The flight from Switzerland was smooth, but the journey through customs promised to be rough for one passenger. She had splurged on an extravagant electronic device, and the import taxes were steep. As the plane descended, her gaze fell upon the serene man beside her—a priest. A daring idea sparked, born of desperation and cleverness. She turned to him with a warm smile and began to talk.
After building a rapport, she made her move. “Father,” she began softly, “I have a rather unusual favor to ask.” She confessed her issue with the expensive device and proposed her solution: could he, in his unimpeachable robes, conceal it for her? The priest listened patiently, his expression unreadable. After a moment’s contemplation, he agreed, but with a caveat that defined his character. “I will help you,” he said, “but I will not lie.”
At the customs desk, the woman watched nervously from a distance. The officer, a serious-looking man, greeted the priest with respect. The exchange began normally, but then the priest offered a strange, segmented statement about having nothing to declare from the head down to the waist. The confused officer, as anyone would, inquired about the rest. The priest’s face was a picture of pure innocence as he delivered the lines that would secure their passage.
He spoke of a “special device for women” that had “never been used.” The effect was instantaneous. A deep flush crept up the officer’s neck, and he stammered a quick dismissal, eager to be free of the conversation. The priest nodded graciously and continued on his way. The woman followed, a silent triumph in her step. She had not asked the holy man to compromise his morals; she had simply trusted that his unwavering honesty, when applied to the right situation, would be the perfect disguise. It was a lesson in the power of perception and the surprising effectiveness of the unvarnished truth.
