"What is going on with me?" asked John quietly to himself as he, too, got into his car and drove home. It had been such a long time since he had allowed himself to be interested in another man. He'd been a priest for years, and in all those years there had been very, very few people who knew about him. It wasn't any of their business, he'd told himself. He was there to be their priest, to help them to know God, to help them deal with the realities of life. They didn't need to know about his private life, he'd told himself. So he'd struggled for all these years with his very human yearnings for companionship, and his knowledge that who he was deep down was a challenge to his vocation as a priest. Truth be told, that was what had motivated him to move to this parish; he was tired of living in small towns and having to be all by himself. Maybe, in a city, he could have a personal private life, too.
But it was hard. The push to stay carefully hidden in the closet was strong. And all the work involved in a parish -- the people, the situations, the management stress -- they took lots of time, too much time. It was easy to be swamped by all the work, and to put himself and his own needs on the back burner.
Chuck has just shocked him into looking at himself again. Was this life in this parish, even in a big city, any different from what he had had in a small town? Was this why he had talked himself into the move? Was he any less lonely here than he had been there?
He didn't want to answer those questions. He had a carefully constructed life; he was safe -- and lonely. Maybe it really was time to change things.
The week sped by. He had lots to do -- as usual. He had to teach, work on next week's sermon, attend countless meetings, listen to people in pain, and try to find time for himself. He was busy. He found himself humming quietly as he worked, though, something he didn't usually do. He was happy -- and that was unusual. He caught himself sometimes just gazing into space. He was looking forward to seeing Chuck again.
Sunday arrived, and John was quickly swamped in all the details that went with pulling the service together. Did they have all the acolytes, were the lay ministers all here, were the announcements in place, where was...and on and on and on. Somehow, in the midst of all the hustle and bustle, John had to find a still place inside him so that he could preach, and somehow, in the midst of all the hustle and bustle, John found that he was humming again; he was looking forward to seeing Chuck.
As he walked down the aisle, he looked for Chuck, and didn't see him. Maybe he was late; maybe he had decided not to come -- where was he? John pulled his eyes back into the center, trying to focus himself for the service. He had to keep his mind centered. After the opening hymn, he began the prayers, quickly moving into the "Gloria." His eyes moved quickly over the congregation -- nothing. He moved on, chanting the Collect of the Day, and then sitting for the readings. He stood as the choir and congregation began to sing the Gospel Acclamation and moved into the center aisle with the Gospel Book, ready to chant the Gospel. As he lifted his eyes and crossed himself, he caught sight of Chuck off to the side, looking a little flustered as he moved into a pew. John smiled to himself. "Good, he's here," he thought, and he moved easily from the Gospel reading into the sermon, preaching joyfully to the assembled congregation. He saw Chuck and others nod a few times during the sermon, letting him know that they had heard the point of the sermon. He felt good about that. The service moved on, the Offertory, the Liturgy of the Eucharist, and finally the Communion as he moved from one to another, placing the host in their uplifted hands. Once again, Chuck's eyes caught his. They smiled at each other, communicating through their eyes. "The Body of Christ, the Bread of Heaven," he said as he placed the Host into Chuck's palms, letting his fingers rest there for a second. And he moved on to the next person in line, aware that he body was thrumming with joy. The service quickly wound down and John found himself once again at the doorway, shaking hands, chatting with each parishioner, offering comfort, joking, connecting with each one. Chuck shook his hand, holding it a moment longer than usual, smiling into his eyes. "I'll wait for you after the service," Chuck said. "OK, I'll be there in a few minutes."
The usual after-service round of greetings seemed to take much longer than usual. Why did everyone want to ask him a question when he just wanted to get out of there? He was tired and ready to go, and there was this hunky guy waiting for him. Finally, everyone was done, everything was locked up, everything was put away, and he could go. He hurried out to find Chuck out in the parking lot, leaning against his car, just watching the world go by. John said, "It's my turn to drive, and your turn to pick. So, where do you want to go?"
"Well, I found this cute little French restaurant. Are you up for that?"
"Yup, love French food, at least when it's good."
"Oho, a food snob!"
"No," John protested, "I just like really good food. And, I don't like mediocre French food." Chuck laughed at him, and John found himself joining in the laughter. Chuck made him smile, and that was good, that was very, very good. It had been a while. "Ok, stop making fun of me and just tell me where we're going." Chuck laughed again.
They got into the car, buckled up and moved out of the church parking lot. After a lot of "Turn here, turn there!", they found themselves in an older part of the city and parked in front of a little, unprepossessing restaurant, Le Café Chez Nous. John had never been there before, but it looked good. When they opened the door, it had that homey, little French country look. Waiters bustled around in their white shirts, black pants and long aprons. A matronly hostess greeted them at the door and led them to a little table for two, nestled into a corner giving them some privacy. A cute young man hurried over to the table, placing fresh bread and butter in front of them and quickly filling up their water glasses. The waiter came over with menus and a slate blackboard with the specials of the day, and then left them to read the menu. They fell silent, reading carefully, trying to decide what to eat. John shook his head, "How did you find this place? The food looks great! The menu is limited, obviously depending on what the chef can find fresh that morning, and it sure looks and sounds authentic." Rapid fire French exchanges could be heard in the background, accompanied by much loud dish and glass clatter, and the occasional, dramatic French swear word. "Look at this, they have Poulet Basquaise. I haven't had that in years. And they offer sweetbreads and brains and fresh fish and, and, oh my God, they have an incredible dessert menu!"
Chuck laughed again, "You really are a foodie, aren't you? You're like a little kid in a candy store, looking at everything and trying to figure out what you can stuff into your mouth. That's cute. Who would have thought?"
"Hey, I am a gourmet. I like great food in small quantities." John defended himself, "But, I really, really like great food."
"So, how come you don't weigh 300 pounds?"
John blushed, "Oh, I used to. But it just wasn't good for my health. So, I went on a very stringent diet, went to therapy, worked on my eating issues, and made some lifestyle decisions. I love food. I'll never get over that. But, I can't afford to indulge myself in terms of quantity. So, I try to limit the quantity, increase the amount of exercise I get, and I'm really, really picky about the food I eat. If I can't eat a lot, then what I do eat needs to be very, very good."
Chuck tilted his head to one side and looked at him. "You've really worked on this, haven't you? This must have been a really big deal for you."
"Yes. I was killing myself and decided I needed to stop. I was a food-aholic. I guess I still am, but now I'm a recovering food-aholic. Unfortunately, I can't stop eating completely like an alcoholic can stop drinking. But I can try to deal with my stuff, with all the needs which got dumped into eating." John smiled back at Chuck, "In fact, I'm doing that right now by going out with you. I like you, don't know exactly why yet, but I do. And I need to have friends with whom I can just be myself. That helps me to not over-eat. Otherwise I just hide behind my weight."
Chuck's hand covered his on the table, "Good. I'm glad you feel that way. I like you, too. And I want to get to know you a lot better. I need friends, too." They looked at each other quietly. A small, discreet sound drew them back. They blushed and drew their hands back, looking up at the waiter who had materialized from nowhere beside their table. He smiled warmly at them, and silently let them know that he approved, all that with just a smile and a look.
"Messieurs, we have some wonderful specials today. Can I interest you in them, or do you want to stick with the menu?"
"Please tell us the specials."
He quickly ran through the blackboard, explaining the highlights of each dish and their different cooking methods. All three entered into the difficult decision-making process, what to eat, how to plan a wonderful meal, what wines to drink. Finally, they settled on their meal, picked some wines to go with it, chose a dessert as the final climax, and settled back, exhausted by all that work and yet stimulated by it, too. They looked forward to a wonderful, gustatory feast.
The food appeared, course after course, carefully timed to their own speed, watched over by the waiter who managed the whole meal effortlessly. They had chosen a tasting menu, a little bit of this and that, each dish chosen to complement the whole meal. They ate, they drank, they laughed, they talked. And their relationship deepened through the shared meal -- a glance here, a touch there, a quick smile, a momentary hushed pause as they looked into each other's eyes. Truly, it was a heavenly banquet.
At the end, they slowed down. The quietly efficient waiter had cleared the table, cleaning up the detritus of the meal, leaving the tablecloth clean and neat. "Messieurs, would you like to move out to our patio for coffee and cognac?" They agreed and moved out to a small, candlelit table. The air was deliciously scented with flowers. A small breeze brushed over the trees. They drank delicious French coffee and their cognac, and sat in companionable silence. The hummingbirds flitted back and forth, hovering in front of a particularly delectable blossom, their wings a blur in the air. They were full -- full of good food, full of good wine, filled up with good companionship.
"This was good -- really, really good. I've enjoyed every minute of it."
"Oh, John, I really needed today. It's been tough moving to a new city and starting a new job. Oh, I don't regret it, but it's been tough. Today, was really good for me, too."
"Do you want to come back and see my house? I'd like to show it to you."
"Yes."
They got up, paid the bill, leaving a great tip for their wonderful waiter, and went out to the car. They drove back to the church. Chuck got into his car and followed John back to John's house. They parked in the driveway and got out. John opened the door and turned to Chuck, "Well, this is it. Please come in." Chuck entered the door, and a new chapter in both their lives opened up.