Father Diotrophes wondered what the prayer group was up
to. They were mumbling a lot and
shuffling around, even more than usual.
Oh, he was sure that sooner or later they’d be bothering him about one
thing or another, and whatever it was would really be annoying.
Sure enough, they all crowded around him like they were one
organism.
“Father, Father!”
He couldn't make out what they were saying. They were all talking at once. So he just said, “No.”
“But Father, Father, we want to bury our old rosary
beads. That would be the respectful way
to dispose of blessed objects.” The
group pleaded.
Father Diotrophes warily asked, “Where?”
“On church property,”
was the response.
“Well, of course. How
appropriate!” thought the pastor.
And everyone went away happy.
That is until the pastor was walking the grounds and
surveying the spring buds sprouting. The
tulip bulbs he planted in front of the statue of St. Theresa weren't up
yet. Father Diotrophes wondered
why. Everything else was sprouting. There was sun. It was too bad because that little space in
front of the statue looked empty.
So Father Diotrophes planted more tulips in front of the
statue. As he was digging with his
trowel, the blade hit something. He
looked, and something shiny was sticking out from the soil. It was
the cache of old rosaries that ragged prayer group buried.
There was a note attached to the beads. It read:
Here lies our dear rosary beads
They were well used and served our needs.
But they got broken and all twisted,
So now we’ll try to forget they ever existed.
It...the note…well …. It brought a tear to Father’s eye.
