Holy roller, Batman?

Let’s try to keep it like the Sunday morning sand on the beach: light and fluffy.

Things that make you go hmmm.

An English priest was invited to preside over a Christening. Sure, he said. So, off he went, to the Caribbean, as the guest of one if the invited. Now, call me old-fashioned, if you like. I know that priests are not all white or all male, certainly not Anglicans. But, somethings I just dot see priests donut and feel that the actions of a man of the cloth. Grabbing a few glasses of Prosseco is one of those. In the circumstances, I’d not deny the young fellow a little taster after he’s wet the babe’s head, but when I saw the second glass go gloop, my eyebrows went pop.

Now, I’m not willfully irreverent, but is wanted my concerns addressed when I saw the lad appear at the party, after the Christening, and in a flash his dog collar popped and his short sleeved black shirt was only missing a disco ball over his head for him to audition for Saturday Night Fever. “Give me a sign that you’re the real deal,” I’d asked. Unlike Jesus, he wasn’t being asked for a miracle, but I figured that priests carried a licence or some proof of professional competence. Otherwise, any jack rabbit could walk in and read a few things pulled from the Internet. That seemed reasonable. Anyway, he just smiled and I was left to wonder. A lot of lawyers were at this shindig, so I know a few ears were tuned in, but lips disused sealed.

When the pan music hot hot, who was up there, hands in the air like you just don’t care? When Earth Wind and Fire were putting on their Fantasy, “…as onnnneeee…”? You got it. I rest my case. In the name of…

But, I asked the Oracle the question this morning. Catholic priests are supposed to have a photo ID, so I read. They used to just carry a letter from their Bishop, called a ‘Celebret’, for person who celebrates the Sacrements. Now, I heard the young man say that he was ‘celibate’, at which point a keen-earned 10 year-old asked “What that’s that mean?” Her nimble-footed mother told her it meant unmarried. Maybe, we’d misheard. Either way, my suspicions are as keen now as yesterday. As they’d say in Jamaica, “Bring me di bway!”

Author: Dennis G Jones (aka 'The Grasshopper')

Retired International Monetary Fund economist. My blog is for organizing my ideas and thoughts about a range of topics. I was born in Jamaica, but spent 30 years being educated, living, and working in the UK. I lived in the USA for two decades, and worked and travelled abroad, extensively, throughout my careers and for pleasure. My views have a wide international perspective. Father of 3 girls. Also, married to an economist. :)