The remote convent of St John's in the deep Southwest cherished two tightly linked traditions —
- the expectation that St John himself would some day show-up there unannounced, incognito
- that no traveler would ever be turned away but would always be taken in and given lodging, food and water for himself and his mount, medical care if necessary, etc
One day, a young nun very hesitantly approached the Mother Superior —
"Mother, there's a man at the gate whom I really don't think that we should admit."
"And why not, pray tell? We haven't turned a traveler away in over two hundred years!"
"But Mother, this man is the most blasphemously profane man whom I'm ever heard! And he's literally stinking drunk after urinating and regurgitating all over himself. He's pawing through the gate, trying to fondle Sister Magdalena. I don't see any possibility whatever that he could be Saint John!"
The Mother Superior pondered the matter for a while — then —
"Let him in. Be nice to him. He may well be Saint Patrick."
