I was talking to my Mom last night, and told her that Eric and I had invited one of the priests at our parish to join us for lunch one day. Molly and I go to a program at church one morning a week, and then we have lunch with Eric (since he works close to our church) with him on that day. So, I thought it would be nice to have Father join us.
(This is our priest who I found out graduated from high school two years after me, I think I mentioned that before. We really like him, and have already discussed that we will miss him when the time eventually comes that they move him to another parish.)
Anyway, so I was telling my Mom about it, and mentioned that we planned to pay, of course. When he accepted our invitation, he also added that we didn’t need to pay. My Mom said, “You’re going to pay though, right?”
“Of course,” I told her. “My parents did not raise me to invite a priest to lunch and then allow him to pay for himself.”
She laughed.
I then added, “But, seriously — if he tries to pay, I’ll have to…” as I trailed off. Well…what would I have to do?
“Break his fingers?” my Mom asked.
“Yeah, Mom, that’s what I’ll do,” I answered, with perhaps a touch of sarcasm in my voice.
“You’ll just have to go to confession for that,” she pointed out.
“Wow — talk about an awkward confession, huh?” I mused to her. “Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been three months since my last confession. I suppose the worst thing that I did was to break the fingers of a priest. Ummm…you remember that, right, Father? How are your fingers doing, by the way?”
(Now…I do need to add, since I believe I will send a link of this posting to said priest — You know that this is just a funny story, right? But, seriously — don’t grab for your wallet and test me, okay?)
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