Don't point at the friar, dear.

Tonight I went to Vespers/Eucharistic Adoration at my Church. The celebrant was one of those friars from the Franciscans of the Renewal chaps. Now, I happen to be very fond of St. Francis--and I mean, come on, who isn't?--I even wrote a paper on him once, well before I became Catholic. One of the very few papers I enjoyed writing. So tonight I was kind of excited to see a Franciscan, because I never had seen one before. It was a bit distracting, really. I got there quite early, and as I sat, I kept looking around for a Franciscan--"Is that? Oh, no it's just the deacon...Oh! is that? No, it's just a Knight of Malta...but that? Nope, parish priest. But hey! No! Dang it! Only a skinny guy with a bit of a beard...and of course that other skinny guy quick-stepping around like nature's calling is just the choirmaster, an air of fretty purpose billowing in and fanning from his robes (I say it with affection). Do we even have Franciscans here?" Well, they were there. Friaring around with their grey monk garb and big beards (I liked that). It wasn't a lifechanger or anything, and I don't have much to say about them, but I was glad to see them anyway. I hope God will forgive me if my focus was more than a little skewed. You like to convince yourself that you're not just some stupid slack-jawed show-goer, but sometimes, let's face it, that's exactly what you are. That's probably one reason why hermits can be so cranky when people come calling...might as well show up for a war with a picnic basket. Rubes or dilettantes by turns, all of us. But still, there was a pious thought or two rolling around this head of mine, so my faults were not completely definitive of the experience.