Lexington, KY - by Bob horine | spirituality Columnist
Some years ago my wife and I attended a little theater performance of Noel Coward's comedy "Blythe Spirit." During the play, the presence of a ghost brings someone to suggest calling the Archbishop of Canterbury to deal with the situation.
It will come as no surprise to anyone that priests and other religious leaders are subject to temptations. Some people think we are even more subject than the population at large. However that may be, I heard those lines in the play and a temptation was upon me. I was wearing a clerical collar. I was just a few steps from the stage. What if I waited for a bit and then stepped up onto the stage and interrupted the actors by saying something like, "Hello, I'm Canon Molesworth; the Archbishop sent me to assist you."
I'd probably be hustled out pretty quickly by a couple of stagehands, but there would be a lovely moment of bewilderment that we could all talk about for years to come. I still think about it, and from time to time other possibilities of introducing harmless minor disorder present themselves.
I think it all goes way back to the last year of World War II. I was in the fourth grade. We, like everybody, were affected by that war. We were far away from the fighting, but we all knew some who were in it -
fathers, older brothers, sisters. Tommy Adams' family gave their dog King to the Army. People at home did what they could. Some days we were dismissed from school to knock on doors and collect paper and scrap metal. We bought Defense Stamps.
That last year our class planned to put on several patriotic skits and parents were invited to come. The bigger boys were picked for parts to wear uniforms and do military things, but everybody had some part. Kenneth Summers and I were to do a between-the-acts bit in front of the curtain. We rehearsed and rehearsed and everybody was ready. It was going to be great.
Kenneth and I, made up by our teacher with lipstick and rouge, dressed like factory workers -
I think I carried my father's lunch box - were to come from opposite sides of the stage, meet in the middle and have a conversation that began something like this:
Me: Hi Joe, how are you?
Kenneth: Okay, Bill. On your way to work at the airplane factory, I see.
Me: Yes, I've got the next shift.
And so on. But here's how our performance actually went:
Me: Hi Joe. On your way to work at the airplane factory, I see.
Kenneth: What?
I didn't mean to do it. Time has blessedly drawn a veil over the memory of what followed. Through grace Kenneth and I remained friends on through high school. Whenever I think of that night I am apt to laugh out loud. If Kenneth remembers, I hope he can do the same.
My temptations in this area continue, but I stifle them. I figure life has enough unexpected turns without my adding some gratuitously. Has anyone's script for life ever played out as written? I don't think so. Mine certainly hasn't. Nor has that of anyone I know. Despite the often painful interruptions we ought to be thankful that life isn't seamless; thankful that we are in each other's stories, that we don't have to know or play all the parts, that we can do this together and there'll be surprises in every act, and even between the acts, and that if we pay attention to the director we can bring it all to a satisfactory end.