Calendar Mystery 2: CHURCH OF ST. JOHN THE BELOVED
Characters:
Chris Josephson, age 29, creative writer and professor, owner of Sandy Point Lighthouse
Frank Zanetti, age 24, detective sergeant, former student of Chris in night school
Father Andrew, Catholic priest, pastor of Church of St. John the Beloved
Vera Ericson, in her 60s; owner of Vera's Cabins on the North Shore
At the moment, Father Andrew presents as a fictional opportunity'. As a Catholic priest, he's not on good terms with his bishop, even though the diocese recognizes the Church of St. John the Beloved as a mission'. Its goal is to recognize the `dignity' of LGBTQ congregants. Is he gay? Possibly. Will we see him in a sexual encounter? I don't know. Maybe my Reader will see something I've missed – Goran: goranbixo@aol.com
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Sunday morning, September 6, 2020. Frank picked Chris up in his patrol car and they got to the Church of St. John the Beloved just in time for the service at 10 AM.
"We meet early so folks can enjoy the rest of the day on their own," Chris explained.
Frank was surprised by the size of the congregation. He had expected twenty or thirty, but the crowd numbered eighty or ninety. Frank sat with Chris in a back pew. From this vantage point he surveyed the congregation and noted an almost equal distribution of families, gay men, and Lesbians. Some folks in the congregation looked back at them, especially the gay guys. Because of his police uniform, Frank got all the points.
The service started with a processional: a boy and a girl carrying candle-lighting torches; a choir of twenty male and ten female voices, the men dressed in vibrant red robes, and the women in green robes with yellow trim. They overpowered the congregation singing "Bringing in the sheaves... We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves." Father Andrew followed the choir. After a candle-lighting ceremony, everyone was seated.
Except for Father Andrew. He stood on the platform above the altar for an informal time of announcements. He started with a reminder that the Fall picnic would be held "next Sunday after church on the grounds of the historical lighthouse on Sandy Point. We are all thankful to our brother Chris Josephson for hosting this event, as he did last year. And I urge you to pray every day this week for good weather on Sunday!"
Everyone laughed. Frank's jaw dropped. First time he'd heard about a picnic, but then, after he graduated UMD, he had lost touch with Chris.
Chris stood up to supplement Father Andrew's announcement: "If it rains, don't worry. We'll bring the picnic into the big house on the hill. And please wear sensible shoes if you plan to tour the lighthouse." Heads turned toward Chris, and to Frank in his uniform.
Father Andrew continued: "Allow me to make the first announcement for our Halloween fund-raiser. It's going to be an old-fashioned auction led by Steve Blazer. He's an auctioneer. If you have items to donate for the auction, please bring them to Fellowship Hall at least a week in advance."
The next part of the service was a congregational hymn-sing. People called out page numbers in the hymnal and everyone sang the first verse for each hymn that was chosen. After six of these, the choir presented a moving rendition of "Alleluja."
A Bible reading from the book of Ruth followed: the story about how Ruth had sex with Boaz at the festival of the barley harvest. This is what he read: "When Boaz had eaten and drunk, and was in a contented mood, he fell asleep at the end of a heap of barley. Then Ruth came stealthily and uncovered his feet, and lay down. At midnight, Boaz was startled and turned over, and there was a woman lying at his feet. He said, Who are you?' and she replied, I am Ruth, your servant. Spread your cloak over your servant, for you are next of kin to me."
"Now you know why our processional hymn for this Sunday was "Bringing in the sheaves," Father Andrew said. Everyone laughed. Suddenly, at his signal, the choir sang "Ave Maria" in Latin.
"'Ave Maria' is our traditional call to prayer," Chris whispered to Frank.
As the ended, Father Andrew gave the pastoral prayer. Most people in the congregation knelt at on the carpeted prayer-rails, with hands balanced on the back of the pew in front of them. This was easy for Frank, as he was Catholic.
Father Andrew's sermon was an explication of the passage from Ruth. He ran through the curriculum of familiar themes: In ancient cultures, harvest festivals were a time of sexual license that allowed women to seek out a spouse. Feet' is a euphemism for genitals', such that Ruth uncovered Boaz's genitals. By spreading his cloak over her', Boaz was promising to marry her. Then Father Andrew brought up some startling new themes. Ruth seduced Boaz by means of sexual envelopment. "What happened to startle Boaz out of his sleep at midnight?" Father Andrew asked. "The Oxford Revised Bible says in a footnote that Boaz was startled by the appearance of a night-demon, called a liliu', personified in later times as Lilith. Here's another interpretation: Boaz was startled out of sleep by the experience of an involuntary orgasm? That would be the result of sexual envelopment. No more need for a night-demon to help the story- teller with his plot!"
To drive home his point, Father Andrew recited a passage from Jeremiah in which the nation of Israel is personified as a daughter who had wandered into exile. The prophet appeals to her to make the journey through the desert and come home. He uses sexual envelopment as a sign of `taking the initiative'. "The Lord has created a new thing: a woman envelops a man." Sex is a positive human endowment. Don't fall prey to the postmodern doctrine of victimhood. That was his theme.
Another congregational hymn. Then the offering. Frank took a peek and noticed that Chris put a check for $100 in the offering plate, as he did every Sunday. Well, he could afford it.
Then came communion by "intinction." Starting from the front pews and moving back, people lined up to go to the altar for a sacramental wafer, dipped it in a goblet of red wine held by the pastor, ate it, and returned to their seats. Frank was reluctant, but Chris took him by the hand and led him forward. Now all the folks got a good look at Chris's new boyfriend, smart in his uniform, and there was plenty of envy to go around.
The service concluded with the choir's recessional, led by Father Andrew, in which everyone sang "Rock of Ages" accompanied by two bagpipe players.
It took Chris and Frank a half-hour to exit the church, as folks from the congregation and the choir gathered around them to shake hands.
Downtown Duluth was all but deserted when Frank and Chris drove through it and on to London Road and the old North Shore highway. Frank asked Chris about Father Andrew.
"He's a priest, and the Catholic diocese recognizes St. John the Beloved as a `mission'," Chris said. "The building is an old Presbyterian church. Fellowship Hall came with it. One of our older members bought the buildings ten years ago, and gave the title to Father Andrew on condition that he start a gay church. The arrangement gives him independence from outside influences, since he owns the buildings. The service includes a lot of ritual, like processionals and recessionals and communion every Sunday, because Father Andrew recognizes that gay men like to have ritual when they come to church. Six years ago, the congregation was half gay men and half Lesbians. The Lesbians wanted to convert it to a feminist church and rename it Mary Magdalene, but they gave up on the idea when the found out that Father Andrew actually owns the buildings. Some of the Lesbians left the church at that time, but others stayed. Since then, he's attracted progressive-minded straight couples as well. The buildings are old, so we're constantly making repairs, which cost a lot in sweat equity and money."
"At least no one asked if they could handle my gun," Frank quipped as the patrol car reached London Road.
"They like you, Frank. They approve of you," Chris said.
"They're speculating about whether we're a couple," Frank replied.
"If we decide to become lovers, one of us must volunteer to be a Moabite," Chris said.
Frank laughed. "Only from a creative writer," he chortled. For five minutes, he couldn't stop laughing.
"I don't get the joke, buddy," Chris protested.
"Think about what you said, Chris: If we decide to be lovers', that's a classy line, but then, one of us must be a Moabite'. Can you imagine any other context in which such a sentence could appear in the English language?"
"Probably not," Chris admitted. "The whole thing depends on Father Andrew's sermon, so it makes sense to you and to me."
"Exactly. Otherwise it's nonsense," Frank said. "I didn't mean to make fun of you, Chris. I just think it's funny how language creates odd situations."
Chris laughed, too. "Well, we've got that of our system, so I say again, `If we decide to be lovers, one of us must volunteer to be the Moabite'."
"And you think the smart money is on me," Frank said.
"Prove me wrong," Chris challenged him.
"When I was in high school, I had to fight a bully who thought I was gay," Frank said. "I wanted to be straight, and acted the part very well. I graduated the police academy and became a cop. Then, while I was in night school, I got married. You didn't know that, did you, Chris? The marriage didn't last long. Three months. I got distracted with a cousin who returned from Afghanistan, a wounded veteran. Luigi Zanetti. He lives in Hibbing. Angela cringed anytime she heard his name. Luigi. It's a respectable name in Italian, but American's seem to think it's odd. After that, she tried to cut me off from all my friends, except for cops who she thought might help my career. And she didn't like them very much, either. I wanted my freedom back, Chris. I had a right to have friends. That's what I told her. She kicked me out of the house, even though it was my name on the title, and had been before we got married."
"That was the end of your marriage?" Chris asked. The mood got serious. Chris empathized with Frank's pain.
"Not quite," Frank replied. "We tried to reconcile. One evening we took a dinner cruise to the Apostle Islands and back. You've got a wandering eye, Frank', she said, and it wandered to all the young guys on the cruise. You should to be with your friends. I'm sure they'll get a kick out of your nine-inch dick'." That's the way she said it. Later that night, I woke up to her pummeling me. She was so angry, I thought she would pull a Lorena Bobbitt to the delight of ladies shouting `You go, girl!'. That's what ended it: the sudden knowledge that a man abused by his wife is alone in the world. To be honest, I felt safer around men, even rough blue-collar types who work in the ore docks on the harbor, or in the sawmills up in the Boundary Waters. Instead of paying alimony, I gave her title to the house. My punishment for being gay, so I live in an apartment on East Fourth Street."
"And did they?" Chris asked.
"And who did what?" Frank asked for clarification.
"And did your friends get a kick out of your nine inches?"
"So far, that hasn't happened," Frank replied. "There's only one way to find out."
"You could hang out in one of the gay bars near the harbor," Chris suggested.
"Are you kidding? As a cop, I can't be seen there unless I'm under cover," Frank replied.
"You have a roundabout way of arguing that you should be Boaz because you're a virgin," Chris said. "That makes no sense. And anyway, it just so happens that I've got a virgin ass, too. Never had a steady boyfriend. When I'm in one of the gay bars, I get approached by guys who assume I'm a top. It guess it's because I'm an athlete, what with biking and long-distance running. I always go along with it. But I've never been able to form a relationship."
A long, thoughtful silence.
"This is the starting line for Grandma's Marathon," Chris pointed out. "I ran it this past June, and every year for the past twelve years. My Dad ran the first Grandma's in 1977 and for years after that. He got me into long-distance running." He talked about local marathons he'd run. Paavo Nurmi from Upson to Hurley in Wisconsin. Paul Bunyan marathon in Brainerd. Boundary Waters marathon in Ely.
Vera's Cabins were getting closer.
"Maybe we should get back to basics," Frank said.
"How so?"
"Let's return to the original proposition, only let's rephrase it," Frank said.
"I'm listening," Chris replied.
"If we decide to be lovers, we should spend the night in one of Vera's cabins," Frank said.
Vera's Cabins consists of a lodge and a collection of fifteen cabins scattered in a forest of white pine, balsam, and birch trees overlooking the glacial boulders that frame the North Shore of Lake Superior. The only person in the office was Vera, a widow in her 60s.
"We're following a lead in a `missing person' case," Frank said while showing his police badge. "We've got two photographs to go by. This one led us to your resort." He showed the picture of the boulder with the overhanging cedar—with the nude model blocked out.
"It's a rather partial view, but I recognize the cedar," Vera said.
"I thought you might," Frank said. "Our second photo is more difficult." The photo that he showed her was an excerpt from the sex-scene for May. It depicted part of a metal headboard: a rounded frame with vertical bars, all painted brown, and in the background, a dark blue wall and a fragment of curtain with brown, red, and gold paisley designs.
"The headboard looks familiar," Vera said. "I have several beds like that, left over from the 1950s. They're regular double beds, you know. I've been phasing them out gradually, because our guests prefer queen-sized beds. The curtains are old, too, but the older ones block out the light better, so I keep them for as long as I can."
"And the dark blue wall?" Frank asked.
"My memory for colors is not so good," Vera said. "Some of the cabins have this shade of blue. All I can tell you is that it's been three years since we've repainted any of the bedrooms."
"Good. That's good," Frank said.
"I can lend you a passkey, if you'd like," Vera offered. "You can check out the vacant cabins. Five of them are rented, numbers 2, 4, 8, 11, and 15. If you need to see those, I'll have to get permission from the guests."
"That might not be necessary," Frank replied. "We'll check the vacant cabins first. "All but cabins 2, 4, 8, 11, 15." He wrote the numbers in his notebook. "If it's okay with you, we'll visit the shoreline first, and then the vacant cabins."
Frank stuck the passkey in his pocket. A pine-scented trail led to the shore. With each step, the crashing of surf against granite grew louder, more rhythmical. Far to the right, near edge of Vera's property, they found the boulder with an overhanging cedar.
"Lucky for us, a shoreline of granite boulders is not a river of sand," Frank remarked. By comparing the boulder with the photo, they found the spot where `Mr. May' had posed standing nude with his torso turned to his right. Chris stood at the spot and assumed the same pose. Frank took a picture with his smartphone.
"I'm not getting a vibe," Chris said. "We'll try again tomorrow morning."
Climbing over boulders, they picked their way back to the trail and followed it to the cabins. They used the passkey to check out four cabins. "Metal headboard with bars, blue wall, paisley curtain, so far no match," Frank said.
"That's the one," Chris said. He pointed to an old cabin nestled in a distant stand of white pine and balsam.
"Are you sure?" Frank asked.
"No," Chris said. "But we should check it out next. It's remote from the other cabins. Just the sort of place that our photographer would choose if he had a choice."
Chris was right. Cabin 7 was a match in all three details: metal headboard, blue wall, paisley curtain. They walked back to the office to return the passkey.
"We'd like to rent cabin number 7 for the night," Frank said.
"That's my smallest cabin. Only one bedroom," Vera replied, and then stopped herself: "Oh, yes, of course. Cabin 7."
"Cabin 7 matches our photos. It gives us a new lead in the `missing person' case," Frank replied. Chris used his Visa card to pay for the cabin.
Vera had hosted gay couples before. That didn't bother her, but a couple that included a policeman, that was a first. She deflected her surprise with a remark: "I hope that there wasn't a crime committed in one of my cabins?"
"No crime, ma'am, so far as I know," Frank said. "And if there was a crime, it probably happened somewhere else, not here. Still, I might have more questions in the morning."