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Certifiably Alive, December 17-18
It’s 9:23 on Tuesday night. The television is on with a minor football bowl game and a pot of Earl Grey warmed by a cosy on my desk. My intention has always been to write every day, not only to share the stories of parish life but also for the discipline of writing. For the past four days, I have been unable, or unwilling, to carve 30 minutes to reflect on the day and tell the story. If you stay with this blog, I will do my very best to share this journey every day.
Monday, O Sapientia! Morning Prayer and Mass for the Advent Feria. My server was Luke, our Divinity School intern. We normally meet after mass on Monday, but after a long and busy weekend, I needed to spend this day putting together the parish magazine, something I started last month. I worked fairly steady until close to noon when I parishioner called to tell me she was on her way for me to write a letter stating that she is alive. I have no idea why. Something, I believe, to do with her pension. I assured her that nothing on that day would be greater than to certify she is alive and well: “To Whom it may concern: it gives me great pleasure to certify that ___________ is indeed, alive and well.”
At noon I sat at my station ready for penitents and their confessions. Hearing confessions, in my experience, is feast or famine. They either come in waves or they don’t come at all. I am committed to finding more times and better times to make myself available for confession. They know I’m available by appointment, but if one is reluctant to make a confession, having to go through the trouble to schedule it is perhaps one barrier too much.
I had lunch with my in-laws who were in town for the weekend. As the meal ended, the server announced that someone had already paid the bill. What on earth would have moved someone to do that? We will never know. Thank you, to whomever.
In the afternoon I received a call from a person who was homeless with children and needed help. Like the post from last Friday, I often don’t know the legitimacy of these calls. Please don’t misread the cynicism, but clergy of all stripes have been through this. There is such a fine line between helping and enabling. Since the person mentioned homelessness and children, I put a call in to a parishioner who works in finding help and resources for our homeless brothers and sisters. The two of them got together later and I will follow up to see what came of it.
When the mail came, I discovered a Christmas card from a parishioner who is now serving a life-sentence in prison for murder (the victim was also a parishioner). One day I need to write about burying someone one day and doing pastoral care with the murderer the next. I have given pastoral care to two parishioners accused of murder in my parish. One was acquitted (self-defense) and one plead guilty. None of this is confidential, it’s all quite out in the open but, being in the South, not talked about.
Momento Mori with flowers from Gaudete.
The day ended with Evening Prayer and the O Sapientia antiphon. I know we often make much ado about the O Antiphons, but does anyone actually pray them in the office? They aren’t slogans, they are aids to prayer and buttresses to the Magnificat.
After Evening Prayer I convened my “Worship Committee.” We call it that ironically. It’s instead a weekly meeting with my liturgical leaders and we go over what happened the day before and what needs to happen in the week ahead. It’s very good to be on the same page and these are some very good people in which to do that.
Before bed I read on social media where another conservative/traditional Episcopal priest is swimming the Tiber. I don’t know this priest personally, but the world of social media makes it seem like everyone is a friend. I wish him well. I know people are wondering when I will do the same. Intellectually, I am certain I would be happier in the Roman Catholic Church. Aesthetically I would be happy as a clam in the Eastern Orthodox Church. But my heart, as conflicted as it often is, remains in Anglicanism. I simply don’t feel called to anywhere else. I don’t know how long the current church will tolerate an anachronism like me, but that my very well be the cross Our Lord has given me.
Tuesday morning I had every intention of getting up early and making the final push on the parish magazine. It didn’t happen. At church by 7:30, Morning Prayer and Mass for the Advent Feria with a commemoration of William West Skiles, deacon and monk. Deacon Skiles, according to Peter Anson, is the first person in permanent monastic vows in the Anglican Communion since the Reformation and he lived less than two hours from Winston-Salem. I have developed a devotion to him since our youth trips to Valle Crucis, which was once his monastic domain and where he is buried. I was pleased to successfully lobby his inclusion on the diocesan calendar for this day – the day of his burial in its present location. The date of his death is December 8, but there is a very important feast already taking that spot.
Administrative frustrations got the best of me at the start of the day and I did not start off on the right, or calm, foot. I would be a horrible poker player. My neck and ears turn red when I’m agitated. To amplify that ‘tell’, I’m bald! Staff meeting is normally at 10:00 on Tuesdays, but I cancelled it to push through with the magazine, as it needed to print that afternoon. A brief pause at 11am to bless blankets, shawls, and other knitted items from our knitting ministry team.
Confraternity
At noon I was downtown at our Confraternity gathering. We talked about gentleness as used in the Philippians text on Gaudete Sunday. Gentleness is not the same thing as passivity. To be gentle is to recognize the fragility in the other and our own power to crush. The conversation is always lively and the food is always good.
A rush back to the office and final proofs of the magazine and the print button was pressed. No turning back now, even after I discovered I left 2018 on the front of the magazine. I’m livid! More publication work, this time the digital e-news that goes out on Tuesdays. So much of my week is sharing information and telling stories. I love it, but the mechanics can be tedious and time consuming. I am not, by nature, a patient person.
Evening Prayer followed with O Adonai as the antiphon and then Shrine Prayers. Some text messaging, emails, tidying, and this portion of the day was finished.
God was in the whirlwind, December 14, 15, & 16
What a whirlwind.
Friday morning, Morning Prayer and Mass (St John of the Cross, commemoration of the Feria). I had intended on getting my funeral homily for Saturday and Sunday’s homily done, but in the words of Forrest Gump, we had lots of visitors. The office is closed on Fridays but somehow it always seems to be one of the busiest days. Members of the family came by to prepare for the funeral reception, a parishioner stopped by with some medical news, and a man came by looking for assistance with gas. As policy, we don’t keep cash on hand, so I went with him to a gas station and bought him a gas card.
When people come in looking for financial assistance, sure, it’s a crap shoot. Sometimes they are scheming and want money for things other than household necessities. Sometimes people will ask for gas cards or food cards and then sell them for things other than household necessities. Sometimes you can tell quickly whether someone’s story is legit and sometimes it is impossible. In every case, the person standing before you is in need. I tend to err on the side of help. I believed the gentlemen and I hope he continues on the path he says he’s on. In that moment, it wasn’t for me to judge the trajectory of his life. He simply asked for gas. If he doesn’t use it that card for fuel in his car, that’s on him. If I don’t help him, that’s on me.
Saturday was full. Christmas Pageant practice in the morning and a funeral at 1pm. I had a vestry social that evening so I couldn’t stay for the funeral reception. Half of the family is from Sierra Leone and this family always, always has the best receptions. I did pause long enough to have, what I call, a Sierra Leone hushpuppy. Instead of cornmeal and sugar, it has rice and other wonderful things. The evening was spent with the vestry at our Advent social and then my son’s basketball game at 8pm (sinful to have a game so late).










Sunday was Gaudete Sunday and the congregation was resplendent in rose. I preached on Luke’s Gospel and the human tendency to act as if our sins aren’t actualized unless they are discovered, a false assumption. I also confessed my failure in having more opportunities for people to make their confession, something I vowed to remedy. After mass, I had a vestry meeting, and then after the meeting – The Greatest Christmas Pageant Ever. I do hope you will look at this pictures. It was sound theologically and beautiful. It wasn’t a spectacle of children put in positions to look cute. It was a re-telling of the story of Christ’s birth and what that means for us. It had solemnity and wasn’t a spectacle. I am very proud of the children and youth.
A whirlwind to be sure. And in this one, God was to be found.
Feasts and Friends, December 13, 2018
The feast of St Lucy. A feast with all sorts of wonderful traditions, her day now passes with little attention, at least over here. She was a virgin who died during the Diocletian persecution in the early 4th century. Mass was from the American Missal, something I use a couple of times a week. I am fond of the American Missal and find that it is perfect for small congregations and that it lends to greater devotion for both the priest and the faithful. By using the American Missal weekly, I’ve painted myself into a bi-ritual corner. While the liturgy itself is largely the same as 79 BCP Rite I mass, the rubrics and calendar diverge enough to force some real focus. The 79 BCP essentially only has major feasts and lesser feasts, while the modern Roman Rite and Common Worship in the Church of England have solemnities, feasts, and memorials (or Principal Feasts, Festivals, and Lesser Festivals in the parlance of Common Worship). The American Missal still retains the complicated order of ferias and feasts of the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th class. Some of our observances are from the Church of England, Rome, the American Missal, and the 79 Book of Common Prayer (and Lesser Feasts and Fasts). Trying to synthesize it all is a challenge and for the most part, I switch to the practice of the missal. So today was the feast of St Lucy, a double, from the common of a Virgin but not a martyr. While the American Missal uses that common is something I have not had time to explore.
The morning was spent preparing the Sunday bulletin and newsletter. At this time I am the primary communications person and there is a fair amount of time spent on necessary publications. We’ve tweaked things a bit beginning with Advent, always trying to find what people will actually read and remember all the while keeping tabs on cost and time. It’s a constant process.
The highlight of the day was lunch with my new friend John Shelton Reed. Dr. Reed is a sociologist and historian who specializes in Southern Culture, Barbecue, and Anglo-Catholic Social Politics – three of my favorite things! I read his wonderful work Glorious Battle years ago and every page has something highlighted or underlined. I’ve corresponded a couple of times over the years wanting to arrange an Anglo-Catholic Barbecue, as he only lives 90 minutes away, but schedules were hard to align. We were finally able to make it happen this spring and it was a glorious, no pun intended, event. We’ve been in regular contact ever since. What a joy to actually get to know someone you’ve long admired. Tragically his wife and co-author died this fall. I had not seen John since the funeral and we got together at Real Q barbecue with another friend.
I picked my car up from the garage - $358 and a new battery (long story) later, the car now starts up like a homesick angel. I just hope the angel is not one of death!
An interesting story came to my attention in the afternoon as I was finishing up the newsletter. An evangelical pastor in my home state of South Carolina bought his wife a $200,000 Lamborghini SUV. I don’t know the man and have no intention of judging, although I think the purchase was unwise, no matter how much money he has (and certainly don’t put it on Instagram!). He did, however, make an interesting point. Defending his purchase, he said no one is upset at the amount of money he spends on paying for his kid’s college tuition. Most “good” schools are around $50,000 a year. Times 4, that’s $200,000, the same as the car. Are they apples and oranges? Yes. Yet, I’m not sure a $50,000 education is that much better than a $15,000 one. Maybe it is, but the point is worth considering. I do take issue with his theological understanding of the cure of souls. I know he is not a priest nor does he claim to be one, so our theological point of departure is different. Defending the purchase, he said was speaking and acting as a husband and not as a pastor. I’m not sure that distinction is possible. Holy Orders (and I realize he and I are talking about different things) and Holy Matrimony are both sacraments and one makes an indelible mark on the soul and the other is indissoluble. Neither can be turned off or on. The attempt to do so leads to sin. The whole debate struck the contrast between something I saw on a friend’s Facebook page (picture below), from a work, I think, by Fr. Garrigou-Lagrange, O.P. Quite the contrast in theology. By mega-church standards, I live a life of modesty and simplicity. By global standards, I live like a czar. Fr. Garrigou-Lagrange’s admonition is important and sobering.
Evening Prayer, Alma Redemptoris, and Shrine Prayers. Left the church in the dark, ending a feast of light.
Our Lady of the Snows, December 12, 2018
As much of a pain as the snow has been, it is beautiful. I’ve never really paid attention to the holly trees, but today it looked like a greeting card. I do hate, however, when it gets dirty. It’s depressing because it’s not what it was, what it should be.
…thou shalt wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
Oh how quickly it turns, both the snow and the soul.
Mass today was for the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. I must confess to never having a strong devotion to the Patroness of the Americas, partly because of how her image is used in cultural kitsch instead of devotion. I am tainted by the fact that I can win a velvet Our Lady of Guadalupe at the county fair if I knock over four milk bottles with a baseball. This is something I need to work on. In my homily I addressed why Mary is so important and how we neglect her at our own spiritual peril. The more we focus on Mary, the more we focus on Jesus. Blessed John Henry Newman’s confessor said that one cannot love the Mother of Our Lord too much, as long as he loves her son all the more. By focusing on Mary, we preserve the orthodoxy of Jesus Christ. Mary gave birth to Jesus, thus he is fully man. Yet Mary was a virgin, thus he is fully God. Her various titles, Our Lady of Guadalupe, Our Lady of Walsingham, Our Lady of Lourdes, Fatima, etc., remind us that her protection – and spiritual protection flows from fidelity – is local. Her witness and her light is the reflection of the light of her son and is contextualized to wherever we may be. Loving Jesus is not for a distant people in a distant land. It’s for here and for us.
Mid-morning I led the weekly Bible Study. I was surprised by the numbers with the roads still difficult in many places (school continues to be out). Using the readings for this coming Sunday we talked about how we tend to operate under the assumption that our sins aren’t actualized unless they are discovered. John the Baptist disagrees.
Mass again at noon with unction. A quick drive-thru lunch of grilled chicken and a kale salad and a pre-martial counseling session at 2pm. For years I have used a resource called Pre-Marriage Awareness Inventory. Most couples roll their eyes at it first, but then appreciate the process. I always tell couples that no matter what I say regarding the fitness of their relationship, I assume they are going to get married anyway by someone else (they universally nod their heads in affirmation). My job is to make sure they have the best possible shot going forward. I use the awareness inventory to force conversation about topics couples usually avoid, namely communication, money, sex, and religion. For someone, either the husband or wife, there is not enough of one of those. For the past several years I have also used genograms from Family Systems Theory and I have them map their emotional family trees. I find this extraordinarily helpful for the couples. On the whole, however, I am not pleased with my pre-martial preparation and this is something I need to address in the near future.
Evening Prayer was next, followed by Shrine Prayers, and the Rosary. I blessed three rosaries at the conclusion. Fitting, I thought, on the feast day.
The day ended with the Christmas Pageant rehearsal, which if I may say, could be the Greatest Christmas Pageant Ever. It’s old fashioned, sound, and powerful. As it should be.
On the ride home the night was brighter because of the snow. Dirty as it may be, it still can reflect the light.
Business Plan, December 11, 2018
Morning Prayer, finally, back in the church (Advent Feria). As lovely as sitting by the fireplace is, it’s hard to do. I’m easily distracted. I rush. A surprising crowd at mass in the morning. Even though it has only been two days since I’ve said mass/received communion, it has felt like two weeks.
The morning work involved working on a funeral for the weekend, which will, liturgically, see a merger of two different cultures, neither of which is my own.
I went to lunch with our choirmaster, who was my first hire nine years ago. We worked out details for the 2019 liturgical calendar. Ideally, this would have been done months ago, but all of us in the office are raging Type B’s with idiosyncratic Type A behavior.
After lunch I had a meeting with parish finance leaders and representatives from our new bank regarding financing for our capital campaign. This is uncharted territory for me, which is why it makes me nervous and also why I need it. This has been a fascinating experience and not the easiest sell over the whole parish. Many individuals have supported the campaign with significant gifts and pledges (nearly 2 million) but the support is from a minority of the parish. It’s a different kind of campaign. It did not come from a grassroots movement to build a classroom or parish hall or something that is easily seen as practical. I found myself presenting the “business model” to the bankers. Once upon a time, people might have given to the church so that priests would say requiems for their souls once they had died. They might have given out of a real sense of gratitude. People today may still give for the same reasons, but the motivation to worship and support is harder and harder to generate. Our “product” is a saving, transformative relationship with Jesus Christ. We “market” that product through inspiration. How does one deliver inspiration? Through charitable works? Yes, and many have asked why we aren’t focusing on our homeless shelter. Mainly because, as important as this has been for us, we want to be out of the shelter business. This is one business model where we don’t want consumers! And it’s working. Last year on December 10, we had 17 guests in our shelter. This year, with 14 inches of snow on the same day, we had 8. That’s good news. God willing, in three or four years, we can close down the operation because it is no longer needed. The same thing is true about our young adult year of service program. For seven years we hosted The Abraham Project, a powerful ministry to and with young adults. We nearly bought a house for the project. The needs have changed and fewer young adults are doing year-of-service programs and we had to close our project this year. What is the one thing that will always be current, always be necessary, and will always inspire? The worship of our Lord. The altar and the font. Adoration is the best and longest (as in eternal) investment we could ever, ever make. There is nothing more practical, but the results are often delayed.
I am grateful for wise minds who understand markets, points, interest rates, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
The conceptual drawings.
More admin after the meeting and off to Evening Prayer.
For some time now, we’ve read a portion from the Rule of St Benedict at Evening Prayer. I borrowed this practice from Norwich Cathedral, which is near to my heart. Norwich Cathedral was once a Benedictine Priory and they still recite the Rule as a nod to this important heritage. I am also an oblate with the Order of St Benedict (St John’s Abbey in Collegeville, Minnesota). The reading for December 11 was the beginning of Chapter 58, The Order for the Reception of Brethren. What struck me was how hard Benedict made it for brothers to enter the monastery. Test them to see if they are serious. It stood in direct contrast with a video I saw earlier in the day by comedian John Crist called “Virtual Church.” It was satire, but not by much. I know Benedict was speaking to monks, but surely there is something for us learn. The gap between the Holy Rule and Virtual Church is both deep and wide.
After Evening Prayer I gathered my things and went to the empty parking lot to go home. My car, however, had different plans. Rest eternal grant unto it. Always make friends with mechanics. A text message exchange revealed a dead starter.
Good thing we are Easter people.
A Victorian Day, December 10, 2018
At 4:50am, I woke to the vibrating sound of a text message.
“Do we have power?”
I pulled on the chain to the bedside lamp.
“Nope.”
The next twenty minutes were spent preparing the house, or rather the residents, for a morning without power. Battery powered lanterns in the bathroom. Candles lit in the bedrooms. Blankets on children. A towel tied on the handles of the refrigerator with a sign – “Do not open the fridge – Management.”
No big deal until it hit me – no coffee. I thought about firing up the grill that I had moved to the covered porch and boiling water, but I had thrown away the broken French Press. I don’t know if it was psychosomatic or real physiological withdrawal but my head was now splitting.
With no power and the roads still treacherous in places (it was still snowing), there was no going in the office. I said Morning Prayer by the gas fireplace. I joked on Twitter that I was able to live out my Victorian fantasy, saying Morning Prayer by the light of an iPhone next to a gas fireplace. Just like the Victorians! Despite the pain from lack of caffeine and the disrupted routine, it was so very still in the house. No hums, white noise, blue noise, or electromagnetic whatevers. It was disorientingly beautiful.
With nothing else to do, I went outside and shoveled the driveway. When I was done and realized it was still a very early hour and that I had accomplished a fair bit in the house and outside, it occurred to me that there may be something to this no power thing.
I recently heard on a news broadcast about a study that showed that we are our most creative when our minds are bored. The study suggested that because we now turn to our phones and devices to occupy our downtime, our creativity is stifled. I was on the verge of a creative explosion, I was about to map out the next great theological work, I was going to finger paint a masterpiece, I was about to do all of this when the power came back on mid-morning. I quickly abandoned creativity for coffee.
At lunch I watched the BBC’s coverage of the House of Commons and the Prime Minister’s decision to delay the vote on Brexit. I am not an uncritical Anglophile and I am certain there are major flaws with the Parliamentary process in the UK, but I would love to see our nation adopt it for a day or so, just to see what would happen. I am speaking from a place of naiveté, I don’t know much about British politics or politicians, but I find it refreshing that opposing sides must debate directly across from one another – ten feet from one another. I find it refreshing that everyone has, theoretically, an opportunity to speak. And I appreciate the forced civility – “my right honorable friend.” It’s a form of verbal discipline that makes the casual observer, someone like me, think that there is a real chance these politicians do like each other, but disagree on policy. That may be light years from the truth, but the appearance of such is surely far better that what we are currently dealing with.
It was difficult to get too much administrative work done at home. I arranged some meetings, responded to emails, etc., but most of what I needed was at the office. The major triumph of the day was to wash and iron nearly a dozen amices. I don’t wash them as often as I should because I can’t stand the process. The strings inevitably get tangled in an impossible knot and I do not have the natural patience to undo them. This is why I have such a devotion to Mary, Undoer of Knots. Knots, both literal and metaphoric, frustrate me. At our last diocesan convention, Bishop Rodman stated that he enjoys undoing knots. I perked up at the mention of this voodoo. He said that the one thing he had learned over the years is that you have to start where the greatest tension is. Now that is worth some thinking on.
Evening Prayer by the fire. A normal Victorian day.
Fr. Winston Churchhill, December 9, 2018
God bless the meteorologists. I doubted, but they were spot on. When the alarm went off at 5:30am, the snow was on the ground and rising with each hour. I am guilty of the sin of pride in never, ever canceling church due to the weather. I am the Winston Churchill of mass. (“We will say mass in the rain, we will say mass in the snow. We will say mass in the storm and we will say mass when it’s warm. We will never, ever stay home!”)
I left the house earlier than normal, 6am, to give myself plenty of time. I barely made it out of the driveway and slid out of the neighborhood. Once on the interstate, I knew that if this main artery was covered in snow and very difficult to traverse, the roads around the church would be impassible. I aborted halfway and drove instead to the hospital, where my wife would be finishing her shift as a labor and delivery nurse. If the roads were this bad now, I wanted to drive her home.
For an hour I sat in the hospital lobby and did something I don’t think I’ve ever done before. I updated the parish Facebook page and, with the help from a parishioner, updated the website (one can’t do everything from an iPhone). Church was canceled for the Second Sunday of Advent. Exit Sir Winston.
I joke, but it was the right move. Had I lived within walking distance, it would have been a different matter. I would have walked to the church and said the office, but in this case the high likelihood is that I would have been stuck in the snow and wasted the time and energy of the police department to lift both my car and ego. The combined mass of both would have been significant.
The Facebook devotion, from a parishioner’s Facebook page.
At 10am, the time I would normally have finished the second mass of the day, I broadcast via Facebook a live devotion. The technology is wonderful and we are so lucky to be able to communicate the way we do. The things I was able to accomplish in short order with a mobile phone and a laptop are technological wonders. But it is not church. I was staring at a dot on my laptop. My whole day was off. I was able to experience what my heart and mind have always believed: if we want to hear a good sermon, there are thousands on YouTube, if we want the best choral music to lift our hearts, there’s iTunes, if we want to connect with friends, there’s Facebook, but if we want the Body and Blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ, we have to be at the altar. There is no alternative. For all the talk of ‘alternative ways’ of doing church – online, at home, in bars, etc. – it will never satisfy the yearning of the soul unless the Sacrament of the Sacrifice is duly celebrated and Holy Communion is offered to the faithful. Ever.
But when one is starving, you can eat bark. Facebook is better than nothing.
After the digital devotion, my daughter announced that the large Weeping Willow in our backyard was lying on her side in tears. Apparently if a tree falls in the backyard and there are children playing, you can’t hear it. Thanks be to God, it fell away from the house. Damage seems minimal although I’m sure there’s some to the fence. A chainsaw purchase is in my future.
I spent the evening trying to tidy the house, especially knowing that we’ll have several days cooped up together. The children and I drove my wife back to work and they were able to experience the thrill of fishtailing in snow. That evening we had a brief moment of Norman Rockwell bliss as I pulled out my old piano books (three years of lessons with three different teachers – you can guess my ability) and played the first few bars of Christmas carols with the children at my side. I was pleased to remember Every Good Boy Does Fine and Great Big Dogs Fight Animals, FACE, and All Cows Eat Grass.
Evening Prayer by the sad little gas fireplace and I finished Luther on Netflix and the Sunday ended, although nothing about it felt like a Sunday.
Immaculate like snow, December 7-8, 2018
The old joke about clergy is that we only work one day a week, and an hour at that. The irony is that my letter of agreement provides for only one day off a week (technically one continuous 24-hour period). 24 hours in a row rarely happens, but my Fridays and Saturdays are usually slower.
Pics, or it didn’t happen.
Friday morning I said Morning Prayer at home by the tiny gas fire. Away from the church, I pray the office as used by St Stephen’s House in Oxford. I absolutely love it, especially the hymns. After the office, I went to the grocery store to get something for lunch and to grab some milk in case we didn’t have enough during the storm. Turned out we had plenty (3 gallons!). For the past year or so I have abstained from flesh meat on all Fridays, save solemnities. Lunch was broiled salmon and asparagus. After lunch I binged a couple of episodes of Luther on Netflix.
In the afternoon I made a hospital visit and then went with the family to procure a Christmas tree. It’s hard to wait too long to have a Christmas three with three children, and it was the eve of the Immaculate Conception, so why not? I said the first evensong for the Immaculate Conception and noted the Snowmaggedon prophecy:
“He giveth snow like wool
and scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes.
He casteth forth his ice like grains
At his frost the waters cease to flow.”
147.16-17
Saturday I said the office and mass at the Church for the Immaculate Conception (commemoration of the Advent Feria). I know the Immaculate Conception is quite the controversy among Anglicans, but I think it need not be. The 1662 Book of Common Prayer, still the official Prayer Book of the Church of England, includes December 8 as the Conception of the Virgin Mary. Furthermore the ARCIC (Anglican-Roman Catholic International Commission) document: Mary: Grace and Hope in Christ, said in 2004:
that the teaching about Mary in the two definitions of the Assumption and the Immaculate Conception, understood within the biblical pattern of the economy of hope and grace, can be said to be consonant with the teaching of the Scriptures and the ancient common traditions (paragraph 60);
I’m sure there will be time to say more on this at a later date. The rest of the day was spent being a biological father: basketball games, birthday parties, etc. Due to the impending 12-18 inches of snow, I cancelled Christian formation for Sunday but not the masses. As long as I can get to the Church, the sacrifice will be offered.
Evening Prayer by the fire, waited for the snow, and trusted that
“He sendeth out his word and melteth them
he bloweth with his wind and the waters flow again.”
147.18
Nothing Changes, December 6, 2018
The snow is coming. The local morning news meteorologists were hedging their bets on just how much, but it’s pretty clear something is coming. In the South, we lose our minds. We close schools, we raid the grocery stores for bread and milk (even if we never, ever consume them), and we consciously forget how to operate a motor vehicle. If snow comes, some churches will cancel services or, if they don’t, attendance is likely to be low. We won’t cancel. If I can physically get to the church, the Holy Eucharist will be celebrated. Even if no one shows up, like today.
Light coming in the sacristy.
It doesn’t happen often, but there are times when no one comes to mass. As long as I have server, mass is said. If I don’t have a server, I just say the office. While I always want a congregation, and the more the merrier, I do appreciate the empty chairs from time to time for the simple reason that nothing changes. Nothing. Mass is said for the benefit of the people, but it is done for God: “Pray my brother and sisters that my sacrifice and yours may be acceptable to God, the Almighty Father.” The prayers in the sacristy are the same, the approach to the altar is the same, communion is the same, everything is the same. Today might have been the Lord’s reminder that even if attendance is low because of the weather, the mass is critical whether or not there is a critical mass of people; there will always be the angels and archangels and all the company of heaven.
This morning the staff and I hosted our office volunteers to a tea party. For the past three years we’ve used a lovely downtown tea and coffee shop for this event. Our office volunteers help us by answering the phone, working on publications, and any number of important tasks that come up in a church office. It’s nice to spend some time with them when neither of us is running around like our head is cut off. I am very fortunate (and I know it) to have the best colleagues in Christendom. I try to be the best leader I can be, but I am quite aware how I must drive them mad sometimes. We posed for our annual tongue-in-cheek photo. We are missing one member, our sexton, but we’ll get him in the picture someday. We take our faith seriously but not ourselves.
When we arrived back at the church, I discovered that St Nicholas had visited, and on his feast day no less! Sitting by the door were two large boxes with six new candlesticks that I found on sale. Our current altar candlesticks are wobbly and, frankly, cheap. These new ones aren’t expensive either, but they are a step up. There is a venerable Anglo-Catholic tradition of using cheap materials to make candlesticks, altar crosses, etc., not because we like cheap things, but because we desire beauty and use whatever we have as an offering to God. These candlesticks are slightly shorter than our current ones and I had to order taller candles (23 ½”).
This week’s Holy Doodles. Click picture to enlarge.
I spent the rest of the afternoon tying up administrative loose ends: talked to a priest brother on the phone, talked to another friend with a prayer request, booked a flight for a visiting preacher, talked to a colleague about our shelter plans in the event of heavy snow and how to cover the needs on Sunday morning, wrote the weekly newsletter article on why we are no longer using a processional cross for the Gospel procession, etc. I also picked the winner of the Holy Doodle. Some years ago I started placing a blank box on the back of the worship bulletin for children (or adults) to doodle during the liturgy. Children, especially, listen better when they can focus their energy on something productive. I absolutely love to see what they come up with. They draw pictures based on my homily or the liturgical season or the lessons. They always find a way to connect.
The Shrine of St Timothy
Evening Prayer came and the Shrine Prayers went. It’s getting dark so early now that Evening Prayer feels like Compline. When I returned to the office, I worked hard to empty my inbox. I try to have it zeroed out by the evening, but this has been difficult the past month. I’m always afraid I serve my email rather than my email serving me. I try to reign it in and not to obsess over it. Today, I was delighted to discover the snooze button on my Gmail account. Now I can snooze important emails to reappear closer to the time I actually need to respond. The day ended with a text exchange with a police sergeant. She was asking if her officers could use our Law Enforcement Chapel for food and rest during the snow. That’s why it’s there and that’s why we are here.
Boy Bishop, December 5, 2018
I never know who will come to mass each day. There are a handful of folks who try to come everyday, the schedule allowing. I have four servers who take turns, again, depending on their availability. On Wednesday I can usually expect the most diverse congregation of the week, and today was no exception. I don’t make overtures to any particular demographic. I am of the conviction that if the church is indeed catholic, then all sorts and conditions will be drawn into her fold. Not to oversimplify things, but I think that if we keep the power of the Gospel and the Sacramental Life of the Church central, the demographics will take care of themselves. I took this picture after mass this morning (Clement of Alexandria, commemoration of the Advent Feria). The parish as a whole isn’t this diverse, but we are moving toward it by moving always deeper into the life of Jesus.
As soon as mass was over I had a meeting to plan a funeral. The deceased is not a member of the parish, but the extended family is. Unless there is some extraordinary reason, I do not turn down funerals, as it is a corporal work of mercy.
Next was my weekly Bible Study at 10:30am. I wish I could do more of them and I wish I could do them at times when more working folks can come. I enjoy my weekly group. We look at the lectionary texts for the coming week. This helps them prepare for Sunday, but maybe even more importantly, it helps me. I enjoy seeing where people go with the texts when they first hear them, their intuition, and their questions. Some times I can anticipate where they will go, but oftentimes, I am way off the mark.
On Wednesdays, we have another mass at noon. This mass is in the original church and has a dedicated, consistent congregation. At lunch I sat in a corner and watched recorded portions of President George H. W. Bush’s funeral. When I watched the end of President George W. Bush’s tribute, I failed to keep it together. I don’t know what the folks at the restaurant thought; grown man in a dress (cassock), crying in the corner while staring at his phone. I’ve heard stories from colleagues “in the know” about President Bush’s faith and his activity as a churchman. From all accounts, he’s very sincere with real devotion. I’ve always liked the Bush family and today we prayed for the President’s repose. From what I could see, the funeral was very well done, straight Book of Common Prayer, Rite II. I’m not big on Episcopal Church tribalism and I’m not a fan of the slogan “Episcopal Branch of the Jesus Movement.” I know what Bishop Curry is getting at but I think it unintentionally creates theological problems. That being said, the funeral did show what the Episcopal Church, as English Catholicism, does well and I hope the beauty and the intimate solemnity will warm the heart of the cynic.
In the afternoon, I met with a retired bishop from the Anglican Province of America. He asked if I would help him raise money for Vacation Bible Schools in Cuba, something I’m very pleased to do. I’ve known this bishop for a couple of years and he frequently worships with us. I know, on some levels, the relationship between the Episcopal Church and Continuing Anglican jurisdictions is complicated, but a real source of irritation for me is how the governing bodies seem to have no desire for reconciliation. We have more in common with them than any other American Christian body but there is no desire to work together, pray together, and hopefully, be together once again. We’ll do what we can on the ground in this portion of God’s vineyard.
After Evening Prayer and Shrine Prayers, we prayed the rosary at the Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham (Joyful Mysteries). I love praying the rosary. I’m always distracted when we start. I’m always thinking of what has to be done next and the first decade seems like it takes forever. But then the mind quiets and the prayers do their work and, every single time, I’m sad it ended so soon.
Then it was time for my most favorite event of the year – the Installation of the Boy Bishop. I jokingly told the congregation that I love this night because I get to vest people as bishops and then tell them what to do! This is our seventh year keeping the Boy Bishop tradition. The kids take it so seriously and one really gets the feeling that the tradition teaches – the birth of Jesus Christ turned power upside down. The lowly have been lifted up and the mighty have been scattered. Our Boy Bishop is chosen from the 5th grade boys. Not to leave the girls out, a 5th grade girl is chosen to carry in the Bambino in the church on Christmas Eve.
Our Christmas Eve pageant rehearsal followed the St Nicholas Festival and Boy Bishop Installation. My role in the pageant is to be the narrator. The hard work, and the due credit, goes elsewhere. It’s going to be an old fashioned Christmas Pageant which, in my opinion, is the best kind.
After the rehearsal I went to the overflow shelter to greet the volunteers. While I was there, the bus pulled up with the night’s guests, so I went out to greet them too. Six blessed souls walked through the door and the day ended the way it began and the way it unfolded - with diversity.