Conversations Pt 2
He was a monk, a Catholic priest in a town where the last thing anyone really paid consideration of was God. I don’t remember his name, maybe it isn’t relevant. But in carrying forward the thread of “Conversations” (which does have a point) he has a place.
I was sick in spirit. The town of Las Vegas really had my heart sore. The extravagant waste of human lives, the people throwing away their life savings, pinning their hopes on the turn of a card, the pull of a handle, the place of a bet. As well, the lives of the women who’d sold themselves into the slavery of sex, plastered around the town like some sick trophy, it all served to tailspin me into depression. Were it a year before, I’d have turned to Sondi or Anna to pray, to console in, to seek understanding. Both of them are gone, & I was alone.
There is only one Church on “The Strip”. It is a Catholic church, & it was ironically right behind my own hotel. I’m not catholic, I don’t confess my sins to a man & seek absolution by some prescribed counter-action — I am no fool to think I can somehow buy off God by saying a few “Hail Mary’s”. Nevertheless, it was the only church around for many miles and I wanted some sense of respite from the aggravating onslaught of Vegas: City of Sin.
He had a late start into the church, in his 20’s. But he vowed to be a priest & he followed it through. He taught at a Catholic School somewhere along the line, retired, & was assigned to Vegas. He ran the “Gift Shop”. It was somewhat ironic that I entered a church to pray, but only found the gift shop open.
The way he explained it, there was no support base for his church, no “Congregation”. People came, went, and never gave a second thought about it. His was a unique place. People could sin all week by gambling, prostituting themselves, getting drunk…. come to his church… & never have to worry about any form of accountability. They were only there for a week.. 2 weeks… or so… and then gone. Sunday morning service was always packed… & church was always empty 5 minutes after the end of the service. Having given their obligatory time to God, the people went back to their vices. What point was there to this pretension? It was a question on the heart of this priest, who had to face it week after week.
Because they had no “Parrish”, no normal congregation, it meant they had no tithes to rely upon for income. They had no way to really budget for the needs of the church. hence the gift shop & why it was open when all else inside was closed down. Even in the sanctuary of the most high God, mammon is what keeps the lights on, or so I am led to understand.
We talked between customers, business was rather booming. Icons & statues being sold for luck. Trinkets & “Jesus Junk” being sold as souvenirs. You know the stuff I’m talking about… Christianized coffee mugs to start your day. Plaster a Bumper-sticker on it, & it’s now “sanctified”. I wonder how the heart of God handles the taking of his name in Vain as we so often do by our careless attitude towards his honor. King of Kings, Lord of Lords, and Prince of the coffee mugs. Ironically, no one was looking for Bibles.
He told me his story, how he’s now growing old in a place he hardly considers home. How he longs for friendship… comfort found in the long lasting ties of brotherhood. Someone that could share his heart, his burden. It’s a lonely place, Las Vegas. Esp. for the saints. Not those venerated by the tradition of the church, but those who live daily in the trenches of our warfare with the god of this world, the prince of the power of the Air. He longed for a friend, someone who he could see for more than a week.
It made my prayer concerns seem small, insignificant. I was torn up inwardly over what I saw. I never imagined what kind of impact this place would have upon someone who lived there constantly.
Conversations. We measure our lives by them. We all love to share a part of ourselves… it’s “Human nature”. We are encouraged to do so by God Himself. “Come, let us reason together…” says the Almighty. (Isaiah 1) Call upon me in your day of trouble (Jeremiah 33) says the Father. “Come to me all you who are weak & heavy burdened…” Said Jesus. (Matt 11)
My heart was sore, but in talking to the Priest I found someone who’s own heart was sorer. I found in my seeking someone to pray for me, someone that I might pray for myself. He’s been on my heart a few times now, that priest, & the conversation we had rings loudly even today. I wish I could say I walked away encouraged & refreshed… but maybe that wasn’t the point of our divinely intersected encounter. Maybe it was just to remind me that whereas my heart was sore from a week in the City of Sin… Lot had to live in Sodom most of his life. What profound impact did that city leave upon his scarred heart? What sad effect? What harsh influence?
This priest gave me more to think about in his sadness, than I could have ever expected. May God hear his heart, & grant him the deep desires found therein.
Next up: She wore a Cross around her neck.
This was the Second blog in a series. Here’s the links to the rest of them. “Part 1: Missionary Kid” — “Part 3: The prostitute” — “Part 4, epilogue“
Though grace is shown to the wicked, they do not learn righteousness; 