Newspaper Page Text
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PAGE 8—The Georgia Bulletin, January 24,1980
Father MacTavish Counts The Collection
BY MONSIGNOR
NOEL C. BURTENSHAW
The steel numbing cold
rested gently on his ear. There
was no mistaking the shocking
menace. Father Timothy
MacTavish was in the middle of
a hold up. And in his own
rectory too.
The old priest was furious
with himself. Sunday nights
were always reserved for a roast
beef sandwich, his favortie
armchair and the distration of
Kojak. But the infernal tube
was a noisy mess, the rain was
bouncing off the tin roof of
St. Agatha’s and the roast beef
had been impertinently
attacked by Vatican, that lazy
kitten who would sleep no
more in his study.
What would he do? To the
basement he trotted and
jumped on Monday’s work. He
would count the collection.
It was not a Bank of
America assignment. St.
Agatha’s had seen better days.
Flight to the wilds of suburban
living had left him with a
managable schedule of three
Masses on the Sabbath and a
collection to pray over before
the addition began. Still the
Bishop, while not enthusiastic
about the annual report, was
not complaining.
After setting the radio for
the Boston Pop’s Concert,
Father M acTavish assembled
the paraphenelia of the trade.
Counting the collection was an
art form. And after thirty five
years of learning he was an
expert.
Wetting his fingers he had
counted the bills. Fives and tens
were scarce but the ones were
healthy. The coin was a test of
patience. Rolling the nickels
and dimes, he dreamed about
banning all silver from the
Sunday basket. Maybe the
baskets should have large holes
making the suggestion obvious.
He rebuked the idea as
glutenous and finished the task
chastised.
He had reached the final roll
of dimes and was searching his
cassock for two pieces to
complete the total when the
stranger intruded. He cringed
now that Vatican was merely a
noiseless stray and not barking
shepherd.
“Put your hands on the
table,” ordered a deep piercing
voice.
Petrified, Father Timothy
blurted his first thought. “I’m
looking for two dimes to finish
the collection.” “I’ll finish for
you,” said the voice. “Just put
it all in the bag.”
Father MacTavish had heard
about rectory murders before
and envisioned his 170 pounds,
complete with the best set of
vestments lying before the altar.
He wondered if the Bishop
would return from vacation in
time to give the sermon. Then
he wondered what he would
say.
“It’s a very bad night to be
out,” he told the voice. “Why
don’t you sit down and dry
off.” “Just do what I say,” was
the reply “and no one will get
hurt.”
“You wouldn’t hurt an old
man,” he found himself
pleading. “God takes care of his
own, you know.” “Hurry and
put it in the bag” said the
shaking gunman “we’ll leave
God out of this one.”
Parish Drive Goals Released
ALPHARETTA
St. Thomas Aquinas
$13, 500
ATHENS
St. Joseph
1 1, 000
ATLANTA
Cathedral of Christ the King
52,000
Hely Cross
26,000
Holy Spirit
19,500
Immaculate Heart of Mary
33, 000
Most Blessed Sacrament
3, 500
Our Lady of Lourdes
2, 500
Our Lady of the Assumption
31,500
Sacred Heart
17, 500
St. Anthony
3, 700
St. Jude
49, 000
St. Paul of the Cross
7, 000
Shrine/Immaculate Conception
5, 250
CARROLLTON
Our Lady of Perpetual Help
3, 250
CARTERSVILLE
St. Francis of Assisi
2, 500
CALHOUN
St. Clement
1,250
CANTON
Our Lady of LaSalette
1, 500
CEDARTOWN
St. Bernadette
2,450
CLARKESVILLE
St. Mark
1,250
CLAYTON
St. Helena
400
CONYERS
St. Pius X
5, 000
COVINGTON
St. Augustine
1, 750
MADISON
St. James
100
CUMMING
Good Shepherd
1, 750
BUFORD
Prince of Peace
1, 000
DAHLONF.GA
St. Luke
1. 250
BLAIRSVILLE
St. Francis of Assisi
200
CLEVELAND
St. Paul
250
DALTON
St. Joseph
4, 900
BLUE RIDGE
St. Anthony
100
DECATUR
Sts. Peter and Paul
13,500
St. Thomas More
15,500
DUNWOODY
All Saints
22.500
FAIRBURN
St. Matthew
2, 000
FT. OGLETHORPE
St. Gerard
3, 25C
LAFAYETTE
St. Jude
100
LOOKOUT MTN.
Our Lady of the Mount
4, 250
GAINESVILLE
St. Michael
6, 75C
GRIFFIN
Sacred Heart
3,000
BARNESVILLE
St. Ann
65C
FORSYTH MISSION
100
THOMASTON
St. John the Baptist
650
HAPEVILLE
St. John the Evangelist
14,500
JONESBORO
St. Philip Benizi
10,500
LAGRANGE
St. Peter
4, 750
MANCHESTER
St. Elizabeth Seton
750
LAWRENCEVILLE
St. Lawrence
4, 250
LILBURN
St. John Neumann
9,250
LITHIA SPRINGS
St. John Vianney
5,250
McDonough
St.J ame s
1,000
JACKSON
St. Mary
75C
MARIETTA
Holy Family
20,000
St. Ann
7, 500
St. Joseph
11,500
Transfiguration
7, 000
MILLEDGEVILLE
Sacred Heart
3, 750
MONROE
St. Anna
1,250
WINDER
St. Matthew
300
NEWNAN
St. George
2, 500
NORCROSS
St. Patrick
9, 000
PEACHTREE CITY
Holy Trinity
3, 750
ROME
St. Mary
8, 000
SMYRNA
St. Thomas the Apostle
9, 000
SNELLVILLE
St. Oliver Plunkett
4, 250
STONE MOUNTAIN
Corpus Christi
30,000
TOCCOA
St. Mary
1,250
HARTWELL
Sacred Heart
1, 250
WASHINGTON
St. Joseph
650
ELBERTON
St. Mary
650
SHARON
Purification
50
THOMSON
Queen of Angels
1, 250
Father MacTavish obeyed
and nestled the collection for
the third Sunday of Lent into
the paper sack. But he felt for
the sake of the utility bills that
he should make one more effort.
“I was just about to have a glass
of wine before bed” he lied. “It
certainly would warm your
journey.”
He felt a panic in the action
and slowly stood up. The young
face before him was bearded
and the body was lean. The
little stub nosed revolver was
not too steady. Reassurance
was needed. His hopes were
resting on Guardian Angel
protection.
“Sit down and I’ll get the
glasses,” the trembling Father
invited. The chipped and dusty
glasses were on the shelf and
the bottles of altar wine were
lined up in the cupboard. He
reached for both “This is good
stuff” he smiled good
humorially, “I get it from the
Brothers in California. It will
take away the chill for us
both.”
Both men sat down like
serious poker players. The gun
rested on the table and the first
sips of wine were carefully
consumed.
“I used to be a Catholic,”
offered the tasting thief, “but I
got away from that stuff.”
“Don’t say that” replied the
hopeful priest “once a Catholic
always a Catholic. I’ll bet your
mother raised a good son.”
■ “She used to call me for
early Mass before school. I
would be shaking as I walked
the priest to the altar. All that
Latin, you know. Dominus
Voviscum or whatever. One
wrong response and old Father
Tracy would stare over his
glasses.”
“Have another drop” invited
the now more confident pastor.
“I’m sure you have a long w^ay
to go.” Father MacTavish was
eyeing his soon to disappear
collection hoping the thief
would go a long way alone.
The stranger had another
taste. “She died, you know, and
I alwrys promised I’d have a
Mass said for her.”
The priest saw his first
opening. “Now that’s a
wonderful thought. And why
don’t we take care of it. Here in
old St. Agatha’s we have Mass
every morning and three times
on Sunday. Maybe you’d like a
Novena for your kind and
gentle mother.”
“She was very hard on me”
snapped the gunman. “I’m sure
she didn’t mean it” encouraged
the priest nerviously watching
the waiting pistol. “Mothers are
our best friends,” Father
MacTavish relaxed as he found
himself remembering the
heartbreaks he had caused his
own gullable, sainted parent.
“Fathers of course, are
different,” he offered. “You’re
right, there,” snapped the now
talkative thief. “Mine kicked
me out of the house for playing
with matches.”
$550,000
“That was very harsh”
murmured the priest. “Yeah, of
course, I burned down his only
still in the corner of the garden.
Too bad it was close to the
neighbor’s garage.”
“Did that go too?” asked the
interested victim. “Sure. But he
was a mean old cuss, anyway.”
The steel grey eyes of the
visitor was on the brown bag
filled with the solidary
collection. Father MacTavish
felt the decision rolling around
the ticking mind of his
unwelcome guest. A ray of
hope was breaking in the
silence.
“Let me get the Mass Book,”
he suggested, rising very gently
from the custody of the chair.
“Okay, but no tricks.”
The ledger, luckily close by,
was dusty and ancient. It sat
next to the Bingo records which
got much more activity. St.
Agatha’s main allegience was to
the Monday night disease called
Bingo. But Father MacTavish
was not complaining. The
receipts could be seen in the
new flowery wallpaper
displayed all over the damp
rectory rooms.
“Now let me see” he
murmured fingering the lines of
Mass promises. “I could begin
the Novena 3 months from
now.”
‘ ‘Three months? Are you
kidding. I’m giving up this loot
for a three month promise. You
better look again old padre.”
His hand pounced on the silent
gun. Father MacTavish
immediately knew he could do
better. Mrs. Wallflower would
have to wait for her
grandfather’s Masses and Col.
Rightover would be handled in
August. Under the stressing
circumstances they, and the
heavenly host, would surely
understand.
“Of course, we could begin a
week from Sunday.” Nine
Masses in a row for your dear
mother. I’ll put them right here.
Now what was the good lady’s
name?”
The look penetrating his
question was enough. You
don’t ask a thief, running from
the law in great haste, for his
name.
“Don’t worry, don’t even
think about it,” added the
shaking priest with his hands
gently up “let’s just call her my
friends mother. God knows
who she is.”
“You think he will” pleaded
the new friend.
“Sure. Don’t let it cost you a
thought.”
Father MacTavish decided he
had overdone his generosity and
it was time to part with his
friendly intruder.
“It’s getting late for an old
man, don’t you think and I still
have the collection to finish.”
“I nearly saved you the
trouble” said the thief strolling
to the basement door. “Just be
more cautious about locks on
rainy nights in the future.”
“I will,” said the priest,
trying not to show the relief
that his pounding heart was
signaling. “Please come back,
when you pass this way again.”
The bearded youth looked
hard and thought about the
comment. He decided to leave
it. As he walked through the
door, he turned, gun in hand to
look at the weary old man he
was leaving.
“By the way,” said the
priest, “you wouldn’t have two
dimes on you to finish off the
collection, would you?”
Exasperated the thief thrust
the gun, barrel first, in the
jittery hands of his host. Father
MacTavish found himself
looking into the horror while
the thief ransacked his freying
suit. Finally he found the
change, shoved it into the
Father’s hands, grabbed the icy
gun and raced for the shadows.
Father MacTavish thought
about the promised Novena as
he looked at the twenty cents.
Even after his night to
remember, he knew the coins
would not even pay for the
flickering candles.
Taking the wine bottle to his
room, he decided the final roll
of dimes could wait til the
morning.