There was a large RC parish in my town that had a resident bishop. One Sunday morning after Mass, as he was standing on the church steps clad in his bishop’s finery, greeting the parishioners, he felt a tug on his bright red sash. He looked down to see a little boy, who looked up at the bishop and asked, “Are you Bozo?”
There was a large RC parish in my town that had a resident bishop. One Sunday morning after Mass, as he was standing on the church steps clad in his bishop’s finery, greeting the parishioners, he felt a tug on his bright red sash. He looked down to see a little boy, who looked up at the bishop and asked, “Are you Bozo?”