Vocational training

Matthew was ill this morning, so Lucas and I left Julie and the baby home while we went to liturgy. Liturgy in the Orthodox church is long, so we usually bring a picture book or something to distract Lucas during the service. Today he had a kid's book that explains what happens at liturgy. He's only just past three, and not old enough to read, so he looks at the pictures.

Today, before communion, he showed me a drawing in the book of a priest blessing a child. "Look Daddy," he said, pointing at the priest, "that's me, all growed up."

Later, in the car after liturgy, we were pulling out of the church parking lot. A middle-aged Latino man with a pot belly, wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a trucker's hat, flagged us down. He leaned into the passenger side window.

"Sir, me and my wife and two girls just came in from Colorado," he said, flashing gold teeth. "We got nothing. Can you help us?"

I was sure he was lying. "Did you talk to the archbishop? He's standing right back there," I said.

"Yeah, he said come back on Monday. But we've got nothing for tonight."

"I'm sorry, I can't help you," I said. I rolled up the window and we drove on.

"Dad, that man needed money," Lucas said from the backseat.

I thought about how yesterday, when we were out driving, a drunk standing by the onramp held out a sign begging for money. Lucas had told me then that I should give him some ("Don't we have money, Dad?"). I told him yesterday that yes, we do have money, but some people who ask for money will use it to buy whiskey, which hurts them. But today, the Latino man didn't look like a drunk. In fact, he looked a lot like our neighbor Mr. Ernest, who was taken away late last night in an ambulance after having suffered a heart attack. Could I really be sure that man back in the church parking lot was lying? No, I couldn't. But I did know that he was, in a Christian sense, my neighbor.

"Dad," Lucas said. "If Babboo" -- his name for his older brother Matthew -- "needed something, I would go beg money for it."

"You would stand in the street and ask strangers for money if your brother needed something?"

"Yes."

OK, now I felt like a heel. Lucas had heard that man ask for money for his children. Maybe the man was lying. Maybe he was the biggest liar in the world. But did I want my little boy to see his Dad pass up beggars two days in a row -- and this last time, after church?

I turned the car around and drove back toward church. We found the beggar in a restaurant parking lot. We gave him some money, and drove on toward the supermarket.

As we drove, I told Lucas that he might make a good priest, because he likes to help people.

"I'm already a little bit of a priest," he said. "I like to serve God, and I like to help people. But priestis aren't afraid, and I'm a little bit afraid."

I told him that priests are afraid sometimes, like everybody else, but they trust God to help them overcome their fear. They do serve God, I said, and they also help people when they're sad, or lonely, or in trouble.

"Yeah, and they tell the po-pos" -- the police -- "to be nice to people. Dad, can priestis have a wife?"

"Yes, in our church they can."

"Who is the priestis' wife?"

"Matushka Lydia is Father John's wife, and Matushka Kathy is Father Joseph's wife. Vladika doesn't have a wife because he's a bishop."

"I want to be a bishop. Because if the bad guys come around, I can POW! bishop them right in the head."

"Well, you could do that," I said. "But it would be even better if you convinced the bad guys to turn good."

"That can't happen. I need to bishop them."

"Sure it can happen," I said, then told him about the conversion of Saul.

We were arriving at the supermarket parking lot. Lucas is learning his toilet training at long last. I asked him if he needed to go inside to potty before we started our shopping.

"No Dad," he said, in that I-can't-believe-you-asked-me-that tone that's brand new. "Priestis don't need to tee-tee. But did you know that bishops know how to fix potties?"

That kid teaches me so much.