I always cry at weddings

What a wonderful wedding K and I went to today! Our friends James and Mark had their Committment Ceremony today and it was a grand event with wonderful music, much laughter, and of course many loving friends and well-wishers.

I was asked to be the acolyte so I got a front row seat for the whole thing. They looked so good as they stood together. Mark's voice started to crack when we was saying his vows. James got through his with a strong, clear voice. But then he lost it when they were blessed. I was misty-eyed throughout. I always cry at weddings.

They used some of the same readings K and I had at our Ceremony. I liked that familiarity. At the reception they even played Etta James' "At Last." That was our song too. Wouldn't you know I forgot the camera! *Dang!*

Blessings to James and Mark for a lifetime of love and laughter, strength, support, and happiness.

We've got three more weddings on the calendar this year. Kathryn's cousin in May, C. Davies in June and my brother Rich in July. I've never been to so many weddings before in a single year. I'm gonna need a bigger box of tissues.

subdeacon part 2

That was so cool. I’ve never been a subdeacon before. I think I did alright: sang well, didn’t trip. When I got to the sacristy I was told that I’d also be a chalice bearer (and I’d like to know who from St. Matthews arranged that). I sang, I communicated, I sat down. Then I realized that as subdeacon I was supposed to be standing next to the Dean for the Blessing. Woops! I don’t think many people noticed as I repositioned myself. Hey it’s all right. I hope they let me be a subdeacon again.

... and yes, I managed to avoid the temptation to jiggle the altar book while the Dean was singing.

subdeacon

Today I reprise my role as Epistler. I was thinking of doing it in the style of Ethel Merman.

I was on the committee to plan the Easter Vigil at school and at the point where liturgical roles had to be filled, we tried to be fair to the other committees for the other Holy Week services. We already had two deacons and a whole bunch of people reading, singing, and processing. We didn't want to overtax certain people we thought would be asked by every committee to do something. We tried to spread the wealth. When we were thinking who might sing the Epistle well, the room got quite. I volunteered. Why not, I thought. If I'm going to sing something solo, I might as well go big. I must have done a good job because a lot of people complimented me afterwards.

The feast of St. Mark is today and I've been asked to sing the Epistle again. So much for retiring a champion. I was hoping the service planners would change the time to 5:30 AM like the Vigil. I sing pretty well before dawn. But no, 11:15 as usual. My role is not just getting up to sing this time. I'm the subdeacon. I have to point at the altar book so the Dean doesn't lose his place. (Ooh the temptations there.)

happy 2nd anniversary

A big shout out to Kathryn on the second anniversary of her bypass surgery. 125# later she looks great, feels great, and I think has settled into her new baseline weight & health. Congrats on an amazing accomplishment.

"Christa"

The bronze casting "Christa" toured to Seabury yesterday for a few hours. It's a stunning piece. The subject is a female Christ cricified, and it's been at the center of controversy in numerous places for all the obvious reasons. I had the opportunity to sit with her for about a half hour and listen to what she had to say. This is what she said to me:






















In contrast to the Christ we're all familiar with, Christa's physiology is not that of a thirty-something. She is a teenager. So not only is this kind of horrid, torture visited on a woman, but on a minor. Her feet aren't nailed down yet and her left leg is contracted suggesting a guarding posture. Rape? Pedophilia? The angle of her head tells me she's not dead yet. Christa doesn't come with a cross of the same or similar material. Rather, she's attached to a frosted, cross-shaped piece of plexiglass. This strikes me as an abruptly sterile feature on a very messy subject. Are we the audience expected to put on our surgical gloves and gowns and assess the patient while she's still in the midst of her ordeal? I shudder to think. It's certainly an incriminating statement of the viewer. I was surprised to see that there are no nails. I wonder if the artist, living through this violence with Christa, just couldn't bear to do one more thing to her. Someone pointed out the hollowed posterior of her head. This is not a feature that a viewer would typically see. You've got to be standing above and behind to see it. I went over to look. This was by far the most shocking, breathtaking part of Christa. We wondered if the feature was just the result of the casting process, but I don't think so. I've seen heads blown off by a shotgun bast, and bashed in by a hammer. This feature was too real to be chance. I looked away and swallowed hard. Christa told me that a woman's mind is of even less value than her body. That's enough.













This is the first image of a female Christ. There have been others created since -- some even more graphic than this. Someone asked if there is a female Christ resurrected. Well?

grasslings!

Check it out, yo. The city kid got lawn. My plan is working perfectly. No seed-eating birds, the hay is holding the moisture to the soil, and I'm on my way to a mid-summer garden party. This proves it: I was a siamese twin and I got both brains.

baptism

You would think I'd have had enough of worship already -- but no. There was a baptism this afternoon that I wanted to go to. Canterbury, Northwestern University's Episcopal campus ministry, welcomed a member of the community in an adult full-immersion baptism, in our chapel. I've seen plenty of infant baptisms, but this particular kind only on video. It was very cool. There must have been about 40 NU students there to witness and support. (When I was in college the RC campus ministry members could be counted on one hand.) It was truly inspiring to see the faith of college students in community with eachother.

So often I hear the faith journeys of this age group disparaged. They say these kids go off to school and don't step foot in a church. They come back again only when they want to get married or have their kids baptised. I've heard these comments said with a tone of resigned distain. That's a little unfair I think.

Heather, the chaplain, warned the congregation about the responsibilities sponsors take on when they stand with a person about to be initiated into the church. Glances passed amongst them, but there was resolve in their intention. All responded to the baptismal vows with energy. Now Heather is a friend and of course I support her, but I must say in all sincerity that she's done a remarkable job fostering this community.

The church as a whole would do well to reconsider their notions of this age group. In their special case I think it's more accurate to think of them as transitioning from their childhood parishes. In what may look like never stepping foot into a church, may be a more practical understanding on their part of the transient nature of college life. Clearly these people grasp the concept of Christian community.

Cudos, congratulations, welcome, and blessings to the Episcopal Church's newest member.

Easter

Saturday was just too busy to check in with you. Y'all've been on my mind, but I just didn't get a moment. I had Holy Saturday, Easter Vigil rehearsal at school, and Easter Vigil at St. Matthew's to get through.

The Holy Saturday service in the morning was nice. I'm rather fond of that service. It has that pregnant pause I wrote to you about a few weeks ago (see "thing 3"). I was on the committee for that service last year and I was very happy with the way it turned out.

After that was the rehearsal for Seabury's Easter Vigil. I tried so hard to pre-plan the rehearsal. I thought I thought of everything. I had put together a plan of each part of the service, complete with graphics. All the altar party had to do was make themselves look like the picture -- and I would help them get there. All that went just as I planned, but I forgot a major part of the service. Good thing the Dean was there to ask about it. ... woops *embarrassed grin*. It all got straightened out before we finished. They say a bad rehearsal means a good show.

I had a few hours after rehearsal to finish my Easter attire. I spent 4 or 5 hours re-rendering a water colour I did in Bermuda on one leg of a pair of pants. It came out nice -- very colourful.

The paint wasn't dry yet before I had to leave for the Vigil at St. Matthew's. Honestly, some days I think I'll never get it -- the way they do things at St. Matthew's. I don't know when to reverence and when not, where to sit or stand. As the great philosopher Dory said in Finding Nemo, "Just keep swimming."

Today the Easter Vigil rehearsal saying proved itself. The service seemed to run relatively smooth. Last night's rain saturated the ground, so our processional had to follow plan B. There has to be a better way to do an indoor processional, though. I could hear the deacon sing the second "Light of Christ" before everyone had left our starting place. I was part of the service so I wasn't able to move about during the service like a nervous stage mom checking on things. I had to sing the Romans Epistle (6:3-11) from the pulpit so I sat up front. I think I did alright.

I wasn't scheduled for anything specific for the St. Matthew's Easter service. I go in a car pool and one of us had to be there super early, so there was a lot of waiting around time. I decided to check in again when I got there to see if another set of hands was needed for something. The altar party customarily gathers behind the altar after the Fraction to receive communion. As I'm about to go back to my seat the rector hands me the big chalice. Okay, chalice bearer, sure I can do that. I'm telling you, you can't predict St. Matthew's Church. Thankfully, Communion took forever. I do like to see a full house -- even if it's just a few times a year.

Even with all this busyness, the Lord was well praised today. Alleluia!

Good Friday *heavy sigh*

It is finished -- for now. Two services of the same story is quite enough. One was enough. It's exhausting to hear such stories of violence.

Yesterday afternoon Seabury's service included the Reproaches, said by the people who spoke the parts of the Passion. They did a really good job. St. Matthew's sang a requiem last night -- very moving.

Topping it all off, one of the teenage choir members had a near-syncopal episode secondary to fasting all day. It was her first time fasting. It didn't call for a trip to the ER (she was able to complete the service), but it's hard to treat people you know.

When I got home, Roz and I sat under the stars to chill out. Back at it later today.

keeping watch with the Holy Spirit

We set our reserve sacrament from Holy Thursday in a corner of the chapel until the Good Friday service. People sign up to keep watch for an hour all night long. My shift was 1-2am. Les, one of the students responsible for coordinating the Holy Thursday events, created a really wonderful meditation space.

There was a small table between two chairs with a bowl about half-filled with sand. Into the sand were pushed long white tapers that were lit. The watchers add more tapers as they burn down throughout the night. The tapers were very thin, and with the heat from the other candles, some of them bent all the way over and burned upside down. A lot of the wax burned away or dripped off into white puddles, but the wicks remained as black squiggly lines. Just before 2am I noticed the similarity between the wreckage of the half burned wax architecture in the bowl and Les' space.

Les had draped an upright piano in a white sheet that made it blend in with the white walls. All around he placed bare, crooked sticks he gathered from outside. By the dim candle light they silhouetted black against the walls. They looked like the charred wicks. There are flood lights on dimmers that were turned down very low and felt like stars overhead. The small area where we kept watch was mirrored in the sand bowl. It really was beautiful. The longer I sat there, the less it felt like a small corner, and more like being in a midnight desert.

I told Les what I experienced and he was amazed at how much there was. He said the effort to put the space together totally taxed his creativity. I told him he must have been creating it with the help of the Holy Spirit, and didn't realize it. Isn't it amazing when the Spirit plays with us?



I managed to get a picture of it before it was disassembled at the Good Friday service.

"Are you going to wash my feet?"

I can really identify with Simon Peter. Last year I had the opportunity to participate in the foot washing here, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. This year I was determined to let it happen.

I could say I dislike the foot, but that wouldn't be necessarily true. I've seen some nasty feet in my time, and it really doesn't bother me. There are other body parts that get nastier than feet anyways. I could say there's an intimacy thing makes it a little too close for comfort. That would be truer. If I had a foot fetish I think it would be easier. But I'm not that lucky. There are all these nerves in the foot, see, and they're very sensitive. Note how easy it is to tickle. I've heard of churches who offer hand washing instead. It seems a safer, though still very intimate option.

When someone has your foot, it's really hard to escape. In Thailand it's considered offensive to show the bottom of your foot to someone. Animals don't like it when their feet are touched, which makes me think there must be some primal code about touching another person's feet.

I think, honestly, I shy away from it because it feels good. I always knew it would. I'm not used to a gentle world. I'm used to a world where people are callous to one another. I'm much more accustomed to being the nice person, who makes other people feel better. Being on the receiving end of kindness and gentleness sometimes makes me uncomfortable.

As I looked around I saw joy, weeping, hugging, smiles. I saw someone give the person who washed her feet a big smacking kiss. I saw deep concern between people. I saw looks that asked if everything was alright between the washer and the washee. When it was my turn I found the water was warmed (to my surprise). The person who washed my feet was gentle and did it lovingly. Then it was my turn to wash the feet of the person behind me. I tried to do it as well as it was done to me. I think I did alright.

I would gladly wash the feet of every person in this community. But to have my feet washed by people I hold up as models -- that's something very different. I'll admit that I deliberately got in line after the faculty and some of the students. It'll take me more time than Simon Peter to say, "Not my feet only but also my hands and head!"

the farm report

Hay is for horses, and better for cows.
It's good for new grass too, but I'm not sure know how.

Along with fantastic eggs, Kathryn also brought home two bales of hay. I'm told that spreading it out on your soon-to-be lawn it keeps the moisture in after watering. The ground here is so dry the cracks are downright impressive. I don't know how the seed roots can get through it. I'm watering twice a day with a sprinkler I borrowed. It's much more effective than the thumb-over-the-end-of-the-hose thing. Hope the hay works. I've heard straw works also. But let's face it, I'm a city girl. They're both the same thing to me. I just want a lawn. I recon in a short time I'll either have grass or alfalfa. And the birds are totally digging the hay for their nests. We may see alfalfa growing in the Dean's evergreens, too.

egg-citing

Kathryn came home today from her trip to Cannon Falls. I'm so glad she's back. She developed a raging ear infection while she was away, but thankfully is on the mend. I worry so much when she goes on long trips like that. Her parents have a farm with horses (you may recall the blog entry about Cody, the horse I ride when I get to visit), and chickens, and some other farmish creatures. She returned bearing gifts: eggs. She collected them from the chickens just this morning before she left. We divided up the four-and-a-half dozen she brought home amongst our friends. We just have to share the love. Words can't describe how good these eggs are. They're so much better than store-bought. The best gift is of course Kathryn herself; home safe and sound.

voice from the past

I called home today to say hi to the 'rents and got to talk to an old friend. The man who baptised me was visiting Mum and Dad in Maine. What a treat. He left the priesthood some years ago for reasons not completely clear to me. It took a long time for me to stop calling him Father Casey and start calling him Bob. He's such a neat guy. He asked me about my journey. Well, it's kind of a long story at this point, and only getting longer by the day. I'm planning a trip home in July and we've set a tentative date for dinner. I can hardly wait. Did I mention he's a really neat guy? He has a gentle voice and a strong presence of the Spirit about him. Growing up Roman Catholic, it was par for the course for priests to come into your life -- or just your parish -- only to leave it a short while later. I think it's unusual that anyone can maintain a close relationship with Catholic clergy fo so many years. I think it's especially unusual for a person (a Roman Catholic person at least) to keep in touch with the priest who baptised him or her.

I found a picture of the scene of the crime. I'm the little one in the middle. That's Bob on the left; my Godparents Anne and Bill; and Goldilocks there is my sister Trish. The venue was St. Agnes Church in Arlington, MA.

bunches of bunches

I was telling a friend the story of how Roz and I found a rabbit's warren in the west garth of the seminary one evening. (Roz is now so totally preoccupied with going back to see the baby bunnies, that discipline has gone right out the window.) The person I was talking to didn't understand what a warren was. Because I dig on this kind of wordplay, I submit the following for your enjoyment: this is what you call a bunch of animals.

a shrewdness or troop of apes (also monkeys)
a pace of asses
a cete of badgers
a shoal of bass
a sloth of bears (does this mean it's a a bear of sloths? dunno)
a colony of beavers
a singluar of boars
an army of caterpillars
a clouder of cats
a brood of chickens
a rag of colts
a murder of crows
a cowardice of curs
a paddling of ducks (if swimming)
a raft of ducks (if floating but not swimming)
a team of ducks (if flying)
a dole or piteousness of doves
a clutch of eggs
a gang of elk
a business of ferrets
a charm of finches
a business of flies
a skulk or troop of foxes
a gaggle of geese (if walking)
a skein of geese (if flying)
a trip of goats
a cluster of grasshoppers
a siege of herons
a drift of hogs
a troop of kangaroos
a kindle of kittens
a deceit of lapwings (a bird like a chimney swift)
an exaltation or bevy of larks
a leap of leopards
a plague or swarm of locusts
a nest of mice
a barren of mules
a parliament of owls
an ostentation of peacocks
a nye or covey of pheasants (if on the ground)
a bouquet of pheasants (if in the air)
a string of ponies
a covey of quail
a warren or nest of rabbits
an unkindness of ravens (the belligerent, but not fatal cousin to the crow I guess)
a crash of rhinoceroses (rhinoceri?)
a bevy of roebucks
a murmuration of sandpipers
a dray of squirrels
a bed of snakes
a sounder of swine
a knot of toads
a rafter or turkeys
a bale of turtles
a pod or gam of whales
a descent of woodpeckers
and finally, a nest of vipers

Hat tip to dictionary.com for clarification of some terms.

smarter than a starling

(I was going to leave the rest of the yard work until tomorrow, but then the forcast is heavy rain Sunday.)

I may have never planted a lawn before, but how hard could it be? I'm above average in intelligence according to my friends at Mensa. I can read the instructions on a bag. You till the ground, toss out some seeds and let nature take its course. I've got rain comming tomorrow, so I don't have to worry about watering just yet, -- thus doing my part to avoid a drought. Yes, this makes me an eco-grass-grower. I've got nature on my side. This should be a piece of cake.

Knowing that there are lots of birds around now that the weather is warmer, I devised a scathingly brilliant plan to keep them from eating all the seed like in the neighbor's yard. See, I've got a bigger brain than a bird -- it comes with being higher up on the food chain, you know. First, I went pretty heavy with the seeding, just in case they decided to snack a little. Along with the grass seed I also sprinkled premium bird seed. The birds will see the bird seed and want that more than the grass seed. Pretty smart, huh? Birds are so dumb, they'll totally fall for my plan.

As I was cleaning up I saw the first winged interloper. Wouldn't you know it was a mocking bird. Well, mr. mister, we'll see who mocks whom in a couple weeks.

shrimp, dirt, and school

Last night I had a wonderful dinner in a beautiful house. Raisin was housesitting and invited me, Kathryn and C. Davies for an evening of good food and conversation. Raisin thinks she can't cook, but she full of it. It was a wonderful meal. The house was in the Frank Lloyd Wright style (I was going to put a link here to something indicative of Wright, but there's so much to appreciate. You can google him yourself.), a style which I greatly admire and would choose for my own home. It had recessed ceiling lighting and speakers. The sound track for the evening was in a media closet nicely tucked away and out of sight. The colour schemes were easy on the eye - bold, but not overpowering. The kitchen had beautiful marble counter tops and the best appliances. The most interesting thing was the drawer and door pulls. Every now and then the homeowner used something different that the standard pull. It came as a surprise and treat to the eye to discover a frog or a heart where a round door pull would typically be.

I spent the morning working on the back yard. Where there used to be grass are now great patches of mud. Kathryn and I went to Home Depot yesterday to get grass seed so we could re-do the lawn. Between the frost heaves and the snow melt patterns this winter, there has grown a small hill in the grassy part of the yard. I spent a few hours this morning grading down the hill and tilling over the top soil. Brian, one of the maintenance guys here, dropped off 8 bags of additional top soil. I was hoping to do the whole yard today, but I think it's not going to happen. It got cold and a little drizzly so I stopped. Maybe tomorrow will be nicer and I can finish.

This afternoon it's back to school work: library research, paper to write, books to read.