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Such conversations have brought to my mind the two images of our church that I was saw when I was a child.
Fr. Harold, the pastor, represented for me one image of the church. He was a short man who I remember always having a cigar in his mouth. It was said that he would not allow anyone but himself to tally up the various Sunday collections. Certainly he was a good fundraiser; he build a church, a convent and a school in short order. I attended that school and remember him coming over twice a year to hand out the report cards. When he entered the classroom, we would all snap out of our seats and chant, “Good morning, Father Harold.” He would tell us to be seated as he himself sat down in the teacher’s chair. We were called up one by one. After perusing the report card, he would slip it back into its sleeve and hand it to each student with either a word of praise or a chiding.
Sr. Catherine was, for me, a different image of church. Her Dominican garb hid everything but her face and her hands from sight. I was concerned when she called Jim Davis and me out into the hall right before we were to take a standardized test. She reached into her pocket and took out two sticks of gum - a banned substance in our school. “I have notice that you two appear nervous when you take tests. I hope chewing this gum might help a bit. Please be sure to dispose of it in the garbage as soon as we finish the test. Ok?”
I still carry both of these embodiments of the church in my mind. Perhaps in many things we are offered a choice of paths to take. The issue is not that more than one paths exists; the issue is which path we decide to follow.