The Frontier Saint

Chapter Two

Father Guzman awaited the parishioners outside the doors of St. Michael's, as was his custom after every mass. Whether it was a Tuesday night or a packed Sunday service, he always waited to greet anyone who wished to spare a moment with him. That Sunday was the first cold, overcast morning since the start of that summer. The younger of the clergymen, Father Rasmussen, stood on the other side of the steps, waiting for the parishioners as well.

They started to trickle out of the doors. Some made their way home, some lined up to greet the priests. The parish was made up of all age groups and had its share of faithful from all over the world. Father Guzman braced the bite of the cold against his knuckles as he caught up with the latest goings on of his flock. A young recently married couple, whose love started as childhood sweethearts-- whom Father Guzman assisted with the marriage at St. Michael's- had finally reached their turn to greet their old friend.

The old priest greeted them with open arms and a joyous smile, "Felipe! Marianne!" Joyous, was his appreciation of seeing the young couple.

"Good morning, Father!" Marianne greeted,

"Good morning, Father," Felipe smiled.

"How are you two? Did you end up getting the house after all?" Father Guzman asked.

"No, we didn't," Felipe sighed, "it's a tough market. But we're gonna keep looking. There's gotta be something out there," he explained.

"Stay hopeful, you two. There's no miracle too small that God can work mysteriously for," Father Guzman grinned, to both their chuckle.

"Well as soon as we find that house, we'd be honored to have you over for dinner," Marianne said.

"The honor would be mine, and I'll bring a bottle of fine wine to celebrate the occasion." Father Guzman promised. If anyone knew he could keep his promises, it was the young married couple, Felipe and Marianne.

Greeting the parishioners was a long affair, but it wasn't an ordeal for Father Guzman. He enjoyed the familiar, hopeful faces of the community. At times it took a lot out of him. He wasn't an introvert by any means, but tending to the large flock would be sure to take a lot out of anyone. He'd usually get his fill of weekly socialization just with Sunday masses alone. A week of confessions, masses, and meetings would always be sure to keep him safe from isolation. Once the parishioners left, he returned to the rectory. The old priest saw Father Rasmussen talking to Bishop Pierce at the foot of the stairs. Bishop Iain Pierce, an Irishman who also spoke Spanish, and celebrated Spanish masses. Father Guzman passed the men on his way to the kitchen.

"How did Celtic do then, Pierce?" Father Guzman asked.

"The bhoys won tree-nil!" Bishop Pierce exclaimed.

Father Guzman gave him a thumbs-up as he entered the kitchen. Everyone there got along fine. Perhaps there were differences in theology, devotions, or tastes in cigars, but none that could break the trust or morale of the group. Father Guzman got out the leftovers from the night before- spicy ramen. Father Rasmussen and Bishop Pierce joined Father Guzman in the kitchen. Bishop Pierce was reaching the end of some story, "and in the end, the young man told us he had woken up on a bus, in a completely different country!" The two cackled.

"Guzman! How was it, then?" The bishop asked.

"Good, fairly routine I'd say. Though the cool breeze was a nice relief," Guzman said.

"You're tellin' me. I thought we'd never see the end of the bloody heat. You know what I heard this mornin'? You know the Doyles? They told me there was quite a swarm of police outside their neighbors' last night," Pierce said.