MONDAY DIARY: ALMOST EXCRUSIATINGLY TRUE STORIES: GROWING UP INTO AN ADULT PRIEST

Temptation is a loyal mistress.  She is always there at your beck and call.  She will support you at all costs, give any excuse for you, and if she is in a really good mood, will provide you ample justification for any decision you should make.  She flirts heavily but she is also fickle.  She temps wildly but if you give in to her, she often slaps you on the cheek for being such an easy mark.

 

Like one of the Sirens of Greek mythology she came tapping at my door last Sunday.  As you may recall, last Sunday was Mother's Day.  We had just finished up all of our Masses, baptisms, meetings, and donuts, and I went to go lock up the church.  Everyone had deserted the parish to spend time with Moms.  My Mom spending Mother's Day in heaven it seemed like a great opportunity to find Sunday rest.  Shedding formal clothes this wonderful late afternoon was to begin with a nap.

 

I had left a book I was reading downstairs and wanted to get it in order to fall asleep with it.  Walking into my office I saw a strange sight: my message light on my phone was blinking. 

It takes a lot for a message to get through to my phone on a Sunday.  Somebody really, really wanted to get through to me.  They didn't leave a message on the parish phone, they didn't call the emergency line, they wanted me.  At 5:00.  On Sunday.  That happened to be Mother's Day.

 

*sigh*

 

That's when temptation hit.

Fortunately my Guardian Angel was more convincing than the Siren.  It was unfair bringing my Mother into the mix, but I understand.  You gotta do what you gotta do.

 

Returning to my grade school age petulance I jabbed at the buttons (despite my drawing of a rotary phone) and waited impatiently for the message to come up. 

 

"Please enter your code."

 

jab jab jab

 

To listen to your messages press 2.  (Why 2???)

 

jab

 

You have one message.  To listen to your new messages press 3.

 

jab

 

The following message was sent to you on Sunday, May 11th at 5:00PM

 

"O FOR THE LOVE OF PETE JUST GIVE ME MY STINKING MESSAGE!"

 

As it turns out, there was an elderly person at the hospital who had never been baptized.  The prognosis was not good and it seemed that sacrament had to take place that day or perhaps not at all.  Returning the call it turned out that I was the only priest in north east Ohio available before night fall. 

 

I would like to say that I cheerily hopped in my car and went right over.  I would like to, but it would be a lie.  Grumpily I trudged upstairs and redressed in my clerics, stomped over to the church to get all the things I would need for the expedited initiation rites, and back to the car where I slammed the door.

 

In the driveway my guardian angel slapped my upside the head.  Did I not have any idea what an awesome thing this was?  Did I have no idea what an honor this was?  Did I have any idea how eternity would change for this person?  Was there no understanding of what a great responsibility this was?  Do you remember why you became a priest?!  (For most men, this would have been the role of his wife as she pushed her husband out the door.  I must rely on my guardian angel.)

 

I took a deep breath and my mood lifted considerably.  What it boiled down to was having to change plans.  I am not good at that.  Change restaurants locations half way to the place decided and I will silently grumble having prepared myself for a particular place already.  Now that this WAS the plan, it was even kind of exciting thinking about what was about to take place.

 

But wait, there's more:  On the way someone called on my cell to say that another parishioner was in the same hospital and could a pray for that person.  "Better than that!  I'm on my way there!  I will visit!"

 

How come it is, when you follow God's, things just seem to turn out better?

MONDAY DIARY: HOSPITLVISITORITIS

There was a time I loathed visiting people in the hospital. Part of it was because of the unrealistic training that I receive in the seminary. Of course you could not dress like a priest and we were sent into people’s rooms without warning to offer prayer or conversation or whatever. Once there was a lady who had just had a total mastectomy. I walked in and said hello and tried to explain who I was when she started yelling at me to get out - shouting something about shiftless men who did this to her. That is where I got this case of fear of going to hospitals. Unless I had every bit of information including which bed the patient was in and was sure that the person wanted to see a priest I would go in shaking.

Times have changed. First, because of the hippo laws (if that is how the word is spelled, I hear about it all the time but don’t remember seeing it spelled) I cannot go into someone’s room unless I have been invited. In fact, the hospital cannot even tell me that you are in their facility without your expressed consent.

Secondly the situation from the seminary was a bit of a false taste of the ministry. One of the great things about being a priest in a parish is that you get to know people. I am not dropping in on a stranger but someone I see on a regular basis and with whom I have some kind of relationship. And more than likely they want to see me. Many times they are waiting to see me (or at least “a priest.”)

To that last point here is a common scenario from an event this past week. A call came in that somebody needs to be anointed. The information is taken down and jump in the priestmobile head out to Akron City. Parking at Akron City is now so complicated that I park a block away and just walk there.

I go up to the room and there is a lady in bed surrounded by her family. I chat with her husband and it turns out that he is not Catholic. I invite them all to pray with me and we anoint her and give her the apostolic pardon. She is, compared to how she had been, unusually responsive, opening her eyes and feebly trying to make the responses and gestures. Almost by the time I make it home she has passed. “She must have been waiting for that,” I was informed. And that is not unusual. Some people wait for certain relatives, some to be alone, some for a date, and some to be anointed. And it is a blessing to be able to be the one who brings Christ to someone at this important moment.

MONDAY DIARY CHAPTER 4

TRYING TO ANSWER THE QUESTION, “WHAT DOES A PRIEST DO?” Wednesday morning they clean the offices at the rectory making accomplishing anything significant difficult and so the morning is used as the time to visit people in the hospital.

At the main desk they provide a sheet of names of people from the parish and I roam about the sprawling and growing complex checking up on people, visiting, and blessing and anointing when it is needed. Let’s be very clear. I used to hate this. I felt uncomfortable, intrusive, awkward, and completely unqualified. It began with a bad experience when I was in the seminary. They sent us into a hospital and told us to go talk to people. I went into a room where, unbeknownst to me, a lady just had surgery for “lady problems” and was angry – particularly at men – particularly men in hospitals. I didn’t get much past, “Hello, my name is . . .” when she started screaming for me to get out.

I did.

That was the only incident but it made going to the hospital for me a painful weekly experience. Now it is not so bad because of the relief it brings to so many people on many different levels. A distracting visit, the surety of the sacraments, the comfort of prayer, and a symbol of hope in a difficult situation.

This past Wednesday I was in part of the hospital that was devoted to people who have memory problems like my father. The people here may have no idea who I am but they light up at the sight of a collar. People who cannot carry on a conversation click “on” and join in prayer as if there were little wrong with them, their faces relaxing in this moment of peace amidst the chaos of illness.

The day before (Tuesday, my day away) I went to visit my Dad. I was wondering if this was the time to talk about death. It wasn’t, most definitely. “Ask him if he thought about praying instead,” was a question that rang in my ear. So I did. In his most gruff manner he said, “I don’t even know how.” “Just ask him to help you Dad.” “Fine!” he groused, “God help me!”

Well, it was start.

Often the priest is the only one who broaches such important topics with people as death and the state of one’s soul. Everyone else is too polite and does not want to risk depressing a dying person. But can you imagine the most important thing in one’s life is about to take place and nobody wants to talk about it?

As I was leaving the hospital on Wednesday a lady stopped me and asked me if I was Catholic. “Would you talk to my husband?” Apparently he was in much the same situation as my Dad. “He is not completely coherent, does not believe in God, and is slipping away. Would you offer to talk to him or pray with him?” Of course I wouldn’t mind.

He did though.

I offered him a blessing or a prayer and he waved me off. So I wished him a good day and left him while thoughts of that woman who did not want me in her room so long ago circled around in my mind (which is why I do not go into any room without an invitation.) But I thought of him for some time (which was probably why that clip from yesterday infected my thoughts so.)

It was funny I felt more for his wife than I did him. I guess there may be 1,001 legitimate reasons why he might not want to see a priest, but she felt so frustrated for what else could she give? She can provide company but not hope. She can say goodbye but not see you later dear. She can say thanks but not pray with him for his good reward. Company, hope, goodbye, see you later, thanks, your sins are forgiven, these are the things I want to hear on my death bed and why I go back to the hospital every Wednesday.