Clareified

THE HOLY GRAIL

In the hierarchy of the local parish, the pastor is the pinnacle.
However, on holy days of obligation — forget the pastor– no way are you getting anywhere near him.
So, on holy days of obligation, the key is that other priest.
Now, there’s probably some formal name for him that I knew once, a long, long time ago.
But, today, he’s simply that other priest and I am going to get my ashes from him.
On any given Sunday, the church is usually barely half full.
The pastor gives the homily, hands out the Eucharist, maybe gets an assist or two from that other priest and one or two sycophantic volunteers for the wine and the shaking of that smoky septer thing; but, for the most part, pastor runs the show.
On the HDOOs, however, he has an army of sycophantic volunteers — mostly because they know, the only way they’re getting ashes or Eucharist from the pastor, is to volunteer to hand them out to others.
Now, call me picky, but I will not submit to holy rites at the hands of random people. God only knows where those hands are the other 364 days of the year.
No sir.
Priest is closest to God, that’s where I’m going.
In my old churches, it was fairly easy. Mill about the back and make the mad dash for the altar seconds before the line at the front gets down to one or two.
Today it was trickier.
In my new neighborhood, the local parish seems to be strict.
(For years I have been unknowingly driving past its cream colored stone building with a large “Every minute abortion stops a heart from beating” billboard in its yard. I saw the sign, but never knew it was a church.)
This, my new religious home, is no joke.
Oh, I should mention, for the sake of the damned, today is Ash Wednesday.
Churches usually just keep their doors open and have that other priest hang out to dole out ashes during the day.
Not St. Mary’s.
Oh no.
They are giving out ashes only during Mass, which will begin at 8:45 AM.
Fine.
BUT.
St. Mary’s also has a school.
A school full of children who have been piled — twelve pews deep in the front of the church.
When it was time for ashes, two ushers blocked off the entrance to the front of the church and two lay people were stationed at every aisle from the back of the church to that boundary in order to give out ashes to the non-student parishioners.
There was no access to either the pastor or that other priest.
Insert fist shake and a disgruntled “NEWMAN!”
But, like I said, I’m not getting my ashes from rando dude or his wife with the weird hat.
Nope. I will find a way.
I crept down the far aisle, until I could see the candle station. I faced it pretending to light one or meditate or whatever, and plotted my way around the usher guards.
A few minutes of reconnaissance revealed that I was not alone in my caper.
Another woman was looking around for a breach in security as well.
And then it came!
One usher was called away to tend to something happening on the other side of the Church, leaving just one guard.
And the minute he turned his back, the woman in front of me made the dash to the front and I quickly followed on her heels!
We were through.
The line for the pastor was fairly long, and while I was inside the perimeter and could have gotten on the end, I figured I shouldn’t press my luck, lest the usher see me and escort me back to the realm of the unwashed masses.
Besides, no need to get greedy, that other priest would do.
He only had four people in his line and I quickly stepped behind them and received my ashes.
After the ashes, the woman and I, squeezed our way through the throngs of school kids — past the questioning glares of one or two teachers/usher/nun/guards– to get back to our seats at the rear of the church.
Our eyes met for a moment and we shared a smile that seemed to say “see you on Good Friday.”

This entry was posted by Dawn Summers on Wednesday, March 1st, 2006 at 11:07 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.