MON·STRANCE
Pronunciation: 'män(t)-str&n(t)s
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English monstrans, from Middle French monstrance, from Medieval Latin monstrantia, from Latin monstrant-, monstrans, present participle of monstrare to show, from monstrum---monstrosity/monster.
Date: 15th century
Monstrance: (in the Roman Catholic Church) a vessel in which the consecrated Host is exposed for the adoration of the faithful.
CHAPTER ONE
DEATH IN THE ABBEY
"… HOLY MARY, MOTHER OF GOD, PRAY FOR US SINNERS NOW AND AT THE HOUR OF OUR DEATH. AMEN."
THE PROCESSION OF FACELESS MUTED MONKS cloaked in long dark hooded robes line the candlelit arched brick hallway of St. Peter’s Abbey in the rural northeastern town of Tahlequah, Oklahoma everyday at precisely 4:55 a.m.
Like vigilant soldiers, they wait in the chilly pre-dawn darkness for the monastic bell to announce the beginning of their morning, prayer ritual. Their images and hooded robes cast mysterious shadows along the walls and ceiling from the flickering candlelight, creating a spooky, dungeon-like effect.
Four times a day, the monks and priests of this semi-clandestine Benedictine community and Catholic college campus ceremoniously line the hallway in silence. One by one, when the bell is struck, they march reverently down the narrow hall that connects the monastery to the quaint chapel. They enter through the sanctuary and proceed to the simple altar. There, two by two, the monks bow respectfully at the consecrated host, symbolically the body of Christ, locked in the sacred tabernacle.
Perfectly choreographed, they separate and move anonymously in their flowing robes to the north and south pews of the sanctuary, separated only by the altar itself. These sacred pews, reserved only for them, and an occasional invited male guest, bring them physically closer to the Holy Eucharist. They pray in songs known as Gregorian chants until 6:00 a.m. then disperse to begin their day.
At noon they assemble for their mid-day prayers in the very same manner. Again they commune at precisely 5:15 p.m. to celebrate the Eucharist with daily Mass. Finally, they reunite for Vespers at 7:00 each evening to conclude their daily routine of community prayers and Gregorian chants. Like saintly choirboys, they sing and pray their love and faith to God Almighty.
On the ominous Fall day of November 11, 1994 the monks and priests of St. Peter's began their day as usual. After morning prayers and breakfast they proceed with their individual duties and tasks around the monastery and campus. The morning was dark and cold and the threat of a storm was evident in the dark clouds that hovered over Tahlequah. Nothing else seemed amiss until the church bells of St. Peter unexpectedly begin to ring around 11:15 that morning.
As the bells relentlessly tolled across the landscape of the monastery and small college campus, news spread like prairie fire that Father Xavier Kettering, OSB, their beloved brother and President of St. Peter's Catholic College, had died only minutes before, one day short of his fortieth birthday.
Father Xavier had come to St. Peter’s only seven years before. In 1980 he earned a Master’s of Arts and Theology degree at the University of Cambridge and was ordained a priest of the Church of England two years later. He arrived in the United States and began exercising his ministry at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in Tulsa, Okalahoma.
While serving at St. Luke’s, he became acquainted with the Benedictine monks of St. Peter’s. After considerable reflection and soul searching, he joined the Roman Catholic Church in 1987. A convert to Catholicism, Father Xavier entered the novitiate at St. Peter’s Abbey shortly thereafter. By special permission of Catholic Archbishop Thaddeus Richter, he was allowed to make a solemn monastic profession a year early. Xavier became an honored student of Catholic theology at St. Meinrad Seminary, St. Meinrad, Indiana, from 1988 until he was ordained conditionally as a priest in the Roman Catholic Church.
In photographs, Father Xavier looked like a picture from a Holy Card from centuries past. Dressed in a traditional black hooded habit, his full oval face looked like that of a saint. Old-fashioned round wire spectacles framed and accented his large penetrating dark brown eyes; eerily appearing as if he was looking through your very soul. The scholarly countenance on his face was one of both understanding and peace; a gentleness from a gentle man and gentle soul. This presence long disguised the suffering that plagued this mortal man.
He suffered quietly in what some would call a "saintly fashion." Father Xavier and most of his Catholic brothers and sisters believed that suffering was one’s duty to grow in the Lord, a cross to bear to reach the Promised Land. His internal suffering of many years from a degeneration of the tissues of his digestive tract was Father Xavier’s chronic cross to bear; his spiritual lot in life. One must wonder what emotional and mental ailments this fine man must have endured for his digestive tract to slowly, cruelly disintegrate, especially in such a seemingly serene environment.
Some would say metaphorically that Father Xavier simply could not stomach life anymore; that what he witnessed and endured over the years at St. Peter's would painfully and fatally eat away at him. Others would say the decline of the college and the moral deterioration of the Roman Catholic Church had eaten him aTarae. Those that knew him well knew all of this was true. However, when all was said and done, what took its final toll on this loving and brilliant man was the spiritual and moral decay of his own religious community.
One can only imagine the hellish torment that Father Xavier must have suffered. He was a pillar of righteousness and strength for most. He held many important positions in the Abbey and at St. Peter’s College. He served faithfully as Campus Minister and Director of Juniors in the Abbey. In spite of his ailments, he was widely sought for his skills as a retreat master and spiritual director. After recuperation from surgery several years ago, and before becoming the College President, Father Xavier became pastor of the Church of the Sorrowful Mother in Guymon, Oklahoma.
During this time, he was completing a demanding doctoral degree in pastoral theology at Notre Dame University. After a defense of his dissertation only months before he died, Father Xavier submitted the final revisions of his work, ironically titled: "The Pastoral Theology of Dying." He was posthumously awarded a doctoral degree.
At 11:25 a.m. on this funereal day, with inescapable sorrow, the Benedictine monks of St. Peter’s Abbey, in fading numbers, lined the hallway again in silence preparing to enter the chapel for a special service to pray for the repose of the soul of dear Father Kettering.
At Via Christi Hospital in Tulsa, 70 miles west of Tahlequah, Father Xavier’s lifeless body lay awaiting the arrival of Hennessey Funeral Home. Hennessey would carry his earthly body back to Tahlequah to prepare him for his final journey back to St. Peter’s Abbey. There he would be mourned and celebrated at a High Funeral Mass after three days came to pass. His coffin would then be carried 100 feet to the small Abbey cemetery beside the Chapel and lowered into the hard Oklahoma red clay. There he would lie, awaiting the rain and chill of an unkind winter.
Before the funeral home arrived at the hospital, two novices from St Peters stood guarding Father Kettering’s body. His eyes closed, his face and body still wet from the sprinkled Holy Water, Father Xavier was pronounced dead long after he was given the Last Rights of the Sacraments by the hospital Chaplain, Father Bernard Vigliosi. Some might have thought the sprinkles splattered across his face and body were the tears that flowed from the eyes of the grieving novices, Brothers Bartholomew and Justice.
Along with Sister Elizabeth Ann Porter, the two novices tried in vain to honor Father Xavier’s final request that he not die alone. Only weeks before, he had pleaded with the newly appointed Abbot, Monsignor Celestine Wolf, whom he had come to consider a close friend and confidant, to be the one by his side when he died. Monsignor Wolf assured him that he would.
Brother Bartholomew wept openly with frustration and sorrow as he pleaded repeatedly on the phone with Monsignor Wolf to come in vigil and have mercy on this dying soul. His final plea rebuked, Brother Bartholomew fell into the lifeless arms of his fellow novice, Brother Justice, who had anesthetized himself against his grief with alcohol from a flask hidden underneath his robe.
The chapel bells of St. Peter's continued to toll across the stormy gray campus summonsing students, teachers, friends and staff to join the monks and priest for Fr. Xavier's prayer service. As they walked in groups somberly to the chapel, consoling one another, a miracle seemed to occur. The dark cancerous sky opened and a ray of sunlight forced itself through the eclipsing clouds. In a dramatic and surreal gesture, the sun broke through, causing many to stop and look up in awe. A cool late-autumn wind swept the prairie and more than one felt an odd chill in the air. What was about to unfold would become a disturbing mystery.
Inside the chapel the monks took their rightful places in their pews. Chants began to fill the church in union with the Divine light that pushed through the stained glass windows. Splashed with a multitude of color, the serene chapel came alive to mark the passage of one man’s life. Three prominent arch-shaped stained glass windows clustered together above the chapel entrance seemed to speak an artful, but inauspicious message to its congregation. High above the doors, the beautiful windows were crafted in the image and likeness of St. Peter, St. Gregory and St. Benedict, the monastery’s Patron Saints.
The large center glass window, the most prominent of the three, reveals St. Peter, one of the leading apostles of Jesus Christ. St. Peter is standing on a rock, symbolic of the cornerstone, which built the Roman Catholic Church. Born Jewish, Peter’s original name was Simon. Jesus renamed him Peter, which means "Rock". A mosaic banner floats under the rock, reading: "Simon Peter".
To the left of the rock, depicted by a raging fire, are the gates of hell. In St. Peter's outstretched right hand are three golden keys, representing keys to the Kingdom of Heaven.
In the center of St. Peter’s chest is a blood-red heart with a dove emerging from it; symbolic of his role as Peacemaker. He wears a papal crown, in the form of a dome representing the Sistine Chapel.
Written around the arch are the words: "Thou art Peter, and upon this Rock I will build my Church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it".
To the left of St. Peter’s window is a smaller stained glass window of St. Gregory the Great. Few of the famous men in history to whom the title "Great" has been bestowed, earned it so deservedly as St. Gregory the Great, Pope and Doctor of the Church. Born in Rome, around the year 540, St. Gregory pursued a political and legal career.
The Pontificate of St. Gregory lasted fourteen years and called for all his strength of spirit and will. It also called for his experience in administration and diplomacy. The significance of the Roman Empire falling apart and the functions of nearly every department of the decadent civil state that were thrust upon him would ironically parallel the life of Father Xavier Kettering 1500 years later.
Like St. Gregory, Father Xavier attempted to bring about many reforms in the Catholic Church and his Community, both liturgical and structural, especially after being named College President. Both were considered prolific writers and effective teachers.
The signs and symbols in the art tell a story through the three stained glass windows that dominate St. Peter’s Chapel. Many look in wonderment as they study the glass mosaic trilogy. St. Gregory the Great is shown embracing a sacred book to his heart with his left hand. His right hand is raised high in a gesture of peace. The picture gives an ethereal impression that St. Gregory is floating above the earth in a mystical illusion.
In art, St. Gregory is portrayed also wearing the tiara of the Pope and bearing the crosier with a double cross. His supreme attribute is also a dove, which hovers next to his left ear, giving the impression the dove is whispering to him. In Catholic symbolism, the dove represents the legend that the Holy Ghost came in the form of a dove to dictate the words upon which Gregory’s writings and chants are based; hence "Gregorian Chants".
Pierced by two crossed arrows, a heart appears in the center of St. Gregory’s torso. In religious symbology a pierced heart symbolizes contrition, deep repentance and devotion under conditions of extreme trial. This cryptic trilogy would come to symbolize and reveal an eerie message upon the death of Fr. Xavier.
The third window, to the right of St. Peter, reveals in art the story of St. Benedict, known as the Father of Western Monasticism. Best known as the author of The Rules for Monastic Taraing, his rules emphasized "a humane, moderate program of prayer, sacred readings and manual labor."
St. Benedict was born in Norcia, Italy, near Rome. At the age of 20 he lead a solitary life in a cave near Subiaco, near Central Italy. His piety soon attracted other young men, and he organized twelve small monastic communities. The stained glass window depicts him with ethereal eyes – a visionary. He stands like Christ on water, symbolic of the famous parable. He is often painted in the company of two youths, Maurus and Placidus, close friends of his.
As a famous legend tells, on one occasion Placidus left the Monastery one day to fetch a pail of water from a nearby lake. In so doing, he slipped and fell into the water and was in danger of drowning.
Far away, St. Benedict had a vision of the incident and called to Maurus to go assist his drowning Brother. Maurus ran toward Placidus, and seizing him by the hair dragged him to safety. Only after he had returned to the shore of the lake, did Maurus realize that he had actually walked on water.
In books and paintings and in the stained glass illusions, St. Benedict is usually shown with a flowing white beard and dressed in the habit of a Benedictine Abbot, wearing either the black robe of the original habit of the order or the white robe of the reformed order.
Several attributes are given to him, each referring to some well-known episode in his life. A dove represents the soul of his dear Sister Scholastica, whose Ascension into heaven after her death, he personally witnessed.
A crystal glass with a serpent or a broken glass with wine running from it recalls the poisoned wine that was once offered to him in an attempt to take his life. The Raven recalls the bird that he fed, as a hermit, when he Lived in a cave. The index finger sometimes shown across his lips is an allusion to the rule of silence that he gave to his Order.
A broken vessel is given to him in reference to the legend of the miracle that he performed by joining together the fragments of a pot broken by his nurse. A luminous ladder refers to the ladder on which he is said to have ascended into Heaven.
Most revealing of his inner-personal mortal struggles is the representation of a naked youth rolling in a thorny bush to punish his flesh for the sin of lust. A blackbird, referring to his temptations by the Devil, is also shown frequently.
On the mournful day of Fr. Kettering’s passing, the monks entered the color-splashed chapel after the congregation was seated. Like warriors defending their faith, and now themselves, the Benedictine monks of St. Peter’s chanted fiercely back and forth, back and forth. Hypnotically they chanted until reaching an altered state of consciousness, suspended in a realm beyond their reality and grief.
Today the Gregorian chants seemed louder and stronger, more profound. It was as if a spiritual battle had been waged, echoing far beyond the chapel itself. In a haunting and sorrowful rhythm, the dueling spirit of the music spilled out and floated down the abbey's arched brick hallway like forlorn ghosts from a long forgotten past.
The chants also pierced the heart and soul of the grieving congregation. The air was thick and painful. A blanket of suspicion and doom inexplicably hovered throughout the chapel and austere abbey, built decades ago from money bequeathed by a loving and trusting benefactress, Rose Veronica Jackson.
Surely her soul, and the other souls buried in the humble cemetery adjacent to the abbey chapel, must be stirred by the unsettling vibrations emanating from the troubled hearts and songs of the bereaving monks.
The vibrations felt like unspoken rage inseminating the cells of every brick that built St. Peter’s abbey and chapel. As solid and powerful as this institution appeared, in a matter of hours following the death of Fr. Xavier, an explosion of conspiracy, lies and secrets was about to erupt, rocking the very foundation of St. Peter’s Monastery and College. The reverberation and cover-up, so dramatic and far-reaching, that the impact would eventually shake the walls of the Holy Vatican itself.
The cornerstone, which Simon Peter laid nineteen centuries before, would soon rattle and roll as if struck by thunder and lightening, or a violent earthquake. The epicenter located at the very heart of an unlikely monastery in a sleepy little town in the heartland of America. The fallout from the secrets of the remote and semi-cloistered monastery of St Peter's would, in time, come to jar and disturb the darkest recesses of humanity’s soul.
Father Xavier’s untimely death, on the eve of his fortieth birthday, and the events that would come to pass, would mark the beginning of the end of a crippled and frightened religious institution. An institution, once omnipotent, could no longer hide behind well-constructed walls, no matter how thick or rich or beautiful; her walls were crumbling down. No amount of money or power, no amount of prayer or silence, no amount of lies or deception, could stop the avalanche of truth that was about to resurrect itself from the troubled soul of St Peter's and the Roman Catholic church.
Father Kettering, and the manner in which he died, symbolically represented that mankind’s soul had finally been eaten away; slowly, but surely. Just as symbolically as the fire that raged auspiciously through the Chapel of the House of Windsor, the Church of England, his birthplace, only two years before. Father Kettering’s death was the birth of a hideous omen.
The battling chants bidding Father Xavier farewell continued to heighten and rise. Most of his brothers would miss him dearly. Some would not. That was to be expected at St. Peter’s. As the chanting and prayers concluded, a golden burst of sunlight again splashed through the stained-glass windows creating a kaleidoscope of color. A feeling of serenity and hope was restored, temporarily pushing out the darkness. Many saw this as a Divine message that Fr. Xavier was, at last, free of human suffering. Embraced by his Heavenly Father. A reunion with God Almighty.
His journey into Eternal Life.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR MONSTRANCE DISAPPEARS
AS THEY SAT AROUND THE TABLE of the small museum library, Penny and Wade listened as Lonnie McQueen rambled on nervously about how much he hated his job at Kousins.
"Those damn rednecks are driving me crazy. Don't tip worth shit!" Lonnie groaned petulantly.
He was trying his best to make small talk to hide the growing anxiety he felt in the pit of his stomach. The aspirin and Xanax he had taken earlier didn't seem to help a bit and Lonnie was itching to smoke the roach he had in his jean jacket.
Penny and Wade noticed that Lonnie seemed unusually agitated, and assumed it was withdrawals from last nights cocktail of booze, downers and pot. Lonnie's left eye and upper body twitched involuntarily. He alternated between nervously tapping the table with his left hand fingers and fidgeting with the lens cap on one of his cameras, snapping the lens cover on and off repeatedly.
"Hell, I can't wait to get out of there," Lonnie continued begrudgingly about his miserable position at Kousins. "You know how much I made last night in tips?" He asked.
Before Penny or Wade could respond, Lonnie answered his own question. "Fifteen stinkin' bucks!" "Hell, in LA I'd be making four to five hundred bucks a night!" Lonnie boasted.
"If it weren't for you guys, I'd be up shit creek," he smiled wanly. Lonnie knew if it weren't for Penny and Wade he never would have landed this choice job at St. Peters. He was anxious to finish so he could get his final paycheck from Mary Margaret. $3,000 bucks would buy a lot of pot and Lonnie could easily triple his income.
"Lonnie, we know you're going through a hard time right now, but just hang in there, we're here for you," Penny said sympathetically.
"Yeah, thanks. I know you are, and it means a lot to me." He said quietly. Lonnie was torn. He really was growing fond of Penny and Wade. They were decent people. But Lonnie had his own agenda at St. Peter's.
Lonnie continued to make small talk, wondering why Penny was being so nonchalant. Hell, he was there to shoot a multi-million dollar piece of art and they were just babbling on and on about inane shit.
Lonnie was trying his best to play it cool. He didn't want to seem too eager about the monstrance. In his jumbled head the word "monstrance" was pulsating over and over like a loud heavy base from a stereo. Paranoid, he wondered if Penny and Wade could read his mind. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead just thinking about it. He brushed the perspiration off with his hand hoping Penny and Wade didn't notice. He was coming unglued with each passing minute. He suddenly jumped up from his chair and announced: "Hey, I've gotta' run to the john," he said anxiously as he excused himself.
Lonnie walked to the front of the museum where the bathrooms were, and turned on the lights and vent in the men's room. He quickly pulled the napkin from the pocket of his jean jacket. His hands were shaking so violently that the roach and pills spilled out recklessly onto the sterile tile floor. "Goddammit!" he barked.
Lonnie was jones-ing big time. Like a rabid cat, he crawled around the floor picking up the pills, one after the other. "Shit!" he grunted before popping two more pills into his parched mouth. He then placed the rest of the pills back into the napkin and tucked them deep into his jean jacket before lighting up the joint. He took a few quick tokes, hoping to calm his nerves.
Hell, he thought uneasily, it was already a rough morning and he hadn't even gotten to the goddamn monstrance yet.
"Poor Lonnie. He's a bit unhinged today. Do you think we should postpone the shoot?" Penny asked Wade pointedly after Lonnie left the room.
"I've seen him more messed up than this and he still does a brilliant job. His eyes might be bloodshot, but his camera has 20/20 vision," Wade smiled reassuringly. "Mary Margaret said we have to wrap this up soon. The deadline to get everything camera-ready for the printers is in two weeks. He'll be fine," he assured her.
Penny looked at her watch. It was just past 10:45 and she had done all of her preliminary chores around the museum. She had plenty of time to show Lonnie the monstrance and the other pieces of art before the museum opened at 1:00.
Penny was looking forward to Lonnie shooting the priceless monstrance for the catalogue. She felt fortunate that she had the opportunity, and authority, to allow Lonnie to shoot the incredible statue. It had only recently found its way into her possession at the museum, and had been safely ensconced in the museum vault.
The Jackson-Bonét monstrance was one of St. Peters most valuable and beloved pieces of art, and Penny felt enormously proud that it had been entrusted in her care.
She thought it would make a beautiful and interesting photograph for Panorama, however, seeing Lonnie in the agitated condition he was today, she was now apprehensive about letting him handle it. If anything happened to it, she would be responsible.
Feeling no pain, Lonnie was floating on a cloud when he returned to the museum's library.
"We better get this show on the road. It's almost 11:00 and I have people to see and places to go," Lonnie said jokingly. Penny noticed he seemed a bit calmer, so she thought it best that they photograph the monstrance first. Lonnie was unpredictable and his mood could change at any time.
"Why don't we start with the monstrance? I can't wait for you to see it," she said enthusiastically.
"Far out!" Lonnie responded, as he reached to pick up his cameras.
Penny led Lonnie and Wade through a maze to the back of the museum where the vault was located, only a few yards from the back door where she entered each morning. The vault was the size of a double walk-in closet and looked much like a well-constructed bank vault.
"It's like Fort Knox," Lonnie laughed nervously as Penny unlocked the vault.
It was dark inside and she switched on the light and walked over to the corner of the vault where she had placed the Jackson-Bonét monstrance, in its case, just weeks before. Lonnie and Wade anxiously followed.
Penny moved some boxes that were placed on the shelf in front of the monstrance so she could reach the case. "We have it tucked away here," she volunteered casually as she reached for the handle. There was a moment of suspense in the air. Penny Johansen was about to unveil one of St. Peter’s best-kept secrets.
Penny carefully sat the case on a wooden crate and unlocked the latches. Wade and Lonnie, just a few feet behind her. When she opened the case, her heart stopped abruptly. "Ohmygod!" She gasped, frantically. The monstrance was not in its case.
"What? What's wrong?" Wade asked insistently.
Lonnie tried to lean in closer to see what had startled her. Penny was frozen. She just stood there in shock. The multi-million dollar monstrance was missing. And in its place sat a small pewter statue of Michelangelo’s David.
"How bizarre," Penny said in disbelief. Her heart was racing a mile-a-minute. A million thoughts raced through her mind. A statue of David? Was someone trying to tell her something, or was this some practical joke, she wondered, anxiously.
Penny did not want to reveal her deepest fears. Especially in front of Lonnie, so she forced a laughed and tried to make light of it.
"Someone's playing a joke on me!" She said, unconvincingly.
Wade saw the terror in her eyes and noticed her face had turned ghostly white. All the blood had drained from it.
It was obvious to him that Penny was trying to maintain a cool façade. But deep down he knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Fragmented thoughts invaded her mind. She feared this would be the end of her job. Her career as a curator, finished. Penny bravely turned to Lonnie. "It’s not here, Lonnie. Someone’s idea of a practical joke. When I find it, I’ll call you," she said apologetically.
Lonnie just stood there stoned, not getting the full impact of what Penny was saying. "Wow man! Some frikin' joke!" He said. The understatement of the year.
"It’s probably over at the Abbey chapel. I’m sure they used it over the weekend," she said, hopefully.
Penny was freaked out. "Lonnie, we're gonna' have to shoot this another time." She said.
"What about the other pieces," he asked quizzically.
Penny was frazzled.
"Not today, Lonnie. Some other time," she said as she quickly escorted Lonnie out the back door of the museum. "I promise to call you the second I located it, she assured him.
”Bummer!" Lonnie said as he left the museum.
Penny turned to Wade. Fear etched on her face. "Something weird is going on! I've got to the bottom of this. And fast."
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE GIFT FROM THE DUCHESS OF THE VATICAN
THE JACKSON-BONÉT MONSTRANCE had been moved from the Abbey vault to the Maris-Sewell Museum less than four weeks before Penny discovered it was missing. Ironically, it had been safely housed in the Abbey vault for almost 40 years and used only on special occasions at St. Peter's chapel.
Not only priceless in terms of artistic and monetary value, but the unique monstrance had a rich and intriguing history. Designed and created almost half a century ago, the monstrance was a gift to the monks of St. Peters from a wealthy and benevolent Catholic benefactress and Duchess of the Vatican, Rose Veronica Jackson.
An indisputably beautiful and regal heiress, Rose was the 50-year old daughter of the late East Coast industrialist, John Harding Winthrop. With lustrous back hair and kind, penetrating soulful brown eyes, Rose was known for her impeccable taste and style, and for her and generous philanthropy, especially to the Catholic Church.
She was also heralded in religious circles, here and abroad, for her extreme love and devotion to God and the Virgin Mary. If not for her great beauty, worldliness and enormous wealth, Rose could have easily been easily mistaken for the ultimate Mother Superior, in a glamorous, Ingrid Bergman kind of way.
The Jackson-Bonét monstrance was a breathtakingly beautiful, avant-garde statue designed in the image of the Virgin Mary, and made of pure platinum. Standing almost three feet tall, Mary's arms are outstretched to the heavens, holding a huge sunburst above her. The sunburst, also made of rich platinum, and symbolic of the Light of God, has a round locket placed at its center. Used to place the consecrated host, symbolic of the body of Christ in Catholicism, the locket is made of heavy beveled glass and double-sided in the front and back. It can be opened on either side and rotates on its axis. It is not unlike the shutter lens of a camera.
During benediction, the exposed host is displayed as a symbol of Christ’s sacrifice for mortal man. In the Catholic faith, a monstrance, with the blessed Eucharist, is considered to be one of the most sacred statues and symbols in the Roman Catholic Church. Defined by Webster’s Dictionary, a monstrance is a vessel in which the consecrated host is exposed for the adoration of the faithful.
There are many different designs, shapes and styles of monstrances, however, most are designed in the shape of a cross. It is very rare to have one designed of the Virgin Mary, the mother of God. The Jackson-Bonét monstrance was indeed a rare treasure and considered by St. Peters and the Vatican to be one of the most unique and beautiful pieces of religious art in the world.
The Duchess, Rose Veronica Jackson, while traveling throughout the world in the early and mid 1950's, constantly searched for the perfect sculptor to create her vision for a monstrance; a gift to bestow on her beloved monks at St. Peters. Rose wanted the monstrance to be no less than a masterpiece and she was willing to wait as long as necessary until she found the perfect artist.
In 1955, Rose traveled to Paris and met with Jacques Bonét, a famous French sculptor, and commissioned him to design and craft what would be known as the famous Jackson-Bonét monstrance. A collaborative piece of art bearing both their creative talents and names.
Rose worked very closely with Bonét and oversaw every aspect of the design and craftsmanship.
While Mssr. Bonet labored over the monstrance, Rose traveled back to California, where she had homes in Beverly Hills and La Jolla, and withdrew her priceless collection of jewelry, safely stored in the Bank of California's vault. She carefully removed most of the jewelry she had collected over the course of her life: diamond, emeralds and sapphire necklaces, ruby broaches and bracelets, splendid earrings and heirlooms passed down to her from her family.
Rose had many, many treasures stored in the vault, including a beautiful malachite watch, a rosary made of rare black pearls and 24 karat cross inlaid with lapis lazuli, a gift from the Duke of Windsor. Rose selected the jewels she wanted for the monstrance and had the precious gems removed from their settings to be placed around the locket on the sunburst of the monstrance. When completed, the Jackson-Bonét monstrance was a breathless and ageless piece of art encrusted with more than 900 diamonds, rubies, amethysts, emeralds, and other precious stones.
"I wanted to give the beautiful jewels, that God had given me throughout my life, back to Him and Mary for allowing me the honor of using them during my earthly life," Rose said magnanimously to Mssr. Bonét.
Bonet had never encountered a woman like Rose Jackson and was overwhelmed with her devotion to God and the Virgin Mary. He felt honored to have been chosen to create this masterpiece. He knew it would be the crown jewel in his portfolio of designs, as well as a priceless treasure for the monks back in Oklahoma.
In a letter to the Abbott of St. Peters in 1955, during the making of the monstrance, Rose's revealed her deeply personal and inner-most feelings about the gift she was creating as a gift and legacy for her beloved monks.
Dear Abbott,At long last I have found the most talented of artists in Paris to create the monstrance of the Virgin Mary. His name is Jacques Bonét, a devout Catholic and master craftsman. Mssr. Bonét is French and Russian. His mother was a Russian aristocrat and his grandfather, also a famed artist and jeweler, designed for the House of Fabregé under the last Russian Tsar, Nicholas II. It is no less than a miracle that I have found Mssr. Bonet. After many years of searching throughout Europe and the US for the perfect sculptor, I can only thank our heavenly Father and His Holy Mother for guiding me to this very talented artist. Knowing I was searching for such an artist, His Holy Excellency, Pope Pious XII gave me access to the archives at the Vatican museum. The pope's sister, Princess Pacelli, accompanied me and remembered the exquisite work of Mssr. Bonét. Mssr. Bonét had been commissioned by the Vatican to design one of the chalices used for the Pope's coronation, and when I saw it, I knew instantly that Mssr. Bonét was the perfect artist, by Divine right.The Princess arranged for a meeting with Mssr. Bonét in Paris last month. It was truly a magical experience and I trust you have received the preliminary sketches Mssr. Bonét and I sent to you last month. God help me to make good my promise and God bless all of you. Yours In Christ, Rose Jackson
April 19, 1955After it was completed, the monstrance was appraised and insured for $356,925.00. The current value of the Jackson-Bonét monstrance was estimated at more than three million dollars. The present market value of the platinum alone was worth at least half a million dollars.
The famous Jackson-Bonét monstrance was, without a doubt, a remarkable treasure and a cherished gift to the monks of St. Peters. For nearly 40 years, most of them considered it their personal Holy Grail.
In early October 1994, when Monsignor Celestine Wolf decided that the monstrance was to be moved to the vault at the Maris-Sewell Museum, Penny was summoned to his office to discuss its safe-keeping. Penny did not know the Abbott very well. He had only arrived in Tahlequah, and had been appointed to his position at St. Peters less than a year prior to making the fateful decision to move the monstrance to the Maris-Sewell Museum. The newly appointed Abbot, a priest and lawyer with degrees in both Canon and Civil Law, had been summoned by Oklahoma Archbishop Thaddeus Richter to rectify the many ills of the troubled Benedictine community.
Monsignor Wolf was a serious, no-nonsense man, and Penny, like most of the staff, and some of the clergy at St. Peters, found him cold and remote. He lacked the warmth and personal charm of Fr. Xavier, Penny thought, although she knew it was not fair to compare the two men. Fr. Xavier was a hard act to follow.
"Quit simply, he walked on water," Penny said honestly.
When Penny arrived at his office, Monsignor Wolf had a large thick file on his desk. Penny noticed the file was old and yellowed from time. She saw the name "Rose V. Jackson, Duchess of the Vatican" labeled on the side of the file. She also noticed that it was stamped "CONFIDENTIAL" in big bold letters on the jacket cover. It looked very official, she thought.
After greeting Penny, Monsignor Wolf got right to the point. "Penny, it has been decided that the Jackson-Bonét monstrance is to be moved to the museum and placed securely in the vault. There are many changes being made around here and I want to insure the monstrance will be safe at all times."
Monsignor Wolf explained cautiously. "It is a very valuable piece of art and I feel it should be at the museum."
"Yes, Monsignor," Penny replied reverently. "I have seen it on occasion during benedictions, but I have never seen it up close. It has quite a history, I understand," Penny said curiously.
The Jackson-Bonét monstrance was legendary at St. Peters. Penny had heard that there was no other monstrance in the world quite like it, and she wondered how St. Peters had been blessed with such a gift. "Yes, it does," Monsignor Wolf replied proudly.
"It was a gift to St. Peters back in the 50's from a devoted and generous Catholic widow," he said. "She was one of the primary benefactors of St. Peters. She built this monastery too," he volunteered knowingly.
"Fascinating." Penny responded. She wanted to know more. "Who was she?" Penny asked curiously.
"Her name was Rose Jackson. She was a Duchess of the Vatican and a close personal friend of Pope Pious XII. She was also an obelate of St. Peters and a dear friend of the Abbot's. St. Peters would not be what it is today without Mrs. Jackson, or the Maris family, for that matter," he said candidly, and proceeded to get back to the matter at hand.
"Penny, the Jackson-Bonét monstrance is worth more than three million dollars and I feel it should be moved at once to the museum. It should have been placed there years ago after the museum was built. It's irreplaceable and worth a king's ransom," he said magnanimously, vastly impressed.
The words, "a king's ransom" kept ringing in Penny's ear.
"Yes, Monsignor. I understand," Penny said respectfully.
She did not question the authority of the newly appointed Abbott, but she quietly wondered why he felt it was necessary to store the monstrance in the vault at the museum, especially after it had been kept at the abbey safely for all these years. Perhaps, it was not as safe as she assumed, Penny thought ruefully.
"Prepare a place in the vault and I will have Brother Gethsemane deliver it in a few days," he said commandingly, as he escorted her to the door of his office.
"Yes, Monsignor," she replied obediently, bowing gently before leaving his office.
Penny knew that the Jackson-Bonét monstrance, like the original portrait of Pope Pius XII, which hung in the entrance of the museum, where two of the most talked-about and valuable pieces of art owned by St. Peters. Collectively, it was speculated that they were worth close to seven million dollars.
Brother Gethsemane arrived at the museum on October 19th to deliver the monstrance to Penny. He transferred the monstrance in a special case that had been designed specifically for it years ago by Brother Miguel Rosario, the Abbey’s senior organist.
Cleverly, the monstrance case resembled that of a cello case and was crafted of heavy black faux-leather and thick cardboard. Brother Miguel had meticulously lined the inside of the case with brown felt. Many thought it was a humble dwelling for such a priceless gift. The case was odd-shaped to accommodate the unusual statue and had a clasp to open the door on the front and another at the top. Brother Miguel had carefully installed a handle for transporting the case.
Penny greeted Brother Gethsemane warmly. "Good afternoon Brother," she said. She was thrilled that the monstrance was now going to be under her care, and couldn't wait to see the monstrance up close.
"Good afternoon Penny. Monsignor Wolf said you would be expecting this," he said quietly. Penny detected a slight bit of sadness in his voice.
"Yes, I have prepared a place for it. Please follow me." She said pleasantly as she led him through the labyrinth of the museum to the back room where the vault was strategically located.
Monsignor Wolf’s seemingly impulsive decision to move the monstrance had caused many of the monk’s great heartache. However, they were not about to challenge the orders of Monsignor Wolf. He was their Superior and they had taken the vow of obedience.
"The monstrance will be safe at the Maris-Sewell," he assured the monks.
Protected by modern locks, a security alarm and state-of-the-art video cameras, Monsignor Wolf felt the Jackson-Bonet monstrance would be safe from harm in the Maris-Sewell vault.
"It would take an act of God to penetrate that fortress. After all, a king's ransom is at stake!" He said cryptically.
The case was closed.
His Royal Highness, Prince D'Arcy de Montebello©
