The Demise of Father Diotrophes

 At my last writing group meeting, one of our members related a story about a mean boss she once had.  I immediately thought of Father Diotrophes.  It's been quite a while since I wrote a prayer group tale but I used to tell stories about the relationship between my pastor and my prayer group.

I immediately tried to think of a situation to have Father Diotrophes and the prayer group at odds, again.  Everything seemed silly.  Could it be that I've moved on?  Well, since COVID-19, the prayer group hasn't met at all.  So the pastor isn't hovering over us and vice versa; the prayer group isn't annoying the pastor.

It's time. 

I am sorry to announce that Father Diotrophes has moved on.

However, I'm sure the prayers of the prayer group will continue to surround Father Diotrophes forever.

The Angels Can't Pick Out The Weeds

The prayer group decided to have a plant sale, to raise funds for the parish.  How could the pastor, Father Diotrophes object to that?  He couldn't think of any good reason to object, but he knew he was going to wish he could say no.  Whatever this prayer group attempted to do always involved him and trouble.

The day came.  They didn’t have much, just one table of plants.  Most of them were sold at Saturday’s Mass.  The early morning Sunday Mass left only a few sickly plants and Father suggested that they end the sale and dispose of those plants. 

He thought they did.

They didn’t.  They thought it was such a waste to throw away living plants, so they planted them in the garden --the pastor’s garden.  The prayer group thought the pastor would like these plants.  They’re called bishop’s weed.

Little did they know that bishop’s weed is notorious for taking over a garden.  Bishop’s weed  grows quickly and chokes out the other plants.  Lucky for the prayer group, Father Diotrophes never could figure out how the goutweed came to his garden.  He had a dickens of a time trying to dig it out.  In addition, somehow the pastor picked up poison ivy.

While the pastor labored to rid his garden of the weeds, the prayer group was reminded of Matt. 13:24-30, the parable of the weeds being planted among the wheat.  The farmer let them both grow together.  At the end of the season, the wheat could be easily distinguished from the weeds, and so the wheat was harvested.

In this case however, the native garden plants weren't allowed to grow because the bishop’s weed/goutweed, choked everything in its way.  The prayer group was wise to stay under the radar, in this case.  

The Prayer Group in Winter

Everything about the Prayer Group irritated the pastor, Father Diotrophes.  They haven't changed at all. They were overly pious.  Because of their kindheartedness, he couldn’t be angry with them.  But he was.  Their leader wore a pectoral cross, bigger than the pope’s.  He was a little deaf, so when he was told something, he just gave you that subservient, obedient smile, nod, and move on.  You never knew if he understood what you said, or he understood, and decided to ignore you, or he forgot.

The others in the group, which was only about two or maybe three, were just as bad.  It really was a lame little group.  

He could see them now from his "watch tower" room in the rectory, trudging through the snow.  They're going to hold their prayer meeting in this weather?  There really is something wrong with those people.  

UN belive ABLE ! 

Well God bless them!  It is said that God takes care of drunks, old people, and fools, and they're two out of the three. 

Father Diotrophes shrugged them out of his mind and went back to his book.  

Gradually, a scraping noise entered his consciousness.  He listened closely.  "What?"  

There it was, again.  Clunk, Scrape.  Clunk, longer Scrape.  "What is that?"  

Father got up out of his chair and looked out the window.  There what do his wondering eyes see?  It was that little lame prayer group shoveling the sidewalks to the church.  

"Well, well, God bless their little hearts."  

Back to the Prayer Group

The Pastor, Father Diotrophes woke up in a foul temper.  His back hurt.  He must have slept wrong, although he had slacked off on the back muscle exercises, the physical therapist had instructed him to do.  

He gave no homily in his morning Mass.  His back was really killing him.  And the day was too busy for him to sit back with a few pillows and/or heating pad.  He was looking forward to the evening.

After his supper, he thought he'd try a combination of ice packs and heating pad.  Ten minutes each.   He always forgot which was the one to use, and when.  He had just poured himself a mug of decaf, picked up the book he was dying to get back to, and he was on his way to settled in for a few relaxing hours, when the doorbell rang.

#%^*#@**!

Sometimes, Father Diotrophes doubted his vocation.

Again!  #%^*#@**!

Father Diotrophes peeked out the window.  It was the spooks!  That damn prayer group.  What the hell are they up to now!!!!

Father Diotrophes ripped opened the door, to find three of them bowing and apologizing, and smiling and bowing, and apologizing and...

"What do you want?"  Father Diotrophes almost shouted.  "We're so sorry Father, but the church is locked up."

(You spooks, of course it's locked.  Normal people are home, at this time.)  That's what Father Diotrophes was thinking, as the three continued, "Did you forget that we're having a healing service, tonight?"

#%^*#@**!  "Yes, I did forget." (Why did I ever agree to that nonsense!)   Father was in too much pain to go over to the church, so he just gave the keys to their leader.

A couple of hours later, Father was jolted out of his napping.  Then he remembered the prayer group and their healing service.  He heard loud, very loud, music, clapping, and singing who knows what else.  "What the hell is going on over there?"  Father Diotrophes hurtled himself out of his chair.

...and wrenched his back.  Ow-ow-ow #%^*#@**!  Damn those spooks.  This nonsense has got to stop!  They're probably doing some pagan, or even satanic worship.  They're so ignorant and stupid!!!

Father Diotrophes hunched over, and almost crawled up the church steps.  The air conditioning wasn't on, so the church windows were open.  The whole neighborhood could hear their cacophony.  "Good Lord, help me."

Father opened the doors, and automatically dipped his fingers in the holy water, "In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit."

Suddenly, Father Diotrophes felt a warmth travel up his legs to his lower back.  It wasn't flaming hot heat.  No, it was gentle.  But it was definite.

Father straighten up.  His back felt wonderful.  He felt wonderful.

He joined the congregation and sang and clapped and prayed.

God is good,

all the time.

Another Prayer Group Tale

The pastor, Father Diotrophes thought he had them--the prayer group that is.  They always spooked him with their quiet shuffling around.  They just annoyed him.  Anyway, he told their leader to stop meeting during the summer.  Surprisingly, their leader didn’t say anything but nodded his head in agreement.  He did understand though, because he said, “Before we end for the summer, may we have a procession to crown Mary?”  The pastor readily agreed.

“Hooray!” thought the pastor.  They’ll be gone for the summer.

He forgot about the May procession until he was awaken from his nap by singing.  He looked out the window, and saw many, many people surrounding the statue of Mary, in front of the rectory.  

Good Lord!  They were woke him up with “And the Father Will Dance!” 

“Lord have mercy.”

“That little prayer grew?  This must be a nightmare.”

No, it was still a little, overly pious, overly devotional, group.  But they had somehow managed to gather their friends and family together, for a May crowning of Mary.  They were also elderly and forgetful.  The leader forgot that the pastor said not to meet during the summer.  Things carried on, as before.  And the Father danced fumed.