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During confession in one of Wenchi villages where there was no confession box, an old woman whispered her many sins to my ear, so many that she got tired and began to rest her chin on my shoulder, her weight pushing me down. I was already leaning to my left as if I a had a stiff neck. I should have brought a portable confessional box with me.
“Don’t wash my feet...”
Fr. Joseph Glatzel, svd, was the parish priest of Yamfo in Sunyani. On Holy Thursday, the parishioners decided to dramatize the washing of the feet but forgot to inform Fr. Glatzel. During the ceremony, Fr. Glatzel was about to wash the feet of the one representing Peter and Peter, according to the script, said, “You will never wash my feet.” Stunned momentarily, Fr. Glatzel retorted, “Then why are you here?” if he knew it was a drama, he should have said, “Peter, if I don’t wash your feet...” Poor Peter, how he must have stumbled over his script.
Acknowledging the acknowledgment
Fr. Niall O’ Brien, in an endless acknowledgement, acknowledged my letter in this manner of acknowledgement: “Just a line to acknowledge your letter. No need to acknowledge my acknowledgement, other wise I will have to acknowledge your acknowledgement of my acknowledgement of your acknowledgement...”
Footwear fashion
I was rushing for my catechism class in Akrobi village fearing that the catechumens might leave the church for it was getting too late in the evening. As I entered the church, I noticed my left foot was making noise while I walked but my right was not. To my horror, I saw my left foot was still wearing slippers! Thank goodness no one noticed it, O, holy night.
