None for me this time, thank you.
Well now THAT was fun; a festive weekend for the national holiday. I confess that I underachieved when it comes to most of the big public events. I did, however, fulfill all righteousness by eating hot dogs and going to a baseball game, riding in a Chevrolet no less. Hamburgers, ice cream, corn on the cob, and local lager also were on the menu. Don’t even ask about pie; it was entirely too hot to bake anything and besides, the apples will not be in for months. The menu was not the only thing that ran the gamut: the weather went from withering heat to gusting downpour and eventually yielded to a cool misty Monday morning-after.
On the Fourth of July itself, the festive Mass for the nation that we added drew a crowd that was not large, but everyone was glad to be there, offering prayers of gratitude and intercession for our country, leaders, and fellow citizens. I get the impression a lot of people were away for the weekend; not only were all our Masses underpopulated, but even the Beltway looked like our pews at 8:59 on any given Sunday morning. Oddly, even the high temperatures did not cause lines to form for the cool, dark confessionals.
I underachieved in some categories for a simple reason: it was a weekend. A friend was incredulous after the ballgame Friday evening when I told him that cookouts and fireworks were not on the schedule. My other friend at that table, also a parish priest, sided firmly with me. Mass and confessions and an extra Mass and more confessions then another Mass…that’s how weekends are for us. Next time the Fourth falls on a Thursday, then we can relax and enjoy.
I did make sure Father Tran got the benefit of his Washington sojourn; he viewed the midnight fireworks from a well-placed rooftop in the company of his classmates. But he also did his part around here; he took the morning Mass on the Fourth and the latest Mass on the fifth to make it work. When he returns to east Texas he will know where he was in summer school.
Those of you who have not fled the DMV will have noticed that Father Swink is back in the house and on the schedule. His recovery is continuing according to schedule, but that schedule does not yet indicate “all better,” much less “cavorting like a teenager.” We are trying to keep his yoke easy and his burden light, so to speak, to make sure that this stage of his convalescence bears good fruit in future health and ability.
Some of you even got to see Father Wiktor as he spent a few days here between driving back from his diocesan home in Mississippi and flying for a long visit and some academic research in his natal home in Poland. He will be back here in time for fall term.
Father Wiktor and I had a quiet dinner together Saturday evening before turning in early to be ready for the work that Sunday morning brings. I was awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of distant fireworks, clearly a display for the ages. I felt a twinge of regret for underachieving in that regard and missing a good party. I did not awaken, though, in the wee hours when Father Tran came home after his patriotic adventure, and I was well rested and ready to leap into the saddle for confessions, and Mass, and baptisms, which is the festivity where I do my best to avoid any underachieving.
Monsignor Smith
