The Reverend's
Rambling
Two days before
Christmas, following an altar girl with the cross held high, Reverend Timothy
O'Hara walked down the center isle of Saint Mary's Catholic Church. He moved
slower than in the past. Knee surgery and his eighty-two years were telling on
him.
Why am I still saying six a.m. Mass every
morning? he mused. I'm retired; I
don't have to do this. Too many innovations nowadays. I never liked the idea of
girls as altar servers but I have to tolerate them; I have to read some of the
liturgy because it's been updated and my memorized version isn't in vogue; and
I stumble on the words, embarrassing myself. Hell, I can't even recite the
Lord's Prayer anymore without missing a beat sometimes.
Hell? I said Hell on the steps to the
sanctuary. God forgive me.
The deacon at his side held onto the
priest's elbow as he walked up the steps and over to the lectern to face the
parishioners. "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy
Ghost--" The Mass had begun. As soon as Father O'Malley sat for the
readings by the lecturer, his mind wandered again.
I guess it's the Irish in me, I always get
sentimental at Christmastime and when a new year approaches. More so now that
most of my family's gone and I never had one of my own. I think about regrets. Over
fifty years a priest. I've baptized many children, and their children. I've watched them grow up. Some turned out
fine; others, well, not so good. I've buried many parishioners, too. And
visited them in jail. Plus, listening to their woes and trying to advise and
console them, promising them God never forgets them. I've also reminded a few
why they're on Earth--not to rack up millions but to serve God and reach
heaven.
He stared at the deacon who had begun reading
the gospel but he wasn't listening to the words of it.
Hmmm, I wonder what my life would have been
like if I'd gone to medical school like I planned? Maybe not much different. As
an internist, I'd still be counseling people, listening to their problems. But,
God willing, I would have had children. Would I now be proud of them, or would
that have been a disaster? Although I never let them know it, sometimes the
school children get on my nerves. Maybe I wouldn't have been a good father. He
suppressed a smile. Was I any good at
being a "father" to my flock?
Father O'Hara blinked when he realized
the deacon had finished reading the gospel. He rose for the Prayers of the
Faithful; following them, he stepped over to the altar and recited the Mass
prayers almost in a sing-song fashion. The congregation stood and joined in
when he reached the Lord's Prayer. At the Sign of Peace, he looked out at the
pews and waved to the O'Hara's, who always attended daily Mass, the general's
wife who came most of the time alone, and to Sister Louise, now retired. He blinked
when he spotted the young couple who'd just lost the month old baby he'd
baptized in a back pew on the side area. As they hugged each other, he could
see the sadness in their eyes.
I'm glad I never had to suffer through losing
a child, he consoled himself.
The Mass ended. After telling the
congregation, "Go in peace to love and serve the Lord," he received
help down the steps. On the way down the aisle, he passed a lady he didn't
recognize, but she looked familiar somehow. She followed him to the back of the
church.
As soon as they
reached the holy water fount, she touched his arm and motioned him over by the
sacristy door.
"Father O'Hara,"
she said with a twinkle in her blue eyes, "I guess you don't remember me.
It's been many years, but I'm Susan Stein Lewis." She lowered her voice to
a whisper. "But I bet you remember the night you kissed me goodbye and
said you were going to the seminary."
Father O'Hara cut
his eyes in all directions. He hoped the parishioners passing by didn't hear
her remark. "Oh, Susan. What a nice surprise. How has life treated
you?" he asked, recalling what a tease she'd always been.
"Actually,
I've had a very good life. My husband, John, is very successful. He's an
engineer, retired now, so we moved back to my hometown. We have two children,
the oldest, John, Jr., is also an engineer. The younger one, Timothy, she
chuckled and blinked, "well, he's almost middle-aged but still finding
himself." She pulled out a picture of a handsome man with carrot red hair
and a winning smile and held it up. Her voice lowered. "John doesn't know
it, but I named him for you."
She edged closer. "Look,
Tim, er, Father, he's in jail on drug charges and burglary. I came to ask you
to say some prayers for him." Her mouth twisted in a smug look that he
remembered fondly. Then she added, "If things had been different, he might
have been your son," and Father Tim caught his breath.
He put his arm
around her shoulder. Oh, dear God, my
memories are flooding back. No, I never forgot that last kiss. I think I loved
her. My decision, was it right? Timmy? He's got red hair like mine was before
it turned white. Would he have been different if I'd been his father?" He
blinked. How am I going to handle this?
He stiffened his
body, stepped back, and held Susan at arm's length. "Since Timmy is your
son, Susan," he said in a firm tone of voice, "I'm sure he's enough
like you to overcome adversity. Give him a little time and keep praying for him
and he'll be all right."
Father O'Hara steadied
himself by leaning his back against the wall. "Suz," he used his pet
name for her, "I'm convinced that you know the right things to tell Timmy
to turn him around, back to God. And I'll keep him in my prayers."
The tears in his
former girlfriend's eyes melted his heart. He hoped he was telling her the
truth. But it was time for dismissal. He looked at his watch. "I'm sorry,
but I have to go. A baptism. Thank you for coming by." He squeezed her
elbow. "Keep the faith." He didn't extend an invitation to come
again.
It wasn't till Suz
left that he realized how ludicrous his statement--"Keep the faith"--was.
Suz was not Catholic; she was Jewish and deeply entrenched in her religion. It
reminded him that their marriage could have turned out to be a very shaky one.
A definite obstacle to happiness.
Walking back to
the rectory, Father O'Hara raised his eyes to the sky. So, the baptism's not till this afternoon, but I had to have an excuse
to leave, Lord, before I got in some real trouble. Ah, age doesn't end
feelings. Suz was quite a looker and she's still a charmer--and a tease.
He turned and looked back at the church
he'd just left. This isn't the first time
I've had doubts about being a priest, either. But I think it's the last. I may
be an old man, but I learned something from that encounter: The church is my
home; I made the right decision.
