At the risk of never being assigned to chauffeur bishops again — or worse! — I must admit to having done it once.

Ladies and Gentlemen, recently, I had the blessing of driving three hierarchs from their hotel to another hotel for dinner. I sat with two bishops at dinner, drove another to the airport the following day, spent time dining and serving with 3 more during hierarchical liturgy, and had a nice repast with the metropolitan following a baptism.

My hierarchical experience began at home, where I had to decide which shoes to wear. I know, it sounds odd to hear a man, a clergyman, saying such a thing. But, you see, I normally wear Birkenstock shoes — like sandals, just covered — with a side buckle. But, with the Metropolitan in town, dinner at fine hotel and all, I remembered the old Johnston & Murphys languishing in my closet.

I got ‘em out, shined ‘em up, and, much to the dismay of my Birk-freedom-loving toes, put ’em on.

Snazzy!

I headed out the door a full 40 minutes early for, what would normally be, only a 15 minute drive …

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