No, no! Not my dad! The Padre…our new priest! That’s what I call him. How it came to pass I don’t recall but now he’s stuck with it…at least by me…and now the kids in the neighborhood!
It seems that “padre” stuck with those who we took miniature golfing a couple weeks ago. Now those kids have other neighborhood kids calling Father Andrew, “padre.” Excellent!
Last evening when I answered the phone I heard Padre’s wheezing breathless laugh, “I hit it to the corner of the yard and made it to first! I’m gonna die of a heart attack I’m so exhausted! We had such a great time!”
He went on to tell me about the pick-up baseball game he and the neighborhood boys just finished playing in the back yard of the Rectory on what had to have been one of the hottest and most humid days on record. And ya gotta realize, Padre is no small man…by any stretch of the imagination and has no athletic inclination short of watching the Mets on DirectTV. One of his redeeming qualities, according to the hubster, is he does like the Boston Red Sox.
This, my dear friends, is ministry at its finest. When the actions of parishioners show little or no interest in working to grow the church, despite their verbosity in the opposite and clamor for a ‘full time priest who will bring in new people’, (Whaaaa? Have you no responsibility to bring in new people too? Pardon me. I didn’t know the priest did everything. Include picking up dirty diapers left in the pew following baptisms. Kyrie Elesion.) well then its time to play backyard baseball. I wonder if the kids could use an outfielder? I used have a mean throwing arm…well, not really but it’s nice to dream.
Pictures for the day:
Hydrangeas in bloom
Hosta bloom getting ready to pop
A red gladiola. One of my favorites
(Knocking at the back door of the Rectory) Hey Padre! Wanna come out an play? We need a first baseman! Will you be on my team?