Father Seamus’ Christmas Eve homily asked St. Patrick’s parishioners if they had room in their lives for an outsider.
After Mass, I partook of a holiday tradition of a different sort: a pint at a pub with someone I love. As my wife and I sat in Doyle’s Public House toasting everything and each other over Grimbergen and McCallum, I pondered the priest’s question:
“What does it mean — ‘No room at the inn’?”
A reader here at Ed’s Diner has a beef with Doyle’s. Fair enough. I encourage thoughtful dissent. Rivitman says he and his friends get the vibe from Doyle’s that tells him they’re not Doyle’s kind of people.
I don’t know all the kinds of people who patronize Doyle’s, but some of the wild-haired guys there Christmas Eve were the kind of guys prone to dishing about a chef in town who allegedly looks like adult cinema icon Ron Jeremy. There was a 30ish couple near the window; I didn’t get a good look at him but she was adorable in her red paige-boy-flip-hair-do-thingie. Another couple, totally gray but forever young, left as we came in.
There was a lot of room in Doyle’s on that slow night. I’d just left church. My winter warmer was coming on. I thought about Rivitman. I thought about Father Seamus’ homily.
“What does it mean — ‘No room at the inn’?”
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