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               "God dammit."Father Feinstein pulled the binder clip off his forefinger. Holding the phone

between his head and shoulder, he examined the red pinch mark. "A stigmata if they had missed," he

thought to himself. He grinned resentfully, and exhaled through his nose.

               "No, of course not Monsignor... Yes, of course I do. Well, Bish, what I'm proposing is a slight

modificationto the Church calendar. No, nothing radical, of course. Not even anything new, really.

Let's just say a more modern way of celebrating the old crap. Something with the pulling power of a

Christmas or an Easter Sunday."

               Father Feinstein leaned back, and looked curiously at his painting of Christ dispelling street

vendors from a temple. He put his feet up on the desk, and swung his head around to face an open

window. He felt the spring breeze on his face and smiled. What could be a better combination for a

B.S. artist, he thought, than religion andmarketing? He was on a roll and he knew it.

               "But Bish-man, a little glitter here and there helps people convince themselves that what we're

spouting at them actually adds value to their lives. I mean their lives here, on earth. See, they can

holda palm reed. They can seetheir presents on Christmas morning. They can smellflowers

decorating an altar and feelthe sprinkle of the holy water. Christ, even the generic stained glass is here

for the same reason. Let's face it, if someone offered you a Holy Spirit or a gold crucifix, which

would youpray to?"

               The bishop mumbled something about "the lowest common denominator" in a heavy Italian

accent. Father Feinstein pictured his own congregation having to listen to the man babble during the

Annual Appeal, and for the first time felt a sensation similar to what the Bible liked to call "pity".

Probably those refried beans, he told himself.

               Sister Susie's head shot through the door. Seeing the door open, Father Feinstein juggled the

phone between his hands, nearly dropping it. He grabbed the bible lying on his desk and threw it into

his lap, mimicking a similar reaction as an altar boy, when the pastor had caught him in the

confessional. A moment later, his mind registered Sister Susie's face, and he blinked slowly in relief.

He asked the bishop to hold, and covered the phone's mouthpiece.