The Call
    From Louvain

    To Wonder Lake, Illinois

By David Rock 

Father Leo's first call was to St. Mary's church and school in Sterling, Illinois. It was his first visit to the school that I remember most, because I was in the sixth grade, and happy to see the old assistant pastor go. He was not as friendly as I would have liked him to be, and he would teach as though he thought it was the worst thing he could do. Now, Fr. Leo was happy, he liked to teach, he liked all of the kids, and he was good in saying mass, in the confessional, and the other things like the rosary and preaching. But the thing I remember most was when he was recalling his life that he asked, "Now is anyone here going to be a priest, or a sister?" That was the call that made me want to be a priest. It was a call which would be with me all my life, even when I stopped practicing the formal duties of a priest, and was married to the most beautiful woman I have ever known, the woman who bore the family which was to be central to our lives together. 

Through all the years from grade six through the sophomore year of college I held the call in my heart, the back of my heart, anyway. In the classes I took in high school or college the idea was to take anything which would prepare me to take one of two courses in life: medicine or the priest hood. In the middle of my dating I would have the idea in my mind, so I would not tumble or fall. 

In college I dated very seriously, but it was while I was dating the girl that I had this conflict in my mind: whether I would go into medicine or into the priesthood. This was reinforced by the fact that the idea of going to Loras College came from the archbishop of Dubuque, who was a good friend of my parents. My parents had told him that I was thinking about going into the priesthood, so he had his eye upon me. 

He changed when he became the archbishop of St. Paul; he was a friend of mine, as the story proceeded, but he was no longer a protector of mine. But the president of the college had his eyes upon all of us who were thinking about the priesthood, and there were many of us. 

Towards the end of the second year of college I had come to a decision that I would try going to the seminary. The bishop at that time called me, asked me to come in, and asked me if I would like to try going to the North American College in Rome for my studies. I said yes, with all I knew about the North American College and the opportunities it offered, the advancement, the possible bishopric, the Italian language, meeting the pope, seeing the roman ruins. So I was my way to Rome. 

It was about the middle of summer that the bishop again called me to say he changed his mind, and the American college in Louvain, Belgium, was to open up after the end of the war, and he wanted me to go there. There went my dreams of the glories of Rome and its opportunities. 

The American college in Belgium was, by and large, God's gift to me. It was an opportunity to have everything that Rome had to offer. Here I spent the next six years of my life, praying, studying, learning several new languages, vacationing, and learning everything which the most learned churchmen had to offer: philosophy, psychology, biology, social theories, language, canon law, moral theology, and scripture. We had the chance to get together with the greatest minds the church had, and the greatest minds the Protestants ever had, because they were friendly and had mutual ideas about each other's work. 

The call was alive in my life. I was ordained, awaiting the appointment from the new bishop. 

The first assignment was to be a priest at Christ the King Parish, in Wonder Lake, Illinois, where the pastor was on vacation. I had spent six years behind the walls of the wonderful American college with my friends who were from all parts of the country, who were the very part of me through the many ups and downs of the studies of philosophy and theology. 

Through the days and nights kneeling on wooden benches, the pastor of the church where I was assigned (as I would learn) was an homosexual. He had a houseboy, not a regular housekeeper. That would have been a sign that something was irregular, but a new priest would, of course, have thought that was the farthest thing that would be happening. He was on vacation, and would be for three weeks. This was my introduction to the practical priesthood. It was opposite to everything I had learned in the seminary.

The other thing that I learned was how to hear confessions, or what to do if I heard the confessions; that is, how the confessions would hurt me once I heard them. It was very harmful to my sensitive ears. I had learned how to keep the seal of the confessional, but how to keep the secrets out of my mind, I didn't know. I didn't know how it would affect me. The other part that I learned was the money thing: how to keep track of the money that was donated, or what to do with it after it was offered, or what to do with it from several different places—Sunday collections, poor collections, mass offerings, etc. I would learn a lot about the priesthood in the first three weeks of my pastoral experiences. 

It was a brand new church. There were things that I knew nothing about; for example, how to change the times that the automatic bells would ring, or what switches would turn the lights on or off. 

Nobody would realize that I, with my six years of foreign seminary training, would not know where the roads, the streets, the numbers were so I could find the sick person who called the priest to come and give the last rites to her. This was a rural parish, and nobody knew how to give a new priest directions. Luckily I only stayed there until the pastor came home. 

The second assignment that I would get was to another rural parish, St. Mary's, McHenry, Illinois, which was unknown to me. The pastor had died, and he had been on the outs with the former bishop. He expected to be the next bishop, but it never happened. The pastor rejected everything that the current diocese or the bishop wanted to do. He gave his allegiance to Cardinal Cody who was in the archdiocese next door: he still had the idea that he was to be appointed a bishop. My job was to keep tabs on the parish until a new pastor could be appointed. 

The same things that happened in my first parish occurred in the new parish, except that I had learned about how the priests contacted one another to have answers to their questions. I was one who did not know who my neighbors were or where they lived. Thank you God for the car the friends and relatives had given me, because it gave me the chance to get around to meet the priests who were near to my parish. 

Two sisters of the priest who had died came to get things which the priest had left: clothes, letters, and the bonds and negotiable securities he had in the safe in the closet. How was I to know the safe in the closet was even there? Little did I know how to handle that situation. The next priest who was assigned there would know the whereabouts of the things that would be coming up. 

The next assignment the bishop would give me was the St. Rita of Cassia parish in Aurora, Illinois. The pastor of this parish was a retired priest from the army. He was a colonel. He knew how to give orders. Every morning, even though I was right there with him, he would give me a typed message right on my breakfast plate. These were orders of the day— what he wanted me to do that day. 

He had a housekeeper, who was a French lady, who called me, "her little priest," and would give me wonderful food. She was an excellent cook, and since the pastor was diabetic, she took it out on me. I gained about eighty pounds the following year. The pastor and she would spend their days off together, and their vacations together. The fact that a priest would do this was again a cross to bear for my sensitive soul. On Sundays I could go home, if there was time enough, after I counted the collection and then called the police to follow me to the bank, where I could put the collection in the evening deposit box, so the next day I could go to the bank, and count the money again, and then deposit the money. 

I never had a chair, or a desk, or a table in my room. I had to go and find one so I could read or study. There was a TV, but it was in the pastor's office. 

My job was to be a houseboy for the bishop when he had guests, namely other bishops. It was up to me to serve the guests drinks, etc. None of the nuns could do this. I was alone in doing this; I was not a part of their discussions, l acted only as a servant. 

However, I did have a bright future in that assignment, because I was able to teach in the catholic high school and even in the elementary school. 

At the end of the school year I was assigned to the chancery office as secretary of the tribunal with residence at St. Peter's. There were three priests already so I was the fourth. In my conversations with the priests with whom I lived and with the other priests in the diocese, I felt very left out because I had more of modern philosophy and up-to-date theology training than the priests in American seminaries had. My professors were among the most erudite and modern thinkers in the church at the time, and their teaching was about ten or twenty years ahead of the philosophy and theology which they were getting in the American seminaries. This fact made it very difficult to speak to my colleagues about ideas because it would start a conflict between them and me. It made it very uncomfortable to even start a conversation with them about moral or scriptural topics. They would argue with me about my views. 

My job at the chancery was to learn all that I could learn about the tribunal by myself, including the laws about marriage cases. In addition to that I was given the responsibility for each of the marriage cases now pending. I was only able to solve the informal cases, not the formal ones; so the bishop asked if I would be able to go to canon law school. I said I would be happy to go. So, I spent the next two years at the catholic university where I was able to get a master's of canon law. 

When I was finished at the catholic university, I lived at the neighboring parish, where I was able to do some pastoral work in evenings and on weekends, hearing confessions and giving instructions and organizing the family life group. The people in this group were instrumental in giving me advice later on. And the Boy Scouts with their non-catholic leaders gave me their anti-catholic thoughts about where I was going, what I was to do, what I believed, and what they believed, and how they lived according to Christian principles. Some of these jobs I would take with me as I went to my future office. 

When the secretary to the bishop was sent to Rome to study, I was named as his replacement. I was to live at the bishop's house above the chancery. I became the secretary to the bishop, secretary to the tribunal, the master of ceremonies, the papal volunteers, the extension volunteers, the CYO, which included the Boy Scouts, the Girl Scouts, the Campfire Girls, and the regular CYO of the parishes; the legion of decency, the office of Naim, an organization for the widowed; a column for the catholic newspaper, a ghost writer for the bishop which included letters from him for the clergy, letters to the people for the newspaper, and many talks. I remained the secretary to the tribunal, but before long I was named the officalis. During the day it was busy with all the things I had to do. The formal marriage cases were the most time consuming, then the informal cases, and trying to find the lost spouses or getting their testimony. At night, even if we had confirmation or some other event it was lonely, extremely, incredibly lonely. 

I had only the bishop to eat with, and then only for dinner. There were three nuns in a convent attached to the chancery who did the housework and the cooking; they were rather contemplative and the only time you saw them was in the kitchen, 

One night, when sound asleep, I was awakened with the sound of footsteps hurrying away from my room. It made me afraid, but I put it in the back of my mind. 

My other job was to be a houseboy for the bishop when he had guests, namely other bishops. It was up to me to serve the guests drinks, etc. None of the nuns could do this. I was alone in doing this; I was not a part of their discussions, I acted only as a servant. 

I was showered with gifts on many trips to New York. New suits, made by hand, hats both felt and straw, and breakfast, brunches, dinners at elegant restaurants, opening of plays and movies. Then one night the cabby turned around and asked, "Where are we going?" The answer was somewhere in the east side of New York City. We went to an all-night bar, and then we went to another all- night place, a Greek bar with the belly dancers that you could put the money anywhere you wanted. 

This happened on two nights. The bishop said he could not find his room key, so he said he would stay with me. I had only a full bed, not a queen, and not two beds. He had rented the rooms. I let him stay even though there was hardly room for both of us. He wanted to do what would today be sex with a minor, given what my ideas about sex were. What was I to do when my bishop wanted sexual favors from me? 

In the morning he was gone. I never knew if he had found his room key or not. On the second night the same thing happened. On this night he wanted to have sexual favors, and did. In the morning the same thing happened. He was gone.

I was devastated. Everything that I dreamed of was gone in those instances. My vision of the church was gone. My vision of the leadership was gone forever, and I had been a part of it. 

What could I do? 

I did what I had been trained to do, the work of the tribunal, and all the clubs, and all the organizations, and the responsibilities I had with the bishop, never, ever forgetting the upsetting nights with the leader of the church. 

That bishop was taken ill suddenly and was hospitalized in the Mayo Clinic. I was chosen to be the one who would be the legate between him and the diocese, and every day or two or I would fly from my home to the clinic and back again, never forgetting the happenings in New York City. 

My time at St. John's was great. The liturgies were out of this world. The music was wonderful. The homilies were prepared and scriptural; the lessons were up to date and illustrated by first hand information from the Benedictines in the holy land and their monasteries around the world. 

The bishop finally made the suggestion that I would go to St. John's University in Collegeville, Minnesota, to earn a master's degree in scripture. I once again said yes. It gave me a chance to see whether I would or would not stay in the active ministry. I could not stay in the priesthood if all I saw was against the Christian ideals or morals of the bishop and the priests. I would rather be active by myself or in one of the ministries, which were springing up all over the church, or even in the protestant church. Why, they even gave their clergy the right to marry, and that was the beginning of the idea that I might like to marry. 

My time at St. John's was great. The liturgies were out of this world. The music was wonderful. The homilies were prepared and scriptural; the lessons were up to date and illustrated by first hand information from the Benedictines in the holy land and their monasteries around the world. The priests were friendly and willing to give some counseling if it were needed. 

I was introduced to ecumenism and for the first time I read a book that was on the index of forbidden books. It was a book by Luther on the epistle of St. Paul to the Romans. I read many "index" books and was pleased with what I read. Now I wonder why those books were actually prohibited. I actually wrote my thesis on Luther. 

After I finished my work at St. John's I returned to the diocese where I was assigned to teach at the catholic high school with residence at the new Franciscan motherhouse, where there was a giant five-foot freezer filled with porterhouse steaks, and a pantry filled with everything else. My mother, upon visiting me, would say, "David, you could raise thirteen children in this house!" commenting on the size of the house. 

For the next two or three years I agonized what I do with my life. This time I really wondered whether I could stay, or leave the priesthood and get married. 

It was during this time that I really fell apart. It was the time when my brothers, my sister, some really good priests, and friends of my older brother Bill, sat me down and called into question some of the things I was getting into. I have to say I am sorry for getting so many people involved in my life at this time. I took the things that belonged to me, and left without saying goodbye to anyone (on the advice of those involved in my life) and without notifying the bishop or anyone else that I was going away to do some penance and put my life in order. I left and went to St. John's in Collegeville where I knew I could get some counseling. I stayed there for two or three months. I again have to say how sorry I am to those who I have hurt in any way. 

I called Leo Binz, the archbishop of St. Paul, who I knew personally from my years at Loras, and told him my problems. He, of course, encouraged me to stay and practice my priesthood, but then he said that, if I wanted, he would arrange to have me go to a diocese in Montana, where I could still be a priest, but act like I was a layman, and minister to the Indians, then I would get it out of my mind. I told him I would think about it. 

Then the bishop, the one who took me to New York City, suddenly died. I hoped that would give me peace. 

The next one to take his place was the pastor where I had been an assistant and later resident. He was my good friend, and colleague, so I decided to lay my problems in his lap. 

He convinced me that I should stay and give it one more round, and he would let me teach at the catholic high school, which is the one I thing I wanted to do. The former bishop wouldn't let me stay at the catholic university, where I had been invited to stay at the medieval law institute, to get my JCD. He made me come to work in the tribunal and prepare me to work for him, since he had other plans for the then-secretary to the bishop, whom he sent to Rome to study. I often wonder whether he had the same problems I had with the same bishop, because he left to get married the same as I would later on. 

It was about Christmas that I made up my mind to leave the priesthood. I told the bishop that I would leave at end of the school year: I packed my things and left on June 6, 1969, after the mass on Sunday. 

I had met the girl I was going to marry earlier in the spring. She was a Dominican nun who told her family that she was going to leave the convent, and hopefully, she would find a man who would marry her and have a family together. 

We dated all that summer. We were married on November 6, 1969. We taught until the year's end, when we moved to Madison, Wisconsin, and I enrolled as a candidate for the PhD. She taught elementary school to support us. During the summer my major professor called me into his office and said he was going to open a project for beginning administrators and would I like to be a part of it? It would involve being a junior and senior high school principal. I enjoyed being an administrator, got my PhD and became a principal, then an Assistant Superintendent in a small district, and finally became an Assistant Superintendent of a large district. 

Cathy became a principal, and after she earned her Ed.D., she became a superintendent of a small district. 

We had three children, a boy and two girls. Cathy became a director of religious education and I, a guitar player, a song leader and member of the choir. We were good Christian laypeople, and in each parish we lived we were welcomed; it was as though we lived there all our lives. In the parish where we lived the longest, I was ecumenical minister, reader, song leader, choir member, parish council member, and sang the Exsultet every year. Cathy was involved in children's liturgies, a reader, and a member of the choir. 

The call came true, in a way that it was different, but only God knows how it should have ended. 

Now the two of us are retired; and now, with the grace of God, we are happy. 

The Other Half

By Catherine Farrell Rock 

My call to serve God came later than my husband's. After a K-8 education by the Sisters of Charity, in Westfield, NJ, I transferred to Benedictine Academy in Elizabeth, NJ. It was an all-girls' school in a neighboring town, but I truly objected to the fact that I could not continue at Holy Trinity in Westfield with all my friends. My parents, devout Catholics, thought I would do better in a single-gender school. After two years my older sister graduated from Benedictine and my three older brothers were out of the nest, so my parents decided to move me again. My father was a golf professional and had a golf professional position in Delray Beach, Florida, for half of the year and continued in his position in Springfield, NJ, the other half of the year. They wanted to find a good school and the best choice was Rosarian Academy, West Palm Beach, FL. As a junior in high school I was devastated to move so far away, and to go to a boarding school! I believe I falsely decided that my family was abandoning me, so I better make the best of it! My life of independence began! 

I immersed myself in the school culture, which was very different than I had ever experienced. Our lives were regulated to the minute; our mail was screened and we were not permitted to leave school at will. I am happy to say that I found new meaning in my life there, and in my class of thirty girls I felt loved and appreciated. The Adrian Dominicans ran the school and I found them much more loving and caring than either of the other religious orders I had met in my past school years. My grades improved and I found great peace in the school culture even with all the rules and restrictions including "grand silence" from 8 p.m. to morning! 

It was during my senior year, 1961, that I seriously started to think about a call to God. I wanted to serve God, but I didn't know how. As I look back I think maybe if the Peace Corps had been in my experience, or some other form of service, I may have chosen that. I knew I didn't want to return to my parents' home and get immersed in their "country club" environment. I loved my family very much, but I felt that they set me on my independent track to find my own life when they sent me to Rosarian. I really didn't fit into their life. I was the youngest of five children, but my whole experience was so different from my sister's and brothers. The nuns encouraged me to enter their convent as a postulant right after graduation from high school. In fact, I recall the principal told me that the college of my choice had rejected me. Since the sisters screened my mail I believed her, and it was only years later that I found out that was not accurate. She wanted to nudge me to making a final decision and it worked! 

Three weeks after graduation in June 1961, I arrived at Adrian, Michigan, at the age of 17. I was one of three girls in my graduating class of thirty who ventured to Adrian with me. We were among 96 young girls who entered that day. For six months as a postulant and one year as a novice, Sister Mary Campion of the Holy Spirit, O.P., I was happy and content in my new life. It really didn't seem that different from boarding school. The Adrian Dominicans were one of the largest orders of Dominicans in the country (about 2500 strong), and as a "pontifical order" we were stationed all over the US-parts of Central America. 

Over the next few years the numbers of our crowd, "Christ the King" diminished to 56 at the time of final profession in 1966. To my knowledge there are only twelve sisters from my group still in active ministry. 

For my first assignment in January 1962, I was sent to Chicago and I started teaching 4th grade. Our college education was condensed and by that time I had the equivalent of two years of college at Siena Heights College in Adrian. My first superior was a saint! Sister Elise Marie took me under her wing and nurtured me wonderfully. I grew in confidence and ability as a teacher just watching her and following her loving guidelines. I was very happy although it was a challenge living so closely with so many women of all ages. In fact, one of our Sisters was actually a survivor of the Titanic! She was a dear lady but very tough! She said she promised God that if she survived the ordeal that dark night, she would join a convent. I often wonder whether she was truly happy. It was obvious she carried that burden of being a survivor her whole life. 

I approached total strangers with great ease asking, "Are You Happy?" After the film was released, I really began to understand that there was a world out there I had locked out of my life for the past six years. 

In 1966, my next assignment was to another larger convent in Chicago where I lived with 18 other sisters. I was 23 at the time and the times were changing around us. The Vatican Council and Pope John XXXIII changed our lives! He opened the doors and let the fresh air in! We could now go out after dusk, visit homes of the students in our school, and get involved in social action groups. I was still very happy teaching and interacting with my community of sisters, but I began to feel something was missing. Then a strange opportunity was given to me. Two local filmmakers from Kartemquin Films approached my superior to say they wanted to do a documentary, which included two nuns who interviewed people of the streets of Chicago in various sites around the city. My friend, Sister Marie Arne, and I were chosen and began our adventure in the making of "The Inquiring Nuns"* in 1967. It was an eye-opening experience for me because I found myself in a whole new environment. Sister Arne was very out-going, but I thought of myself as much more reserved, but not in this filming! I approached total strangers with great ease asking, "Are you happy?" 

After the film was released in that year, I really began to understand that there was a world out there I had locked out of my life for the past six years. Within two years our order had begun to change as a result of the Vatican Council. In 1968 we shortened our habits and allowed our hair to be shown, we returned to our baptismal name and we began a new method of leadership in the convents. There was not one superior over 18 sisters; now we were in three groups with a leader in each. My group had the youngest six sisters in the convent. Therefore, if a sister wanted to go and do some special project in the community, you needed only to ask your peer leader. It was more easily approved, because you were dealing with sisters who had the same vision of the future. 

But the years from 1966 -68 were not all positive for me. Unfortunately, an older sister took advantage of my naivety. I was very troubled by it, because I really didn't understand what was happening to me. Yes, I recalled that in our motherhouse training we were taught to be aware of "particular friendships", but I no idea what that meant. I had dated boys in high school, so I thought the idea that one would favor a girl over a boy, was silly. My knowledge of sexual desires, and even sexual facts, was truly limited. I now conclude that before one takes a vow of chastity one better fully realize what that means! I did not. So when this older sister came into my room late at night and lay down on top of me, asking me to do things that seemed unreal, I had no idea what was going on! It was both shocking and somewhat pleasurable, but I didn't really know why. I, of course, felt very guilty about it, but had no idea what to do. I thought if I told another sister I would be in trouble for letting another sister in my room. The rule was we were never to enter another's bedroom! My relationship with that nun changed, and I was very uncomfortable around her. Even after I left I never wanted to talk about it, but I felt guilty and ashamed. I began to know that the sexual desires I had might be leading down a different path, but I wasn't sure what that was. 

In 1968 I told me family that I probably would be leaving the convent to marry. I was afraid, however, that there would be no one left for me to marry. I was 26 which seemed old at the time and I didn't want to marry anyone who was divorced. I was really looking for a priest or former priest. They were very supportive of me and whatever I decided to do. They wanted to know if I was still happy, and I was, but now there was a cloud over that happiness. 

In March 1969, I agreed to go to a dinner with my best friend to meet a man she loved, who worked with her in Rockford. She had decided to leave the convent in June after the school year. We changed from our short habits to "secular" clothes in the school bathroom and started out to see her friend, who was going to be joined by a friend of his, who was leaving the priesthood in June, and was in Chicago interviewing for a job. His name was Dave Rock and the rest is history! I came home that night and told my friend, "I just met the man I am going to marry but he doesn't know it!” It was love at first sight for both of us. I was there to meet his friend, Mark, but I hardly said a word to him. I still laugh at one of his questions to me, "How old are you?' Puzzled, I asked back, “Well, how old are you?" I was surprised to know he was eleven years older than I was, but I now realize that his question was targeted to find out if I was still of child-bearing years! 

During the next few months I prayed and struggled to discover if this was right. Was I abandoning my calling to religious life after eight years? But I found great peace in knowing that my years as Sister Mary Campion were a wonderful preparation for me to become Mrs. David Rock. God saved David for me! 

We both have had wonderful experiences in our lives together. We are blessed with three great children and three grandchildren. We both had a rewarding professional life and remained very active in our parishes over the years. 

During the years of my doctoral program, as well as my years as Superintendent of schools Dave really supported me tremendous- ly. He became a gourmet cook, and I never needed to shop or cook again! I could not have done it all without his love and care. 

God reveals Himself/Herself in unique ways. After 42 years the film makers, Kartemquin, have released the film, "Inquiring Nuns" on DVD, because they feel the film has a message for today! I was reunited with Sister Marie Arne, now happily married as well, and Gordon Quinn the filmmaker for an "update interview" last February. The interview is included in the new DVD. It truly made me reflect on my many convent experiences, most of which were outstanding. Both of us reflected on our training and years as Adrian Dominicans very positively. The Order trained us as strong leaders and feminists. 

Now God has let me know I have a new calling. Dave had a major hemorrhagic stroke in May 2006, 10 months after I retired, 8 years after his retirement. His quality of life changed dramatically, but he has remained positive. His mind is as sharp as ever but unfortunately his beautiful singing voice, and speech in general, is labored. He is aphasic, and unable to use his right side. Although he is virtually wheelchair bound, he still is able to swim everyday and use his left hand to write and type. Although we had planned to travel in our retirement, we can only make car trips. Even though the tables are turned and now I do all the cooking, shopping, cleaning etc., I am grateful that Dave's quality of life here in Florida is very good and his attitude is truly an inspiration to us all. We have our youngest daughter and her two sons near us. Our other daughter, son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter visit often from New Jersey and Washington State. 

My "other call" has evolved into one that brings me great love and satisfaction. I am grateful that my life surrounds me with my loved ones everyday. 

* Information about "Inquiring Nuns" may be found at www.kartemquin.com. 

_______

Editor’s note: The story of David and Cathy first appeared in CORPUS Reports - Nov - Dec 2009 [Vol. 35, No. 6]. The editor is indebted to Cathy who gave permission to include their stories here. The editor also deeply appreciates the work of Stu O’Brien in providing the digitized version of the article available.

The obituary of David can be read at https://www.corpus.org/?view=article&id=641:david-rock&catid=14

On a personal note, David was in residence at my parish of St. Peter when I was completing my theology courses in preparation for ordination. I was deeply touched that he and the other priests of the parish joined in sending me a telegram of congratulations on the occasion of the announcement of the setting of the date of my ordination. He served as a role model to me in the months before ordination. I had no idea of what he was going through at that time, I was sad when he left the diocese and only vaguely knew that he had married and was living in Wisconsin. Only with the publication of their story did I learn of his experience with the bishop of our diocese--and, to my indignant anger, the very bishop who ordained me and under whom I served for five years!