Entering, Eating and Breaking

Recently I perpetrated a new crime: Entering, Eating, Breaking and Being Caught Red-Handed! No one would accuse me of being a criminal mastermind after the events transpired.

It happened when I was on a two-week Columban Mission magazine promotion in Mt. Vernon, Washington. Mt. Vernon is north of Seattle, Washington, and has a cluster of parishes with one pastor, Fr. Martin Bourke. Fr. Bourke is a former Columban, a friend of mine and very kind. My first weekend would be in St. Elizabeth parish, several miles from where Fr. Bourke resides.

Prior to my trip, Martin mailed me the keys to the church and the rectory in case the resident priest might take a holiday since I would be celebrating all the Masses that weekend. I arrived in the rain and visited the empty church. I then asked the only person in sight which house was the rectory. He confidently pointed across the street and said “the white house.” I was surprised to find the door open and the house empty. The bedroom on the left, which Fr. Bourke said would be mine for the weekend, had an unmade bed as did the bedroom on the right. Having lived with other priests for so many years, I just smiled. Failing to find any bed linen, I decided to take the chance that the last occupant didn’t have anything contagious.

I would have loved a cup of coffee but had to settle for a tea bag and cup of water heated in the microwave. I also treated myself to a good slice of pumpkin pie that I found in the refrigerator. Then, I did something I hadn’t done in sixty years. I dropped the cup, and it shattered into many pieces. Since it didn’t appear to be part of a set, I decided the best solution was to collect the fragments and put them in my car. Having dabbled in Cannon Law, I knew the danger of habeas corpus.

I looked around and found a widescreen television, so I sat down to watch a golf tournament. After about an hour, my entertainment was disturbed by a young couple. Initially they were quite angry to find a stranger in their home, watching their television. However, after I explained the mix up, they were very understanding and friendly even though they were not Catholic. We had a good laugh before they directed me to the red brick rectory three doors down.

Later in the evening they arrived at the rectory with the sandwich and fries that I had left in their refrigerator. We laughed again, exchanged business cards, shook hands and went our separate ways. It is fortunate they didn’t call the police when they found me in their home. I’m not sure how a police officer would ticket me for eating their pie!

As a missionary who constantly meets new people in new places, I have found that a good laugh, sometimes at my own expense, is a special grace. -- Fr. Peter Kenny, March 2009