Monsignor Sullivan was seated at his glass-topped desk, the letter from Vikings Cruise on a linen stationery before him. Should he take up the offer of a free cruise in exchange for serving as chaplain for two weeks on the ship?
He was wearing a black cassock and tinted lenses that highlighted his cropped white hair and shaven surf-tanned face. He looked up when he heard the knock, and said, “Come in. Oh, hello.”
His assistant Father Clive James was in his late forties, with his trimmed brown hair, metal-framed tinted glasses, hair on the chin but not the cheeks. He looked like a surgeon, except for the white alb he wore at the outdoor Mass on the playground of St. Ambrose Catholic School.
“How was Mass on the grass, Clive?”
“Just a couple of Southwest Airline planes that landed and took off from the Long Beach Airport. Deacon Charles delivered the homily.”
“When is he leaving for Florida, by the way?”
“End of the month, during school break.”
“He’s invited me to visit him, and says there’s good surfing in Florida. What did Charlie say in his homily that you haven’t heard a thousand times before?”
“Something new to me.”
“Really?”
“In the Joyful Mysteries of the Holy Rosary, when the angel Gabriel told the Virgin Mary that she was pregnant with Jesus, she must have walked for two or three days to visit her cousin Elizabeth, who said to her, ‘Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb.’”
“You don’t usually think of the logistics of travel when you pray the Rosary. You only finger the beads.”
“I suppose, but adding the human element of walking, you are not just praying to a statue but to a human being, walking in the hot sun.”
“I see. The prayer isn’t just a saying of words and counting of beads but a heart-to-heart talk. A communication, in other words, between the person praying and the object of his prayer,” the Monsignor said.
“Something to think about.”
“Clive, here’s something to think about. What are your plans for the summer?”
“I’m seeing my folks. They’re selling the house, and moving to a nursing home. My sister Alice and brother Brian have flown the coop, raising their own children. Alice tells me Dad is experiencing dementia.”
“Is there Alzheimer’s in your family?” the Monsignor asked.
“None that I know of.”
“How many children do Alice and Brian have?”
“Both my siblings have beautiful kids. Sometimes, I’d wish I had children of my own.”
Monsignor Sullivan said, “Perhaps, the ongoing Synod would finally resolve the issue of allowing priests to marry.”
Clive said, “I don’t want to think about it.”
The Monsignor grinned inwardly. “Something’s come up. I myself am tempted to take on, but I‘m too close to retirement.”
“I’m curious how you put it, Monsignor – that it’s a temptation.”
“Clive, there are too many temptations, you’d be surprised. It’s an indulgence to go on a cruise that’s free to boot. You may eat too much, drink to excess, and wake up in a cabin that isn’t yours.”
“That’s funny.”
“Here’s the temptation. Viking Cruise has an offer for a chaplain: a thirteen-day cruise to Antigua and Barbados, all expenses paid. Airfare, hotel before and after the cruise.”
“What does the chaplain do?”
“He ministers to the spiritual needs of the crew, mainly. Lots of Asian Catholics among the sailors, waiters, and housekeepers. There will also be Jews, Protestants, maybe Muslims, who may need counseling.”
“Thirteen days isn’t that long.”
“It could be fun. Something to remember. Two weekends bracket the cruise. On Saturday you can conduct Shabbat service for the Jews, with the aid of their prayer books, or the Quran for Muslims. On Sundays you can invite Protestants to participate in the Catholic Mass you’ll be conducting. All this information will be listed in the Daily Log that the ship prints out for the passengers, along with the tours on the shore where the ship docks.”
“How about the homily?”
“You just have to prepare one. All homilies more or less praise the Almighty, pray for peace in the world, and ask forgiveness for your sins.” Clive grinned at the Monsignor’s somewhat skeptical tone.
“Bring some civilian clothes. You don’t have to wear clerical attire while reading in the library or dining. You don’t want someone to engage you in a debate on the recent ruling in Great Britain on “Medical Assistance in Dying.”
Clive said, “I read about it, MAID, for short.”
“How ironic.”
“Former California Governor Jerry Brown was a Jesuit, but as governor he had to approve a similar measure as MAID.”
“He had to. On the cruise, you can attend lectures, watch movies, and Las Vegas-type leggy dance shows. A singer is now impersonating Taylor Swift, singing songs from her Eras Tour. Anyway, here’s an envelope that has all the vouchers you need. Plane tickets, hotel, and boarding pass for the ship.”
Clive nodded. “Thank you.”
“You may want to check out the Quran and Shabbat prayer books in our library.”
On the first Saturday of the cruise, after spending the day before at the Marriott Hotel in New York, Chaplain James in his black short-sleeve shirt, conducted the Shabbat. A woman in her twenties came up to him, and said, “That was a great service, Chaplain James.”
“Thank you.”
“Sarah’s my name. You chanted and articulated every syllable with such a feeling that when you said, ‘Come in peace, you ministering angels,’ I felt like an angel.”
“Thank you, Sarah, you are kind.”
“I do have a question. Please don’t think I’m rude for asking it.”
“Go right ahead.”
“Are you a rabbi?”
Clive hesitated, looking into Sarah’s bright dark eyes, and said, “No, I’m a Catholic priest moonlighting as a chaplain.”
Sarah smiling said, “And I’m not a ministering angel, just a graduate student working as a tour guide for the summer, earning tuition money.”
“What school do you go to?”
“I’m a History major at Tulane in New Orleans.”
“Great university. What stage of graduate work are you at?”
“I’ve done the course work, and foreign languages, French and German. I’m now writing my dissertation.”
“What’s your topic?”
“I’m looking into the Jews from Alsace Lorraine settled in the Cajun region of Louisiana. Mom is French, and works in the Accounting Department at Tulane. Dad’s the Registrar there. His parents were survivors of the Holocaust.”
“Good God.” Clive said, trying to discern Sarah’s feelings. “Perhaps, when you graduate, you could teach at Tulane.”
“I’d be happy to teach History at Tulane or Berkeley, a great school I hear.”
Clive said, “A great subject to teach, and always a part of our daily conversations. Indeed, when Denmark offered Greenland to us, we refused. We bought the Virgin Island instead. Now we are trying to buy Greenland, and they ain’t selling.” Clive said, “With the death of former President Jimmy Carter, there is talk of getting
back the Panama Canal, since it was he who ceded the canal to Panamanians.”
“Yes, Clive, that’s History for you”
“Good choice of subject for a major.”
“Thank you. My faculty adviser Ralph Cohen also thinks so. He’s my model for a college professor. Once he tried to describe different kinds of writing about events: A journalist writes about what he sees, a historian writes about what he thinks he sees, and an artist or playwright writes about what he feels he sees.”
“A good topic for a classroom discussion.”
“And that’s where I come in.”
“You bet. Sarah, do you know where you’re dining tonight? I’d like to dine at the restaurant, not the buffet.”
Sarah said, “I’d be delighted to be your dining companion.”
He felt a heartbeat, and said, “It’s a date. Let’s have Italian tonight. By the way, call me Clive.” He extended a hand, looking at her black eyes and hair, falling copiously on her back and breast. Sarah grasps his hand warmly with both of hers. Is she one of the temptations the Monsignor was talking about?
“Sarah, what’s your itinerary today?”
“I’m leading a tour group to visit interesting places in Antigua. How about you?”
“Play the role of a chaplain – counsel, hear confessions. What places are you visiting?”
“I volunteered to tour the historic places, what else? We’ll see spots such
as Nelson’s Dockyard, the English Harbour, Shirley Heights Lookout, and the Blockhouse. I’ll tell you about it later.”
Past seven that evening, Sarah and Clive were seated at the restaurant. Sarah was wearing a beige dress with a halter neck, and Clive in blue jacket, white shirt and red tie.
“Sarah, please choose the menu.”
As she scanned the glossy menu template, Clive studied her black hair and soft white face reddening in the sunlight.
“How about a mixed vegetable salad, with ravioli and lasagna for the main course?”
Clive said, “Sounds good. Let’s also have tiramisu for dessert, and a bottle of Chianti.”
“Super.”
A green-vested-Filipino waiter brought the Chianti and two wine glasses on a tray. He uncorked the bottle and poured a little into one glass and gave it to Clive to taste.
“Fine, please give me the bottle, and let me do the honors.”
Clive poured the red wine into two glasses, gave one to Sarah, raised his own glass, and said, “To the ministering angel.”
Holding her glass, Sarah said, “To the moonlighting minister.”
Both chuckled and took a sip. Finer than the communion wine, his thoughts abruptly broken by a refrain, “kisses sweeter than wine.”
“How was your tour of Antigua?”
“Clive, I’m glad you said it correctly, rhymed the last syllable with agua, Spanish for water. Many just drop the ‘u’ and say Antiga.”
“Well, you can always say that’s the English pronunciation.”
“I guess. How was your day?”
“I heard confessions, a most boring chore: I had sex with my boyfriend. I lusted after my neighbor’s wife. I had an abortion. I shoplifted costume jewelry from Walmart.”
“That doesn’t sound boring to me. Why do Catholics need to confess?”
“So they can tell the priest, say they’re sorry for their sins. They become penitents, and the priest gives them absolution. They become communicants, and take the Holy Eucharist.”
“Can a sinful priest absolve himself?”
“Yes, he can.”
“How convenient.”
“Not to be sarcastic. He must, first of all, be grateful that Jesus died for his sins, and accept that as a condition for forgiving himself.”
“Quite a convoluted line of reasoning, Clive.”
“Two things happened that got me busy. An eighty-four-year-old Vietnamese had a heart attack in the gym while lifting barbells.”
“How awful.”
“I had to administer the Last Rites to him, as the wife sobbed on his soaked T-shirt, speaking a language I didn’t understand.”
“Last Rites?”
“It’s a set of prayers, like the Shabbat. The prayers are said in the presence of the dying. It comforts them and those around them. The other event was more upbeat: A Filipino waitress asked me to officiate her wedding to a British sailor who also works on the ship.”
“That’s wonderful. Couldn’t Captain Johansson, the ship captain, marry them?”
“They’re not allowed to, but he will give the bride away.”
“When will this take place?”
“At the Farewell Dinner of the cruise, hosted by the captain.”
“That’ll be the time to say goodbye to you, Clive,” she pouted.
“Yeah, but before then we still have a week to sample the different cuisines. French next time. What’s the next destination of the cruise?”
“The Panama Canal. Will you go back to your parish? Long Beach, California, isn’t it? Perhaps, I can visit you when I go to Berkeley.”
Clive said, “I’m on vacation right now, and will visit my parents in Pennsylvania. They’re planning to sell the house, move closer to my sister Alice.”
“That’ll be good for everyone.”
“Sarah, the Chianti is half full.” A refrain broke into his thoughts, kisses sweeter than wine. “Let’s take it to my cabin. We’ll drink it on the balcony. It has a good night view of Antigua.”
Again the refrain broke into Clive’s thoughts, this time with the lyrics and the melody. He picked up the Chianti, smiled at the quizzical look on Sarah’s face. He found himself humming the song:
Well, when I was a young man and never been kissed
I got to thinkin’ it over how much I had missed
So I got me a girl and I kissed her and then, and then
Oh, Lord, well I kissed her again
Because she had kisses sweeter than wine.
Sarah opened the cabin door and stepped aside to let him in. Clive looked at her beautiful face, paused, and handed her the Chianti. “Sarah, it’s late. I’m saying Mass at six and listening to confessions all morning. Let’s call it a day, shall we?”
