reminders of humanity

Last Saturday was my weekend to cantor. Unfortunately, one of my coworkers became ill with Bronchitis. I'm pretty sure that I got it as well, riding on the coat tails of my encounter with poison ivy.
But I was feeling better. I had practiced all day. The songs were all familiar. I didn't sound great. But people have assured me that even when I sound Not Great, it is better than some alternatives.
Well, the mass began. And that's when I realized that it was ungodly hot in the house of God. And it wasn't just me; others were glistening in the pews. But as I broke into the opening hymn, I felt my sick lungs close up. Breathing in order to pass a tune through swollen nasal passages is harder than just breathing.
I felt myself begin to sweat. I felt the sweat dripping down the small of my back. I thought momentarily what would happen if I passed out in front of all those people. Would they think I had been slain in the spirit?
There's a point in the order of the mass when it's appropriate, if necessary, to leave. This is what you have to do. You have to lead the opening hymn, then lead the Penitential Rite and the Gloria in the appropriate places. Then you have your big solo which is the Psalm, sung between the 1st and 2nd reading. When the 2nd reading is complete, you sing an Alleluia to announce the Gospel reading.
Then you have time to leave, because the priest is going to give his homily. And if you REALLY need a moment, you're safe until the Prayer of the Faithful end, because you've got to be back to sing the Offertory Hymn.
Knowing this, I headed for the bathroom to dry off. I pulled out some tissue, drank some water from the faucet, and went to the bathroom.
Which is when the toilet clogged. In the middle of mass.
I evaluated the situation. The prayers hadn't yet started, but they would. And I'd leave an overflowing toilet. I looked outside. There was no plunger. I pulled the plastic liner from the trash can next to the toilet and used it to fish out the toilet paper. Yes, with my plastic coated hand.
Which is when the toilet magically unclogged itself and flushed. AFTER I had used my hand to pull toilet paper out. I can't emphasize this enough. It couldn't right itself before I did this, in order to save someone else the heinous task of plunging a public toilet.
I washed my hands. A lot. And returned to mass. And led the Offertory Hymn. And no one else knew. Well, until now.
There's no higher purpose in telling this story. It was a bad evening. I had my hand in a public toilet and people probably saw my sweaty butt as I bowed to the altar.
Some days, you just aren't going to make it through gracefully. But you'll make it through, and I think you get extra points for it too.

--Laura