The changing booth

A phone booth -- something you don't see much anymore -- stands in the middle of one of our island recreation areas, equidistant from the skateboard park and the art barn, tucked here beside the mini-gym and glowing reassuringly in the darkness.

Those of us who remember a childhood before cellphones know the promised rescue of a phone booth often failed; they often let us down. The directory was missing, or the coins would stick; you wouldn't have enough to call, or the phone just -- didn't work. The good news was that sometimes, if you flipped open the coin release, you might occasionally find a little change.

Was it easier then to place the blame for communication failures outside ourselves? Because now there's no excuse, just I forgot my cell, or I forgot to charge my cell, or simply I forgot to call. Or -- if the problem lies in the call not received rather than the call not made -- I didn't hear it ring, or I forgot I'd turned it off.

And once we understand that God is always with us, not just housed in some bright little building, tucked in a corner of town we only visit once a week for some religious exercise, then what is our excuse for not calling, for not hearing the call? And is it true, what all those Catholics feared so long ago, that once we get direct communication, the church becomes outmoded technology? Or is there still a chance of collecting a little change?