Pop and I were among the first to arrive for procession and we took our traditional holding pattern on the church steps. I heard the names Kealy and Spies reverberating through both circles on more than one occasion, and the taut jaw lines and narrow eyes of the parishioners were not a usual sight.

Before long, Pop and I heard the familiar click of the latch snap open and then Father McDermott squeaked the arched, wooden doors to their welcome position. The pipe organ flushed its heavenly chords into the courtyard and the procession began. Its familiar pageantry was not nearly enough to wash angry expressions off stony faces.

McDermott was careful to ensure St. Iggy’s never strayed an inch from the time honored routines of the Catholic Church. This particular service, aside from the periodic hushed remark, was no different. A good ninety percent of what the man said was so tightly wound in heavenly talk, even the most devout of the parish let it pass as routine. Save but a few minutes of the good father’s sermon it was basically rubbish. But I can guarantee at least one thing he said etched itself in the minds of his followers forever.

“There are times when all that happens in our Earthly world seems nothing short of atrocity,” he said. “When God’s will could not possibly be at work. It may seem fitting to dwell upon these thoughts in times such as these, but our savior would certainly not approve. His plan may not always be a direct path, but it is one we must trust, for he is not one to leave stones unturned…and I fear for the men who have so defiantly taken the position of such stones. Mark thee well, as we’ve read in Romans 12:1849: Beloved, never avenge yourselves but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine. I will repay,’ says the lord. Father McDermott lowered his head and allowed the scripture to soak its way through the parish before he continued. “This I promise you, my sons and daughters.”