In August, I flew to St Louis for a wedding. The groom is the grandson of Al & Grace Wrape from Little Rock. I kind of adopted these two as surrogate parents back when their children were growing up. I was an only child, you see, and they had this large family, so I got like a bunch of brothers and sisters in the deal. It was a sweet deal. Especially the fact that I keep them at a distance and don’t have to live with them 24-7, but visit for feasts, holidays and bridge games when all are on good behavior.

Anyway I ended up marrying practically all their children, except for MaryBeth who got married before I came to Marylake, and Gracie whose husband has a Uncle-in-law or something who’s a priest. But I married all the rest. So when the grandkids started marrying, who does number-one grandson come to when he got married? Me. I mean, I’m like “Marrying Sam” to this family. Well last year when number-one-grandson’s brother decided to marry, he asked Fr. Ralph to do the honors.

Now Ralph was an excellent choice, don’t get me wrong. But there’s no way I can compete with Ralph. He’s a far better man than I. His ego is about 1/5th the size of mine. He beats the socks off me in bridge (as does Fr. Bob Grant who took that inferior quality picture of our community in the post below this). Ralph is a goumet cook, he visits people in their homes, he keeps in touch by phone. His social skills are top of the line. In fact, the only area in which I could compete with Ralph and have a decent chance of winning is in photography. Ralph with luck can find the button to push to take a picture, whereas I spend hours fine tuning a digital images with various areas of light and color until I achieve the ultimate wedding photo.

So folks, here it is. That’s Philip Johnson (his Mom is one of the Wrape girls) with his lovely bride Katie. I’m standing in the back with server Bridget Lee. The setting is this beautiful church on the Jesuit campus of their St Louis University. Now the only thing in the raw image that was perfectly exposed was the bride’s dress. To view any other object in the picture, including the faces of the bride and groom, one would normally have to add enough light to entirely white out that beautiful dress. So kicking both my digital gear and obsessive compulsive disorder into overdrive, I carefully selected about ten separate areas of the raw image for various exposures to achieve what was almost the perfect wedding photo. Almost. Only one item kept it from being perfect. That was Ralph. As main celebrant, he was positioned between the bride and groom. His face was half hidden behind the groom’s face and took attention away from the groom. So through my digital magic, I eliminated Ralph’s face. You can see only a trace of his vestment between the bride’s veil and the groom’s tux. (That trace was needed to outline the groom’s shoulder). Now I was on the sideline of this scene, somewhat up there in the bleachers of the sanctuary, but with the digital elimination of Ralph, it appears I’m actually presiding over this lovely wedding. And so there you have it, folks: the perfect wedding photo.

On the 4th Monday of each month I go to a restaurant in the evening “with the guys.” We call it, “Priests Nite Out.” And we’ve run the circuit of middle class eateries in Little Rock: Olive Garden for Italian, La Hacienda for Mexican, Red Lobster for seafood, La Scala for eclectic. We went to the Fire Fall Grill in May to say goodbye to the guy behind it all. Msgr David Lesieur was the primary organizer of this monthly meal, and in May the bishop sent him to the NW part of the state. Since David’s departure from our fair city, the talk of our Monday Nites has been the bishop, or lack of one as the case turns out to be, in what the Vatican calls a “Sede Vacante.” Translation: an empty seat.

As our bishop asked a number of Arkansas priests to take a new assignment, the pope’s man in Washington DC asked Bishop Sartain to take a new assignment. The diplomat in DC has a thick Italian accent: “Zee pope vants you to bee bishop of JuJe.” Our bishop asked him to kindly repeat what the pope wanted. Four repetitions later, our bishop replied, “I am sorry Monsignor, but I do not understand to which diocese I am being sent.” Zamboni replied, “Maybee in Englis you say Joliet?” Last year I gave a retreat in Salt Lake City. When I come to the part of the Mass where we pray for the bishop, I always need to ask the congregation the name of their bishop. This time, however, a considerate sacristan had penciled into the priest’s Mass book, the name “George.” With no further ado, I prayed for “our bishop George.” “Oh no,” the congregation responded. “George is no longer with us.” Thinking (correctly, I might add) that they had a “sede vacante” in Salt Lake, I responded, “Oh? So George went to heaven?” “Oh no Father, George went to San Francisco."

My photo of the year was taken with one of those disposible cameras people buy when taking a trip. Not much detail here, but you can see our little five person community. Star of the show is Brother Bernard who decided to don the green wig the AIDS Foundation gave him for his volunteer work. The beard is real. Brother is flanked by Fr. Raphael on the left and me on the right. Our superior, Fr. Ralph, is in back between Bernard and I. The member of our community not present for this Kodak moment was our elder Father, Joseph. Standing in for him in back between Raphael and Bernard is one of our Carmelite students, Br. Joseph Marie, who is studying at the seminary in New Orleans, but spent his summer vacation with us at Marylake.

Carinos is a restaurant chain around these parts. They go for an old fashioned atmosphere with antique photographs on the walls. Last time I was in a Carinos, my attention focused on one of those photographs. From a distance it looked like a Carmelite wearing a white mantle. What could that be? I wondered from my distant table. After the meal, I went over for a closer look. It was indeed a Carmelite and he was posing outside our Marylake kitchen. “Hey,” I called my hosts as they were preparing to check out. “This is a picture of the place where I live! I live in that castle.“ Sure Father, sure you do; you live in the past. ”I do, I do. That’s our kitchen in the back!” Sure Father, sure. “It’s true!” Sure it is Father. Now let’s go home. Later I checked with the Carmelite in that photo. Then he was a novice. Now he is a deacon in Miami. He confirmed that his brother began the restaurant chain in Houston years ago, and used old family photos in the chain’s décor. Ha. Tell that to my hosts. The unbelieving lot.

My trips for the year include Miami in February where I gave a retreat, Cherokee Village AR where I condicted a lenten mission, Lafayette LA where we established a new OCDS community in March, South Carolina in April, Piedmont OK where I conducted the Holy Week liturgy, Utah in May, San Antonio and Oklahoma City in June, Jackson MS and Covington LA in June, St Louis for a wedding, Sioux City in August, Mobile AL in September, Dallas in October. I took my vacation in Houston and in Lafayette in late October, and ended it with a business meeting at Holy Hill Wisconsin in November.

All these trips rack up free airline tickets. I let another free flight expire in October. Packing for vacation, I thought I’d better throw in my free flight coupon for any emergency that might arise. It was only then I realized it had expired a few weeks previously. This is about the third time I let a free trip slide by. I always keep one on hand to fly to San Francisco lest an emergency develop there with my one remaining Aunt and Uncle. New Year’s resolution: fly to San Francisco; do not wait for emergency. Do not pass Go.

God blessed us with a novice this year. He entered the monastery in July and left in November. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Pray for vocations to the priesthood and religious life.

I end this with a glimpse to the scene of our former bishop’s installation in Joliet. Cardinal George was there from Chicago, and Bishop Sartain told his new flock that the Cardinal gave him permission, as a son of the South, to use the term “ya’ll.” And in case you are wondering, the bishop added, what the plural of “ya’ll” is, it’s “alla ya’ll.” May all-a-ya’ll have a blessed Christmas and happy New Year.