It was hardly Father Duffy's dream parish as he had conceived of it in his days as a seminarian: a run-down church in the déclassé part of town, a defunct Catholic school that had been administered by renegade nuns, and the parish named after a most unpromising saint of limited fame and symbolism.
No, he envisioned himself being the pastor of a parish with a cool saint's name, like Saint George, slayer of dragons, or St. Luke, doctor, or Ste. Jeanne d'Arc, the Maid of Domrémy and savior of France. He would have been content with a St. Catherine or a St. Peter or even a Saint Ignatius (though he was of a suspect order). Saint John had a nice ring to it, too. And he could live with a parish named after that old misgyonist, St. Paul.
But Saint Heather? Now she was just not a household name. There were no red-letter days for this relatively unknown saint on the calendar. Eccentric ladies did not claim miracles from this saint, and no pilgrimages streamed to Father Duffy's church to ask for her intercession. In fact, he couldn't discover anything that St. Heather was known for! She was officially known as the Patroness of False Facades, not something that the proper confessor may find to be a standard moral exemplar. All poor Duffy had to go on was a statue of his church's namesake that was unusually garish and well-endowed and attested to its probable origin from Kmart.
This statue embarrassed Father Duffy, who thought it to be too frivolous and distracting to be a proper religious statue. Indeed, he tried to consign it to the trash collection, but St. Heather's statue kept being returned by the trashman who was also a deacon in the congregation and who found her easy to behold while Duffy was haranguing everyone on their morals.
Then it dawned upon Duffy: he would concoct himself a miracle to draw the hordes of devout! (Unscrupulous canons in the Middle Ages sometimes did this if they couldn't book a major act or get big-time relics.) But he needed a new twist to things, so as to not move into the territory of some more-established saint and provoke her wrath. What would draw supplicants? What would enliven the Church of St. Heather for the future?
He got his answer, first viewing his strangely proportioned statue of Saint Heather with his usually jaundiced eye and then seeing the nearby clinic that specialized in breast implants. And now he had a title for the previously-unknown St. Heather: Patroness of the C-cup! It was a little over the top, but not that much. After all, this is 2010! The nearby Figure Enhancement Clinic provided a sizeable donation for the campaign to get started, and Father Duffy now and then mentioned them kindly to parishoners and visitors.
News of these developments were received at the Vatican on the weekend, and somehow the weekend staff let this proposed designation slip through. It seemed to have the virtue of intensifying the faith, and certainly St. Heather was a good role model. Eventually, Father Duffy was able to build a larger church that was widely known as St. Heather's Cathedral and Shrine. The neighborhood blossomed also, with parfumieres, lingerie boutiques, and sportswear shops. There was a bonus in that strippers from miles around sought solace at her shrine.
And it was found by all to be good. Supplicants by the hundreds came, and they proclaimed to the world the salutory miracles of St. Heather's shrine. And who would be impious enough to doubt them?
No, he envisioned himself being the pastor of a parish with a cool saint's name, like Saint George, slayer of dragons, or St. Luke, doctor, or Ste. Jeanne d'Arc, the Maid of Domrémy and savior of France. He would have been content with a St. Catherine or a St. Peter or even a Saint Ignatius (though he was of a suspect order). Saint John had a nice ring to it, too. And he could live with a parish named after that old misgyonist, St. Paul.
But Saint Heather? Now she was just not a household name. There were no red-letter days for this relatively unknown saint on the calendar. Eccentric ladies did not claim miracles from this saint, and no pilgrimages streamed to Father Duffy's church to ask for her intercession. In fact, he couldn't discover anything that St. Heather was known for! She was officially known as the Patroness of False Facades, not something that the proper confessor may find to be a standard moral exemplar. All poor Duffy had to go on was a statue of his church's namesake that was unusually garish and well-endowed and attested to its probable origin from Kmart.
This statue embarrassed Father Duffy, who thought it to be too frivolous and distracting to be a proper religious statue. Indeed, he tried to consign it to the trash collection, but St. Heather's statue kept being returned by the trashman who was also a deacon in the congregation and who found her easy to behold while Duffy was haranguing everyone on their morals.
Then it dawned upon Duffy: he would concoct himself a miracle to draw the hordes of devout! (Unscrupulous canons in the Middle Ages sometimes did this if they couldn't book a major act or get big-time relics.) But he needed a new twist to things, so as to not move into the territory of some more-established saint and provoke her wrath. What would draw supplicants? What would enliven the Church of St. Heather for the future?
He got his answer, first viewing his strangely proportioned statue of Saint Heather with his usually jaundiced eye and then seeing the nearby clinic that specialized in breast implants. And now he had a title for the previously-unknown St. Heather: Patroness of the C-cup! It was a little over the top, but not that much. After all, this is 2010! The nearby Figure Enhancement Clinic provided a sizeable donation for the campaign to get started, and Father Duffy now and then mentioned them kindly to parishoners and visitors.
News of these developments were received at the Vatican on the weekend, and somehow the weekend staff let this proposed designation slip through. It seemed to have the virtue of intensifying the faith, and certainly St. Heather was a good role model. Eventually, Father Duffy was able to build a larger church that was widely known as St. Heather's Cathedral and Shrine. The neighborhood blossomed also, with parfumieres, lingerie boutiques, and sportswear shops. There was a bonus in that strippers from miles around sought solace at her shrine.
And it was found by all to be good. Supplicants by the hundreds came, and they proclaimed to the world the salutory miracles of St. Heather's shrine. And who would be impious enough to doubt them?
8 comments:
We definitely need a saint for breast implants. I loved it when the military provided them as a possibility for soldiers who wished them.
IMO, the perils of breast augmentation surgery have been exaggerated.
For the timid, consider trying bra inserts. Or Indiana implants: the use of tissue.
I love your sly irony in this!
A great story! Give us more!
The good padre was lucky. Most Catholic churches have horrible statuary. Now and then, a carver or sculpturer does make one that is easy on the eyes, though.
St. Heather's statue would cause several to sing spontaneously, "How Great Thou Art.!"
This was awesome!
Thank you all!
This was a real goodie!
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