A Day in the Senior Life
Jake commuted to the St. Mary’s office several times a week. Most of his drive was interstate. Some days he prayed, other days he listened to the radio or one of his playlists. This morning he prayed the Chaplet of Divine Mercy, one of his favorite prayers. He could recite the entire prayer during his travel time. On the small beads he said, “For the sake of His sorrowful passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.” That about sums up the faith.
The coffee and aspirin were kicking in after an evening of too much wine and too little sleep.
He fancied himself an unsung hero of the Church, a well-qualified volunteer, knowledgeable and useful from having worked at St. Mary’s. He knew the systems; he liked to think his knowledge of the political and social landscape of the parish also served him well. But sometimes he wondered.
He was not treading the path of sainthood, just doing his bit for the Lord’s kingdom. God’s grace and his own meager expression of Christian love would gain him a foothold in Purgatory.
Sitting at his desk, he prepared for his afternoon meeting with Fr. Pat and Matt – the new business manager. Thoughts of golf drifted through his mind. This was one of the last good golf days in 2020 – the Covid Year of Our Lord – but instead of surveying the fading green of fairways, his eyes tried to focus on the PowerPoint presentation produced by Catholic Parish Life (CPL) on St. Mary’s recently completed pledge drive.
No one had labeled the pledge drive a roaring success – pledges were down – both by number and total dollar amount. But CPL had asserted St. Mary’s had surpassed most parishes.
Jake processed that with difficulty. Even if one accepted it, St. Mary’s was still being backed up to a financial cliff.
Old buildings and old ideas dominated the campus. They had a business model from Hell. A parish dominated by ageing, fixed-income whites and young, impecunious Hispanics faced a triple whammy: supporting itself, the archdiocese (which imposed a 25% tax on Sunday collections), and a Catholic school of non-Catholics that would have closed without school vouchers from the state of Indiana.
Fr. Pat was in demographic denial. But to be fair to him – and one should always be fair to a man of God – it was not clear how much latitude the wizards at the Catholic Center gave him. Perhaps his marching orders were to save the school at all costs.
A reasonable person with a modicum of business sense would not invest in this endeavor. But maybe it was the Lord’s will. And maybe it wasn’t. If the Lord had His hand in this, He had better send the Holy Spirit down for a special visit to kindle the hearts of the faithful with energy and a desire for financial giving. Starting with Jake. Yes, we all needed less of the Covid spirit and more of the Holy Spirit. An old prayer came to Jake.
Come Holy Spirit
fill the hearts of your faithful,
kindle in them the fire of your love.
Send forth your Spirit
and they shall be created.
And You shall renew the face of the earth.
Matt, the new business manager, and Jake sat down in Fr. Pat’s office. The meeting started badly, which was partly Jake’s fault. His hearing aid batteries had gone out, and he had forgotten his spares, so this critical meeting began with his hearing impaired. And the window air conditioner was blasting away, and Jake couldn’t hear a thing. He asked Fr. Pat if he could shut it off. No, Fr, Pat replied, he was in his priest’s garb and wanted to cool the room down. Then he graciously suggested they move to the conference room.
Jake walked to the fireplace room, which was closer to Fr. Pat’s office than the conference room and sat down. Fr. Pat looked in and uttered impatiently, “I said the conference room.”
Jake moved to the conference room. Jake did hear the first instruction and just absent-mindedly sat down in the fireplace room. Of course, the fireplace room was closer and as nice as the conference room. He pondered the significance of the conference room to Fr. Pat; perhaps, he prized the comfortable chair at the head of the table.
The three of them settled at the large rectangular table in the conference room in socially-distanced chairs. Father began the meeting with a hurried prayer. He said, “Now let’s address the purpose of this meeting, which is to follow up on the Christmas recommendations from CPL.”
Jake’s bad day accelerated. He had spaced the Christmas recommendations from CPL, not even printing them out. He had been analyzing the recommendations made in their primary report, not their auxiliary Christmas suggestions in a short follow-up email. Father asked, “Does everyone have the charts in front of them?”
Jake admitted he didn’t and explained he thought the meeting was about CPL’s long-term recommendations in their briefing package.
“Do you have them in your office?”
“No.”
Father stood up abruptly. “I’ll make you a copy.”
Jake and Matt looked at each other. “More senior moments,” Jake observed.’
“I’ve had my fair share,” Matt, the junior senior said.
Father returned and tossed Jake a copy of the Christmas recommendations from CPL. After discussion, they decided to act on one: have the school children write Christmas cards to the parishioners. Sounded like a good idea.
“Now let’s get to what Jake wants to discuss,” Father said. Flipping through his package, he added, “Start us off, Jake.”
“There’s several good ideas, but we have to prioritize them,” Jake said. “Just don’t have enough –“
“So, what’s your top priority?” Father asked.
“Expanding electronic giving.”
“I agree,” Matt chimed in.
“And I’ll take the lead,” Jake added. Matt was still learning the ropes – the last thing he needed was another task.
“Ok. What else?”
Jake thumbed through the package. “Now, the recommendations begin on page 14. The first one is updating the parish monthly with a newsletter. Think we should defer that.”
“Ok.”
“Then, there’s the website. We –“
“People have been saying we should upgrade the website for years. Where’s the money? Where’s the qualified volunteers?”
Matt spoke up. “What about these Sunday collection weekly year-over-year comparisons on page 14?”
Jake answered, “I wouldn’t do it weekly. Too complicated with multiple postings each week. Not that meaningful, anyway. I’d go for monthly, maybe even quarterly – “
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Father exclaimed. “Didn’t you just say you wanted to defer recommendations on the monthly reports?”
“Father, I wasn’t referring to the Sunday collections, I meant-“
Getting caught in rush-hour traffic on the way home further darkened Jake’s mood. He didn’t feel like praying. Time for some music. He decided on “Sgt. Peppers” – hadn’t listened to that album in ages. He was in college when it came out and like everyone else at the time, he was mesmerized and considered it the greatest album of all time. His favorite song had been “A Day in the Life.” It was beautiful, profound, haunting, full of deep meaning – at least to a college student.
Now, over 50 years later, the album did not radiate so brightly. Only two songs stuck with him, “With a Help from My Friends,” and “When I’m Sixty-Four.” Trying to cheer himself up, he kept his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road as he sang along with both songs as they came up on his playlist. Yes, he still got by “…with a little help from my friends.” His friends had changed over the years, but they still helped each other get by. Jesus had joined his crowd of friends. He was (or should be) his most prominent friend, his friend of friends.
In 1967 he liked Paul’s little ditty on turning 64. John had called it one of Paul’s granny songs. You couldn’t dance to it, but you could sing it, hum it. Then, the age 64 had seen eons away; now he was on the other side of it. And in his marriage with Jen, the words rang true. “Will you still need me, will you still feed me/when I’m sixty-four.” She was “Mine for evermore” and he was hers. The darkness lifted.
Later, at the dinner table with Jen, the dark cloud returned.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Jen said. “Something bothering you?”
“Oh, Father –
“Ok,” she said. “I’ll give you five minutes.” Years ago, he had pledged not to discuss St. Mary at the dinner table. Now and then she lifted the ban.
“Five minutes,” Jake repeated. He told her what had happened.
“Sounds like your senior moments made his cranky mood worse.”
“They did.”
“But that’s no excuse.” She sipped her wine. “Didn’t you tell me a couple of weeks ago that he berated you when you brought up problems with Sunday Collections postings?”
Jake nodded. “Yeah, that was a shoot the messenger moment.”
“I don’t know why you put up with him. I would have been gone a long time ago.”
“This is my Christian ministry, my service to the Lord.”
“Do you think Fr. Pat likes you?”
“Likes?” Jake pondered, searching for the right words. “We lack personal chemistry, that’s for sure.” He paused, rubbing the light stubble on his chin, and realized he had not shaved this morning. “He just lacks the human touch, at least with me.”
“He alienates a lot of people. You’re not the only one.”
“I know, I know. He’s not the warm lovable genial parish priest we’d like.”
He sipped the exquisite cabernet. His mind took a sharp detour: was wine becoming a little god for him?
“What about going back to St. Vincent de Paul?”
“I’ve thought about it.”
“And there’s Bible studies and retreats. Not to mention eucharistic minister, lector. And that Stephen Ministry sounds good. What about that?”
“It all sounds good and useful. But –“
“But?”
“I think the Lord wants me at St. Mary, doing admin stuff.”
“Pushing paper.”
“The paper needs to be pushed,” Jake replied. His working life had been consumed with paper. And then computer screens. “I like to think I’m helping build the kingdom, doing my bit for the Lord. And I know the systems. That’s pretty darned useful.”
“So, our priest is the cross you bear?”
“Yes.’
“Isn’t your Christian service supposed to bring you joy?”
“I do feel, feel some satisfaction.” Joy was not a word Jake regularly employed. “Now and then I feel a Divine pat on the back.”
“But then you meet with Father and things go south.” Jen stood up and picked up her plate. “Our five minutes are up. I repeat my wifely advice: find a different Christian ministry. Away from Fr. Pat.”
Jake fell asleep in his favorite chair watching NFL football. His eyes opened – he saw football players on the screen. Who was playing? By sheer force of will he began to move. He walked carefully to the bathroom, prepared for bed, and then climbed between the sheets by his sleeping wife.
He began his night prayers. Gratitude came first. Thanks for his health, his wealth, his family, his faith, his friends, his Catholic community. On to the petitions. For continued blessings on his family and friends, and protection from Covid. For special protection for St. Mary. For an end to abortion, for the poor, for peace in his country and the world. For the conversion of sinners. For the Lord’s guidance on his Christian ministry.
He paused. Sometimes the Lord wanted to get a word in. This night He did. Jake heard something like “…holy, faithful priest. Overlook his faults as I overlook yours.”
Peace surrounded Jake like the warm waters of a bath. Warm wet engulfing peace. So good. So peaceful. An alarm went off. Was this really a bit of Divine Guidance or had he been talking to himself? He pondered that. His hearing aids rested in the bathroom. Did the Lord really say those words? They weren’t audible. Forget the hearing aids. It was an inner voice. It was something. He started to relax, and then another alarm rang. Clanged very annoyingly. What would Jen say about his late-night revelation? She would be skeptical – question him, probe. He could imagine her filing a complaint with the Lord. He prayed she would accept these words – as he was accepting them.
Jake started to recite the Luminous Mysteries and drifted to sleep.