Meet the Press. In Your Bathing Suit.

Okay.Here’s how it all went down.Some time ago, the executive director of a local group to which the church belongs sent out a mass email to clergy in the area introducing us to new a new religion reporter on the staff at the Washington Post.

Well, let’s just say that I have a love/hate relationship with the press, and since my most recent run-in I’ve been working hard to fly beneath the radar and stay out of trouble. I thought it might be good to touch base with said reporter, you know, just so I stayed current with the lay of the land.

I did. She was nice, etc., etc., etc.

Since I did not have any urgent breaking news to report, however, I invited her to come to our young women’s clergy meeting. We meet, you see, about once a month to get caught up; discuss work; support each other, etc. (The very cool members of this group are Rachel, Joui, Susan and Megan.) Due to scheduling difficulties our new reporter friend has been unable to make our last two meetings, but she could come today.Of course, today was the one day during the year that we’d planned to meet around the pool.When she arrived we made her swear everything we said was off the record. And we had a great time chatting with her. Most of the time, though, she looked stunned and surprised—so many young women clergy in one place . . . overwhelming.

I don’t know what my future relationship with my new journalist friend will hold. I kind of like her a lot, so maybe we’ll just be friends instead of professional colleagues (knowing how I have a tendency to stick my foot in my mouth on the record?).

In the end, the good thing is she had to leave before we went swimming, so technically we did not meet her with our bathing suits on. For my slowly recovering reputation in the press . . . and for everyone who might ever read a journalistic recounting of such a sight, I can only say: Thanks be to God.