Prairie Chicken

            Sometimes things happen for a reason, but you never know why.
            It was a muggy summer. My father insisted on attending a Latin
            Mass; this was not popular in the New Order of Vatican Two...
            It was a long drive to find a Priest, who would say a Latin Mass.
            My mom was quietly anoyed. She knew the people in our
            nieghborhood church: Saint Peter's. But Saint Peter's was
            Novas Ordo, an english service. Dad, got us up at 6:00 am on
            Sunday to drive to Fr. Keane in Roxbury, Mass.

            Fr. Keane was a very kind Priest and would laugh loudly. His
            sermons rambled and he would stop and mutter when he lost
            his place in his notes. He was a large and tall man, who had
            been a Marine. His most common statement was, "That is that."
            The church, Saint James was located in a black neighborhood,
            but there were no black people in attendance.

            This is a sermon I will not forget, "The prairie chicken and the eagle."
           
                  "God's choicest blessings on this Sunday morning.
                    There are many other things to do this Sunday, but
                    I am happy to be with you. Many are called, but few
                    are chosen.
                    Consider, the prairie chicken. What is it's life?
                    It wanders the fields, while the eagle soars overhead."

            My mom looks down at her black spats, swinging her feet slowly.
            She is quietly anoyed. Fr. Keane continues.

                    "What if an eagle's egg fell into a prairie chicken's nest?
                    The eagle would have prairie chicken's for parents.
                    Could an eagle live as a prairie chicken?  It would be
                    difficult. For the eagle must soar in the heavens."

          Mom supressed laughter. She continued to stare at her feet and
          swing them faster. Fr. Keane continues.

                    "Are we prairie chickens or eagles?
                      We must choose to soar with eagles or
                      wander the fields. That is that!"

          Mom smiled, a Mona Lisa smile, at me and wiggled her left foot in my
          direction. It was time to kneel for the Cannon.

                      "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word
                      was with God, and the Word was God."

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