Ten minutes before the Saturday night liturgy, a parishioner rushed in to tell me one of our elderly members had locked her keys in her car and was looking for someone with a coat hanger who might help her get it open. In full alb and stole, I went out, got a hanger from the parish hall, and went to work. Luckily, she had an older Mercedes with those door locks that still have a knob. I was able to fish the coat hanger in through the window, looping it around the lock and popped it. An audience of parishioners who had gathered to watch applauded. I got her car open in five minutes, and we had five minutes to spare before the service began.
The conclusion my flock should have drawn is that, when I was sixteen, my first car was an old Ford Falcon, and I learned to do this because I locked myself out of it numerous times. I'm not, however, sure that's where they went. All I know is my parishioners are kind of looking at me a little differently now.