Anne frowned as she saw Father Ronald B. Timmerman pacing in the narthex. A diocesan priest in his late thirties, Timmerman was now pastor for Monica’s. She had heard him speak before to a volunteer retreat group at Montserrat up near Lake Dallas, and was left unimpressed. He was certainly sure of himself, Anne thought. He also drove a black Corvette. Which is wrong for all sorts of reasons, even if he didn’t take a vow of poverty. He had a holier-than-thou routine she objected to—prostrating before the cross, creepily groping the Gospel with his eyes closed and kissing it, his long . . . solemn . . . pauses . . . between . . . prayers. He was overly pious—Like some sort of Pharisee.

At Cathedral, Anne had been a star student, and her mentor, Sister Elizabeth, had not-so-subtly pushed her into vocation. During discernment Anne had doubts but was told all do, that was normal, and so she sheared her long brown hair and took the habit. The convent was on the campus of Mount St. Vincent’s, and the order would send her to college to become a teacher. Those classes were the only inflection of the twentieth century on her daily life. The residence required upkeep, endless chores. Seniority bullied, and the novices were quite literally indentured. Mopping and waxing the dark hallways, weeding the prayer garden, polishing the shrines to Our Lady and Elizabeth Seton, and of course long afternoons peeling, chopping, mixing, boiling, stewing, and serving meals after vespers. She was bone-tired, with little time for prayer or study, and it was unclear how any of this brought her closer to God. She didn’t mind the discipline, but there was a devious architecture of rules designed just to catch mistakes, to bludgeon the ego before the order, and what did that have to do with the life of Mary?

Timmerman appeared on the altar, and the Mass began. He sped through the opening prayers and through the Liturgy of the Word, the gospel from Matthew 21:

“A man had two sons. He went and said to the first, ‘My boy, go and work in the vineyard today.’

“He answered, ‘I will not go,’ but afterwards thought better of it and went.

“The man then went and said the same thing to the second, who answered, ‘Certainly, sir,’ but did not go.

“Which of the two did the father’s will?” They said, “The first.” Jesus said to them, “In truth I tell you, tax collectors and prostitutes are making their way into the kingdom of God before you.”

This is the word of the Lord.

The homily that followed confirmed all of Anne’s suspicions. This priest is running for messiah of North Dallas. As he began, Timmerman gripped the lectern and stuck up his chin, peering intently over the sparse attendance. So theatric, like Charlton Heston from the set of Mount Sinai.