It was still early in June when Stefan spotted an ad for a job as a janitor at the newly completed Orthodox church, our parish church, a lavish structure five years in the planning and construction. He called right away and arranged to stop by within the hour. But once he was there, Reverend Kanelos balked, at least at first, perhaps using Stefan’s eye patch as an excuse. He templed his fingers and said there were so many factors to consider, which sounded like him. Stefan didn’t tell me the next part, but I had gone to high school with the reverend’s now wife Vivian who later told me that Stefan spoke up for himself: “Father, this is not just a church, this is my church. If my church will not forgive me, who will forgive me?”

Challenged to the foundations of his ministry, the priest relented. He had known Stefan since he baptized him twenty years ago; there was no retreat.

Stefan worked his janitorial duties alone at first and just part-time. He cleaned the church and took pleasure in massaging beeswax into the newly carved benches and using an extended pole to polish the extravagant stained glass of St. John the Wonderworker with vinegar and water. But he grew transfixed as he watched the local florist Fancy’s Florals wheel in urns and pots of seasonal flowers. Stefan told Father Kanelos, “I can do the floral arrangements for you for less money.” He had no idea what the church was paying Fancy’s Florals; he just assumed he could do it cheaper, even if he had to scavenge flowers from the dump behind University Hospital to start. He knew that’s where patients’ flowers were discarded. When he was in rehab at Our Lady Queen of the Universe Hospital in Black Creek before he was incarcerated, he spent hours gazing through the narrow, barred windows at all the mounds of flowers and plants left behind by hospital visitors; many of the arrangements still lush, healthy, extravagantly potted. Either hospital personnel already had their fill or some bizarre policy was in place to prevent workers from taking the stuff home. Sardonically, I suggested he might peruse the funeral homes as well; but he told me that the funeral homes donated their flowers to the hospitals.

Whatever Stefan said, it worked, and soon, he was heading up a small crew of church volunteers, mostly grandfathers, planning then planting a series of new gardens and choosing the ornamental plantings for the interior. Despite my record as a lapsed churchgoer, I knew the minister well, and so I went over there several times to see what Stefan was doing.