Get Permission

After being here for seven months and finally feeling that I am in stable place I decided to go and register at a church that is a few miles from my present living abode. I had made this decision, this choice of places of worship, after much thought and visits to varying churches in the surrounding area. It was at this church where we, Nancy and I, were chosen or asked on two separate occasions if we would brig up the offertory gifts. The other time it happened was at St Eleanor's Church near Skippack on the day that I proposed to Nancy.

To me these three separate invites were taken as an affirmation from God who knows how frustrated Nancy and I have gotten at times with the people who have been put in charge of various factions of the church.

So today as the clouds lifted and the sun shined after a few days of inclement weather I embarked on a journey that would hopefully lead to a more pastoral experience all around. As school children played at a distance behind a coned off area of the parking lot I found a sign directing me to the Parish Office. As I made my way through the front set of doors, I soon noticed a sign that said "Ring the buzzer." The door to the office was locked. As I pushed the long skinny button to the right of the door I didn't hear any sound leading me to think that it may have not worked. Through the glass I could see a rather stocky lady get up and come out of an inner office and head toward the door. She looked at me suspiciously. I had already formulated in my head what I wanted to ask her. She opened the door about a third of the way. I was never welcomed in. The short conversation took place between that slightly opened door. I started to feel like that unwelcomed and pesky salesman.

I told the lady that I would like to register at that church and wanted to know who to see. She asked what street I lived on. It didn't appear to be familiar to her. She asked if it was beyond Church Street and I said that I thought so. With that she dismissed me saying I needed to get a permission letter from St. Rose of Lima Church. I must of had a quizzical look on my face as she repeated the same thing in a slightly different way inferring that I either register at St. Rose of Lima or that I get a a letter from them.

I could have asked a number of questions but I was taken aback by the coldness of the person. I guess my geographical location binds me to a specific church but do they own me?

As I drove away I started to miss the place that welcomed me in Boston a number of years ago.