It was one of those moments in life recorded in my brain in full color and stereo sound even though there wasn’t much color, and there wasn’t much sound. It was November in rural Southern Maryland, where the grayness and chill of winter overtook Autumn’s charm. My candidating sermon had been given on that Sunday morning in a middle school cafeteria in front of forty people, including children and bugs. The congregation asked me to leave as they discussed whether or not to extend to me an invitation to become this Presbyterian church’s organizing pastor. My eight-month pregnant wife was at home in Florida, awaiting the verdict. This decision would dramatically change our life.I methodically walked the parking lot outside, wondering how long the meeting would last and somewhat curious about the only other human outside at the moment. The man was buried under the hood of an aging automobile (and must have been enjoying the cold about as much as I was). Knowing as little about cars as I do, I was wise enough not to go over and offer help with my nervous shaking hands.Imagine my surprise when I saw that the human form who unfurled from under the car hood sported a Roman clerical collar and pleasantly introduced himself. His church was a church plant as well and was meeting in the school gymnasium. He very quickly extracted from me the situation I was in. Without hesitation, he closed the hood and insisted on accompanying me in these tense waiting moments, assuring me of his prayers and best wishes when the call came to return.I received the invitation from that church. Father Paul and I became anchors of sorts in the interfaith council in the county. More importantly, he became a friend. Father Paul, educated beyond impressive, a significant leader in the covenant community movement, currently serves as the Msgr. at St. Stephens Martyr Catholic Church in Foggy Bottom, Washington, D.C., six blocks away from the White House.Welcome to Church Hurts And, Father Paul Dudziak.churchhurtsand.org