DISPATCH XXXVII

Once inside the church I was fear-struck. But why? It was my childhood as a catholic altar boy mixed with the dread and power of the enormous church. Hesitantly I walked to the sacristy door, certain that when I knocked a rogue nun would slap my wrist or shake me by the shoulders and waggle her finger at me for daring to invade the sacred privacy of the place.  But finally I did knock on the big wooden door.  Me, a heathen agnostic, fallen from the Church, wanting not salvation but a credential for some personal adventure. I had interviewed Nobel Laureates, shaken hands with Henry Kissinger and met who knew how many celebrities, but here I was beside myself.

The door opened. An elderly, kindly priest stood before me. He wore his cassock and collar. His hair was dark and thinning. He smiled at me. I stuttered out my purpose for being there in a few syllables of mangled Spanish. A two euro contribution was usually expected in exchange for the passport, but I only had one euro or €20. Did he have change? He gently waved his hand away. The money was unnecessary, and then handed me the “passport.” I felt right then that he must be the kindest man in the world, and thanked him far too many times. Outside I showed the piece of paper to Cyndy and grinned. I knew now that we were officially on "The Way."