No Greater Love

The Beginning One by one,Father Robert Koesler lit the tall, unbleached candles. Three on either side of the open casket, then finally, the ornate Paschal candle that--as was customary--had been blessed during the previous Holy Saturday liturgy. Seven candles provided the only illumination in this dusky chapel. Unaccountably the flames danced at their wicks' ends. Father Koesler could detect no breeze, no open door or window. Perhaps some residual current of air ...' As well, he would have said there was no sound in the chapel. Yet there was, indeed, sound. The heat had been turned off for the night. The heating pipes groaned as they gave up the last of the furnace's comfort. Tiles shifted as they resettled. Hardwood floors rearranged themselves in terms of insignificant millimeters; supported statues followed suit. There was sound, as there was movement of air. One had to be acutely attuned to one's surroundings to perceive all that was going on in this ghostly sacred place. It was 3 A.M. Over the years--and there had been so many of them now--he had come to realize that when he was this wide awake no way was he going to fall asleep. Of course, seldom at such times had he a corpse with whom to commune. Koesler was more than reasonably sure that he and the deceased were alone in the chapel. Indeed, he would have been as startled to hear another living voice as he would have been had the corpse sat up. In his wakeful state, he had tried to read. But, oddly, every book on his reading stand seemed somehow depressing. That being the case, his attention had wandered toward the chapel. After a brief debate with himself, he had slipped a clerical collar atop his pajamas, pulled on a cassock, and stepped into his slippers. He'd hesitated before deciding not to turn on the chapel lights. Candles seemed basic, more natural and fitting. The flickering flames cast odd shadows. So different from just a few hours ago. Then, a good-sized crowd had assembled. A reverential restraint pervaded as people conversed in barely audible whispers. Relatives and friends had read from Scripture. Hymns--or songs that seemed both relevant and meaningful--were sung. Father Koesler had invited anyone who wished to share recollections to speak up. Fortunately, those who did kept it on the light side ... humorous anecdotes and the like. That way it was easier on everyone. Tomorrow--well, actually, later this morning--Koesler would deliver the eulogy. That was another reason he had come to the chapel now. In peace and quiet and a modicum of light, he would ponder the life of the deceased. From this he would put together the personal details that had made this unique life distinct. He pulled up a chair and sat at the opposite end of the casket from the Paschal candle. Until now he had paid no mind to the coffin. After the wake, things had gotten noisy and bustling, with friends greeting each other. Many of them met only on occasions such as this. Koesler had been swept up by the activity that bordered on tumult. Now, with time seemingly suspended, he took notice of the coffin. Koesler had officiated at so many funerals that he was familiar with, though not an authority on, the various coffins. This one was different from any he had seen before. This definitely was not the Cadillac of the industry. That, unless he was mistaken, would be the "Marcellus"--premium with a polished Provincial finish and a "Roseton Allure" velvet interior--price: almost $17,000. As for the coffin before him, only dully reflecting the candlelight, it was a wood wanna-be, with a gray doeskin finish and an ivory satin interior. The operative word for this casket was definitely "basic"--read, "cardboard." It ran a lKienzle, William X. is the author of 'No Greater Love' with ISBN 9780345426390 and ISBN 0345426398.