "two heads are better than one," they were engaging in some sincere discussion of their goals and how best to achieve them.

"Our biggest problem is the good Bishop himself," Fr. Ambrose mused. "It's a weak soul who must be frightened into doing the right thing. Imagine, a pilgrim comes to a fork in the path. It's little test of his character if he chooses the more difficult path because he can plainly see the hungry lion standing on the other one!"

Mike smiled at that. His old friend had a lovely way with putting a difficult issue into simple words.

"No, no test of faith at all. We see that he has been taking the easy path each time he comes to a decision point. He failed to expose the priests and risk scandal for himself; he chose the easier path. He quietly covered up for them and transferred them away. He ignores the pain and suffering of the children and their families, while choosing to protect himself from exposure and loss of status. Are these truly the acts of a servant of God? No, truly not. But are we to choose for him? Do we direct him to put his feet on the right path?" Fr. Ambrose was thinking aloud, trying to sort it out.

"Good friend, the ultimate judgment rests with the Lord. I think we can only use our own moral compass to set things straight here during the short time we have. This Bishop has enjoyed a long career and we've already dealt with part of the pain and wreckage he's allowed to happen. It's a true miracle that Marilee has recovered and despite all that, her family was uprooted and had to make a new beginning for themselves. But what of the others? How many are suffering, are destroyed, that we do not know? Could we bear it if we did know?" Fr. Ambrose rose, paced to the open window and stared out into the busy street below.

"No, my friend," he turned to face Mike. "I know that you have endless tricks and devices stashed away in your mind and in that medicine pouch of yours. I have endless faith in the right and wrong of things, and I know that we are entrusted to use our talents, you and I, to do what we can on this earth to assist those good souls who need us. If we must confront these perverted devils here in this life, then we shall do it. Leaving them alone in some misguided hope that they might later make a right choice is not something we have the right to do. Mercy to those devils is a terrible wrong that we would do to their victims, past, present and God forbid, future. No! By damn, Mike, we must do everything in our power to stop this. I had hoped the Bishop would receive us, listen to us, and do his duty. Apparently that is not to be. So be it. Let him reap the harvest of his life's work! He can deal with us now, and face his Maker later!"

Mike stared out through the open window, its curtains fluttering gently in the humid, warm midwestern breeze. The lion's not standing on the path waiting for some pilgrim to come stumbling along. He's right here in the room with me, and he's going to tear a huge chunk out of that Bishop before we return home, I think.

He looked to Fr. Ambrose and gestured for the good priest to stop pacing angrily back and forth across the worn hotel room carpet.

"Very well. We have several layers to peel away in dealing with this stinking pile of garbage, then. First, those priests. Either we deal with them individually, or we find a way to force the Bishop to do it. I'd prefer that he do it.

"Second, we have the issue of Sister Agatha's order being forced to sell their house and abandon the aged members to state charity. At the same time, our good Bishop is gloating over his millions of dollars in contributions to gild the bricks on his palatial edifice. I wonder what would happen to that golden stream of wealth if his influential friends were to get a whiff of his rotten secret? I wonder what choices he might make if he were confronted with a fork in the path? He could choose to spend some of that wealth to assure a secure future for the sisters, or he could persist in spending it for his own glorification, only to lose it all in disgrace and banishment? I wonder..."

Mike rose and began pacing back and forth across the carpet, following the trail of his thoughts.

"Third, we have the good Bishop himself. We've abandoned the idea that he will see the error of his ways upon hearing the simple truth from us, we simple folk that he values so little. So we force the truth upon him. He'll deal with the priests, and he'll provide for the sisters, and he'll settle for a bit less glorification of the edifice. But what of him? I think we need to offer him a choice for himself. He cannot continue as Bishop; he'll only revert to his corrupt self when no longer confronted with his terrors. No, I think he needs to see that his remaining as Bishop will be his destruction; that voluntarily choosing the plain and simple path of a worker for the Lord could be his salvation. Truthfully, we'll be the lion in the path that causes him to take the harder journey, but after that he must walk upright or fail on his own. There's a certain justice in that, don't you think? And it leaves his fate entirely in his own hands. We'll not be playing God with his life. We're simply redirecting his feet, a little. Yes?"

Fr. Ambrose smiled up at Mike with a huge, serene smile.

"Oh, you heathen devil, you! I thank the Lord for two things, sir: one, is meeting yourself, and the other is that I've worked hard to be a simple man, a good man, and that I've never given you cause to doubt my role as a shepherd among the sheep! You, sir, are a lion that any wolf thinking to torment the sheep should fear!"

"Kansas City Star, how may I help you?"

"Hello, my name is Father Ambrose ... I wonder if I might be connected with your columnist, Michelle Michaels?"

"Yes, Father, right away. She's at her desk. I'll ring her."

Miss Michaels's column was a widely-read feature in KC's daily newspaper. She'd built up a huge following surprisingly quickly for one so young. She had a good nose for human interest stories that gripped her readers. She sat sipping tea with a country priest and his companion. They'd handed her a folder of documents and photographs. She felt unusually moved by the story she saw unfolding before her. She was already grateful she'd had a strong intuition to accept his invitation for a private meeting away from her office.