MONDAY DIARY: VACATIONS AND VOCATIONS

What genera of book would think this was if you picked out the following dialogue from a book:

“Sir, face the wall. Spread you feet sir. A little more. Put your hands over your head and remain still.”

If you guessed going through airport security in one of those new scanners you would be correct.

I stupidly overdressed for traveling (a couple of days away from the parish.) My miraculous metal medal, studs in my collar, difficult shoes, belt, ring, pockets full of stuff. I know better. I wasn’t thinking.

You know, I would never undress to the extent that I did in the airport in any other gathering of people outside of a men’s locker room where I was about to work out. It is interesting to see how people handle it. Some feel like they are at a pajama party and others struggle desperately to clutch onto their dignity.

Although people may talk to strangers quite a bit in the queue leading up to the stripping point, once the stripping begins until the subsequent dressing is finished, it is as if we all try to pretend that the other strangers are not there. “I don’t see you and you don’t see me.”

I have gone someplace warm for a few days away from the parish for a few days. (There may be some days when there is no post.) It was interesting to see how other people in the plane dressed. Some clearly knew where they were going and had left winter clothes behind and were wearing very light clothing. Some were still bundled up. They would be hot once they got off of the plane. Pick your poison I suppose. Freeze now or boil later.

I like to travel in clerics. Many an interesting conversation has arisen and although I have always feared the person that would cling to me and talk and talk and talk that has never happened. (I am not a big talker particularly on planes.) The only time that did happen to me was when I was not in clerics. Most people are polite.

Before I was a priest I would love to see people in ecclesiastical garb out and about. I felt a twinge of pride such as when you see someone wearing a jacket from your favorite college. There was always an instant connection and if I saw a nun in the mall or some such place, I would always go up and say, “I don’t want to interrupt your day, I just wanted to say hi sister,” or father or what have you.

When I was first ordained I used to notice people noticing me. I don’t anymore. My sisters do however. “Why is everyone being so nice and smiling at us?” And that after a pause: “Oh! I’m with you,” the “you” not being emphasized in the most flattering manner.

Sometimes it is not always a flattering or pleasant situation when someone sees a color – kind of like wearing a Steeler’s jersey to a Browns game. But it is always an opportunity – a momentary yanking of a person out of the secular matters spiritual – even if it is only me catching an image of my colar reflected in a window.

MONDAY DIARY: STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT

Sebastian is barking like there’s a boogey man in the house. I roll over and see my clock: 3:30AM. Sheesh. “Maybe he’ll stop and the problem will go away.” He stops barking. Then I hear a noise. I am now fully awake. I put on some clothes and start walking downstairs. This time Sebastian stays in his closet – he must figure that I am going to take care of it now - and I think, “Wait a minute. This is HIS job.” So I go pull him out of bed and make him go before me. Now he thinks it is a game and takes off barking. Somehow I already know who it is.

I wonder if there are as many people who innocently run into police officers in their pajamas as I do. Apparently one of our doors did not lock and the police came to check things out when the alarms went off. It could have been anything including the wind blowing. But I took Sebastian with me anyway to walk through the church. If anyone was in there, everyone would know about it soon.

There was nothing of note to tell you but now I was wide awake and needed to up in an hour and half to catch a plane. I was in a phase for a while of not wearing my clerics while traveling. Quite honestly they are not the most convenient clothes in which to travel these days. I prefer loose fitting, simple clothing for the strip down at the security center at the airport. About a year ago a security guy in Chicago after checking my picture ID asked with a broadening smile, “Traveling incognito Father?” So now I don’t. The slight inconvenience seems worth the witness value.

There is a certain amount of risk. You are about to sit, trapped next to someone for a couple of hours. You hope that their inclination toward the Church is at least civil of not sane. The conversation usually begins, “Excuse me, are you a Catholic priest?” Why we don’t just start saying to everyone, “Before we begin, yes, I am a Catholic priest” is beyond me.

There is the slight holding of the breath for a moment until the next words come out of the other person. “How interesting,” she says, “I grew up the child of a minister!” Breathe easy.

As it turned out both she and her husband were children of Evangelical preaching fathers. She readily offered that there are “good Catholic people” and I agreed that there were one or two. She asked about how I felt being celibate and whatnot (I LOVE this! Would you ever think to a ask a random stranger how they like being married?) As it turns out however, her oldest grandchild strongly desires to become a Catholic priest. So we talked about the implications and I assured her that if God were truly calling him to this, it would be what would make him happy. She showed me his picture and I promised to say a prayer for him (maybe you could too.)

All made possible by a black band with a white block on it. Would that have happened with a polo shirt and pair of jeans. Maybe, but maybe not as likely.

MONDAY DIARY: CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN

Apologies to you that there was not a post on Friday. We were so swamped here at St. Sebastian that there was simply no time for such things. It was one of those (couple of days) in which there was little free time to do much other than parish duties. Sunday was pretty much like that too. This can be the cause of ending up in pretty interesting outfits.

Of course we were dressed for the Mass schedule and so I had on my cassock. Under that was a formal white short and collar with cufflinks and such. It was donut Sunday and PSR Sunday morning confessions among other things so by the time the 1:00 Mass rolled around we had been so busy that Sebastian had not gone for a walk and he is acting pretty desperate. It was snowing quite hard so I did not want to go out in my nice shoes so I substituted my cowboy boots (complete with spurs) for my dress shoes and we headed out. When we got back there was still a half an hour to go before the Mass was to be finished. Both Fr. Pfeiffer and I had obligations later in the day and would be away, but the Christmas tree had to be brought in that day so that it would relax enough to be decorated for the staff party on Tuesday. I took off my cassock (they are hard to get off with spurs on by the way) but did not want to change completely out of clerics for I would need them again in a short spell. So I grabbed an apron out of the kitchen to keep the white shirt clean and pair of gloves for the moving of furniture and the bringing in of the tree.

Of course when the furniture was moved out of the way the carpet had to be vacuumed first (it was a mess) so there I was in formal clerics and cufflinks, cowboy boots, cooking apron, and work gloves pushing a vacuum around. I actually didn’t think much of it until my parochial vicar who shall remain anonymous came in, laughing at me and taking a picture with his phone.

It may sound strange but it was immensely practical. When we were done, taking off the apron and gloves, changing shoes, and putting the cassock back on I looked the very picture of a Sunday morning pastor.

So if you should knock on the door of your rectory and find your priest oddly dressed, there is a chance he is not insane but trying to keep pace with the clothing demands of his day in the most economical way possible.

MONDAY DIARY: ANONYMOUS IN CANADA EH?

“I need to evangelize more as a priest.” This was one of the conclusions that we came to on our trip to Canada this past week. We spent a lot of time “talking shop.” “If we are serious about that,” I said, “we could be wearing our collars.” “True.”

Unless I am riding my bike or some such thing, if I am out and about you can usually count on finding me in my clericals. Yet on certain vacations I don’t wear them. I get easily “peopled out” and desire to be left alone and so selfishly don’t wear them.

People find you out however. Going through customs into Canada we handed over our passports (can you believe you need a passport to get out of and into the United States to and from Canada now? That’s like needing a note from your parents to play with your brother) and the customs man asked, “Are you bringing anything into the country?”

“No.”

“How about Bibles?” We have our collars on in our passport photos.

(Hearty har har.”)

At one of the theaters I was lamenting with the person in front of us during intermission how terrible our seats were for “A Winter’s Tail.” She said that she was a college professor of literature and eventually got around to asking what I do for a living.

“Well that’s very interesting!”

No matter how subtle we try to be in restaurants, people seem to notice when we bless our food. But be that as it may nothing says “PRESENCE OF GOD’S CHURCH” like the Roman collar (or habit) which also attracts people. I know this. It attracts me.

Last year I attended the festival by myself. Walking down the street I saw a man dressed in clerics sitting at a café table on the sidewalk sipping coffee. I stopped and introduced myself apologizing for interrupting his breakfast. I wrote you about him last year. He is from England and was filling in at the local parish while taking in the shows. I had extra tickets since my travel partner was out of commission and was able to share them with him. It was a great experience that would not have happened had he not been dressed in his blacks.

At my core I am an extremely private person in a very public role. My first day back I found myself being cranky because of all the sudden attention and spent much of Sunday afternoon locked in the rectory trying to prepare myself to be around people again. It takes a lot of energy for me. Actually I find most priests make a good show of being outward people-persons but in actuality are very private.

So – I don’t know. These are just my ponderings today with not a lot of direction.

I LOVE YOU. WOULD YOU MIND CHANGING?

When I was ordained my cousin handed me a cook book in wrapping paper and said, “You are now becoming a public figure. The only place people will not have a say in what you do is in the WC and the kitchen. Learn how to cook.”

She was not entirely correct. There is always someone around giving input in kitchen affairs.

But in general she was a prophetess. Not the least of which is in the manner of dress. Priests can be just as caddy as anybody else especially when it comes to liturgical dress and I am just as guilty as anyone. “Are you going to wear THAT for the celebration of the Holy Mass?” I might say to someone about to go out into the sanctuary donned in what I would determine to be emasculating at best and slightly heretical at worse. (N.B. There is a bit of hyperbole here.)

The sword cuts both ways. A visiting priest began saying something about my choice of wearing a cincture – a lecture I have been given way too many times and I am afraid I might have been a little snarky in my cutting off of any further utterances on the matter. (I do defend myself in that if someone had something new and intelligent to say on the matter I might entertain the conversation if my pride radar were down and God gave me some extra grace.)

But how a priest is dressed is not limited to other priests. The way a cleric clothes his body is open to considerable debate. I have been witness to priests being asked to dress in a more obviously clerical manner and have been invited out on a number of occasions and told to “be more comfortable” and not wear anything black. By “be more comfortable” I assume they mean for themselves as I am perfectly comfortable dressed in clerics. As long as I don’t look down I don’t even know the difference.

When I was a kid I remember someone writing to Ann Landers asking her how to gently tell a priest that the way he was dressing at the golf course was embarrassing. Used to only wearing black (how wrong can you go with that?) priests were showing up at the golf course dressed in horridly clashing plaids.

Now this attention to dress might be a cause of consternation for some priestly types. Indeed I have heard some declare, “How dare h/s tell ME how do dress! I don’t give h/h fashion notes!” But I offer a point to ponder. Take the clerical fashion police with a kind heart. It is great that such a person has such a great interest in you and more importantly in the priesthood.

It would be a far worse thing if others didn’t care what we wore at all!

MONDAY DIARY - WIRED FOR SOUND

Last Tuesday the no longer named Fr. O and I ran an errand together. He was stopping by just long enough to tackle our little excursion and then he was to be off. As we scooted about I told him that I shared with you his flopped attempt at going by the moniker Fr. O. We tried “Fr. J” and that seemed to lack a certain ring too. Later in the week I found out from his brother that his initials are actually JP. Now that has a ring to it. Maybe we can make him JP Three.

On our way back to the rectory I offered the, for now named, Fr. J a cup of coffee at a local establishment since we were going to be done early. “No,” he said, “Today is my day for running errands and I want to get them all done.” That was fine and thought perhaps I could get a few phone calls and Emails taken care of before the next thing on my own agenda. That is when I had the strange sensation one gets when you prepare yourself for a turn but the car keeps going straight as if you were slipping on an icy road, the car continuing on its path though the tires are pointed off to the right.

“You do realize that you just passed my driveway?”

“Yes. I changed my mind. Coffee sounds good. Where do you want to go?”

Just that week I had been reading the back of our bulletin and noticed that there is only one coffee house there. “To the Nervous Dog!” I instructed him. The Nervous Dog is in a thoroughly uninspiring building but once inside the four walls of the coffee house’s cube it is quite nice. As we were walking it occurred to me that something interesting always seems to happen in this particular place. I don’t know that it is this place exactly but that interesting things always seemed to happen. And they did this day also.

We made our coffee order and I asked our server to say thank you to the manager who advertises in our bulletin. A young man standing next to me who seemed to be waiting for one of those complicated drinks that take five minutes to make introduced himself to me and asked from which parish I came. “I’m from Saint Sebastian too!” he exclaimed though it turned out he had not cast a shadow in a pew in some years. I offered to take him over to a private section of the place and hear his confession so he could come to Mass that very weekend and receive Communion but he declined. Nobody every takes me up on that offer.

Settling ourselves into some nice club chairs in the window from where the clock could be seen we chatted and carefully sipped our too hot coffee waiting for it to cool down. “Excuse me.” We looked up. It was the young man from the counter. “Would you mind if I asked you a question? I mean, how often do you get a priest so handy to ask questions to?”

He asked his question which was of no minor concern which soon required the acquiring of another chair. A few minutes more and one of his compatriots joined us. “I’m afraid of priests,” she informed us, “but I have some questions too.” The nature of her questions were such that I could understand why she might think she should be concerned about bringing things up to a couple of priests. But if a person is open to conversation there is no need to be defensive on either side. We stated clearly that we would give and defend the Catholic position as clearly as we knew how (and believe me the questions were weighty and difficult) but we would also be respectful if they disagreed. A great discussion then took place but it did trump our plans for getting busy work done that day. It was a great exchange of information, fellowship, and community.

By and large people know the teachings of the Catholic Church. Well, they think they do. They know the “Don’t”s; a bit less the “Do”s, and almost never the “Whys.” Without the “Do”s and the “Why”s, the “Don’t”s can seem very arid and depressing. The only difficulty is the “Don’t”s take about half a second to teach, the other two categories take an unexpected afternoon at a coffee shop. But even if we have not brought more people into practicing the faith by it, there is some good will (in both directions) and some clearing of some misconceptions. When with their peers a topic of Church teaching comes up, they will be able to say, “Actually, I talked to some priests and what they told us was . . .”

Of course, we too now have a better idea of from where they are coming. That will help us in our ministry.

BEWEARING!

It has been a while since we have had a quiz and it seemed about time. Name the piece of clothing described in each of the paragraphs. Answers tomorrow.

1. I’ve been around since the fifth century. Originally I was worn by anybody to keep them warm, but remained popular with the clergy because churches were largely unheated. Worldwide I’m most commonly known as a soutane, which translates “beneath”. I have large cuffs on my sleeves in which you might store your notes or program. I am to be worn ankle length. In general I am black though other colors may be added depending on the cleric’s rank. In the U.S. I’m not to be worn off of church property and sadly, you have never seen the pope wear me. What am I?

2. I am the most familiar ecclesial dress of the hierarchy, though I was not officially recognized until 1872. I am worn only by those of episcopal dignity because I am identified with jurisdiction, not the clerical state. I am very similar to the garment above, but I have an elbow length cape attached to me. Incidentally I am worn by the pope. What am I?

3. Believe it or not, I did not take the exact for we accustomed to seeing today until the middle of the 1800s. I was originally a protective band of cloth, which kept my predecessor, which was worn around the neck, from becoming soiled. When my predecessor was abolished, I remained. Was stiffened, and ever since became associated with priesthood. What am I?

4. I’ve been in continual use in the Church for a thousand years. I can be used by the clergy as well as the laity. I am always white or off white and come in varying lengths. I am usually worn by Masters of Ceremonies and interestingly enough, there is an indulgence for priest and seminarians who wear me and say the proper prayers which were never abrogated. What am I?

5. Officially anyway I am to be worn with the cassock. I can be traced back as clothing for the early Roman citizen. Since 1207 I’ve only been white in color. I’ve been jokingly referred to as “liturgical underwear” but I am supposed to cover all of your street clothes or I am not doing my job. Symbolically I represent the purity of the priesthood. What am I?

6. I too can be traced back to the early Roman Empire, but I was used by common workers to protect them from the elements. In the third century it was forbidden for men and women to wear me in sacred spaces, as I became the dress for priests. Over the centuries I could be found in all kinds of shapes and sizes. I come in any of the liturgical colors and must be worn by the priest at mass. I represent the charity of Christ. What am I?

7. I was originally worn by clerics only out of doors to protect them from the elements. Later on I developed liturgical uses outside of the mass such as benediction and was allowed indoors. I used to have a hood, but many designs just render it as fanciful piece of material now. What am I?

8. In the early Christian era, only people of rank and wealth wore me. Later on, perhaps as early as 332, I became the garment used by deacons. I do my best to match the celebrant’s garb in color and make, am open on the sides with wise sleeves. What am I?

9. Originally used as a scarf to keep the neck warm and then later as a sign of the dignity similar to public honors I am the symbol of priestly dignity and jurisdiction as well as service and am to be worn whenever the priest is vested or performing the sacraments. What am I?

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING?

Picture a small group of guys sitting around chewing the fat. One of them is a priest wearing his collar. One of them (not the priest) is telling a story part of which goes something like this, “So the guy backed his truck up and dumped a whole *!#% load of it on his neighbor’s lawn.” Realizing what he said in from of a priest he turns and says, “Sorry Father!”

I used to blow such things off and say, “Don’t worry about it,” but that never quite sat well. There is something wrong about a Catholic speaking that way. Even in the process of using the word that good Catholic seeing an iconic symbol of our calling to holiness was able to call himself up on it. Pretty cool.

An article in the “New Dictionary of Theology” talks about Catholics surrounding themselves with certain things of this world to aid us in keeping our eyes on the next. Not only do we have our community, our stories, Sacred Scripture and Tradition, our practices and prayers, we also have a great amount of symbolic imagery, “which supports and undergirds the whole enterprise,” providing us with stimulus and motivation and creating “a climate favorable” to the type of life to which we are called. Perhaps it would be better if we could just accomplish good lives without all the outward stimulus, but in a world that constantly bombards us with stimuli to act in a way contrary to the life of a Catholic, it is in many ways essential.

All this comes to you by way of a comment shared by a fellow priest that has my liturgical underwear in a bunch. A young priest was called to task by another priest for wearing his collar “too much”. Yes, there are times I do not wear my collar. Many times it is just because they are so incredibly expensive (so I don’t wear them hanging around the rectory on my day off for example) and would think a priest odd if he wore his collar to the beach like in the famous Coke commercial.

There is a fear however that a priest who wears his collar “too much” is somehow clerical, perhaps wearing his collar for the wrong reasons, using it for power, or as something to hide behind. This is possible. But the problem is not in wearing the collar “too much”, but in the character of the person. Shaming him into not wearing it will not cure the problem. Some of the most clerical priests on the face of the earth are those who refuse to wear a Roman Collar.

Yesterday (as this was being composed) there was news of yet another school shooting in Cleveland. As I was on the treadmill pictures of the event popped up on every television and on every channel. Does this not happen every time there is such a tragedy? From the first moment a camera gets on the scene the coverage is non-stop till long after everyone has run out of things to say.

Add to this that a great amount of our common stories are about violence being a legitimate way to solve problems. This occurs on television, at the movies and in our popular novels. I would be willing to bet the shooter’s music glorified violence; perhaps the graphics on his T-shirts, the posters in his room, and the billboards around his house either glorified force or failed to in some way to uphold the dignity of human life. Would that he, at a crucial moment in his formative years, instead of seeing another scene such as these, he had seen a young priest who was wearing his collar “too much”.

Young(er) priests, don’t worry about it. It takes a while to get the hang of when it is absolutely necessary for you to wear your clerics and when it is Okay not too. And there tends not to be hard and fast rules though Pope John Paul II often instructed priests and religious to always wear their distinctive (clerical) clothing, unless wearing it would result in persecution or grave verbal attacks. In a world full of messages and symbols contrary to our own it is not such a bad thing that we stick our symbols as boldly out there.