Along the lines of "guerrilla art," my friend Erin and I did a quick wardrobe change for our church's patron saint (St. Stephen, whom everyone is now calling St. Patrick).  We vowed not to tell anyone, but everyone knew anyway - especially David, my other guerrilla-buddy.  We arrived at the church at 5 am Sunday morning and were done by 5:30, but not before the arrival of two police cars who parked side-by-side at the parking lot entrance.  They weren't aware of us, though, until we left.  I wonder what they thought we'd been doing there at that hour.

Yes, that's right - St. Stephen has no hands.  No, it's not about a martyrdom you missed somehow, it's the result of vandalism.  He used to have hands.  Some wag broke off all his fingers but the middle one on both hands, so someone else finished the job.  Rather that replace the hands to invite more vandals, our current rector added a sign: "We Are St. Stephen's Hands."