Hi Pastor Jim, Scene 2

Second Scene of Three.



Darkness. Ladders (two) on an otherwise empty stage. Voices only.
Zoe: Son of man, can these bones live?
Ezekiel: (as before) Oh… Lord… GOD. You know.
Homilist: Then he said to me -
Z: Prophesy to the bones.
E: Prophesy to the which?
Z: Bones.
E: Bones? THOSE bones? These? They’re not alive. Not now, and if they can live, YOU know, but you haven’t told me yet - now you want them to hear something?
Z: Yes.
E: Good. That’s settled, then.
Z: Prophesy to these bones and say to them, “Dry bones, hear the word of the LORD! This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the LORD.”
E: (sighs) Oh…kay.
H: So I prophesied as I was commanded. And as I was prophesying, there was a noise, a rattling sound, and the bones came together, bone to bone. I looked, and tendons and flesh appeared on them, and skin covered them, but there was no breath in them.
E: Well, this is, eerie. And helpful. They look better, but not living.
Z: Yeah, one step at a time, this is the part where -
E: Oh, right.
H: Then he said to me,
Z: Prophesy to the breath, son of man.
E: (Feebly.) The… what?
Z: Prophesy, son of man, and say to it, “This is what the Sovereign LORD says: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe into these slain, that they may live.”
E: Oh. Is that all then?
Z: That’s all.
E: (Working it out for himself.) Then they’re going to… Then they’ll be living. Right. Breath, breath of God, riding out on the winds to accomplish his… purposes… (Beat.) Wonder what that’s going to look like.
ZOE and EZEKIEL burst onstage, wearing capes, which fasten at the neck with elaborate bowties, and also bicycle helmets. They cross toward the ladders and climb them, sitting at the highest point. Once aloft, they are (physically) preparing to dive from this incredible height. EZEKIEL, junior of the two winds, is nervous and less comfortable with this prospect than is ZOE.
E: (As they approach the ladders.) Can you - slow down at all?
ZOE ignores him.
E: Because I know YOU know what you’re doing, but I - actually… I mean this is actually a little newer for me.
ZOE ignores him.
E: (Mid-climb now.) What I’m trying to say, is I’m nervous.
ZOE stops and looks at him. Contempt palpable. Keeps climbing. They reach the top.
E: You’re going to count to three first, right?
Z: Oh, get you’re helmet on straight; this gets easier every time you do it.
E: Yeah?
Z: Yeah. (Prepares to dive.)
E: Wait!
Z: (Waits.) What?!
E: Wait, I - Sorry, I’m not ready, yet.
Z: There’s no “ready” about it, we’re Wind, and this is what we DO. God calls, we answer. It’s - (words fail) it’s what we do!
E: What.
Z: (Confused.) What?
E: What - what is it we do, exactly?
Z: We - look, (gestures vaguely downward and outward) there’s no breath in the slain, okay? God wants there to be breath, wants them to live again.
E: Well we’re Wind, what do we have to do with that?
Z: I - hm. Well, he called us, too, when he called the Breath. I think the Breath is going to get there when and because we do.
E: How…?
Z: Not a question we ask, okay? We didn’t get put here to ask that. We got put here, by God, with specific instructions, to - (Gestures.) Whoosh! Helmet check.
EZEKIEL’s hands fly to his helmet. ZOE prepares to dive.
E: Hang on, wait! I’ve got - one more question!
ZOE ignores this.
E: I mean, it sounds great and all, us being the Wind and working with the Breath and all, but… The BREATH is the enlivening principle, right? The Breath is the actual work of God that’s going to bring life. There was a distinction in the prophecy: breath, come from the four winds… I’m just saying: it’s nice of God to have given us a job and all, but it seems like the Breath is the only thing that’s actually going to accomplish anything here. And having by definition airy properties and directional quality of its own, it might not even need Wind to get where it’s going and accomplish what it’s doing on it’s own, and so we wouldn’t have to (gestures) Whoosh, which is incidentally something I’m still incredibly. Nervous. About.
ZOE has turned slowly to look at EZEKIEL. Contempt is palpable.
Z: Your bowtie.
EZEKIEL scrambles to straighten it.
Z: Look, I’m not going to argue with you, and neither am I going to make you come with me. Of course the breath of God is the only thing ACTUALLY accomplishing anything of note here, but we are charged to cooperate. End of story. And you can stay and sit and sulk and be profound about your knowledge that only God can accomplish God’s will if you like, or you can take a chance and actually try and DO the one thing that seems to have been hard-wired into your system from the beginning, scare you as it does - and who knows! Maybe since God himself has been trying to get you to do it since Day One, he might have plans to bless it! (Beat.) Or he might not. Like I said, it’s taking a chance. (Adjusts helmet. Speaks mostly to self for a moment.) But did you ever sit back and go over the ways you’ve tried to feel alive, and wondered if you were missing the most obvious one? (Remembers EZEKIEL.) Ready over there?
E: Ready has nothing to do with it.
ZOE nods. In unison, a Superman tableau. Then they wordlessly clamber down and doff WIND costumes to become ZOE and EZEKIEL again. They cross to their ALBS and begin to robe for serving Communion.
Z: Hey, look, it’s really good to see you here; I’m glad you decided you’re okay to do this.
E: (Unenthusiastic, focusing on securing the alb.) Don’t worry about it, please. Just try and realize you’re short an acolyte prior to Confession and Absolution next time.
Z: Well, I HAD, but you weren’t here to save the day yet.
EZEKIEL’s head snaps up, wary of a latent accusation.
Z: I’m not picking on you! Hey, I mean, you weren’t LATE-late, you just - cut it a little close. Not that it… matters. At all.
E: I just… found myself taking a quick detour, is all.
Z: (Her attention is off-stage. Abruptly.) It’s fine. You don’t have to explain it.
E: I wasn’t going to EXPLAIN it; I wouldn’t know where to begin to explain it - are you even paying attention to me?
Z: (Trying to shush him.) AHEM! If you could kindly NOT talk over the Words of Institution?
Silence, briefly.
E: Is that our cue?
Z: Just about. Hey. You know that bit the pastor just said about, “In the same way also after supper he took the cup, blessed it, gave it to them and said, “Drink ye all of it, for this is -” Do you think he’s saying “Drink ye all of it” like “Drink ye ALL of it” or “Drink ye’all of it”, because I never know -
E: Zoe…
Z: - and it would be an easy enough thing to check, right? Either we get the ‘all’ in English out of a Greek collective, second person plural, or as a modifier for ‘it’, it being the wine.
E: (Firmly.) Zoe, shut up, please.
Z: And I mean, it would just be an interesting theological point either way, right? Radical inclusion of all the disciples at the Institution of the Sacrament - (gasps) I wonder if Judas Iscariot was there, do you think? - or else a firm enough injunction AGAINST wasting the consecrated host to make you wish for the days when Pastor Schroeder - remember him? - would wrap up communion by just swigging the rest of the common cup?
E: Zoe, I said, shut up! Just - are we doing this or not? I’m here and I’m not happy about it, if you haven’t noticed, and if you can’t stop (Words fail) being yourself, for just ONE MINUTE, I might not be able to handle it…
Z: I… Hm. Yeah, I suppose. In fact, that was the plan. I am going to stop being myself, and you’d better, too, because we’re up; we’re serving communion now, something neither of US is at all worthy to do. (Beat.) Um. Are you all right?
E: No.
Z: Because -
E: I know.
Z: I’m not going to make you come with me.
Beat.
EZEKIEL exits, brushing abruptly past ZOE. She follows.

Hi Pastor Jim, Scene I

In the desperation inspired by my e-mail crashing and a deadline looming and a shift at the restaurant I need to get to and it still being a little early to call Valpo, I'm getting a message to Pastor Jim in the only forum yet available to me. To the rest of you, hi.


First Scene of Three.
Darkness. Voices only.
Homilist: We make our beginning this day in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. AMEN. If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. But if we confess our sin, God who is … (Fades off.)
Zoe: (Quietly.) Ahem. (Insistently.) AHEM. You.
Ezekiel: Hm? What, oh. Sorry. Go ahead.
Z: No, no, no, look: It’s ME.
E: Oh, it’s -- YOU. Sorry. Wow. It‘s been - ages, right?
Z: Oh, a few YEARS at least, college and all that.
Beat.
E: Did you want to sit down?
Z: No, I need you to get up. Here, follow me…
E: Now?
Z: Now.
E: Because we’re kind of in the middle of --
H: As a called and ordained servant of the Word --
E: -- something.
Z: And if YOU could have got here on time, I could be done telling you what I need to already. Do not make me ask you again.
E: Is this important? REALLY important?
Z: Yes.
E: But, more important than -- OW! Okay, I’m coming.
Lights. After a moment, enter EZEKIEL and ZOE.
E: WHAT?
Z: (Takes a deep breath and prepares to deliver, then reconsiders.) Are you -- hang on, try to stop being mad at me before I tell you this.
E: You pinched me! What are you, twelve?
Z: Are you over it yet?
E: Yes.
Z: Truly? All right. We’re short an acolyte. Two, actually, and I don’t know why, I just know they’re not here.
E: Oh my God, you pulled me out of…
Z: Hello? You’re not calm. You’re not listening.
E: CONFESSION AND ABSOLUTION…
Z: Can we focus? You’re lucky you got as much of a Confession and Absolution as you did -- Pastor had to light the altar candles himself this morning. Do you have any idea how badly that throws him off?
E: (Seriously) None.
Z: By the time I caught up with him in the Sacristy he had his stole on but he wasn’t wearing his alb, that was draped over his arm, he had his sermon notes in his teeth and the processional cross in one fist trying to shake it out of its stand. (Beat.) Anyway. All that’s to say, you’re helping with Communion.
E: No, I’m not…
Z: You are.
E: Not.
Z: Are.
E: NOT. Can’t you grab an usher or something?
Z: The ushers are going to be ushering during communion - I mean, unless you WANT to watch the service fall apart COMPLETELY, I guess I don’t see why not…
E: An elder, then.
Z: No, look, I HAVE elders, I have ushers, I have a pastor - what’s left of one - I NEED acolytes. One (she means herself) and (she extends the gesture to EZEKIEL) two.
E: (Beat.) No. Look, I can’t -
Z: You CAN. You HAVE, beautifully, in the past, and you will again. Today.
E: No. You’re not listening to me at all, today is the last day I could possibly be up to this.
Z: Right. Today it is, then. (For ZOE, the scene is now resolved, and she’s ready to exit.)
E: HOW.
Z: Because now that Pastor’s got his head on straight, thanks to you and yours truly, this is the part where you get to hear the story of Ezekiel interpreted for you.
E: How is hearing about Ezekiel going to make me feel better?
Z: It’s not; but at least you get to listen to a story about someone who WANTED to serve in the Temple but COULDN’T. Makes you appreciate what you have?
E: No, makes me think, lucky him.
Z: He COULDN’T, serve, even though he was a priest, because there was no where and no one to serve: his land had been invaded, his people slaughtered and the survivors hauled off into captivity.
E: Oh. That would be bad luck, then.
Z: But it’s a story of hope! (She moves back toward the exit into the sanctuary.) And you’re going to miss it. Come on.
E: I wouldn’t be missing it if you hadn’t dragged me out --
Z: (off) You’re the only one you’re waiting on now!
EZEKIEL exits. ZOE [GOD] enters immediately by way of another door, and waits. Presently, the HOMILIST takes up the service again.
H: Our Old Testament reading is taken from the book of the prophet Ezekiel. (Beat.) The hand of the LORD was upon me, and he brought me out by the Spirit of the LORD and set me in the middle of a valley; (EZEKIEL enters amid the congregation) it was full of bones. He led me back and forth among them, and I saw a great many bones on the floor of the valley, bones that were very dry. He asked me,
Z: Son of man, can these bones live?
H: I said,
E: (Bewildered.) No.
Z: No?
E: (More confident.) No.
Pause.
Z: Are you… certain?
E: Fairly certain. I mean, I’m not a medical professional, and my opinions aren’t USUALLY solicited about this sort of thing – but when I see a pile of rib cages and no sign of a beating heart, and a pile of femurs so stripped of flesh that there were probably birds of prey involved, and that WEEKS ago because now said femurs are awfully dry looking – I guess not too many active verbs come to mind. (incredulous) I mean, did you really use ‘live’ as the predicate in a sentence where ‘dry bones’ were the subject? Who am I talking to again?
Z: (After letting the question hang.) Who did you think?
E: Actually, you’ve got the voice of an old friend I haven’t seen in years – some girl I was best friends with since something like the sixth grade. (guesses) Zoe?
Z: …No.
E: No?
Z: No, and I’ve NEVER gotten that one before. This is God. By the way.
E: …Yeah?
Z: Yeah. Did you… want to change your answer?
E: YEAH.
Z: Yeah?
E: Yeah. Change it to… ‘yeah.’
Z: Son of man –
E: Yeah?
Z: Can these bones live?
E: (Emphatically.) YEAH.
Z: Better. How do you arrive at your conclusion?
E: (Rushes the Third Article.) Because I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the RESURRECTION OF THE BODY, and the life everlasting, amen, and if I can believe I’m talking to God right now – if I’m that deluded or gullible or both – then it’s not a far leap to look around at an expanse of unburied bones and all the ways a hundred people could come to their end – car crashes, plane crashes, earth quakes, and hospital stays until enough of you dies that the rest gives up, too, or how about just being in the wrong place at the wrong time when some poor idiot who’s not even together enough to write a suicide note decides to let the world know that ‘Oh, by the way, I was unhappy,’ by taking out three and a half bystanders before he shoots himself – or you know, even the ones that are happily together with their one and only until they die within a month of each other at the respective ages of eighty-eight and eighty-six, even THEY are going to die, and to circle back to your point, I don’t know WHAT you are hoping to find in their dry, picked over bones, but it’s not LIFE. It’s not LIVING. It’s not THIS life anymore, at least. (Beat.) Oh but wait, I was (sarcastically) talking to God, wasn’t I. He can FIX even that. Right? (“Fix” is almost a curse word, and “Right?” is an accusation.)
Z: (With very little seeming interest.) How long has it been since last we talked? Has it been very long?
E: (Approaching a state of fury.) NO! It hasn’t! It hasn’t been long at all! We can even toss out whatever faltering attempt on my part might have got through a page earlier in the liturgy. YOU MADE ME LATE TO CHURCH THIS MORNING.
Z: I did?
E: You DID.
Z: Does that sound like the sort of thing I would do?
E: Why, are you going to tell me now you DON’T have divine sovereignty over every accidental happening in every moment throughout history?
Z: How’s the weather out on that limb?
E: You know what, I don’t even have to go there. Let’s talk about something else. Let’s just stick to this morning and my drive here. Let’s talk about the least of these.
Z: The least of these?
E: The least of these.
Z: I love talking about the least of these!
E: Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, give a cup of cold water in my name -- Whatever you do for the least of these, you’ve done it to me. Follow me so far?
Z: You would be hard-pressed to “lose” the being that endowed you with the capacity for rational thought in the first place, but make an effort to arrive at a coherent point anyway.
E: THIS MORNING. My car, my drive here. My ATTEMPT to drive here. Except I saw that woman on the side of the road. That same corner where there’s ALWAYS somebody, and whether they’ve got a sign drawn up that day or not, you know they’re there because they’re waiting for a hand out. Do you want to tell me why I stopped? Because I don’t know. I usually drive right past and wish I’d stopped. So maybe I felt guilty. Maybe I thought I’d take her to church, tell her about the only thing she really needed. Maybe I thought I’d help somebody who needed it just because that’s what you said I should do.
Z: So, you met Brenda.
E: (Beat.) Is that her name? She told me everything else about her. She’s got her story so ready you think it’s a con, but then she’s got the dirt and the bruises and the blackened fingernails right there to go with it -- so you don’t know.
Z: What did she ask you for?
E: Guess. Money. Money for food, money to pay off the friend that’s letting her crash on the floor for a few days. And a ride back to the friend’s house -- what was I supposed to do?
Z: What DID you do?
E: What did I do? Why are you even asking - you were there! Weren’t you? Wasn’t I talking to you the whole time, looking at your bruises and your broken-off fingernail? Or were you just kidding about that part, about being the least of these? All I was trying to do is the right thing, while you sat in the car and lied to me about I-don’t-know-how-much of your story. And you know what I feel now? I don’t feel good inside, like I did the right thing. I feel absolutely disgusting inside, and like everything is disgusting outside, too, and I would love to know if you. Even. Care.
Z: (After letting the question hang.) Son of Man, can these bones live?
E: (As though he has suddenly developed a very bad headache.) Oh… Lord… GOD. (Hands outstretched signify infinite resignation.) You know.
Exit EZEKIEL.
ZOE pulls a twenty dollar bill out of her pocket.
Z: I don’t think you need to be sore just because I’ve won every argument we’ve had today.
Exit ZOE.

Call of the Corporate World

I haven't felt a desire in years to get a "real" job with any real potential to make real money. But I'm spending a week in Paris with my dad, who works for an internationally-based company and actually flies there regularly, and some of the benefits have become, shall we say, apparent.

I'm referring of course to the People-With-Money-Only club that hides in most major American airports.

When we came upon the Tampa location, to fill our pockets with free pretzels before catching our flight to Philadelphia, there were some People-Without-Money lounging outside, utterly oblivious to the secret entrance right behind them. My dad pressed a button, and the wall revealed its true nature as a panel that simply slid to one side.

"To the bat cave," I breathed, unable to mask my awe.

I kid you not, there are free pretzels, free sodas, free fruit, free brownies and free beer in these clubs. They play CNN on huge flat-screens and stock newspapers from major US cities. The bathrooms are clean.

This is the start of my immersion experience with unfamiliar cultures. I spent my hours on the plane to Philly with a French phrasebook nearly as old as I am (my dad never bothered to learn the language, just keeps the book handy to get him by). I taught myself to say "Sorry" and "I speak very little French" and "Speak slowly, please" and "I'll take it. This phone card will be the perfect gift for my boyfriend Paul. Now he can call me. I get tired of calling him all the time."

(I kid you not, that entire phrase was in the book.)

I'm very excited about the days to come. All I remember of my last arrival in Paris was that it was around five in the afternoon, Paris-time, the sun was blazing, I was exhausted, I dropped my bags in my family's hotel room, wandered down to the street and bought an entire roasted chicken off some sidewalk vendor, carried it to an end-table upstairs and collapsed on my cot for fourteen hours without having eaten a bite. I was twelve.

Reflections on Being a Bartender, Part 2

I'm finding it difficult not to enjoy being a bartender more than I do being a youth minister. I say this despite the fact my left shin still smarts from my least graceful trip to date of scaling up and over the Green Iguana's Tiki wall.

I guess, at bottom, I like being a bartender because when I go to work, and people come see me there, they want something. And some of them even know what they want. They know it by name: "Tanqueray and tonic." "Vodka-cranberry." "Beam and seven." "Malibu baybreeze." "Pixie sticks."

And even the ones who don't know what they want ("I need three shots. Surprise me.") tend to be able to recognize and appreciate when I deliver.

This knowing-what-they-want phenomenon differs greatly from my experience thus far of youth ministry. For one thing, not nearly as many folks come to see me in the youth room as come to see me at the bar. And for another, the ones that do come, seem to have very little idea of why they're there, or what they want, or if they even want anything. They're not falling all over themselves to pray with one another, they don't have burning questions about the Bible or the liturgy, and not all of them are certain they even like hanging out with one another.

Low numbers prod me to ask myself what they could want, what could draw a few more of them in, and what could give the ones who show up at all a better time. But then I think about it, and the reality of church work is more of a big shrug-off of what anybody wants anyway: because nobody wants what's right for them.

What I do, actually, is about what they need.

Whether they know it or not.

And everyone was Mexican for a night.

"Katie! No dishwasher hoy!"

It was Spanglish. The upside-down exclamation point preceding it was audible nonetheless.

"Saul!" I chided. (His name is pronounced "sa-OOL," but just because I know that doesn't mean I can articulate anything like the upside-down exclamation point that goes with it.) "You can't go!"

But Saul was kidding, and we both knew it. He would never really go. He was the only Mexican on the schedule at the Green Iguana for the night of Cinco de Mayo, keeping the rest of us on the level. And he was on top of the world, it seemed, running his dishwasher while the gringos on the line made taquitos and chimichangas and black bean soup. Every time I ducked into the kitchen we greeted each other with a raucous, "Viva Mexico!"

Saul and I talked for the first time months ago when I traveled right past his dish station with a full bus tub of dirty plates, and had to stop myself and come back. He was waiting for me, eyebrows raised. Flustered, I told him I'd been taking out the trash, when I realized I didn't have trash in my hands, but a bus tub. I told him this, in Spanish.

The cat was out of its proverbial bag. I know about as much Spanish as Saul knows English, which isn't much for either of us. He can ask me how I'm doing, and I can tell him I'm tired, and I can ask the same and he'll tell me he's bored. It's more than he can say to most people, and he says it to me.

Before the night was over, I talked the Corona Lite promo guys into giving me a Corona Lite hat. I gave it to Saul.

How the town you grew up in will change without telling you.

A few weeks ago I was startled to see a banner outside the funeral home I ride my bike past every day to get to church, advertising a MOTHER'S DAY SPECIAL.

I had to think for a while about what kind of person could or would take advantage of a Mother's Day Special at a funeral home, and just what that special would involve.

And belatedly I noticed that the funeral home that's been a funeral home for years is now a Day Spa.

I remain unsettled.