Rodney Curtis

The Zoroastrian priest poked his head inside my room again, looked down at his notes and stared back at me with a blank expression. Apparently I wasn’t Zoroastrian enough for him. But he wasn’t either. Actually, the dude is an Asian Catholic priest and he always looks at me confused. It stems back to the time when he offered me a prayer and I stupidly said, “Sure, from which spiritual vantage point?” The notes in his hand didn’t really have a good answer for him. I asked him for something from Zarathustra and he smiled then boogied.

I sometimes get that way in normal life, testing people who come at me trying to sell a political candidate, a new church, or gutter cleaning. Salespeople showing up at your door probably despise having to ring doorbells and push their products although the spate of AT&T and Comcast guys arriving at our home seems to negate my premise. They genuinely believe their internet services, which come across the same wires as each other, are faster than the other.

Here in the hospital they aren’t allowed to sell roofing services or premium cable but I get a nice mix of God’s salespeople.

Another Catholic priest who popped into my room recently offered me communion. I was game; it had been a while since I’d gone through the ceremony. But moments before he offered up the piety pita for my consumption I casually mentioned I wasn’t Catholic. I didn’t really like the look in his eye as he glanced from me to his notes and back. “Aren’t you ______,” he asked? When I told him blank didn’t live here anymore he ended the interchange.

Now this much I know; I’ve taken communion in a Catholic church on at least two separate occasions without being given a Spanish Inquisition, (of course, nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition). Then again, those were times in my youth when one of my many Catholic friends had to attend church on Saturday night or Sunday and I was having a sleepover with them so I just went along for the righteous ride. One hysterical incident happened in high school when my best buddy Bob and I were on vacation and he found a remote church along Lake Michigan to attend.

“Okay Bob, I’m doing everything you do. I take the holy wafer in my hand then I accept the drink then later we hug the hot chicks in the pews and say Peace Be With You, right? I’ll kneel when you do and say ‘trespasses’ instead of ‘debts.’ Anything else?”

Bob said I’d covered all the bases. Then we walked into the small clapboard church and he suddenly makes a gesture with the birdbath inexplicably placed right inside the door and wipes his hand off on his shirt a few times, then his forehead. Uhhh, okay, so I did the same thing, using my shirt and pants though.

To this day I don’t know if he just forgot to tell me about blessing yourself with holy water as you enter a church or if he simply wanted to see how I’d react. Bob, you know where the Comment section is; fess up.

Another monotheistic misstep occurred when a substitute minister entered my hospital room and was sweet, caring, full of smiles and couldn’t get my name right to save her soul, (okay, not a good sentence to use that cliche). She asked if she could say a prayer for me and I gladly agreed. Closing my eyes she lit into a fabulous prayer about health and vitality and love, all for “Randy.” She must’ve thought I was a fool, sitting there laughing my head off. But it was a very kind and heartfelt prayer so I forwarded it mentally to two different Randys I know who have cancer. No need letting such a prayer go to waste. I hope you received it Randys. Remember to Recycle.

To give that Zorastrian priest some credit, he always smiles after our brief encounters come to a close. I wouldn’t be shocked if one day he came up with a holy message or two from a different theological perspective but I’m not waiting; I have Reverend Rik for that.

You may have noticed notes here and there on my blog from Rik. My family of agnostics, true believers and those in between all love Rik. He’s the official hospital Soul Man and I defy you to spend two minutes in his company and not see a being of light and love. I think we initially bonded when we realized his daughter is a photographer, has a fun blog and is a soon-to-be-published author. But mostly, Rik is the type of reverend who gives spirituality a great name, doesn’t push it down your throat and is just as comfortable talking about a wide range of other things besides God saving you or metaphoric gutter cleaning. Rik’s the real deal and the hospital, life and his daughter is lucky to have him out there.

For me, a guy who bills himself as a Spiritual Wanderer, the last thing I want to do is ice out or write off religions I don’t agree with, although I’m real close with the Taliban’s way of practicing their political spirituality. Reading this over I hope you don’t get the impression that I’m mocking certain faiths. I just enjoy poking fun at myself and sometimes I take others along for the ride with me.

In the words of another Rodney, “Can’t we all just get along?”