Priest at work.

It was about 9:15 on a Monday evening, and seventy-five to ninety students and parishioners had already vacated Di Giovanni Hall. A dozen people remained, half of whom were stacking chairs, and the other half talking. The protocol of chair stacking after a Saint Paul's event is well established. The hall is used for parish functions as well as those of the Harvard-Radcliffe Catholic Student Center. After each such event, it must be returned to "the gymnasium mode" so that students attending the Boston Archdiocesan Choir School, housed in the same building, can use it for basketball the following morning.

In a somewhat Pavlovian response to these rules, a few members of each gathering begin to clear the floor as soon as the applause has died. The "Marthas" in the audience, some of whom sport beards, do not complain about their lot; the task has its social gratifications. Depending upon relative physical strength, the workers lift one, two, or three chairs at a time while other well-wishers drag one or two seats over to the closet where the heavy hitters are working. Meantime, others finish their conversations or wait to chat with the speaker of the evening.

The speaker this evening was the Reverend J. Bryan Hehir, finishing his final lecture in a series titled "Perspectives on the Moral Life of Discipleship." The talk, scheduled to begin at 7:30, had not even begin on "Harvard Time" (7:40). As he hurried in at 7:45, a good-natured heckler joshed the former pastor, which brought a quick apology and a quiet litany of the many obligations and academic activities that had immediately preceded this talk.

While a summary of the hour-and-twenty-minute talk is not germane here, it might be noted that the speaker covered the classical approach to moral formation which dominated priestly training for close to five hundred years. He then proceeded to discuss the biblical renewal which supplanted it in the middle of the twentieth century following the publication of Bernard Haring's major works; the validation of that thinking at Vatican Council II; the reaction to that charismatic approach which developed in the 1970s as philosophers argued that there is an autonomous morality which should be common to believers and nonbelievers; and finally the analysis brought to the subject by Pope John Paul II in his 1993 encyclical Veritatis splendor.

Back to the chairs. One of them was occupied by a gentleman who was fast asleep, breathing heavily, and, it would seem, in danger of falling off at the slightest disturbance. All were shy about rousing him. Preconciliar Catholics as well as modernizers were in agreement that "Father will know what to do." Our reticence to tackle the problem related to the fact that the gentleman's ability to stand up unaided was seriously in doubt. He had imbibed, you understand, and, later, confessed publicly that he was "nothing but an alcoholic."

Several efforts to rouse him had failed, but Father Hehir's third try brought a begrudging acknowledgment of conscious presence and recognition of the former pastor. It was followed by the glowing tribute: "Father, you gave a great talk."

Bending over this guest who had no plan of exit, Father continued to press the idea that the hall had to be cleared, and the parish center locked up.

The obvious questions in the minds of all the onlookers were: "Where will he go?" "How do we get him there?" "Who's stuck with that job?" And, "What happens if you can't even get him out of the car?"

We had just been told by Father Hehir, "A call to the police will result in his being dropped at the detox center on Albany Street, or perhaps at the Pine Street Inn, and none of these fellows wants to go to those larger places."

The guest made a bid which he hoped would be preemptive: "Take me to Mount Auburn Hospital, Father. They'll take me there."

"I doubt that they will do that," was the response of the former pastor. "They'll do it at Cambridge City. But Mount Auburn? I doubt that they can."

"Take me to Mount Auburn, Father. They L-O-V-E me there." This was followed by the admission that he had spent the preceding night there and had released himself that morning.

At that point the weary lecturer left the room to go to the telephone, acknowledging in an aside, "I'm afraid this is going to be a longer evening than I bargained for." It was unclear whether he would call the police, Cambridge City Hospital, or Mount Auburn.

Three minutes later Bryan Hehir was back, an amazed smile on his lips. "They'll take him at Mount Auburn. They know him well." And then, "Wait just a minute till I get my coat and car keys." He was joined by the youngest and perhaps most able-bodied of the remaining onlookers; then the trio exited the hall.

Naturally, but not inevitably, one was reminded of Luke 10:33-34: "But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him was moved with compassion at the sight. He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds, and bandaged them. Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn, and cared for him."

Ahh, but it couldn't be. That was a Samaritan. This is a priest.

Vincent P. Stanton, a retired investment manager, is a member of Saint Paul's Church in Cambridge, Massachusetts.