Deacon… I mean FATHER Bob walked into the sacristy. It was two minutes before the Saturday evening Mass began, the first he would celebrate at his new parish. “Father,” asked one of the servers, “what color are we supposed to vest the chalice in?” Father Bob looked stunned. Normally he would have asked his pastor, Fr. Paul, that question, but ever since the USCCB called for more married priests, the scales were finally tipped, and the inevitable slippery slope that began with lay ministers, then married deacons, had finally concluded (for now) in the married priest!

Of course those good old celibate priests of yore are still respected (for now) and are still the only ones who can become bishops (for now), but this day is Fr. Bob’s first day on the job.

“Uhhhh, well, I like purple, so let’s do purple.”

Crisis averted.

“Father,” said the server again, “I don’t actually know how to set the chalice.”

Fr. Bob looked with horror at the unassembled chalice. He also had never set the chalice before. Fr. Paul had also performed that duty at his previous church.

“Just put a host on it, and we’ll not fiddle with the veil and the purse today.”

Fr. Bob smiled warmly at the server. Fr. Paul never did that. People always used to tell him to smile more. “Today, I’m going to give a good name to the formerly permanent deacons.”

The servers and Fr. Bob prayed and then processed to the back of the church. In the narthex, his wife was waiting for him, but her arms were crossed. “Here we go again,” said the newly ordained vir probatus.

“Bob,” she said loud enough for the ushers to hear, “is it purple season again already!? I always hated that robe. Can’t you just use a simpler one?”

Bob just shrugged and said nothing, as he typically did when his wife was in a mood. “Note to self: don’t wear the vestment with the floral pattern again.”

As he processed in, Bob was sure to bless the people. He had seen the bishop bless people at several Masses before, and after all, he was finally a priest. When he tried doing the same during Fr. Paul’s Masses, the priest would elbow him and whisper for him to stop. But Fr. Paul was no longer here. It was finally Bob’s time to shine.

As he arrived in the sanctuary, Bob gave a big smooch to the altar, and went to the chair to begin the Mass. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. The Lord be with you!” The congregation responded, “and with your spirit.” Fr. Bob had waited long to finally say words he had not heard from a young priest’s mouth in so long, “Good morning, everyone!”

The parishioners chuckled a bit. Only a few said “good morning” back to the now-confused cleric. What was going on?

Fr. Bob then realized his flub. It was Saturday evening, rather than Sunday morning.

“Well, folks, times are a-changin’! First permanent deacons are becoming permanent priests and now evenings are turning into mornings. Do we not hear in the scriptures that in the Lord, the night is as bright as day?” A couple of people chuckled. Fr. Bob had recovered with ease.

Forgetting the penitential rite, Gloria, and collect Fr. Bob said, “let us be seated to hear the Word of God.” All sat down without so much as a peep. Perhaps the embarrassing introduction was penance enough.

As Fr. Bob listened to the readings, he thought about his homily. Bob would admit to himself and even to others that he was no theologian. Even having taken the classes in his deacon formation, he didn’t really understand the material, and the men were never really tested about these things. He was an electrical engineer by trade, not an academic, but, as the bishop put it, “we don’t need theologians to be permanent deacons, we need good men.”

And now he was the priest.

As he was thinking over all these things, Fr. Bob was suddenly snapped back to reality as the cantor began the Alleluia.

Bob read the Gospel as he had many times before in his ten years as a permanent deacon, and then began the homily. Over the next twenty minutes, Fr. Bob thrilled his parishioners with stories of his fishing expeditions, his son’s car breaking down, and his wife’s obsession with “couponing.” He finally ended his diatribe with a more or less theological thought, namely by telling the faithful of his parish how necessary it is to have a married priesthood.

“I have something that other priests do not have. I have experience! I have family life! You can take me much more seriously with my experience with my wife and my kids, and having worked a nine-to-five for years. This is the priesthood! I respect my brother priests, but why should the people be forced to follow a celibate man? Where does it say that in the Bible?”

Everyone clapped, approving of the priest’s message.

The priest sat down for a moment of silence before standing for the Profession of Faith. The congregation stood as well.

But the now-priest had never really figured out the Missal. Any time Fr. Paul had asked him to set the Missal the past, he inevitably did it wrong. Having turned to the Ash Wednesday propers during Christmas Midnight Mass last year, Fr. Paul joked that Deacon Bob was “overly giddy to get Christmas over with so we could move on to Lent.”

Fr. Bob attempted to recite the Creed from memory, and was mostly successful, save those few parts that were stuck in his brain from before the 2011 translation change. Nevertheless, when the Creed and Universal Prayer were over, Bob went over to the altar to set things as he had done many times before as a deacon.

As he did so, a couple of thoughts of regret and, admittedly, a bit of resentment entered his mind. The bishops had pushed through the provision of permanent deacons becoming priests so quickly. Even someone as non-political as Bob had to admit that the whole thing smacked of an agenda. And in the midst of it all, he and some of his poor brother deacons had been almost forced to become priests in six months. Sure, they weren’t held at gunpoint, but how do you say “no” to a bishop?

Worst of all was the lack of formation he had received. Bob didn’t know how to celebrate Mass, and one class after lunch on a Saturday afternoon was not going to teach him everything he needed to know.

Fr. Bob put these thoughts aside, and once again, from the best of his memory, said, “Pray sisters and brothers that our sacrament will be acceptable to God the Father.” Was he supposed to say another prayer here or just go into the Eucharistic Prayer? He remembered the preface at the last minute and recited the “Holy, Holy.”

Now was the most important part of the Mass. Though his formation was lousy, Fr. Bob was told several times, and by several priests, that he could not flub the Eucharistic Prayer. And, indeed, he said all the words correctly, but while gesticulating. It was important to show the bread to everyone while saying “take this all of you,” etc.

At the end of the Eucharistic prayer, Fr. Bob croaked out, “Through Him, and with Him, and in Him.” The humble formerly permanent deacon was never taught to sing in formation, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. In the high school yearbook back in ’70, he was voted “Worst Singer” with a caption that said, “Please do not even sing ‘Happy Birthday.’” Yearbooks were brutal back then.

In any case, most priests sing the doxology, so Fr. Bob felt a bit of an obligation.

But next came the most important part of the Mass (at least for Bob), namely the Sign of Peace. Fr. Bob really wanted to use this as a time to celebrate a “new moment” in the Church—a moment for married priests. Bob stepped in front of the altar after the Our Father and said, “now, normally is the time that I ask you to offer each other the Sign of Peace, but I want to invite a special lady up here to offer the Sign of Peace with me, my wife, Darleen.”

A few people chuckled, and then followed a silent pause, but no one came up to the front. Fr. Bob’s face grew beet-red. Where was she? He then saw her coming out of the restroom in the narthex, surprised that everyone was staring at her. Fr. Bob coughed a bit, and finally conceded, “let us offer each other the Sign of Peace.”

The distribution of Holy Communion went as normal. Bob had no clue how to purify the vessels. He had attempted to do so one time with Fr. Paul, but was never allowed to do so again after he spilled the wine cruet all over the floor and somehow dented the chalice. Today, however, Fr. Bob was the only one around to purify vessels. While he didn’t know the procedures, after ten minutes of pouring water and wiping the ciboria and chalices, they looked clean enough for his liking. He finally understood why parishes stopped distributing the Precious Blood.

Fr. Bob was finally at the home stretch. All he had to do now was bless the people and leave. “The Lord be with you,” said Fr. Bob. “And with your Spirit,” responded the people. “Bow down for the blessing.”

The people bowed as Fr. Bob made up a new blessing for his new flock.

“May God the Father who created his only Son, bless you in the name of Jesus. Amen.

“May the Son, who is God nature mixed with human nature, remain always with you. Amen.

“May the Spirit of goodness continue to brighten your day. Amen

“And may God bless you the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

“Go in the peace of Christ. The Mass has ended. Go and spread the Gospel with your life. Go in peace.”

Finally, all responded, “Amen.”

As he processed out, Bob realized that he had done it. Fr. Bob had proven his priestliness. In spite of his reservations at the bishop’s request; in spite of his rushed formation; in spite of Fr. Paul’s long rant about the foolishness of throwing out the obligation of celibacy as a requirement for the priesthood; in spite of the protests outside of the USCCB and the chancery, Fr. Bob had done it.

Just as he was about to kiss his wife in celebration of this grand achievement, a woman, the lector from earlier, tapped the microphone on the ambo, interrupting the cantor and causing all of the parishioners who were leaving to turn back to the front of the church.

“Sorry for the interruption, but Marge, our finance lady asked me to give this announcement at the end of Mass before everyone left, and I think Father might have forgotten about it…”

Fr. Bob huffed at this accusation.

“…but it is very important. While we welcome our new shepherd and all married shepherds in our diocese this weekend, we also must face some serious financial difficulties that have arisen because of this new situation. St. Rita’s was previously paying for one priest, Fr. Dan, who would minister to our community and St. Philips in the next county. We’re happy that St. Philips and St. Rita’s both have their own priests now, but at this time, we are in a financial bottleneck. Remember in your giving that we do not just have to provide for Fr. Bob, but also for his wife, as stipulated in the new diocesan remuneration policy. A basket for extra donations has been put in the narthex and parish office. Please consider donating this week.”

Fr. Bob was flustered, but not as much as one might think. He was upset that an announcement was made without his permission, and that the lector called him out, but still, she was right. Was his presence a strain on the parish?

He began handing his vestments to the server. As he contemplated these things, the parish secretary brought over a piece of paper. “Sorry to bug you on the weekend, Father, but these are your appointments this week.”

Fr. Bob stared at the list like a deer stares at an oncoming bus. People were rushing past him greeting him and attempting to engage him in conversation as he tried to take in the contents of the note.

Annulments? I never learned Canon Law.

A man believes he was baptized invalidly? They never taught us about that.

Three sick calls and two confession appointments for Friday? But Darleen and I were supposed to have our anniversary party that day.

Fr. Bob took his wife by the hand and, ignoring the parishioners who were greeting him, led her out the side door.