New Novel About the Latin Mass Reviving A Rural Parish Bishop J. Donald Doherty was chuckling at the large map of his diocese that covered most of his desk, its parish churches marked by bright blue crosses, the parish boundaries by dotted blue lines, their schools and the diocesan high school by (of course) little red schoolhouses, the cemeteries by bright green crosses. Near the northern edge of his fief lay a lonely blue cross, circled by him, a moment ago, in heavy black ink. He pressed the intercom button on his phone. “Ed, you remember that strange letter from those people calling themselves Saint—what was it? Ambrose? Aquinas?” Asking for the old Mass? I’m going to give them Forty Martyrs.” “Don, you can’t do that—er, sorry.” “Relax, Ed. Haven’t had so much fun in years. It’s perfect.” ~ ~ ~ Double doors with glass windows led into the nave, which was carpeted in surgical green, with brown spots scattered about, some bearing fresh bits of ceiling tile. Just inside the doors …