Saturday, February 28, 2009

in which the Rambler observes Lent by falling short of perfection...

Our friend Diane at Faith in Community has a beautiful post about "imperfection."

With that as encouragement, I have a story to share.

A week ago I came drifting into the office about midday to check messages and make ready for the rest of the day -- an all afternoon session with some fans of Jane Austen, here in Prairie Metropolis, discussing the clergy in Austen's novels ("Henry Tilney ROCKS!" you heard it here first), and then joining the Rector's Warden, her husband and another couple for dinner.

Sunday also needed a bit of preparation: not only was it "Thinking Day," with rampant Baden-Powell-ish-ness everywhere, but The Lady in the Purple Shirt and Pointy Hat was making her first official visit to MH & U, preaching and presiding, bless her heart, at both services.

With all this in mind, I picked up the service leaflet.

And THERE, in the second line of the Psalm, was the typographical error of all time.

The gremlins had found an extra "t" and inserted it so that "Out of Zion, perfect in its beauty" had become ... "Out of Zion, perfect in tits beauty."

(pause for effect)

And when the screaming (mine) had died away..."action was taken." Should you ever find yourself in a parallel predicament, here is The Method:

I gathered all the leaflets AND three pristine new bottles of Liquid Paper into a nice clean cardboard "Banker's Box" and into Harriet's trunk, and when I arrived at my dinner engagement the hostess found me on the doorstep toting box, beaming brightly and saying, "Hi! We have a Little Project this evening!"

Picture us around the dining room table, replete with a wonderful dinner, giggling uncontrollably and dab-dab-dabbing over the offending letter in every single one of the bulletins EXCEPT the one I saved out for the Bishop's delectation. AFTER the services.

Blessings on all the good helpful folks; and on their butter-wouldn't-melt expressions next morning during the singing of the Psalm; and on these moments that convert disaster and chagrin into comfort and joy.

We do contrive to have a good time, one way and another...

7 comments:

Auntie Knickers said...

SNORT! What would we do without liquid paper and helpful friends!

Crimson Rambler said...

I KNOW, auntie -- and it not only solved my problem but truly did cement the pastoral bond...it made a "story that we will remember", and a story of the right kind too!

Kathryn said...

lol even second time around....Truly wonderful :-)

Towanda said...

huzzah for comfort and joy...

mompriest said...

That is pretty darn priceless!

Jim said...

Many years ago, I knew an organist who had resigned from a position made difficult by a new Rector. On his last Sunday, he set out a simple communion service, only to have his choir librarian arbitrarily replace it with one that had been commissioned by his *new* parish.

There were several hundred po-faced Anglicans in the nave (and a Rector) who never noticed anything . . . and two prospective applicants for his old job who recognized "The St. Swithin's Service" and went absolutely purple trying not to laugh out loud. Perhaps sensing that unexplained hysteria would not help their respective applications.

Evelyn said...

Oh, dear......... that was indeed priceless!
The ability to laugh at ourselves is truly a blessing, isn't it? (For me, that particular blessing provides me with a good laugh at least once a day!)