Up at 6:00 am, and a quick breakfast. Have to skip my devotional time again, there’s just too much to do. Rush to the office, to get there before secretary, and before phone calls from “needy” parishioners.

Got to work on my sermon, but just can’t find time or inspiration. I’m still simmering from last night’s Vestry meeting. It went on until after 11. Boy, does my neck hurt, from being so tense throughout the meeting. Those darn trouble makers, kept taking so much time on trivial budgetary matters. Finally got it right, when budget and my stipend increase were approved by a 7-2 margin. I still resent those same two “difficult” people, wish they’d resign.

I look at my “things to do,” list and feel anxious and scared. But must get these things done. I have to keep my dear members happy. I can’t let them down.

8:10 am, secretary arrives late again, but she’s a parishioner. I wish I could fire her, she’s too independent. She’s been on the job for 21 years and thinks she’s the one who runs this parish. She begins working on the bulletin, and takes forever to finish. Even when she’s through, it’s not the way I want it to be. I have told her a thousand times, don’t underline so much, but she wouldn’t change.

8:24 am, Mrs. Edgy calls to ask me to stop by the funeral home and pay respects to her 2nd cousin’s husband. Damn, why do they want me to do things like that? But, I make a note in my little black book, to drop by on the way to this evening’s Worship Committee Meeting.

Speaking of Worship Committee, what a nightmare that’s turned out to be. They insist on coming up with outrageous ideas, which bug the daylights out of me. The latest, a group to critique my sermons! Can you believe it? Some reported they couldn’t understand what I’m getting at; that I sound like I’m unprepared. Then there’s the suggestion we need a Saturday Evening Eucharist. I’m so tired by the time Saturday comes around, I just don’t feel like another obligation. Besides, Saturday evening is when I like to kick off my shoes, rent a movie, and reacquaint myself, with my old friend, “Jack;” Jack Daniels, that is.

10:00 am---long standing appointment with Miss Problems, who has one problem after another, and tells me each week about them in length. I should tell her that there is nothing I can do to make her problems go away, but am afraid I’ll hurt her feelings. As angry and bored as I get each week, with her moaning and sobbing, her family has lots of money and go way back.

11:11 am, I tell Miss Problems a lie about having another appointment, to get her out of the office and out of my hair. Go to the church kitchen and help myself to two delicious pieces of cake left over from Sunday’s Coffee Hour. Find some donuts in there too, and licking my fingers, return to my desk.

11:30 am---It’s my day to visit the nursing homes. We’ve got seven people in three homes, two close by, and one on the far side of town. I rush to my car, squeal out of the parking lot. Into the first, then second, and finally third home I go. “How are you today, Mrs. C—Good, great, glad you feel better; want communion, let us pray, good bye and God Bless you.” I finish this chore at 12:34 pm, and drive through McDonald’s for a fast food lunch. Eating as I drive, calling on my car phone, I reach Mr. T., my Finance Committee Chair. “George, I’ve got to see you this afternoon, like in the next hour.” “Great, thanks, I’ll be there in a heart beat.”

Speaking of that, my heart seems like it’s beating so fast. I don’t feel so good, my stomach is kind of upset. But, can’t let that bother me, got to sell George on changing the way we invest the endowment. George is a successful attorney. I think he likes me, but still bugs me with the details he insists on at each meeting.

1:13 pm, rush into the immaculate, well-furnished office, and whiz by the secretary. As I sit in a chair next to his desk, George looks hard at me, asking if I feel all right. “Oh, I’m fine, George, just out of breath, that’s all.” I feel scared and angry at the same time, because of his probing. “Father, when was the last time you had a thorough physical?’’ “Oh, George, there you go again.” “I’ll try to make an appointment in the next month or so.” (I have no intention of doing this, because it would take too much time.)

1:42 pm, rush from George’s office, elated because I got what I wanted. He will ask for restricting the Greenbacks Fund for use, as the Rector desires. George wields a lot of power in the parish, he is the biggest pledger. He will get his way, and I’ll be happy. But still my stomach hurts, and I feel bloated and very uncomfortable.

2:09 pm –Hurry into Good Samaritan Hospital and check to see who is there. There are four persons from the parish, but then I cringe when I read that three of the close relatives of parishioners still haven’t gone home. Just saw them yesterday, but I don’t want them to get upset, tell their family I’m neglecting them. (Two of them belong to other churches and one is an atheist).

I rush from room to room, wanting to care, but too tired to really concentrate and listen. When the atheist makes a hostile remark, I lose my cool and let him have it. I’m suddenly out of control, and even yelling. The patient and nurse besides him, look at me in shock and disgust. “Why Father, what’s the matter with you?” “That’s no way for a man of God to act!”

I feel so ashamed yet very angry as I rush from his room, and head for the nearest men’s room. Once inside I find the nearest stall and lose my fast food lunch in a toilet. Then, wiping the beads of perspiration from my forehead, I stick a mint in my mouth, and head for the parking lot. It’s 3:11 pm, and I still have so much that just has to get done!

Driving out of the parking lot, I almost have an accident. I didn’t see (didn’t really look) because I was on the phone, a car turning in front of me. She blasts her horn and yells. I give her the finger and rush on my way back to the church.

Once in my office, I slam the door shut, and try to get busy on the sermon, but am filled with disappointment at myself and fear of what people will say about the “shouting incident.” I can’t concentrate on the commentary. I have trouble finding much on the web that seems relevant to this Sunday’s Gospel Lesson. So I turn off my computer, close the commentary, and think about strategy for both tonight’s Worship Committee Meeting, and, yes, next month’s Vestry Meeting.

5:06 pm—I look at my watch, not believing what time it is. I’ve wasted 45 minutes just scheming, and now must get home and then back to church by 6:45. When I pull into the driveway my seven-year-old son is waiting for me, in his baseball uniform. He’s crying and yelling, “Dad, today is when you were supposed to take me to practice.” Oh, my gosh, my heart sinks, and tears actually come to my eyes. “I thought Mommy was going to do it,” I lie. “It’s too late now, and I wouldn’t be able to start on Saturday,” he yells and screams his way into to the house and up the stairs to his room.

I desperately want to rush up after him and spend some quality time apologizing. Instead, I knock on the door; quickly say I’m sorry and that I’ll double his allowance this week. Back down stairs, I go, microwave my supper, gulp it down, and rush back to the church. I want to get there before Worship Committee Members. I’ve got to come up with a busy agenda, so they will not have time to bring up unnecessary items, like sermon critiques or a Saturday evening service.

The meeting is tense. When I try to explain my rationale for not having a Saturday service, Mrs. Abrupt, a large, obnoxious person, turns and sternly says to me, “Father, we don’t have time to hear you ramble on again tonight!”

A sudden hush comes over the eight persons present. I am taken aback and don’t know what to say, so I continue with the next item on my agenda. When the meeting ends around 9:30 pm, a nice young man who always agrees with me, takes me aside and says, “Father, I have never heard anyone talk to a priest like that before!” (He grew up as a Roman Catholic.) “Oh, it’s not that big a deal,” I find myself saying, while inside I feel like telling that b---- where to go.

To my office I return, and once again try to think about Sunday’s sermon. Anger consumes me, though, and I leave the office and arrive home at 10:05 pm. The kids are in bed, and my wife is brushing her teeth. She gives me “that look.” I know what it’s about, forgetting to take our seven year old to practice. “Don’t say it,” I blurt out, “I know what you’re thinking.” “I’m too tired to talk.” “I’ve got to get some sleep.” “I couldn’t sleep again last night.” “That’s because you are obsessed about “your” church,” she replies. “Oh go to hell,” I say, as I turn myself away from her and try to say my prayers. (I don’t even feel like kissing her good night)

My stomach hurts, resentment fills my mind, and I consider calling the Doctor in the morning. But, then, I change my mind. I think, as before, “I don’t have time; there’s too much to do.” “ My church needs me more than ever. And, besides, I’ve got to keep everything running smoothly.”

I look at the clock three times, the last being 2:15 am. Finally I drop off into a restless sleep, and wake up at dawn’s early light, to discover my pillow is wet from crying. I forgot to stop by the funeral home viewing for Mrs. Edgy’s second cousin’s husband!