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Six-1
Six I’M STANDING IN THE sacristy on this, the First Sunday of Lent, my purple vestments on, my homily in my hands. I’m looking over it, ten pages double-spaced, eighteen-point font so it’s easy to read. The product of an entire afternoon’s work on Friday, and all day on Saturday except for the hour at lunch with Helen at The Bistro. Even with her, I was distracted. Which has not been unusual for several months, except this time I wasn’t distracted by her. My eyes scan the words. “Apologize.” “Forgiveness.” “Mercy.” “Shepherd.” “Pastor.” “Vocation.” “Priest.” After all that work, I was satisfied that the homily contained everything that needed to be said to the parish. An apology for my neglect of them in the months since Father Leonard’s suicide. A request for their forgiveness. A sho
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