So this priest walks into a bar … #4

I have often been struck by the similar roles played by priests and bartenders. In many ways our jobs are the same. We both listen to people talk about their problems, we both offer advice and mediate disputes and we both try to give folks a sense of comfort. It is not at all uncommon for someone in a bar, upon learning about my vocation to begin unburdening their soul to me.

It is worth noting that this pattern of behavior is not limited to bars, it happens in the park, at the grocery store and waiting in line at the DMV too. Once, a car salesman all but abandoned his efforts to sell me a car in favor of telling me about his pain and longing to be a musician.

Anyway, the bar/confessional scenario happens frequently enough that I have to wonder if we wouldn’t get a higher participation rate if we just pulled the confessional out of church and set it up next to the jukebox instead. But onto the story that inspired me to write this…

The other night I was enjoying a few beers and ran into someone that I knew but hadn’t seen in some time. After alternating catching up and discussing the various craft beers that were available (Hook and Ladder, Oskar Blues, Erie and Brooklyn- in case you care I liked the Brooklyn 1 and the H&L Backdraft Brown). But then out of the blue my friend said, “I gotta tell you, I almost blew it last night.” I asked what they meant. Apparently they were at a party and ran into an old flame. This is significant because they are soon to be married and moreover, their fiance was out of town.

According to the story this was not just a meeting… as it turns out, the old flame came on hot and heavy. My friend was tempted but did not succumb. I must confess that I was surprised… not because my friend was tempted but rather because this is never the kind of confession I get to hear. In fact, it is really gratifying to be pleasantly surprised by one of these impromptu confessions.

Much more often, they end up making me sad and tired and just generally detracting from the enjoyment that I hoped to get out of my trip to the tavern. That doesn’t mean that I resent hearing them or will refuse to hear them in future… it goes along with the job, even when I am off the clock. People will always need to get stuff off their chest and sometimes the bar is just the place to do it. I know it won’t be long till the next time someone tells me their sins or troubles over a pint.

Hopfen and Malz returns in “So this priest walks into a bar … #3″

Ok, so this one is not about me but comes from a fellow priest who is now retired. Back in the early 90’s, he was serving in a small church in Scotland. Now one day Steve was in the pub and the television was reporting on the First Gulf War. Now sitting down the bar was Hamish. As the story continued, Hamish began to mutter and the “Damn Americans.” As the minutes passed, Hamish got louder and turned to direct his comments at Steve. “Yank! Hey Yank!” Finally Steve, who had a son in the military, could ignore this baiting no longer, stood up and said, “You got something to say to me Hamish?”

When Hamish stood, he towered over Steve (who stands only about 5’6”) and said, “Let’s settle this outside.” Now even though Steve was grossly over-matched he did not back down and turned to go. At that moment, Tom, the barman interrupted, “Sit down Hamish.” Hamish ignored him and continued to follow Steve towards the pub door. This prompted Tom to shout, “Hamish, if you touch him you’re banned for life.” Now for a Scotsman, being banned from your pub is indeed a very serious threat and Hamish backed down rather quickly.

A very relieved Steve turned to the barman and said, “Thanks a million. If there’s ever anything I can do, you just let me know.” “Do you mean that?” asked Tom. “Of course I mean it,” replied Steve. “Then would you baptize my granddaughter?” asked an embarrassed Tom. “Of course I would,” said Steve. Tom paused for a moment then explained, “Well, you see Reverend, her mother’s not married.” Without missing a beat Steve smiled and asked, “When would you like it to be done?”

What you need to understand is that while unwed mothers are rather commonplace for us, back then in small town Scotland, there was still an element of scandal to it and certainly enough shame to make the whole idea of baptism very awkward. But Steve was more than happy to oblige. When the day of the baptism finally arrived Steve walked into the church to see a remarkable sight- the church, which usually all but empty, was instead practically full. The pews were packed with all the friends and customers of Tom the barman. And they certainly did not look like your typical churchgoers. Many were clad in black leather and sported tattoos, and the vast majority of them had not darkened the doors of a church in decades. Yet there they were.

Even more remarkably, for the remainder of Steve’s time in Scotland many of these folks continued to come to church. Then Steve had to go back to the States. And after he left, these men and women stopped coming. It seems that Steve was replaced by a local priest with rather traditional sensibilities who made some off hand remarks about how Steve’s agreeing to baptize Tom’s granddaughter was “inappropriate” and that such a thing would never happen “on his watch.” Not long after, all the bar patrons stopped coming to church.
This story only goes to show the truth of something I became convinced of along time ago… that many of the people who really need what the Church has to offer will never come through its doors. If only we could wake up and recognize the opportunity that lies before us and be willing to bring the meaning, purpose and value of our faith out into the world instead of keeping it locked inside our walls… and so we perpetuate this false dichotomy between the “sacred” and “profane.” It is so absolutely contrary to Jesus’ ethos, but that is, perhaps, better said on a different blog.

So this priest walks into a bar … #2

It was Ash Wednesday and it also happened to be my sexton’s birthday. So after the noonday service he and I walked two blocks down to the local pub for a bite of lunch. Needless to say, I was still in my full clerical garb complete with a big smudge of ash on my own forehead from the service. So we are sitting there me with my Yuengling Lager (a Philadelphia staple) and him with his Bud (may God forgive him). Across from us are four women, obviously there on their lunch break as well.

Anyway, there we are, chatting and suddenly one of the women calls out, “Hey Padre… Padre.” Needless to say I quickly knew she was talking to me (When one is wearing clerics it doesn’t take long to realize that you attract a lot more attention from strangers than if you were in civilian dress). So I asked how I could be of service. Her response was classic Philly, “Gimme some of them ashes.” She explained that by the time she got home from work and picked up her son, took care of supper and homework, she would not have time to get the 7 o’clock service at her home church. I apologized and told her that sadly, I did not bring my container of ashes (in this case a small metal box) with me so I could not oblige. Yet she was not to be deterred… she thought for a moment and then pointed and said, “Well gimme some of your ashes then.”

Bold as brass she was and it knocked me for a loop. I must have looked as confused as I felt because she felt that it was necessary not only to repeat herself, but to point straight at my forehead. At last I understood, though I was still not exactly sure how I felt about the whole enterprise but I could see no reason to deny her request. I stood and went over to her and asked her name. I then licked my thumb, put it to my forehead and with the residue, made the sign of the cross on hers while saying, “Margie, remember that you are dust and to dust to shall return.” Although the whole enterprise was a bit half-assed in my opinion it was clearly valid enough in hers. It must have been because two of her three friends asked me to do the same.

Just goes to show that people are always looking for the sacred, even, or perhaps especially, in the alehouse.

This is where I should be doing my blogging.

Return of Hopfen und Malz:

Along with Saint’s of the Suds I hope for this to be an occasional, yet on-going series, reflecting on the holy (and sometimes weird) things that happen to me when I go to bars.

Part I “It seems that you see me more in bars than in church.”
I heard these words last week at a small dive of a club in Philadelphia’s Old City. I was there in the company of a friend/parishioner (whom you all know as the editor of this blog). The band’s sound check had just finished up and from across the room I saw one of my parishioners waving at me. After a hug and an introduction to her boyfriend, she said, “It seems that you see me more in bars than in church.” with a kind of sheepish laugh. Although her statement wasn’t entirely accurate, I started to wonder what she was really saying. The implication seemed to be that because she went to bars more frequently than she went to church that she had something to apologize for, or even be ashamed of. What is it about the interplay between bars and church? For many people institutions are bitter rivals. But do they have to be?

We tend to divide our lives up into two distinct areas: the sacred and the profane. However, this dichotomy is false and we need to stop buying into it. All of life has the potential to be sacred (indeed all of it has been redeemed by God) and so all of life is an opportunity for God to be present, known and active. And that evening, as I sampled some of the nice selection of drafts they had available (Troeg’s “Nugget Nectar” is a hoppy delight and Laugunitas “Lumpy Gravy” was complex and very flavorful) I could not help but notice the fact that God was already present in that place. Present in the camaraderie shared by friends, present in the energy of the music, and even present in the fellowship of the mosh pit. I know that last one might seem oxymoronic, but it is nonetheless true. Any pit veteran knows what I am talking about… although the expression is violent, there is still a deep and abiding concern for the safety of all involved and I saw many instances of protection and compassion, as people cared for those who did not want to get hit or helped out those who got popped too hard.

But even more than this, what I saw that night was an incredible opportunity… opportunity for God to be even more present and active in that place and in the lives of those assembled. I saw it in the desire for companionship, understanding and intimacy that motivated many of the patrons. I heard it brilliant and uncompromising lyrics of the band, which expressed a deep longing for meaning and purpose (in addition to taking frequent shots at the hypocrisy of the Church). Yet no one was there helping these folks make the connection between their needs and the presence of God that was already in their midst. Instead, many of them, like my parishioner, probably felt that God was far removed from that place, if they thought about God at all.

Not surprisingly, very few of these people would ever turn to the church to get these very basic and very spiritual needs met. No, when they want to feel connection and fellowship they go to the bar. The Church would do well to wake up and recognize the reality; that these needs and opportunities surround us… at the show that night and every night at the hundreds of bars and clubs across my city, the country and the world, people are looking for the sacred and many times, they are finding it, even if they don’t use those words to describe it. And so my parishioner did not have to feel ashamed or apologetic for being seen in the bar by her priest. Despite our preconceptions, God can be found at the bar almost as readily as in church. And if we want to find meaning or purpose, if we ant to find the presence of God in our lives, all we have to do is open our eyes to sacred reality that is all around us.

The church is near, but the road is icy. The bar is far away, but I will walk carefully.

–Russian proverb

From Rob Anderson’s beer quote page

This is a pretty interesting concept - a Georgia sports bar has fitted taps to the individual tables. The taps are fitted with counters which determine how much beer is poured, and they automatically shut off when the tap has poured a certain amount of beer (at least until the server turns it back on again).

I like to try a number of different beers during the evening, so this wouldn’t necessarily appeal to me, but it certainly is a different concept.