It was a long time ago, back in university days. There were long hours in the Barr Smith Library and frequent attempts to break the drudgery of study. It was time for another coffee.
I left the library passing Mary, my steady friend who had a more disciplined approach to study. I knew she wouldn’t be persuaded to interrupt her work for a coffee. Least of all, three-quarters of an hour after we last had coffee together.
‘I’m going out to get a coffee,’ I whispered in her ear.
‘OK,’ she whispered back, ‘but you realise it’s only another hour to closing time?’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know, I just need a break.’
Outside it was balmy, the evening sky was clear and the lawned area in front of the library was bathed in the half-light of a full moon.
As I descended the steps leading to the refectory, I noted a car parked next to the lawns. The motor was off but the headlights were on. Well at least, one was on—the other wasn’t working. I noted that in the car were four nuns—fully attired in their ‘uniforms’.
My first thought was that the car was ‘in-habit-ed’, but suppressed this in favour of kindlier thoughts about these saintly souls. I approached the open driver’s window to tell them about their headlights.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘did you realise your headlights are on? Take care that your battery doesn’t run flat. And by the way, your right-hand headlight isn’t working.’
‘Oh dear’ was the driver’s startled response, ‘I didn’t realise.’
Attempting to put her at ease, I spontaneously effused, ‘But don’t worry, you can get home tonight and fix it tomorrow. If the cops pull you over on the way home, just tell them you didn’t know the headlight wasn’t working.’
My mind immediately buzzed with panic as I realised I had just told a Bride of Christ to lie! I quickly turned on my heels and walked on.
‘Oh gawd!’ I muttered under my breath with my panicking mind racing onto, Jeez, what have I done? Oops, sorry Lord for using your name in vain! Oh shit, I responded to myself, I’ve made it worse. Oops, sorry again Lord, but maybe profanity isn’t as bad as blasphemy—is it Lord?
Oh bugger, I resolved, that’s the last time I try to help Brides of Christ—I’m not even Catholic!’
At this point, Mary joined me and I related my misfortunes. Seeing my distress, and as if reading my mind, she said ‘Father forgive him, he knows not what he does.’ (Luke 23:24…adapted).
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