Fidelia's Sisters: An online publication by, for, and about young clergy women, published by The Young Clergy Women Project.

That paperback bible has been my workhorse, even as I work with Bibleworks on computers and print out the lectionary texts each week.  Since Seminary, I've maintained what I call "The Ultimate Study Bible".  I've got two volumes now, of the Bible printed out chapter by chapter, with all the notes I've ever written.  Each time I get a new pericope, I look to see if I’ve already studied it or if I start from ground-level.  It comes in handy sometimes, like the week I had multiple deaths and didn't look at the sermon until Saturday night.  I almost cried when I realized I had written a sermon a few years ago on that passage.  So I literally copied, pasted, and did a "find and replace" for the church name to bring it up to date.  Yes, people, this is confession day.

But now I find myself in a place where my home study is 30 miles from my church.  I typically print out and start my sermons after church on Sunday.  I print out the readings and start looking at the research I've already done.  That's why my Bibles are all in the church.  Only the pretty ones are at home.

Advance printing didn’t happen this week.  I was away on vacation, and returned to discover the Vestry had gone insane, had a “secret meeting to discuss your letter of agreement and conduct a performance review, since we didn’t like the mutual ministry review, and you can wipe that shocked look off your face now, what’s your problem?”  Suffice it to say, I’ve spent the week reeling from what feels like betrayal.  I wasn’t there on Sunday to print out my readings since I was away on vacation, reveling in drinking Misha’s coffee and reading the Washington Post in Alexandria, Virginia.  I came back to find insanity.  Why is it that I don’t see the insanity coming?  People said, “Have a good vacation!” and hugged me goodbye.  Where did the clergy-bashing come from?

On the phone with my Canon, I wondered if this was really the place for me.  She knew that at my first parish, I was in a very harmful place.  I almost quit then.  It was that horrible.  Now my first solo parish is going insane and having secret meetings?  How crazy is that?  If this is what I’m in store for, maybe I don’t want to be in the ministry at all.  I could go to library school, become a librarian, and not have to deal with all the surprise BS that goes on.   I could quit this and follow the dream I had this week where I opened a vegan bakery and made cupcakes.  (Of course, in the dream, the Senior Warden took over my office grinning like a cat, and some unseen person popped my beloved ball chair.  It was an awful dream, really.  Do church dreams count in our working hours?)

But you know what?  Some crazy, hellish week, you will realize that you did not print out the readings at church as you meant to.  And you will realize you want to know the full story of the pericope you are trying to exegete.  And you will look at your wire crate bookshelf and pick up the Ordination bible you have never used, and you will open it, and tucked inside the cover you will see the papers from the day of your ordination.  On my declaration, I see my maiden name and the date, written in my handwriting, but in an odd, left-leaning slant because I was so nervous I could barely write properly.  You remember that your Bishop came all the way to Virginia to ordain you, in the middle of a terrible Diocesean crisis.  You remember you fed him lasagna and that the fire department took pictures with you in your vestments when they had to put out a fire at the church just before the ceremony.

In a week when you have wondered if you still want to be a priest at all if this is the sort of life you are in for, you come across the papers that prove that over 30 “official” people and countless “unofficial” people, during a grueling four-year-process, affirmed that you are called to this work.  You remember how much people supported you in the tough times before, and how much support you are getting now.  And you open your never-before-used Bible, look up the reading, and fill in the blanks of the human story with the almighty grace of God.

The Rev. Elizabeth A. B. Tesi is an Episcopal priest who works part time at a small semi-rural parish and part time as staff chaplain for trauma in an inner city hospital.