The Rev. Dr. David Wood called on his friend the equally reverend Father Doyle. The older man let him in himself. “Come in, David, come in,” he greeted him. “You’re a pleasant sight. It’s been too many days since I’ve seen you.” He brought him into his little study and sat him down and offered tobacco. Wood refused it in a preoccupied manner.
Their conversation drifted in a desultory way from one unimportant subject to another. Doyle could see that Wood had something on his mind, but the old priest was accustomed to being patient. When it became evident that the younger man could not, or would not, open the subject, he steered him to it. “You seem like a man with something preying on his mind, David. Should I ask what it is?”
David Wood took the plunge. “Father, what do you think of this outfit that call themselves the priests of Mota?”
“Think of it? What should I think of it?”
“Don’t evade me, Francis. Doesn’t it matter to you when a heathen heresy sets up in business right under your nose?”
“Well, now, it seems to me that you have raised some points for discussion there, David. just what is a heathen religion?”
Wood snorted. “You know what I mean! False gods! Robes, and bizarre temple, and mummeries!”
Doyle smiled gently. “You were about to say ‘papist mummeries,’ were you not, David? No, I can’t say that I am greatly concerned over odd paraphernalia. But as to the definition of the word ‘heathen’ — from a strict standpoint of theology I am forced to consider any sect that does not admit authority of the Vicar on Earth — ”
“Don’t play with me, man! I’m in no mood for it.”
“I am not playing with you, David. I was about to add that in spite of the strict logic of theology, God in His mercy and infinite wisdom will find some way to let even one like yourself into the Holy City. Now as for these priests of Mota, I have not searched their creed for flaws, but it seems to me that they are doing useful work; work that I have not been able to accomplish.”
“That is exactly what worries me, Francis. There was a woman in my congregation who was suffering from an incurable cancer. I knew of cases like hers that had apparently been helped by…by those charlatans!
What was I to do? I prayed and found no answer.”
“What did you do?”
“In a moment of weakness I sent her to them.”
“Well?”
“They cured her.”
“Then I wouldn’t worry about it too much. God has more vessels than you and me.”
“Wait a moment. She came back to my church just once. Then she went away again. She entered the sanctuary, if you can call it that, that they have set up for women. She’s gone, lost entirely to those idolaters! It has tortured me, Francis. What does it avail to heal her mortal body if it jeopardizes her soul?”
“Was she a good woman?”
“One of the best.”
“Then I think God will look out for her soul, without your assistance, or mine. Besides, David,” he continued, refilling his pipe, “those so-called priests — They are not above seeking your help, or mine, in spiritual matters. They don’t perform weddings, you know. If you should wish to use their buildings, I am sure you would find it easy — ”
“I can’t imagine it!”
“Perhaps, perhaps, but I found a listening device concealed in my confessional — ” The priest’s mouth became momentarily a thin angry line. “Since then I’ve been borrowing a corner of the temple to listen to anything which might possibly be of interest to our Asiatic masters.”
“Francis, you haven’t!” Then, more moderately, “Does your bishop know of this?”
“Well, now, the bishop is a very busy man — ”
“Really, Francis — ”
“Now, now — I did write him a letter, explaining the situation as clearly as possible. One of these days I will find someone who is traveling in that direction and can carry it to him. I dislike to turn church business over to a public translator; it might be garbled. “