12+80+133+8+90+133+26+14+102...

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My favorite math class was pre-calculus my freshman year of college. I added two very good friends to my life in that class. The class itself, or my studies for the class was a different matter. I got a D. I had to take algebra later. This blog isn't about math, but I want you to know I'm not someone who hops up and down when its time to do math. My favorite thing about that math class was Jim and Justin, not the math. I respect math, and the people who love to calculate, it's just not my greatest desire. When it's time to any little simple math problem you can probably catch me counting on my fingers just to be sure. I've gone crawling back into restaurants begging forgiveness because I realized that I under tipped (and I carry extra dollars to go along with the repentance.)

I'm a priest. I enjoy the things I do, and I enjoy the variety of things I get to do. Visit people. Keep the story alive and the mystery present on Sunday mornings. Meet with groups, sing songs with children, teach, write notes, communicate, etc.

Then a couple of times a year, I have to do something that I think I don't like very much. I have to add up the numbers of people who have attended Sunday church, and the numbers of people who attended everything else we've done in the year, and the numbers of particular type of services. I dread this task, and I don't think I like it.

As I'm following my ruler along to put the correct number in the correct little blue box, sometimes I think, "Is this really part of my work?" This blog is supposed to be about discovering the sacred in the midst of the profane, but this feels like the profane has found its way into the midst of the sacred. I depend on others to keep up the ins and outs of accounting (thanks be to God for treasurers!), so I really have no room to complain.

And then, when I start counting services, and adding attendees, and writing numbers in boxes, I get into a rhythm and I remember particular occasions, and I realize I might be praying or something. I enjoy it on some level at least. When I'm done, I'm thankful that I don't have to do that everyday (more respect and gratitude to math junkies.) The profane in the midst of the sacred once again reveals the sacred.

It happens with folding laundry sometimes, too, or washing dishes, or other ordinary things that just have to be done. There's not a lot of spiritual distance between the rhythm of folding Eli's shirts and the rhythm of working my fingers around a rosary. Adding numbers of people, after all, is remembering a year's worth of worship. It's counting prayers or pray-ers, and recalling for a moment the community that has gathered again and again and again.  

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