Layman   I never gave it any thought — becoming a priest. The dove must have passed me by, never alit on my shoulder. The mumbo jumbo, the vows against nature, high versus low, ferreting out sin, depending on the take from bingo night? No, thanks. But conducting the mass, the moment when the miracles are summoned in the tranquil hush of anticipation — the part of the job at the altar, not the pulpit — I see the appeal, just don’t have the heart for it — no vocation. Sure, I can lull your soul to sleep as well as the next guy — but who am I to presume that I can give your soul its wings? When the mass is ended, I shake the padre’s baby-soft hand, think, There but for the grace of God go I. What do I know of God? I won’t pretend.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont September 2022