The Eternal Enemy, ever seeking the ruin of the Catholic Church, has found an advocate in the highest realms of the Churchâs hierarchy; the powerful Archbishop Mitchell Grange.
Secretly, the Archbishop has been directing the rise of a new Reformation to rival the Lutheran schism.
Fr. Robert Hescott is an Episcopalian priest who has converted to Catholicism and is now pastor of St. Michaelâs Catholic Church. His growing suspicion of the Archbishop eventually pushes him to act.
But can a lowly priest derail the plans of one of the Churchâs most powerful prelates?
The Eternal Enemy, ever seeking the ruin of the Catholic Church, has found an advocate in the highest realms of the Churchâs hierarchy; the powerful Archbishop Mitchell Grange.
Secretly, the Archbishop has been directing the rise of a new Reformation to rival the Lutheran schism.
Fr. Robert Hescott is an Episcopalian priest who has converted to Catholicism and is now pastor of St. Michaelâs Catholic Church. His growing suspicion of the Archbishop eventually pushes him to act.
But can a lowly priest derail the plans of one of the Churchâs most powerful prelates?
Chapter One
Beside the broad steps leading up to the front doors of St. Michael's Catholic Church, there was a statue of the winged archangel. It was ten feet tall and had hovered protectively over the parish for nearly one hundred years. This particular morning, however, its grey and pitted facade had sometime in the night received a splashing of red paint.
In the Rectory kitchen, Victoria Hescott sat slumped with her elbows on the table, her chin propped in her right hand, her short thick blonde hair shading her round face on either side like curtains. She was nineteen years old, a student at the local junior college in her last year of degree work in web design. She lived on campus with two roommates. Often she would show up at the Rectory for breakfast since she rarely cooked for herself. Her eyes appeared vague in a curious way, as if when not staring at a computer screen they found anything else difficult to focus on.
âSo what are you going to do about it?â she asked idly of her father, Pastor Robert Hescott, who was sitting across from her. He was a tall, thin man with thin shoulders and a long neck. At forty-nine, his hair was already showing wisps of grey. It had receded to the top of hi3s skull accentuating his high wide philosopherâs forehead. Yet the rest of his face gave the lie to any impression of self-importance or intellectual superiority. It exuded a ruddy youthfulness with its strong wide nose and fine soft cheeks. His arched eyebrows were mobile and expressive. His cool grey eyes, slightly canted downward at the edges, were quick and interested. But it was when he smiled showing a row of large, yellowed teeth that the overall impression became almost comical, even silly.
âWell, Vic,â her father began with a playful sidewise glance at his daughter, âIâm going to take some soap and water and a wire brush and wash it off.â
âThatâs it?â Victoria asked, incredulous.
âThat's it.â
âYouâre not even going to call the police?â
âCâmon, honey, youâre making a big deal out of a little boneheaded graffiti,â he said smiling at her.
âStop smiling at me! You always do that.â
âYou make me happy.â
âYeah. Because you make me laugh and then you win. You do it on purpose.â
âPazzo dâamore, Vic. Pazzo dâamore.â
"Yeah, yeah, you're crazy in love with me." Victoria shook her head in mock disgust though there was a tenderness in her voice that she could not conceal. âI liked you so much better when you were an Episcopalian. And that stupid smile of yours wasnât so disgustingly happy.â
âVictoria!â her mother, Donna, broke in as she dished out the scrambled eggs, put down a plate of toast, and took her seat at the head of the table which was closest to the stove. Even in such insignificant actions, there was an elegance to her movements. She was an attractive woman, too attractive for her husband many thought, about five-three, slim and petite. She smiled at her small family as she watched them eat. Her plate was empty.
âYou miss the miserable me, huh?â Robert said with a raised and teasing eyebrow. "That's the traditionalist in you, Vic. You're a sucker for old stone and carved arches and sad old prelates who don't believe a word they say."
âWell, you werenât so damn submissive--"
"Victoria!" Donna gently chided her.
"--so damn accepting. You stood up for yourself. You didnât take any shit. And you didnât smile so goddam much!â
âAh, those were the days."
âVictoria! Weâre in a Rectory, remember?â
"It's a Catholic rectory, D," Robert corrected her impishly. "We can curse here. Episcopalians are too uptight to curse. Catholics arenât so prissy. It's half the reason I became a Catholic."
"Thank you, Robby," Donna frowned playfully. "Well, then, Victoria, curse away!"
Victoria frowned at the two of them and shook her head. She had long since come to terms with their conversion to Catholicism but, after two years, it still made no sense to her. As usual, her father was right. She had loved the Episcopalian Manse at All Saints in which she had been brought up, the beautifully carved high ceilings, arched doorways and wide beam floors in old dark wood, stained glass windows everywhere. And their dining room! It had all made her feel as if she were a princess living in her very own castle. And then her parents had done the unimaginable; traded in her beautiful castle for this monstrosity. With their conversion, the Catholic parish of St. Michaelâs had been assigned to her father as his âhomeâ parish within something called the Personal Ordinariate of the Chair of St. Peter. (Catholics! Whatever.) It was all very confusing. And look where they had ended up! The Rectory kitchen alone was enough to ruin your appetite. It had all the charm and homeyness of a mental institution. Its concrete walls and floors were cold and spare. It was an overly large space as if it was meant to accommodate a platoon of cooks. Overhead fluorescents added a mortuary brightness. The dining set came straight out of old 'Happy Days' reruns. And to top it all off, her friends had disowned her! She was an apostate as far as they were concerned. Sometimes she just wanted to scream.
âWhy are you scrubbing it down? You're the pastor. Whereâs your assistant?" she demanded, returning to the subject that had provoked her sense of rampant injustice. "Aren't you the boss around here?"
Robert scratched his ear and frowned. He had 'inherited' Fr. Rick Devere as his assistant pastor and was of two minds about the man.
Victoria shook her head. âFine. Donât answer. But I don't see you and Devere spending much time together.â
âOh, you know. Clash of personalities, thatâs all. Weâre still getting to know one another.â
âI donât like him,â Victoria intoned.
âReally? He's supposed to be a star,â Robert countered.
For a moment, there was silence at the table. Then Donna rose to collect the dishes signaling an end to breakfast.
âCome with me,â Robert said standing up. âWeâll scrub it off together.â
Just then, Fr. Rick Devere, the assistant pastor, entered from the kitchen door. "Good God, what's happened to our statue?" he asked in mild alarm.
"We're just off to clean him up," Robert Hescott answered.
"No, no, no. There's a guy in the parish who does sandblasting."
Devere was twenty-nine years old, a former college athlete still in playing shape, confident, and self-assured. He had thick brown hair, regular features, dramatic eyebrows, and the suggestion of a beard, neatly trimmed, in the current fashion among athletes and movie stars. He could be forgiven for thinking of himself as something of a star in his own chosen field if for no other reason than the popularity he enjoyed among most of his peers and the Catholic laity of St. Michael's parish. There was something of the born leader about him. Even in the seminary, he was unusual for his drive and commitment. He was seen as a man on a mission, a man with little interest in the seminaryâs low-grade social culture. Such a man would attract dissenters, no doubt from jealousy and resentment. Much of his aloofness these people put down to the fact that he came from a very wealthy family with ties to the Catholic Church that stretched as far as Rome and the Vatican. Yet even the dissenters (and they were, after all, but a small minority of the seminarians) were careful not to be too vocal in their criticisms. This was because the powerful Archbishop, Mitchell Grange, had been a close family friend of the Deveres for many years and had been instrumental in fulfilling Mrs. Devereâs most fervent desire that her son become a Catholic priest.
Naturally, as Devere two years ago began his assistant pastorship at St. Michaelâs, there were murmurs among the laity as well. These generally took the negative line that Fr. Devere was âjust too good to be trueâ but this was often met with the rebuke that, indeed, Fr. Devere was too good to be true and that was fine because priests like him were just what Mother Church needed. He was living proof that She was still capable of drawing large and confident personalities into her bosom.
âLet me get him on the phone right now,â Fr. Devere said in a businesslike manner and headed to his office. He was wearing an Adidas cooldown jacket and matching workout pants with slits at the ankles for easy on-off. On his feet, white Adidas runners. Robert followed up the hall to his own office.
âMom, honestly, I donât like that guy.â
âI know.â
âYou like him?â
Donna thought a moment, then smiled. âHeâs not your father,â she answered as if she was very sorry for him and left her alone.
Rick Devere.
It wasnât long after his conversion and ordination and while he was becoming accustomed to his new Catholic environment that Robert Hescott first heard that name. Within the gossip mill, there seemed to be nothing but good things being said about him. Nonetheless, some years earlier Hescott had become aware of a kind of spiritual dissonance in the air. A kind of reimagining of the religious life among the laity that troubled him. His concern had deepened as several of his fellow priests were heard to praise what they called this âawakeningâ. From a sense of fairness to his Church and a commitment to scholarly objectivity, he had undertaken a kind of devilâs advocate process of investigation and consultation within his priestly and scholarly community. Not only did this process confirm his fears but it revealed a disturbing trend: many priests were preaching an adulterated theology of love that left him stunned, what came to be called âthe love festâ. Further, though believed to be a grassroots movement, he had detected that there might be an instigating factor or influence, unacknowledged it was true, and perhaps only imaginary. But he vowed to become more vigilant, to accept the infection as real and dangerous, and to finally act on a desire that had been growing stronger in his heart: to convert to Roman Catholicism.
So, upon the establishment of St. Michaelâs as his home parish within the Personal Ordinariate, Hescott initially accepted Devere open-heartedly as his assistant, but with an asterisk--his close relationship with Archbishop Mitchell Grange. He had decided to leave in place whatever modus operandi Devere had enjoyed under Fr. Bennett and to watch and listen while he got to know the man better. Devere himself had reciprocated seemingly eager to earn Hescottâs trust. But then, late in that first week, Mrs. McGreavy, who also served as the Rectoryâs Postmaster General, noticed in the pile of mail on her desk an envelope addressed to Fr. Devere from the Archbishop. This caught her attention.
âWhy, isnât that sweet? The great man takes time to write letters. In this day and age!...Why now, I wonder?" she thought to herself. "Not his birthday. Anniversary of his ordination? No. Hmm...well, none of your business, Irene...Oh! Of course! He just lost a whole parish! They say heâs got a temper. Oh, Nellie, he must be blowing his top!â
It was just then that Father Hescott came in on the way to his office. âGood morning, Mrs. McGreavy.â
âGood morning, Father.â
âYou know, I realize weâve been working together only a few days but I wanted to say that Iâm so very glad to have your long experience with the parish to lean on. This is quite an unusual situation we find ourselves in, you and I. Both our worlds have been pretty drastically upended. Itâs all new and...well, I just wanted you to know...I hope I can count on you to help us get settled in and, hopefully, keep us from making any big mistakes.â
âYes, of course.â
âAh, the mail. Anything interesting?â he asked picking up the pile with the letter on the top where Mrs. McGreavy had dropped it when he entered. She stood by anxiously as he shuffled through the flyers and bills until the letter was back on top again.
âDoes he get many of these?â he asked incuriously.
âThatâs the only one Iâve ever seen.â
âAll right then,â he said with a smile setting the pile down on the desktop. âTime to man the barricades, hm?â
Mrs. McGreavy watched him head off to his office feeling a new warmth for the man but her brow was clouded in worry, for what exactly she did not know.
The presence of the letter had sent a cold shock down Hescottâs spine. From that day, he watched the mail closely but it had now been three weeks and no other letters from the Archbishop arrived, nor did any go out from Devere in return. The Archbishopâs one and only letter too closely followed upon his arrival as pastor of St. Michaelâs to be a coincidence. What chilled him now, though, was the sudden insight that the âlove festâ network (a coinage he detested) could have been able to grow virtually undetected precisely this way: by eschewing all electronic and digital methods of communication in favor of handwritten notes and letters that could not be traced or tracked. And that therefore it could very well be a directed effort and not a random grass-roots phenomenon.
Considering the letter again, he reasoned that because he had not seen a response in the outgoing mail from Devere, (though, of course, he could have mailed one himself at the Post Office) perhaps the letter from the Archbishop was nothing more than a personal message from a favorite uncle checking in on his favorite nephew. But there had been none like it previously. And, if personal, why send the letter here, to the Rectory, and not to Devere's private address? It suggested the writer's intent was urgent. The Archbishop would certainly know that Devere rarely spent time at his home so sending it here was more likely to reach him sooner. If then it was not a personal letter but it was somehow urgent, and if its arrival was not coincidental, what would the letter be likely to contain?
"Good God, it canât be true, can it?â he groaned, his mind exploding with the enormity of it. Archbishop Grange was one of the most distinguished prelates in the American Church. He was personally responsible for developing the Office of Evangelization, and Hispanic and HIV Victim ministries. He had been the State Departmentâs official observer at the Helsinki Commission and Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe. He was inducted into the Ellis Island Hall of Fame as the representative of Irish immigrant families. He presided over the Bishopsâ Committee on Aid to the Church in Central and Eastern Europe. He twice presided as Chairman of the American Churchâs Committee on Migration. He served as chairman of the Bishopsâ Committee on International Policy. This man was due to receive the Red Hat in the near future! He was confidant to three popes and an influential and highly respected advisor and consultant on the world stage. It was impossible to believe that Grange had not been consulted on the establishment of an Ordinariate parish in one of his dioceses. So, he must have allowed it.
âOh, God, help me! What if...â Of course: the letter had been sent precisely for him to see it, a subtle hint, a subtle warning. And Devere? It was common knowledge that the Archbishop had used his influence, and his rightful authority, to ensure that his protĂ©gĂ©e would be assigned to St. Michaelâs parish as assistant to Fr. Bennett who at the time had been growing more and more vocal about his desire for early retirement. In recent years, Fr. Bennett had absented himself from many of the parish activities, preferring to spend time with his stamp collection. He was a much more enthusiastic philatelist than he was a priest, often leaving the area without warning to attend Philatelist Society events and trade shows. When Rick Devere arrived, replacing Fr. Howard Bean, the old priest found the perfect collaborator. Devere, as a new priest in his first parish assignment, gladly took over any responsibility that did not require the pastorâs attention, thus leaving Bennett virtually free to pursue his passion. By the time of Hescottâs arrival, Bennett had become a kind of ghost and Devere had become the de facto pastor in everything but name. He had along the way become extraordinarily popular with his parishioners who expected that he would become the next pastor, assuming anybody could find Bennett to remove him. It was thus a foregone conclusion that Fr. Rick Devere would be named pastor of St. Michaelâs.
Until he wasnât. It struck Hescott that perhaps the Ordinariate parish might not be the calamity all assumed it must be for the Archbishop precisely because his protege was the Assistant Pastor. More important than losing a parish to the Ordinariate was having eyes and ears inside the Ordinariate itself.
Rick Devere.
It all made sense, except for the most important question of all: was the Archbishopâs subtle warning connected to the rise of the âlove festâ? There was no direct connection. And until he found one, he determined to tread carefully, watch Devere closely, and wait on God.
The Church, whether Catholic or Protestant, has always been a hotbed for speculation and questioning through the ages, not just in our modern times, and Crane has written a timely thriller which combines a gentle exploration of one man's faith, Robert Hescott, with the difficulties his beloved Church is facing from a force attempting to dismantle it.
Hescott is presented as a man of good humour, perhaps even a little foolish-looking but he is a cleric who is sure of his faith and its ability to guide him to the right path. Along with his wife, Donna and his daughter, Victoria, he has been given a new parish and having changed from Protestantism to Catholicism, this will be his first real test as a priest, having been brought in when the previous pastor retired. However, already installed is the charismatic Richard Devere, working as his assistant, and it could be that Robert will have his work cut out for him in establishing himself as an authority when Richard has already made a name for himself in the parish.
When it comes to light that the Catholic Church is under attack, its followers being wooed by a new religion, Robert, his family and Bishop Worth are faced with discovering who is behind this fiendish scheme and stop it before it gains momentum and becomes a global movement. But who is behind it and could it be an attack from within?
The book begins with the establishing of the family dynamic and the apparent differences between Robert and Donna as Catholic parents and Victoria, their daughter as a remaining Protestant. There is a defiance to Victoria in her interactions with her parents but it feels good-natured rather than disrespectful. It may have been deliberate by Crane in order to establish a united front within the main players, showing people together who hold disparate opinions before he unveils the main action of the book.
I got the premise of the novel and it's earnest in what it sets out to do. The dialogue between characters is well-observed and I recognised the threat but felt like more could have been made of it. Mitchell Grange is a character of formidable reputation but features only a little in the book and I felt this was underplayed.
However, it has purpose, plot, entertaining moments and a clear direction and is certainly worth a read.