After the bishop had a conversation with the Papal delegate to the United States, things had gotten too quiet. Before the phone call when he had to offer some explanation about the incident caught on video by CNN, the bishop had received many calls from all over the country. Some had been supportive and some had been questioning, but at least there had been calls. After the long phone conversation with the nuncio, however, phone calls from fellow bishops or other connections within the hierarchy had almost stopped. This was disturbing.

The bishop knew he had broken the “Cardinal” rule as his best friends like to call it. This rule was based on the actions of the cardinal in the Vatican, upon whom he and his friends modeled themselves. As a rule, bishops should act with an absolutism demanded by present church politics, but they should always keep a personal manner suggesting an even nature and benevolent pastoral care.

Obviously that girl had goaded him into looking like the very thing he couldn’t look like – a dictatorial and unreasonable male authority figure bent on protecting a dictatorial and male authority. Of course, that was what he should be, but it wasn’t good public relations to look like he was attempting to restore aggressively and without care an age-old male caste system that many people had believed was going to disappear.

Women especially seemed skeptical about this aged male structure even though it was obviously ordained by Christ. He saw this irony as being the bishop’s dilemma. What could a bishop do with all those women and their clearly unrealistic expectations?

As he contemplated these matters waiting to hear from the nuncio, he hid in the chancery and had very few appointments. One of the appointments he did have was with a Cathedral woman parishioner who had been his ally. Even she seemed somewhat closed-mouth in her brief meeting with him, but she had dropped off some materials she had been given that mocked the bishop and his beliefs.

Someone had written a description of the sacraments suggesting it was the “New Order of the Sacraments for the Diocese,” written by the bishop. Although the bishop knew it was meant as a mockery, he found it more obvious than potentially satirical. For instance, the “order” suggested that baptism was important because it was the first step for young men towards holy orders and that marriage was important because it eventually produced young men, who could one day aspire to holy orders.

Another satirical work was a rewriting of one of the hymns he had listed as not to be sung at any liturgy at which he presided. One of his least favorite hymns, because it hinted at the need for renewal of the old traditions, was Sing a New Church into Being. Someone had rewritten it asSing an Old Church into Being.

All of this would have bothered him more if he weren’t already so upset by the silence from the nuncio’s office in Washington, DC. When a call finally came it was worse than he had imagined. The nuncio was sending someone to “look into” the incident with the girl. He knew it was more than formality when he heard that Fr. James Ferro was being sent, a man he had known in his years working for the Council of Bishops. He hadn’t been friends with Ferro. He had always been suspicious that Ferro was too open-minded. Somehow, Fr. Ferro had become an advisor to the nuncio and was usually called in to examine the most delicate of situations.

Fr. Ferro was going to visit for a week and wanted to meet the “girl.” The bishop decided he would make sure that this visit was without incident.

In the meantime, across the street from the chancery, unknown to him, Catie Jo was mounting a new challenge to his authority. She decided she didn’t like the new rules from the bishop about altar girls.

Altar girls could no longer serve some masses, especially those at which the bishop was the celebrant. Altar girls could not take a lead role in other services and had pretty much been delegated to carrying candles at the rear of liturgical processions. Catie Jo saw this as another attempt to push women back into a place somewhere outside the inner circle of men, who alone could stand around the altar.

She got this idea, she told Fr. Hugh, from her friends, who said it was a blatant attempt to restore the “caste system.” Catie Jo said she had looked up the word “caste” and had been shocked at what it meant. Her friends had told her that there was no “caste system” in Heaven. In fact, in Heaven God in all three persons of the Trinity hardly had a thought about whether a human being was male or female. The Trinity interacted with each individual in the same loving and open way. That “open access to the Altar of God,” as St. Catherine called it, was one of the best things about Heaven, where joy and God’s loving esteem were equally available to all. Catie Jo also told Fr. Hugh that St. Joan had told her to disobey the new altar girl rules. She hoped Fr. Hugh thought that was OK.

Fr. Hugh, who was spending more time than he had ever spent in humble prayer for guidance and wisdom, found himself telling Catie Jo to go for it.

Catie Jo decided to sign up to serve the bishop’s mass, although girls had been told they weren’t allowed to do this. She also decided to sign up to be one of the servers, who served at the Offertory. At the meeting after Religious Education class when servers met and signed up for the month, she did not hesitate to put her name down on the lines that said “boys only.”

She must have had a secret ally in this crusade because no one challenged her. Since no one said a word about this fact, the bishop had no idea that she would be present when he hoped to put his best face forward with the visiting priest.

On the Sunday after Fr. Ferro’s arrival, the bishop was in a good mood. He had found the visiting priest was genuinely concerned for him and for the peace of the diocese. He went to mass with a new energy he had hadn’t felt for several weeks. Before mass the servers came into the sacristy and the bishop spoke to them as a group. He told them what an honor it was for them to meet Fr. Ferro. He told the servers to pay special attention at the Consecration when the concelebrating priests would consecrate the bread and wine, making it the Body and Blood of Christ. He told them this is what a priest could do.

He said all of this because he didn’t notice the small server in the back, who wasn’t a boy. He didn’t notice until the girl stepped forward and asked a question. “What about the Holy Spirit?” said Catie Jo. “Didn’t the Holy Spirit play a big part in the consecration?”

The bishop was shocked and started to stutter in response to this question. It was a trick question. He couldn’t deny that part of the consecration happened when the Holy Spirit came upon the gifts and made them holy. He knew this question struck at the heart of the struggle against the teachings of Vatican II. He was speechless when he found himself faced with this question by his nemesis in front of a man sent to report back to the powers of the Vatican about his competence. He turned red and began to sputter.

He was saved when Fr. Manion said it was time to go to the back of the church and process into mass. The bishop was red-faced walking with the servers and he continued to be red-faced during mass. He gave a homily that rambled on about vocations and the different vocations for men and women. He wasn’t sure if it had made any sense. He almost lost his temper when Catie Jo stood before him holding the wine during the preparation of the gifts. He found control he didn’t know he had and ignored her presence. He continued saying mass without revealing his feelings, or so he thought. His feelings were very apparent to Fr. Ferro, who had not missed any of the details of this encounter.

A buzz from people discussing the events at the Cathedral went around Helena, and occasionally the buzz became a rustle of discussion among people who wanted to do something to help the bishop. Such a discussion was being held at Meryl Lesum’s house on 5th Avenue on a Friday morning after Mass. Every Friday, many of those whom Meryl called the stalwarts gathered together at her house to analyze the state of affairs in Helena, in Montana, and in the “universal church.” Although Meryl inserted herself in all areas of politics, local, state and national, she did it in her role as a guardian of the true faith of Christ. It wasn’t necessarily the Catholic Church to Meryl, but it was all Christian churches. In her opinion they were all at risk of being destroyed by liberalism and immorality. It was in her willingness to insert herself into the affairs of any Christian church that Meryl thought of herself as an ecumenist. If she could busy herself with protective involvement in one church, she might as well busy herself with all of them.

Meryl was influential. She followed local politicians around so that they knew she was keeping an eye on them. She wrote regularly to the local newspaper, the Independent Record, and was noted as a spokesman for the Christian right. She had been the good friend of the last three governors and her influence with the current governor was very strong. They had both been “born again” in their own way and both watched for the forces in politics that threatened to dilute the true faith.

She had returned to active participation in the Cathedral when the bishop was appointed. She met him in his office the first week he was in town. She realized immediately here finally was a man, whom she could influence to resist the forces that had been so strong in the diocese of Helena since Vatican II. The bishop realized she would be an ally in the strange land he now governed. After that first meeting they met on a regular basis. They had many things to discuss especially the terrible way that the people of the Cathedral were responding to the authority of the bishop. Meryl certainly had specific details to report on this subject. She reported things people said and did that showed disrespect for the bishop and his agenda.

Meryl used the knowledge gained from her experience with power to advise the bishop on how to handle this disregard. She found the bishop receptive to her technique of using his power to isolate critics and malcontents. She showed him the wisdom of never responding to individuals and to specific arguments. She taught him how to respond in generalities to questions in public forums where no one could debate what was said. She said coalition building was the bane of true faith. She was very proud at how well her advice had worked for the bishop.

Then things started to get out of her control. The bishop had failed to consult her about the problems of “the girl,” and he had obviously needed some advice. Now he was holed up in the chancery and wouldn’t see anyone. If she didn’t know better, she almost felt like she was a victim of her own strategies. This is what she was discussing on the Friday morning with the stalwarts.

She wanted to develop a plan on how to curtail the influence of this little girl, who so many people seemed to respect and admire. It wasn’t easy trying to publicly thwart an eleven-year girl. She knew the girl’s parents well, and she knew they would not listen to reason. No matter how convinced she and stalwarts were that something had to be done, she didn’t know what to do. Finally someone suggested that the girl needed to be reminded of her manners. So Meryl decided to position herself in a place to do just that.

The next Sunday at mass, she waited until Catie Jo picked a spot in a pew about a third of the way from the front. Meryl was lucky that the girl had arrived ahead of her family. She waited throughout the service until the “kiss of peace.” She stared at the little girl. The longer she stared, the more convinced she was that this little girl was a pest and needed to be put in her place.

When the celebrant told the congregation to offer the sign of peace, Catie Jo finally turned with her hand extended to Meryl. Meryl was ready. “There will be no peace here until you apologize to the bishop and keep your thoughts to yourself.”

Catie Jo was a little surprised, but then a look of recognition came across her faith. “I know who you are,” she said. “One of my friends said that if I ever met you to tell you that you don’t have to be the ‘menace from Ennis’ all of your life.

Without thinking Meryl gasped and slapped Catie Jo across the face.

The people standing around the two were stunned and for a moment no one moved. Finally a man in front of Catie Jo began to demand an explanation from Meryl. Catie Jo told him that it was all right and that she understood why Meryl was upset. She reached out and grabbed Meryl by the arm and led the shocked woman down the aisle and out into the front vestibule. The whole congregation watched them leave. Fr. Manion quickly returned to the liturgy, while Catie Jo could be heard whispering to Meryl in the back of the church.

Meryl had been caught by surprise. “The menace from Ennis” was the name she had been given in college in Bozeman in the 1960′s when she was out of step with most of the students. She had made a reputation for herself as being someone who couldn’t be trusted. In grade school, she had been called by names like “squealer” and “tattletale,” but in college, she had been stuck with the menace name and for years she had heard people recite it when she walked into a room. She believed the name had only made her stronger, but in effect it had made her angry. It was this waiting anger, simmering across time, that she had felt when Catie Jo spoke to her and it was the ferocity of that anger that had brought her to the unthinkable slap.

She sat next to Catie Jo in the back of the church listening to her tell her many things about her life. She couldn’t respond. She couldn’t move. She was trapped by a little girl who spoke with an authority that was not about power or politics or any of the things Meryl understood. The girl spoke with a surety and accuracy that Meryl could neither contest nor debate. Finally she felt herself being led to communion by the girl. She couldn’t resist being led down the aisle. The little girl was rescuing her and although that fact was caught in Meryl’s throat, she knew it would save her some of the embarrassment she had brought upon herself. Her savvy had completely left her, and her mission had been a total failure. She hadn’t deflated the little girl. She had only added to the reputation for love and strength that the girl was developing in the parish. Meryl also couldn’t help remembering what Catie Jo had told her, about her life and about her faith. It was the resonance of those words that kept her silent as she received the Eucharist that Sunday and kept her in hiding for many weeks after.

The pastor of the Cathedral, Fr. Manion, had lived a simple and consistent life. He had never been very far from the Eucharist. As a boy he had grown up in a parish in Butte, Montana, in the idyllic world of the 1950s. The daily path from morning prayer to mass to school and work was the one he had always followed. In the early 1960s when the powerful grace of Vatican II changed the landscape, he was in grade school and high school. Montana was one of the first places to embrace Vatican II because of gifted and holy bishop and because of the spiritual temperament of the people. Young Danny Manion had loved seeing the Church become renewed, and he especially loved how mass had become more clearly the celebration of the Eucharist.

His deep devotion to the Eucharist had allowed him to walk with relative peace through the tumult of the late 60′s and early 70′s as he completed his college at Carroll and entered the seminary. It allowed him to find his way through what he called the “shouting years” of his early ministry as a priest. It seemed to him that someone was always shouting in parish life. He had the ability to sort out the truth from the many loud points of views that filled parish discussions and diocesan meetings. His main objection came when the discussion turned to shouting. At those moments he encouraged everyone to take time in the presence of the Eucharist and listen for the quiet voices that could only be heard in the sacramental space. Over time the shouters either learned to be gentle and articulate or they wandered off shouting from a distance outside of the center of parish life.

His peaceful demeanor was only disturbed when he ran into someone who suggested that the teaching of the Church on the sacrament of the Eucharist could change. He remembered being shocked and angered when he first heard one of his friend, who had been ordained with him, state that the Church might need to become more contemporary by loosening up on the doctrine of the real presence. He responded by saying at that point the Church would cease being the Church. His friend suggested his collar has too much starch in it and had walked away. Although he had deep affection for the man, he knew that on the subject of the real presence and the central place of the Eucharist in the Church he would always be dogmatic.

By the time he reached his 40′s he discovered he was an influential man. His Irish genes and his Butte blood had made him a smart and savvy judge of people. His devotion to the Eucharist made him respected within the circle of the Church hierarchy, and his savvy made him a valuable advisor and leader. Because of this he had ended up holding many important positions and had been brought by the bishop to the Cathedral, so that the bishop could have him close at hand. So he often made the short walk across the street and down Ewing, but on this day he knew he had been summoned to come immediately to the chancery by a troubled superior. The presence of several vans and vehicles with news logos on their side suggested what was disturbing the bishop.

Fr. Manion knew it hadn’t been easy for the Bishop since his argument with the young parishioner. In a little over a week the national coverage had become international coverage. Letterman, Leno, and Conan O’Brien had all referenced it in their sketches. The item on Saturday Night live showing the bishop pointing at the young girl holding her soccer ball, and Tina Fey quoting the bishop as saying, “Don’t come back without your babushka when you’ve given up your evil sports,” had been especially disturbing.

When he got to the bishop’s office, the bishop had piles of faxes and letters surrounding him. He was agitated and looked like he hadn’t slept. He tersely told Fr. Manion to sit down. He got to the point quickly.

“You have to do something with that girl. You have to talk to her parents. I’ve tried but they have no respect for me. This is unacceptable.”

The bishop wanted to say it was sinful, as he told people who supported him in the Diocese, but he knew that Fr. Manion knew better than that.

“Also have you noticed, she doesn’t genuflect anymore. What is she up to? Everyone watches her and I think other people are genuflecting less too. Do something to stop this.”

Then the phone rang and the bishop spoke to the secretary and said, “No, I’d better take this call.” He turned to Fr. Manion, “You’d better go. It’s from Washington, the Nuncio.” He looked nervous. “It would be good if you stopped this, for you and for the Church. This is about discipline.”

Fr. Manion had never let the promises or the subtle suggestion of disfavor by church officials disturb him. His ministry was to bring the Eucharistic life to the faithful and no one would ever prevent him from doing that. So he walked back to the parish office undisturbed by the pressure of the bishop’s politics, but he was disturbed, however, by the word discipline. It had been echoing in his prayer life. He heard himself using it often. The term that came back to him in thought and speech was “the grace of discipline” and he wasn’t quite sure what it meant. Discipline had always meant to him the discipline of the Church to hold the line around the sacraments, protecting them through the discipline demanded by the Council of Trent that had protected sacramental life against many conflicts. Discipline had meant to him personally finding the quiet voices in parish life. He often heard the bishop use the word discipline lately, and he knew what the bishop meant by the word, “Accept without question my authority.” All of these meanings seemed jumbled when he prayed and he hadn’t yet heard the quiet voice of his prayer life bringing insight to him on this matter.

He was also concerned about the genuflection issue. It threatened to be a problem in parish life. In the past couple of years, more conservative parishioners had started to genuflect before receiving communion. Not only did this cause some traffic issues in the aisles, especially for elderly parishioners, but it also made many people angry. The less conservative parishioners seemed to feel that the genuflectors were creating a new ritual that suggested that genuflection revealed true devotion. Fr. Manion knew that this was a new problem with a potential to become a battle, and he too had noticed that Catie Jo wasn’t genuflecting.

The next day, Friday, at mass, more young people were present because it was school release day. Catie Jo and her brothers were together. Whenever he watched her praying he knew that a deep spirituality was working in her. He had heard stories about her prayer life, but he had never discussed it with her. The bishop sometime referred with scorn to “her friends,” but he wasn’t sure what that meant. His head was so filled with these thoughts, he barely thought about the words he used in his homily on Paul’s challenge to Peter to quit acting one way with the Jews and one way with the Gentiles. After mass, he brought the Eucharist to the side chapel for Exposition. After he took off his vestments, he went back to the side chapel to pray.

Catie Jo was sitting by herself and he watched her stand. Something remarkable happened. She held her eyes down and automatically genuflected on both knees. She put her face in her hands and her shoulders shook, suggesting weeping. Then she looked up and in that moment, Fr. Manion saw what she saw: Jesus standing before her, motioning for her to stand up. She held out her hands in response to the feeling that Jesus wanted to help her up. She stood up as if she were being lifted, first standing on her feet looking up into Jesus’ eyes, and then for a brief a moment, she seemed to be face to face with Jesus looking eye to eye. As she smiled, Fr. Manion thought for a moment he saw with both feet off the ground. He blinked and then he saw that Catie Jo was coming toward him.

She whispered standing next to him, “Sorry, Father, to disturb you, but I had to say you were right today. Peter needed to love everyone the same way. He needed to be the same friend to everybody.”

In that moment, Fr. Manion heard one of his quiet voices. “Real discipline means not only recognizing the truth but embracing it.” He found himself giving Catie Jo a hug before she ran off to catch up with some of her friends.

The television newscast of a Catholic bishop chasing a girl in her soccer outfit off the steps of a Cathedral caught the attention of people around the world. Everyone wanted to know what it was all about. Suddenly reporters began to call the Chancery of the Diocese of Helena and the home of Catie Jo. The Diocese of Helena issued a no comment statement. Catie Jo’s parents said that no one from their family would speak to the press. The only other person, who knew what was happening was Fr. Hugh. He immediately called Catie Jo’s mother, Anne, who he had taught when she was in college, and arranged for a meeting with her and her husband, Pete.

Not only did they come to meet with Fr. Hugh, but Catie Jo’s two older brothers, Matt and Michael also came. Fr.Hugh sat in his office looking at four people, whose faith in the 11-year-old girl was amazing. Anne said she had always been a girl rich in imagination; an imagination that often became real in remarkable ways. Pete said he learned to believe his daughter when she suggested things. He told a story about how she warned him that he needed to take care of the pipe on their woodstove when she was six. It turned out the stovepipe was dangerously blocked and could have led to a serious incident if he had waited to check it. This was only one example of many things that led them to trust her.

Matt was a high school wrestler, who would only say his sister could take care of herself, but if she couldn’t he would be there to help her. Michael, who was graduating from high school and was an aspiring writer, brought his notebooks which documented the interesting things Catie Jo had said since she was seven.

They all knew she needed patience and love.

Fr. Hugh thought they might blame him for encouraging her in her imaginative relationships, but her parents told him they trusted him and knew that she was lucky to have someone like him to help her. As he looked at the four of them, he felt a thrill of anticipation move up his spine. Catie Jo had a devoted following in these four and the fact that they were her own family was even more remarkable. They only thing they wanted to ensure was that she had a normal childhood, as normal as possible.

Later that day Catie Jo came by to see Fr. Hugh. She was quieter than normal, but she didn’t seem upset or anxious. She asked Fr. Hugh to say a prayer with her. She prayed first for the Bishop, who needed her understanding, and then she prayed for her family.

She also prayed for a Church that needed something from her. She was embarrassed to say that the Church needed her help, but if it was so, she hoped she could offer the help that was needed. The priest and the little girl sat in silence. Fr. Hugh had the feeling again that she was guiding him down a road that he had to travel with her. To himself he asked for the humility that the young girl had.

As if she was reading his mind, Catie Jo said that Jesus needed people to be more humble. Fr. Hugh took a deep breath and asked her what she meant. She said that’s what everyone agreed when “the terrible T’s” came by to talk.

Fr. Hugh had to ask who the T’s were. Catie Jo said “That’s what Catherine called the Theresa’s,” whom Catherine accused of “traveling in a pack.” Fr. Hugh sat back in his chair realizing that whether he wanted it or not, he was along for the ride.

The girl added that it was the Big T, who especially thought people should be more humble when they came before the Eucharist.

Fr. Hugh felt himself making an important choice, relinquishing a lifetime of fears and concerns, as he suggested that the Big T was probably Teresa of Avila.

Catie Jo said,” Of course it was. The Big T asked me to start a little campaign to show people how to be more humble and respectful before the Eucharist. The Big T wanted to give up genuflecting.”

After all, she was another Church doc, so Catie Jo believed her when she said that genuflecting was an excuse for people to hide behind their unworthiness. They needed to stand up and look Jesus in the eye, accepting their call to be the partners in love that he called them to be, to see themselves as he saw them. The Big T said they needed to get beyond the worm thing.

Fr. Hugh asked what the worm thing was.

“You know, when you feel like an unworthy worm, when you realize how much God loves you,” she responded. “When you think about it, after a while you realize worms play a great part in creation. Then you feel Jesus lifting you and telling you to stand up and accept who you are … without groveling.”

Catie Jo added, “I think the word groveling is more T’s than Jesus’. The Big T says that groveling is only a sign that you aren’t humble enough to stop using your sinfulness as an excuse to become a true instrument of Jesus’ love.”

Fr. Hugh tapped on an envelope on his desk that contained the Bishop’s letter of support and the Vatican’s encouragement of the new devotion of people genuflecting before they received the Eucharist.

“And I suppose, you have some plans about how to do this,” he said smiling at Catie Jo, who smiled back at him.

The Bishop had a special devotion that he adopted when he was a young man in the seminary. He prayed daily to the Saints of Nicea, the saints, who had fought the battle of defending the Nicene Creed and thus ensuring that the truth of Jesus was passed on, across 1,500 years to him. He had a small collection of holy cards of these great men that he kept for many years–Basil, Hilary, Athanasius, Anthony, Gregory. . . It was a special and personal devotion that he never revealed to anyone.

When things got tough for him in the late 1960s, he had prayed for guidance from these saints, and he believed they helped strengthen his faith. He was able to hold onto the belief that the life of the Church would survive human fallibility and would make it through the tide of subjective thought and actions that followed Vatican II. He tried to master their control and conviction, but such faith didn’t come easily to him.

Through most of the 1970s he had lived a lonely life in several parishes in Ohio, often numbing through alcohol and food his weariness with the struggle to keep his faith strong. He kept quiet for most of those years, sharing his disgust with the direction the Church was taking with only a few friends. These friends, many of whom he had met as a young seminarian in Rome, had a faith he admired. They told him to be patient because behind the scenes the truth was taking hold. By the 1980s he could see they were right and he felt rejuvenated. His friends introduced him to other great men and before long the Bishop found himself in the company of like-minded clerics, who had found a patron, a Cardinal in the Curia, who became the most trusted advisor of the Pope.

The Bishop thanked his patrons because he realized that he had now become part of a movement that would restore the true faith of the Church. This movement began to have power, and gradually the Bishop found that his connection to his friend and their patron brought him from one important job to another until he was made Bishop of Helena. The day that he received word of his appointment, he offered a mass of thanksgiving to the saints of Nicea.

He came to Helena with a strong wind in his sails. His friends and other high officials came to celebrate his installation. They all shared a certain satisfaction that the new Bishop would not succumb to the stubborn will that the Diocese of Helena had developed and that had proved problematic. This was the Diocese that had bred the former Archbishop of Seattle, whose views and actions had challenged their movement of the restoration of old values. The Archbishop’s popularity with many in the American church has proved to be an embarrassment to Rome. The new Bishop would not tolerate any such ideas and would not tolerate the promotion of fad and fashionable theology. He would restore a respect for authority to a stubborn people.

He had not expected that the biggest challenge to his mission would be an 11-year old girl. It was disconcerting and it was unreasonable that he had to deal with such a person. She was worse than the nuns, who had given him trouble in parishes in the 1970s, always questioning his administrative decisions, holding meetings and forums constantly calling for openness and inclusion in the decision-making process. They had been arrogant and full of their own righteous pride that fed his ability to be just as righteous in response.

This little girl spoke without righteousness. She spoke with a simple faith that had an authority he had never experienced before. He had held off the holy hordes of arrogant nuns, but he felt helpless in the presence of this little girl. He knew he had to contain his anxiety and keep calm or he would make a mistake that would get him in trouble. That was not what his friends expected and he did not want to let them down.

On the Feast of Pentecost, he felt the power and fullness of his ordination and his authority. If he did say so himself, he spoke eloquently on the ancient tie to the authority of Peter and how that authority was present in the hierarchy of the Church. He talked of the descent of the Holy Spirit onto the apostles blessing them with authority that could not be questioned, an authority he pointedly said was given to men. What he thought to himself was “men not women,” but as he processed from the Cathedral at the end of mass there was the girl. She was standing below the beautiful stained glass window of the Pentecost, standing in a light that reflected through the central figure of Mary in the composition. He had failed to mention Mary in his description of the authority given on Pentecost. He felt like the little girl could read his mind and knew his deepest secrets.

He was distracted by having to greet parishioners outside the Cathedral. He hoped that the girl was already gone, but if she was anything like those sisters in his past, he knew she was lurking somewhere. But the crowd dispersed and there was no sign of her. He went back to the sacristy and disrobed. He felt almost lighthearted as he walked from the Cathedral on a beautiful day in May.

As he left the Cathedral, he saw a film crew and a news truck. He had forgotten that CNN was doing a feature on beautiful buildings of the West. He went to introduce himself to them and welcome them to Helena. As he turned the corner and came to the steps of the Cathedral, Catie Jo was standing there dressed in her sports clothes holding a soccer ball.

“Bishop, Bishop,” she said with what appeared to be true concern for him. “Can’t you see that Mary is so great, it took twelve men to even get close to her. That’s a truth that my grandmother said men always have a hard time accepting.”

The Bishop forgot about the presence of the film crew and started to yell at the little girl. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to have to talk to you ever again.”

The little girl standing in front of him shook her head. “But I know you looked at that window after mass. Why is it so hard to admit that men and a woman got blessed by the Holy Spirit. It is so obvious.”

“Just who do you think you are that you can talk to me like that? Get off these steps and leave me alone. Go away and stop bothering me.”

Catie Jo started down the steps, but she turned back to make one last comment. “I met some friends of yours and they wanted me to tell you something. The Saints of Nicea are disappointed in you because you’ve chosen the wrong side.”

The Bishop chased her down the steps, waving his arms, yelling that she had to get off the steps of his Cathedral. The whole event was caught on camera by the CNN film crew and by that evening was broadcast around the world.

A woman reporter describing the event accompanied pictures of the 54-year-old cleric yelling at a cute little girl in a soccer uniform. “Bishop kicks girl soccer player off the steps of “his” Cathedral, yelling that it was “his” Church and that she had to do what he said.”

Catie Jo tried to get to mass early on Sundays. She would leave the house ahead of her parents and her two younger brothers. Her older brother, who was a sophomore at Helena High School, didn’t go to church. He wondered why should he listen to old men try to tell him things he didn’t understand and, as far as he could tell, had nothing to do with him. Catie Jo understood what he was saying. She often felt the same way, except that she loved praying in church. The minute she walked in the door of the Cathedral, the presence of Jesus hit her and she was drawn into prayer.

It wasn’t like talking to her friends the saints. That was just talking. Like running into friends at school or at the mall, Catie Jo would be aware that Joan and Catherine were there. They would start up where they left off chatting and discussing life, telling stories about what was happening to them. Although what was happening to the two saints seemed more important than what was happening to Cathie Jo, they were always very interested in what was going on in her life. Sometimes keeping up with them was hard work, and she often had to spend time thinking about what they told her.

Praying in church with Jesus was different. Nothing much was said. She would just be present to him and he to her; no thinking, no talking, just being together. By the time her family got to church and mass started, she was ready to listen to readings and hear more about Jesus, to walk through the journey of the mass up to receiving communion which was the “hug,” as she liked to call it, of her time with Jesus.

On this particular Sunday, mass didn’t go as peacefully as usual. The Bishop gave the homily. He talked about Mary and the moment when she said “yes” to the angel’s request that she become Jesus’ mother. The Bishop’ words shocked her. He said that Mary agreed to be the slave of God’s will. No one had ever called Mary a slave that Catie Jo remembered. She felt disturbed and she felt that Jesus was disturbed also. Mary was the handmaiden or the servant of God, but Catie Jo didn’t like the term slavery and she didn’t think Jesus did. The Bishop said that just like Mary, the people there were supposed to be slaves to the will of God as expressed through the magesterium of the church. Catie Jo had noticed that magesterium was one of the Bishop’s favorite words. She wasn’t exactly sure what it meant, but she knew if it had anything to do with slavery, she didn’t like it.

Later when she ran into Joan and Catherine, she told them what the Bishop said and the conversation that followed got very loud. Catherine said the Bishop ought to check his Greek, while Joan said that anyone who knew Mary knew she was in love with the will of God and not enslaved to it. Joan also added that things were looking bad when a man in a high position failed to capture the hearts of people and then turned to talking about slavery to authority.

The next Wednesday afternoon after school, Catie Jo was outside the Chancery reading her old paperback volume of the documents of Vatican II. She had asked to see the Bishop, but was told he was out and would be back later. When the Bishop’s car pulled up to the building, Catie Jo was there to greet him. She said she wanted to talk over the idea that Mary was a slave. He said he didn’t have time to talk to her. She said she had looked through the document on Mary and the Church and she couldn’t find the word slavery applied to Mary at all. The Bishop responded that she wasn’t smart enough to understand the subtlety of words.

“Anyway,” he added, “those documents would soon be revealed for what they were.” He mumbled something about questioning their orthodoxy and Catie Jo, without thinking, said, “That’s funny, St. Catherine was questioning the same thing about you.”

The Bishop turned red and stormed away into the Chancery. His anger made everyone around him nervous. He snapped orders and sat in his office fuming. By 7 o’clock that night when he was scheduled to give a talk to the junior high and high school religious ed students, he was filled with passion. He waved a box of jello at the students and told them that jello represented the Church since Vatican II: shakey, insubstantial, and very susceptible to losing its shape. He proclaimed that things were changing and the Church would soon be back on solid ground, unchanging and substantial. Most of the students didn’t know what he was saying, but Catie Jo knew that he was talking to her.

She smiled because she had a great idea, one that was all her own. She wanted to surprise her two patrons, so she never mentioned the idea to them. The only person she told was her mother, who laughed for a long time and agreed to help her by calling some of the other mothers.

Catie Jo’s mother was responsible for the parish luncheon the next Saturday. She called the Dessert Committee and got them to agree to make a variation on the same dessert. So when the Bishop came to the dessert table on Saturday, he found over 15 varieties of jello salad, each one with a different fruit inside it. Catie Jo was serving the desserts. She told the Bishop he had his choice of many beautiful fruits suspended in colorful jellos: cherry, banana, apple, oranges and others.

The Bishop told her that she was a bold little woman. In spite of himself and his decision to maintain a demeanor which reflected his office, he left the luncheon in a huff.

After her encounter with the Bishop, Cathie Jo found she was as surprised as he was. She was talking in a way unlike herself. She was only eleven, but she had expressed her thoughts more like the saints Catherine of Siena and Joan of Arc might have expressed them. This worried her, so she went to see Father Hugh.

Father Hugh also was surprised by how quickly things had escalated. He had supported Cathie Jo trusting the voices she heard and her spiritual intuition, and he didn’t think that she would be engaging the Bishop on theological matters on the steps of the Cathedral, at least not so soon. He was concerned that he had let her go down a road that might prove wayward. He told Cathie as much. She admitted that he wasn’t the only one.

Cathie Jo explained: “The last time St. Joan spoke, she said she was concerned about me. She knows what it’s like for a young girl to try to shake some sense into old men who don’t like what you have to say. St. Catherine was pretty upset by all this. I heard her ask Joan how she could question the will of God to become a messenger of the Lord just like they had been. St. Joan just sighed and told Catherine that, of course, all of us couldn’t be as brave and faithful as Catherine was.”

Father Hugh was very intrigued by this conversation and he wanted to hear more. He looked at the sweet, but tenacious, young girl standing in front of him and once again found himself trusting her and her stories. It didn’t make common sense, but he believed her nonetheless.

Cathie Jo continued, “Joan said that I should know that my task won’t be easy. She said people don’t like to hear the truth. And sometimes when a person hears a truth they don’t approve of, they could do anything… Of course, I already knew that. It’s not like I’m seven or something. I’m a little afraid, but I still want to go along, you know, with the will of God. That’s the best thing, right?”

Fr. Hugh found it easier to believe in her than to encourage her. He told her that she had to be careful that she wasn’t making any of this up and that she really did have a clear sense of the will of God.

Cathie Jo laughed, “Joan said that you’d say that. She and Catherine sort of argued for a minute about stuff like being trustworthy and being careful and what happens when you’re misunderstood. Then St. Joan told Catherine she was right and they told me to tell you not to worry. She said that the next time you were praying that you should go on record like they had, and get behind me one hundred percent. I think she meant that you should basically tell the Trinity to take good care of me.”

Father Hugh chuckled his reply, then asked, “Anything else?”

“Joan said I should get more sleep and Catherine said I should eat a well-balanced nutritious diet with lots of fruits and vegetables. She said if she had eaten better she might have lived longer and accomplished a lot more, although I think she was probably more energetic than people could take, as it turned out.” With this she looked at her watch and told the priest she had to go, so she wouldn’t be late for soccer practice. In a flash, she was out the door and gone before he could say anything. From his window, he watched her run down the hill behind the Catholic college heading to the YMCA fields at Centennial Park.

Meanwhile, across town the Bishop was consulting with an advisor about what to do. He still couldn’t believe he had lost his composure with that little girl. His advisor was a young priest who had recently returned from a teaching assignment in Rome. The Bishop often called him because the young priest was keen on political controversies in the Vatican and over the years had given the Bishop some very precise and accurate advice. When the Bishop told him about his encounter with the girl, the priest scoffed, saying that she should be easy to take care of, especially in Montana. In Italy or in Central and South America, a young girl who conversed with saints could get people riled up, but in America no one would pay any attention. Anyway, all the Bishop had to do was call her school and talk to a counselor. Once school officials heard the story, they would put her in treatment, and prescribe her something to settle her nerves and straighten her out. That would calm her down and she wouldn’t bother him again.

The Bishop thanked his friend for the advice and, being as impetuous as he was, he immediately called Cathie Jo’s school and asked to speak to a counselor. The counselor sounded somewhat nervous when the Bishop expressed his concerns about the little girl’s state of mind. The counselor asked if he had spoken to the girl’s parents. The Bishop said he wanted to avoid that and thought it was better to just pass on a quiet word to the counselor.

It turned out not to be as quiet as he hoped. The counselor immediately called Cathie Jo’s father who, upon hearing the Bishop’s concerns, arrived at the Chancery within two hours of the Bishop’s call. When his secretary told him that Mr. Harrington was in the waiting room and wanted to talk to the Bishop about his daughter, the Bishop began to panic. He told his secretary he had an important appointment at home and could see no one. He slipped out the back door of his office at the Chancery and went to his car.

The Bishop found Mr. Harrington standing by his car. With his arms folded and his hat down on his forehead, Cathie Jo’s father didn’t look very happy. The Bishop tried to make the best of the chance meeting mumbling something about priorities and something else about making an appointment to talk about concerns. Mr. Harrington addressed the Bishop in a direct and firm manner, saying, “Excuse me, Bishop, but if you have something to say about my daughter, I’d appreciate you calling me or my wife about it.” Mr. Harrington told the Bishop he better be careful about making unfounded accusations about his daughter to school professionals or to anyone else, for that matter.

The Bishop quickly thanked him for that advice and got into his car and drove away. On the fast trip to his home on the far West Side, the Bishop was embarrassed and angry. After all, he was a bishop, he told himself, and no Catholic family should be challenging him in this manner. It only proved what he already believed. There was no current respect for church authority. Once again he vowed to make sure that things would change.

On the day her first adventure began, Catie Jo, an eleven-year-old girl, sat on the steps of the Cathedral of St. Helena listening to her friends. She was holding a soccer ball and was dressed in a blue and white uniform that matched the colors of the Montana sky above her. She couldn’t see her friends, but she imagined they were sitting on the steps with her. They were very animated today, so she couldn’t ignore them and what they had to say.

Since the age of seven, Catie Jo had often imagined these conversations with her two patron saints, Catherine of Siena and Joan of Arc. She would sense that her patron friends were talking to her and she would respond to them as if they could hear her thoughts. She had told her mother about these talks and her mother had sent her to visit their friend, Father Hugh at Carroll College. He had asked her questions and listened to her tell him what the saints were saying. For a moment he had seemed very serious, until she told him that her friends had told her that he had a strong faith for being a crabby old man.

Father Hugh chuckled and told her she was a special girl and she was lucky to have two such smart women as friends. He knew her to be an intuitive girl. He told her to check with him if these talks continued and let him know what was being discussed. She did this regularly, so her mother let her continue to visit the steps of the Cathedral and didn’t interfere in these talks between Catie Jo and her friends.

Catie Jo listened to her friends tell her what they were doing, so she knew they were very involved in what was happening in the world surrounding the Cathedral. She didn’t think it was unusual that two great saints should concern themselves with a small town in Montana and the people who lived there. She just figured that her world was important enough, so she wasn’t surprised when one day they told her that she was about to begin a new adventure that would begin right here and have a big impact on the Catholic Church. Catie Jo read the stories of the lives of her friends and she knew that events such as the ones they described could and did happen.

She was so involved in listening to all the advice that the saints had for her that she didn’t see the Bishop of Helena turn the corner and stand quietly watching her. The Bishop had often wondered what this little girl did when she sat there on the steps. On this last day of April, he was inclined to go talk to her. Later in his life, he wondered if life would have turned out differently if he had resisted that inclination. Up until that day, his life felt somewhat under his control. From the moment he said hello to this young girl on that spring day, his life seemed to be connected to her and what she did. He couldn’t disconnect himself from her, no matter how hard he tried.

“My dear, haven’t we met?” he asked.

“Of course, sir, I mean, Bishop. My mother introduced us last year when you were, you know, made a bishop.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

Catie Jo told him her name and she told him about the two saints and how they wanted her to let the Bishop know that an important story was beginning and that he would have a big role in it.

It was at this point that the Bishop felt the composure he had tried to hold onto since he had unexpectedly been named a bishop slip away. He had only a tentative hold on it anyway because he never quite got over his surprise that he was chosen to be a bishop. He thought it had happened because of the convenient support of powerful men he had served. He was very unprepared to hear this small girl tell him that he had been named a bishop in order to help her tell the men that ran the Catholic Church that they should change their attitude toward women and the way they treated them.

The Bishop was so taken by surprise that he actually told her that he was the last bishop that would ever say anything like that, especially to the people who had named him bishop. She laughed and said that is why she had to start with him. She became very serious and told him that Catherine said the sooner he accepted what was happening, the better. She added that Catherine also felt that it probably wasn’t going to be soon enough. Joan, she added, had said it didn’t matter what he did, but Joan hoped for his sake he’d accept this call for his support rather than resist it. Joan said it was smart to be on the winning side.

The confidence and honest humility in what she told him made the Bishop very nervous. He snapped that he was on the winning side. Catie Jo shook her head and told him that to be on the winning side he had to support Vatican II. He began stammering the usual line about how Vatican II had moved the Church beyond the common ground that had made the Church strong. She didn’t seem to hear him because she was taking something out of her backpack. He was about to say more when he saw what she was taking out of the bag, an old worn copy of The Documents of Vatican II. It was the edition that everyone carried around in the 60′s. The one he associated with all of the confusion and change that he had endured for too many years.

Now, when he thought that the damage of the language those documents contained, he found himself staring into the mischievous eyes of a small girl who said that the power and wisdom of Vatican II had only just begun to be revealed. He was so shaken, he turned and ran back to the Chancery, leaving the girl watching him with a smile.

Sitting in his office, he would realize that he could have handled the whole situation better. This was how he would always feel after encountering the girl, as he would do many times after that first important day, which he remembered later had been the feast day of St. Catherine of Siena.