Day One

i can't wait to get out of the robe. i never can. its either too hot or too cold, cinched wrong and three sizes too big. plus, when i am having a cup of coffee, it induces in me a deep seated paranoia about fast-moving children and large-elbowed congregants. even deborah, duke's wife and ministry partner says i look like some strange sort of "monkette" in the alb. i hate it.

racing up into duke's office after the 10:30 service, i realize that i have to keep it on for a while: i am now the intern - and a priest-in-training. people needed to see me, to put a face to the role so that when i call them up to arrange for pastoral visits and to grovel for volunteers for the daycamp and cool school they will at least remember a short, round, loud woman in a white dress with an ugly white belt that doesn't go with anyone's shoes. it should be enough to anchor me in their memory.

i step into the bathroom of the office to fluff my hair and powder my nose. some might call it vanity;i call it common courtesy. i have a face that startles children and sets dogs to barking, and skin oily enough to make me an unofficial OPEC member; maintaining a basic standard of non-threatening groomedness is basic act of respect towards a community i love and cherish.


besides, i think i am getting a zit.

looking at my reflection, i think about something that duke said in his sermon today, something about the way in which we sometimes tend to "customize" jesus to make him fit conveniently into our lives, and despite my best efforts i think of aj. he once told me that he considered sex outside of marriage acceptable: as long as the two people were in love, the sacrament of marriage was present. he also once spoke of himself having to focus on the 'log in his own eye' before judging others; yet thought nothing of calling me a whore. he sneered at my modest lifestyle, somehow forgetting that Christ himself preached that one should sacrifuce one's own comforts for the good of others. once more i wondered which bible, if any, aj had been studying.

its funny how the people that most loudly proclaim themselves to be christian are the ones that have to. i shake my head. aj is in the past, and he has no place in this brave new world into which i foray save as a faintly sour taste on the back of my tongue. i offer a quick prayer, wondering if praying in a bathroom is sacreligious, and decide that my need to ask God to spare me from ever becoming the type of Christian aj represents outweighs the presence of a toilet, hand sanitizer and a spare can of airwick. then i realize a quick prayer to God to also spare me from becoming a sanctimonious, smug and self-rightous pharisee wouldn't be untoward either.

i think of duke and realize that if you live a life of christian modesty, duty and integrity, you have no need to tell anyone you are a christian. please God, i pray, help me to become the kind of christian that doesn't need to tell anyone that she is a christian.

i step out into the hallway and have a quick chat with karen, our warden, and make preliminary arrangements to meet with her at some point to familiarise myself with basic church administration, and she offers her enthusiastic and unequivocal support. karen is a lovely, raven hair bird of a woman, with a sharp mind and a gentle voice. she is a woman who radiates a sense of dependability and competence, and we talk critical church business for a while - donations, management meetings and where to get really comfortable shoes.

i head out into the sanctuary and begin to mingle with the congregants, letting them see my face and trying not to frighten the children. thank goodness there are no dogs amongst our parishioners.

i have a chat on the stairs with a father that wants to know if he and his wife can send their daughters to the daycamp in the afternoons only, ask sharon if she is taking evening sarcasm enrichment classes, promise to meet up with a congregant who is having trouble with a jewish husband, speak to marion beirfly about how welcome janice is and how we have already swapped numbers and are planning lunch, and begin to round up the troops for our 'fellowship lunch'. today we are taking lisa out for lunch to celebrate her birthday (and to make up for the ritual humiliation of having the entire congregation sing her happy birthday after the service), and we are trying a new restaurant in the beach.

tori races up and i can't help smiling. she's a bright and bubbly 12-year old, and lisa's pride and joy. i know how utterly devastated lisa was when she realized that moving to california meant leaving tori behind in the care of her father; and the fact that her father lives in hamilton is hard on many of us in the congregation as it means after june we will see much less of tori. i look at her bright blue eyes and flaxen hair and think that i had better enjoy her while i can - she's a treasure that may soon be lost to us.


"Lisa"

but for now, all she wants is to try on my shoes, and she's welcome to them.

note to self: as sundays are 18 hour days, do not wear spangly blue slingbacks with two inch heels and a charming retro-style bow on each rounded toe.

tori's happy chatter follows me around as we make sure that everyone that is coming to lunch has directions. i phone jean and george, and am delighted they are coming, and once we have florrie safely delivered to her car via the elevator, tori and i take off for the restaurant. i am oddly touched and pleased at her insistence in coming with me. i roll down the window as we pass lisa heading off to her own car, and i shout that i have her daughter and tell her that if she wants her back she'll have to come to the restaurant. lisa shrugs good naturedly and answers with something the wind steals away and i grin, easing into traffic, bathing in the restful effervescence of tori's non-stop, good natured chatter.

after a few moments of confusion, a small gang of us are settled into the corner of a pub in the east end of toronto - the kind of pub whose upholstery, and clientele, have seen better days; the kind of pub that offers cocktails with breakfast.

corey is in an amazingly cheerful mood, prattling on about how the "kenmore was really sucking up dirt" today as he cleans it faithfully daily so the intakes and filters do not get clogged, waxing rhapsodic about the opportunity he's had to work with his friend part time in a vacuum cleaner store, sharing his enthusiasm with us all as he pulls out a set of magnificent conical polymer canister vac filters for us to touch and feel and oooh and ahhh over. with a big glas of chocolate milk and a plate of sausages and maple syrup in front of him, corey is in heaven, and a strange contentment steals over me as i marvel at God's sheer creativity and sense of whimsy.


"corey: chocolate milk, sausages and syrup and vacuum cleaner filters. who could ask for more?"


"tori"

tori sits beside me, diligently using up my post it notes and pen ink to create a face of...well....post it notes and ink.




the conversation light, cheerful easy and full of friendship and fellowship. i am looking forward, i realize, to getting the group back on track after easter, birthdays and mother's day - but for the time being, "special interest groups" have needs to be met as well, and for the tmie being, i am content to simply sit back and learn what i can from each dynamic.

and so it is with a heavy heart, and a full stomach that i push away from the table and head off to my day job, already mentally parking myself behind my desk and beginning to plan the long week ahead of me.