Unbridled Domesticity...

I've never been much of a fan of "household hints" -- no time, or no trust, or both.  There are a number of Domestic Stratagems I learned from my mother or my mother-in-law, my aunts, a few girl friends...but not many.  That said, I seem to have amassed a huge collection of print-out Nifty Advice.

So it is disconcerting to find suddenly I'm developing a taste for these things.  Instance.  According to the expert instructions, I concocted a "Fruit Fly Trap."  One small glass of apple cider vinegar, three drops of dishwashing detergent, set it on the kitchen counter near where I prepare fruit and vegetables.  Son of a gun, this morning, if it wasn't full of little Drosophila Melanogaster corpses.  Well, not full, but more than a few.  Bless my soul.  It worked.  What next.

Well, actually, I think I know what next.  Somebody here is recommending that vodka be substituted for water in making pie-crust.  I have pie-crust mix (home-made); I have vodka.  It almost seems...MEANT TO BE.

Perhaps I've spent too much time and effort in pickling and canning, this month...culminating today in a session with my commere in which we made Barbara Kingsolver's triple-threat recipe.  First you make a tomato-based barbecue sauce, and jar up some--not all--of it, and process it in the canner.  Then you add peaches and sugar and what not to the residue, cook it down, jar (again) just some of the new mixture, and process it in turn.  And finally additional raisins and walnuts (and we thought up some additional seasonings) produce chutney -- in rather more than the manageable volumes indicated by the recipe.

All three products tasted different, were slightly differently hued...and MOST tasty.  So La Commere and I are wafting about this evening in an aura (or maybe MIASMA) of PICKLE and domestic accomplishment.

Enough to make anyone feel an affinity with Heloise.  Or something that starts with Hel-.  Like, perhaps, a Helgramite.  So there is a picture of a Helgramite at the head of this post.

Stay tuned for further "Helgramite's Helpful Household Hints."  Yes.

Oh while we waited for the jars, all 27 of them, to cool, we drank ginger tea and reformed the church, the entire church, root and branch, from top to bottom and from stem to gudgeon.  MOST satisfying.

Dust, and that.

And, Day Two of Lent. Ran a few errands of a desultory type this morning, came home for light lunch and then collected one of the Wednesday Wise Women to go and visit another of the WWW, now in palliative care.

The rest of the day has been fiddly and non-accomplishing. Read for a bit.

I am reading psalms according to the psalter-in-a-month schedule in the old Book of Common Prayer -- also the readings in the fine-print table near the beginning -- in the Prayer Book Psalter the headwords of each psalm are given in Latin. After a few weeks of this I managed to dig out my copy of the Vulgate (in about four-point print, MAGNIFICATION NEEDED), thinking I could spend a little more time with the psalms if I read them in Latin as well as English.

Found something MIGHTY interesting this morning -- reading Psalm 113 (or 112, depending on your numbering) -- God is praised for raising the needy from the ground and lifting the poor out of the dust. But in Latin, he lifts the "pauper ... de stercore", out of the stercus. And to paraphrase the beloved priest who taught me St. Paul's letters -- that doesn't exactly mean, dust. What it means, is shit. Shades of Dickens' Our Mutual Friend, and the mountain of "dust" and the "dustman" characters...

WHICH... evoked a certain reflection on just exactly what it was we said, so prayerfully and gently, to all the penitents yesterday.

And that led me back to Genesis 3, in Latin, where I was greatly comforted to find that in Latin, at least, that substance that we are and to which we return, is pulvis.

But I wonder what the word is, or words are, in Hebrew? h'm!

the real edge.

further adventures of the Rambler being priest-in-charge, pro tem...

Went into the office at St. Curious this morning, did some paperwork, sorted out all the alternative first-readings for Wednesday eucharists from now until mid-March. Secretary very pleased to have that squared away.

Made a couple of phone calls, caught a bite of lunch, and made a communion visit to one of our indomitable mothers-in-Zion who has been recuperating brilliantly from hip surgery, but now has A Pain that impedes her mobility rather a lot. Went on from there to visit her sister in palliative care at a not-too-distant auxiliary hospital. Another communion, and a lot of good conversation.

Back to church to tidy up and put stats in The Book. Altar Guild will have a fit when they see the number of little purificators soaking...

Home, some desultory supper, puddling about accomplishing not much of anything. And the phone rang. You ever have the phone ring, and you don't even have to pick it up? Yes. Lovely wife of a retired surgeon, he being a pillar of the "early service" -- and terminally ill -- and housebound after a fall on the ice before Christmas. I visited on Sunday and took them communion. He went to his rest earlier this evening. Now to help her plan the memorial next week. May he rest in peace and rise in glory -- a most engaging personality, a brilliant surgeon, and just perceptibly something of a rascal. Good to remember the insight of one of my favourite four-year-olds, that the Jacob Saga proves to us how much God loves rascals.

home again

back at my desk late in the morning after a tiring but very happy weekend elsewhere.

word is that the Honorable Assistant held the fort in exemplary fashion on Sunday.

good times among the ladies of the diocese of Up-Yonder...including two long drives from and back to the closest by-air arrival point...coming back to the airport yesterday, a very special stretch of roadway alongside Major Northern River...

beautiful country with big rounded velvety hills and great tracts of plough-land -- farmers out "on it" already doing preliminary disc'ing.

Saw some deer in the distance -- also elk, but that was cheating because they were on an elk ranch.

The ladies were most receptive to discussion of Julian of Norwich, mysticism generally...

And it was a happy time!

Back to 55 unopened emails, also phone messages, 'space-hook' messages...plenty on the plate and a very long and mostly futile meeting this afternoon.

Home now. Maybe a little work in the yard before dark.

In which the Rambler...rambles

Just about to hoist suitcase into vehicle and make tracks for the airport, bound for the next See City to the north of us in Prairie Province.

Carrying Big Suitcase (boo) to accommodate VESTMENTS, as part of this trip includes presence and preaching at Wee Cathedral on Sunday morning.

The rest is leading a group of 50 Mothers in Zion through some of the lesser intricacies of the Shewings of Julian of Norwich, blessed be she.

we. can. do. this...

There is a funeral half an hour in the future here at MH and U.

The soloist (imported) is warming up with the organist. Soloist. Male. Amateur. Result: "vaguely tuneful roaring," as it's been described to me by other singers.


The fire inspector is lurking on the fringes of the gathering, prepared to inspect us but perhaps, tactfully, AFTER the funeral?

It was cold again this morning, frost on the cars, but at least so far today it hasn't snowed. And it didn't snow yesterday while we were at the cemetery, so we didn't get mired, or slip and fall down.

This one is hard, I knew this lady and loved her; I think from now on I'll specialize in "funerals for total strangers only."

Time to get the gear on and fire up the mic.
We CAN do this. Yes.

In which the Rambler is ambushed...

Attached to our parish ("Most Holy & Undivided"), we have a family of First Nations folks. The Rambler's grandparents would have called them "Indians." The Rambler has some trouble with the term "native," which to her thinking has the smell of moldy pith helmets about it, and also with the term "aboriginal," which will always evoke Australia, sorry about that.

The Rambler has a fairly lengthy acquaintance with these folks, and was asked to celebrate the Eucharist in their midst last week, to mark the first anniversary of the very sad and premature death of a son of the family. He succumbed to the cumulative effects of taxing his physical self with food, drink, and recreational chemicals.

This invitation is a huge honour...especially as the brother of the young man who died is now also an Anglican priest, and fully qualified to preside for his family. So the Rambler goes into this event quite conscious of being the senior "European Settler Person" on site, and an "elder" by courtesy.

There were 85 members of the extended family present. (Parishes who seek growth might like to ramp up their welcome to First Nations families, by the way -- a growing demographic.) The Order of Service was Book of Common Prayerall the way (i.e., "old school"). The hymns were all in Cree, with the assistance and leadership of musician friends. (By the end of the service the Rambler was feeling pretty cocky about her ability to sing from the Cree hymn sheet).

And among the 85 were THE GRANDMOTHERS. Actually they were several-times-great grandmothers (the grandmothers all seem to be about 35). And these "eldresses" line themselves up at the communion rail, behind their quiet faces, and hold out their hands... and they walk right into my heart and break it all up into little tiny pieces, and rearrange them into a better and sweeter order.

Now what is this? I suspect, a lot of it the dreaded "projection" or "transference" (maybe even "counter transference"), or "naive romanticism" or some other version of Not Knowing Any More Than I Think I Do about these people. But I want to get down on the floor and wash their feet. With tears.

Then there was the feast, great jocularity about letting the White Elder (!) serve herself first from the (tongue-in-cheek) "native fare" on offer, featuring cabbage rolls and lasagne.

But my dear brothers and sisters, there was also PIE. Made by the grandmothers. Blueberry pie. From wild blueberries picked on the reservation.

I'm not quite back to normal and I'm not sure I want to be.

The Monday Scene, again...

- Vestry meets tonight (aka Session, Parish Council in other jurisdictions).
- we have 200 nice new chairs, and one of the two most cantankerous and difficult members of Most Holy and Undivided (not counting the Rector) is delighted with them; this cuts the endemic grousing off at the knees, so to speak (what's a few mixed metaphors among BlogPals?)
- Funeral on Wednesday, this week. The family have asked me if it would be possible to "have a quotation from St. Paul." I waited to hear what "quotation" -- but no. Just "a quotation" -- because "Paul was one of his favorites." As we read most of First Corinthians 15 at an old-style BCP funeral, I confess I was Wholly Bemused by this request. (Not to mention, "I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life...") So I think this is going to be a Teaching Homily moment.
- I really really don't know where people are coming from, any more. Are they Unchurched, Dechurched, Open Dechurched, Closed Dechurched...what? One of those moments when I realize what is meant by the "evangelism inside the walls."
- tomorrow the Knit-Wits will gather -- and celebrate the 90th birthday of one of our matriarchs...a retired head nurse of Scandinavian extraction = a truly formidable character. I will be honoured to share their coffee and cake.
- Friday night was an enormous treat -- Eldest Son and Comely Lady-Friend and I joined SIL's parents for a production of Handel's oratorio "Solomon," which SIL was conducting -- Prairie Metropolis's Big Choir (100+ singers) and a Baroque orchestra, and five exemplary soloists, three imports of international standing and two local singers who more than held their own in the company they were in. During the intermission I encountered a former parishioner (another parish) who up until eight p.m. Friday night had never even heard of a counter-tenor. She was in deep shock, but bearing up well.
- baptisms yesterday -- two little children whose parents were married here since I came to the parish...the younger child has an older brother whom I also baptized. The service went well and the babies were adorable and lived up to the Parish Myth that they stop crying when the Rector gets her hands on them.
- and then a run to the supermarket while the rest of the nation was glued to the PRE-GAME SHOW, and finally #1 Son and I settled down to watch the annual Gridiron Classic, aka the Grey Cup (think SuperBowl, only...well, um... better, actually).
- the beautiful and virtuous half of the country, i.e. the West, was triumphant. We try not to notice that it was embodied, this year, by the team from Rival Prairie Metropolis. A good game, nonetheless.

Bring on the rest of the week!

Saturday musings.

The sermon is hanging fire, a little -- MH&U had a heavy schedule of meetings this morning including a gathering for Pastoral Care...most of those attending have been Pastoral Visitors in the past under some aegis or other, one or two were neophytes. One, at least, was parlaying her expressed interest in pastoral care into a rationale for complaining about her neighbours' morals, manners, mode of life...this will need to be addressed. Next meeting -- in January -- we will talk about our own areas of need and how they can subvert our visiting.

But I feel as though a good, new, (re)start has been made on our visiting ministry at MH&U.

I read a column by Maeve Binchy from Dear Maeve, about how the "code" for visiting the terminally ill has changed in her lifetime. It added another dimension, perhaps, to our contemplation of what we are all about.

Meantime Sanctuary Guild were doing their thing, and mid-morning the diocesan hospital visitors opened their meeting in an adjacent space. The various activities managed to co-exist without friction, which is good. 'Tisn't always that smooth.


I am going out for a treat tonight to hear/see Monteverdi's Orfeo. Most exciting.

And tomorrow I have three services -- and voila, it's Monday again. A heavy week before us, but the worst of the pressure is off -- aside from this pesky sermon!

Very truly run after...

like Old Man Kangaroo, if anybody out there still reads Just So Stories.




I am pondering an invitation from the Mothers-in-Zion of the Diocese Just North Of Us, to come and address "the annual" next spring; three or four talks over a Friday night and Saturday, plus preaching in their cathedral on Sunday morning. Dates to be chosen in consultation with my schedule...time to block in the RGBP BE and the Festival of Homies, "just in case." I expect I'll say yes...not a clue what to address them about!!

And this morning a representative of JASNA*, local chapter, bounced into my office to remind me, "You said you might be able to come and talk to us again about Jane Austen's clergy???" That date is set for late February, a Saturday afternoon.
*Jane Austen Society of North America

A pleasant day...

Sunshine and nice temperatures again today, although more and more yellow is visible in the trees. We have only a few specimens that turn red in the autumn.

Took advantage of the weather, and a gap in the schedule, to pick up a to-go lunch and the Daughter Unit and HER lunch, and resort to one of the nearby riverside parks, to eat and chat (and make snarky remarks about the joggers passing by).

It's amazing how many of these simple, pleasant options there are in the day, and how few of them I've taken advantage of, over the years.

Planning to do, today, and phone calls to make, and some serious sermonizing on the horizon; a wedding on Saturday, services on Sunday, "and sermons in both of them," pace Fluellen.

A number of emails that urgently need to get written also!!!

and far more that need to be deleted...

My office is nice and warm and adorned with great sheaves of Swiss chard...again (or still)...I see what lies before me in the shape of supper!!!

Found a bargain yesterday in the way of Good Grub too. I'm partial to the unseasoned frozen chum salmon "chunks" that occasionally come on sale at 1.99 per each if you buy a quantity. Currently, thought, the outlet has the Dill Sauce and the Herb'n'Garlic variety at this advantageous price. So I bought 5 of each, which accounted very neatly for a $20 bill and gave me 10 suppers. Hurray for the toaster oven. Tried a Herb'n'Garlic one last night; 17 minutes at 425 degrees, just time to cook white rice and a vegetable. Very satisfying.

Celebrated Holy Communion this morning with my two stalwart elderly ladies. And then for a half hour we sat and "knat" -- rather I did, and M. (aged 90) reduced the un-knit remainder of my yarn from a Hideous Tangle to a neat smooth ball. And I discoursed on the snake-on-a-stick and the foolishness of the cross. This has to be the minimal Bible study of all time. But I can't think it's worthless when the 87-year-old says, "Oh, you make it all come alive."

what lifts the heart

The ladies of the Sanctuary Guild had a fistful of flowers left over from the altar flowers on Sunday and I came back to my office to find one of their little brass vases on my desk...sporting a couple of stems of fuchsia-coloured carns, a big fat magenta Gerbera daisy, and a spray of...maybe it's statice? this is fresh and tender but it's one of the flowers that also dries well. Very cheery.

And the potentilla bush that Daughter Unit gave me a few years back is in bloom by the driveway. It's PINK...had made a few pale blossoms earlier but now it's in full flower with intense colour.

There are volunteer poppies coming up in the gravel of the far end of the driveway, very chipper. They blow in from the neighbour's yard, which is a blooming bower. Mine -- more "The Unpleasaunce."

reflecting on flower names...Daughter Unit and I have a highly specific aphasia about them. She can't remember "potentilla"; and I can't remember (just a second here)... "portulaca." I look at the latter, and I think..."polycarp? no, that's a saint... pocatello? no, that's a place in Idaho"...and then I stick, for some time.

I'm sure in terms of brain (mal)function, this inability is related to the inability to remember that it's crushed pineapple I've gone downstairs to the pantry to fetch...

Developments...

After weeks of saying, "NO I WON'T (and you can't make me)"...I allowed my name to stand for El Supremo of Prairie Metropolis-cum-Hinterland's Council of Churches.

Well, what can I say. I was encouraged. Also pressured. Also I am a Big Wimp.

And we have to do something about ecumenism in this neck of the woods -- for years now we have all been "putting the scowl of resignation on the face of stupidity" (that's an approximate quote from George Macdonald Fraser, Flashman at the Charge), and wagging our heads, and saying to each other, "Well, of course this is the Winter of Ecumenism in these parts, nothing to be done, can't be bothered to try anything, let's meet again next month." And wondering why attendance dwindles.

So here we go. At least now the meetings of Council and of Exec will be here at MH & U, and administrative support supplied by Extraordinary Secketry-Person in the next office. I stopped on my way back here from the Council meeting and bought her a boodle of roses to CELEBRATE her becoming Administrative Secretary...without even knowing about it. She was gracious and supportive. There is some remuneration involved, which helps.

[Pause to capture a bumble-bee with a tea-cup and index card, and toss her safely out the window. Bees always remind me of my curacy...and the afternoon that a posse of elderly ladies arrived in my office, full of dismay, and announced, "Rambler! There is a BEEEEEEEEEE in the church!" Plainly in their view of the universe, it was up to the deacon to deal with BEEEEEEEEES in the church. So I did.]

I think I'll do a bit of organization here and then head for home and work some more on my retreat material (on Jeremy Taylor).

It was summer-hot today...wonderful.

Easter Monday...and reflections

A bright chilly day here. Melting in the sun, NOT in the shade.

Peace and quiet in the office. Listening to an audio of the Easter Vigil in another parish (family member about to read the Epistle) tidying the desk, sorting the paperwork, about to write my report for tonight's Vestry meeting.

Made a delightfully slow start this morning after a good night's sleep. Got up, ground some coffee, made myself a nice big mugful, back into bed with lots of pillows and Sunday's paper, which I hadn't had time to read -- took my time over the NYTimes crossword puzzle, with my coffee. Years back in some fit of diligence I bought myself a "bed desk" but seldom get to use it. Just right for crosswords, though. Looked at some book reviews and noted Ursula LeGuin's new novel, Lavinia. A favourable review. I have a bookstore gift card, I could treat myself to that one.

A leisurely bath about eleven, and so down to the church office in the sunshine.

Some great moments to look back on, from here. I was worried about the Good Friday children's walk, thinking perhaps it had come to the end of its life, all the "old kids" were heading downtown with parents for the inner-city Way of the Cross. But in the upshot we had FOURTEEN little children here at the church, most of whom had never done our walk before, hurray! it springs to life again!

Then a good-sized congregation for the Solemn Devotions. I know, I know, we're supposed to feed'em, not count'em, but ALL the numbers were up this year, and that is soothing... The Reproaches were well and truly sung. Reproachfully! This was the first year that the Daughter Unit undertook them. A pleasant challenge involved in being her Mom...that she stands at the end of the alto section of the choir, right next to the Rambler's prayer desk. The temptation is to sit and gaze at her all twirly-eyed with pride and admiration. I try to resist; mostly I manage it. Our Honorary Assistant, rather better provided with THEWS than the Rambler, was present and willing to tote the Cross (in a fit of ambition, the parishioners who put it together years ago chose solid four-by-fours...oof!), and moreover to SING while so doing, blessed be he.

We went together, Daughter Unit and I, to hear the Rachmaninoff All-Night Vigil Friday evening; arrived early at the concert hall and sat near the entrance, watching for friends who had been invited...it was amusing and touching to see the numbers of clergy sidling in in mufti...plainly, needing to be part of a devotional experience that we were NOT responsible for! It was a very fine performance, very intense...a nice reception afterward and chance to visit with some friends I don't often see.

Sanctuary Guild did all the cleaning and polishing Saturday morning. Between leading the hourly prayers, I sat at my desk and relished the MHU soundscape. The Fabric Committee (old guys that fix stuff) were cutting holes in walls with their big reciprocating powersaw. (Don't ask me WHY!!!! They respond to strange atavistic impulses of their own -- il ne faut pas chercher a comprendre-- and I'm happy to leave them to it). Alongside the "RRRRRR" in the background, there was the clinking of washing-up in the kitchen, vases being scoured and polished, dusting and cleaning and polishing in the chancel and in the sacristy, a constant flow of conversation, footsteps to and fro, to and fro. And over and under and through it all, our assistant organist working the kinks and knots out of the organ accompaniment to the Hallelujah Chorus. The sound of the life of the Body. At least until the smell of furniture polish finally drove the poor man from the console!

Great special joy, part of the Easter housekeeping was the hanging of our brand-new white altar frontal. It is "modern and different." You know the rhetorical weight of those terms in Churchland!!! So we were braced for General Conniptions. But no, not a peep, other than murmurs of admiration.

Faithful parishioners arrived with muscle-power, newspaper, kindling, for lighting the Easter Fire (which involves moving the Sacred Fire-Pot outdoors...at least now we can use the elevator to manoeuvre the great awkward thing down to the front door, instead of trying to wrestle it down the staircase). And we got the fire lit. And we got the Paschal Candle lit. And we got it indoors in spite of the wind before it could blow out again. And the Rambler managed to find 3 discernibly different pitches for the "Lumen Christi" chant, coming up the aisle. Daughter Unit sang the Exsultet. Readers read readings. Bells were rung...with great zest.

And Sunday was great...all the way from unlocking the doors at 0730 to toppling finally into bed at 2300...

Christ is Risen, Alleluia!
He is Risen indeed, Alleluia!

Fun'n'games at the AGM

All in all, we rubbed through the Annual General Meeting, Part One (finances), pretty smoothly, on Sunday last. The Financial Forecast (=Budget) passed without unnecessary cavilling. The cobras pretty much stayed coiled in their baskets.

But this will be remembered as the AGM of the Pew Cushions. One of our laywomen has thought, not without reason, that we might do well to provide some cushions for those who cannot bear 90 minutes of our pews (which are highly varnished ancient oaken mediaeval torture-engines, handsome but agonizing). We are not proposing to UPHOLSTER the pews. Just provide some modest seat cushions. Not even enough cushions to fill ALL the pews. Just, "some."

So Cushionwoman was determined that the AGM should consider the question, or questions, of pew cushions (pause to coax eye to stop twitching). And on the whole this is not essentially a bad idea, we weren't going to pass any binding motions, just get a sense of the thinking of the parish, "for" or "against," perhaps take a show-of-hands straw vote. And I'm sure in her mind's eye she was picturing a forest of waving hands, and murmurs of pleasure and appreciation, and cheery voices calling out, "I'll help you with that, call me."


HAH!

Signal for emergence of cobras from baskets. "Well I'm completely against it"...on the grounds that if we had seat cushions (we HAVE, in fact, a few already) there would be nowhere to store them (um, on the pews, possibly?) and people wouldn't use them, because people didn't need them, because people don't use the ones we've got (um, well, they DO, that is when YOU personally haven't secreted them on an inaccessibly high shelf) and... I confess I was entirely poised at that moment, listening intently for the magic cadenza, "and if we have seat cushions I'M LEAVING THE CHURCH"... but no such luck, not THAT easy. Then there were the other comments of the "why don't we do something entirely different" kind..."we should just bring our own cushions from home" and "why don't we have lumbar support cushions instead" and so on and so forth, until we were mercifully released from the maelstrom of stupid by the parishioner who raised what amounted to "Point of BOOOOOOORING, Madam Chair" -- and if it's not in Roberts' Rules of Order, or Bourinot, it jolly well ought to be.

On the good news side...we seem to have surrounded a pair of altar candlesticks of dignified dimensions. Used, and in great need of polish...but! We approach their introduction into the worship space much more slyly...we'll sort of SLIDE them in, while the wrangle over pew cushions has everybody distracted.

There were seven congregants this morning at 7:30, still dark but much milder than a week ago, for the imposition of ashes...

and may you all have a most holy and blessed Lent, too.

the dreaded Annual Report...

One of the pleasures of being in ministry at Most Holy and Undivided is the location of the Rector’s office. (All right, there are moments when it is also one of the challenges of being in ministry at Most Holy and Undivided!) But most of the time it is a joy to be in this so-permeable space, where I have no choice but to hear so much going on, upstairs and down, in the nave and chancel, in Upper Hall and Lower Hall and often in the Green Room and the corridor spaces as well: at times even in the “lonely East Wing.” This ever-unfolding, ongoing “sound portrait” of life in Most Holy and Undivided offers plenty of material for reflection on who we are and what we do, and ultimately on the goodness of God to us and through us.

As I turn to writing this report, finally (one of the things I sometimes hear is Dreamsecretary sighing, next door…), the sound portrait is especially rich and inspiring. To the left of me, more or less, the sounds of renovation: hand tools and power tools of all kinds, and much masculine conversation (yesterday afternoon this sound was further enriched with feminine conversation, as the kitchen renovators and the Knit-Wits worked and socialized in the Upper Hall). There is even the occasional enlivening crash of demolition, to keep us all alert.

At the same time, to the right of me, more or less, the sound of organ practice. What at first sounds unfamiliar, random, resolves itself into a familiar hymn tune (the words of the hymn hovering just on the verge of awareness), and the tune works its way through countless variations of harmony, register, tempo, volume. (In the meantime, kitchen renovations continue to provide accents of percussion.)

And it seems to me that once again this odd combination of sounds, sometimes jarring, sometimes wonderfully harmonious, is a kind of capsule summary of our life together at MH&U during the past year. If there are special emphases, they might include things like the ongoing work on our church building—with all its special challenges. The beauty of an old building is balanced by its fragility; the joy of worshipping in it, in balance with the chagrin of discovering yet another imperfection in its infrastructure.

Another emphasis in the last twelve months has been our work with families; with children of nursery and Sunday School age, with the appointment of a Co-ordinator for our young people; in another way, also, our work with couples approaching marriage, and our outings for seniors. If we were to balance those accomplishments with the not-yet-done, I would think of our unmet need for a Parents’n’Babies program, and the hope that we might this year provide a helpful and nourishing ministry to singles as well.

There is satisfaction too in contemplating the ways we strengthen our community internally and externally with social occasions, work bees of all sorts, including that hardy perennial, the semi-annual Rummage Sale, and with music in so many different forms. The opportunity to sing together, so easily taken for granted in our experience of worship, grows ever rarer in the world around us—even in the churches around us.

Considering our music, in turn, reminds me of all the ways, musical and other, in which we support and interact with our neighbours in this community and in the wider world – all the kinds of outreach that are empowered by this congregation’s understanding of God’s goodness.

Part of strengthening our community life is marking personal milestones for the members of our own congregation – birthdays, anniversaries, retirements, promotions and so forth. I look back at a year with baptisms, weddings, birthday and anniversary parties, and, of course, memorials too. In 2007 we bade farewell to a number of long-time, indeed lifelong parishioners: ... We give thanks for their lives and for the assurance that we need not mourn as must those without our hope, rooted in Christ’s resurrection.

Exploring and growing into “the reasons for the hope that is in us” is part of the function of our Christian Education programme for adults as well as for our children. During the past year we have explored a number of Christian thinkers; this year we continue an end-to-end study of Matthew’s Gospel (feel free to drop in, any Tuesday evening), interrupted by special book study session during Lent and Advent. We look forward to more early-Sunday-afternoon presentations by parishioners and guests, on the model of the “Epiphanies all over the place” that we have enjoyed in the last month. Christian Education in this season of our lives has to have in view the ever more pervasive attacks not just upon churches but on Christianity itself, and, in fact, any form of religious faith. We can no longer count on, or coast on, a residue of even low-level respect for religious belief and practice in our society; it behooves us to know what we are about, and why, and also to know how to make that clear to onlookers who may be not only uninformed but actively hostile.

No small part of the gratitude we feel as members of a parish (and this brings me back to the impromptu symphonies I hear in my office) is that our thankfulness to God for the many blessings we enjoy cannot be expressed or even experienced without a parallel recognition of how God’s goodness is ministered to us through the dedication and spontaneity and uniqueness of the human beings with whom we work and worship. As I give thanks to God, then, for another year as Rector in this place, I am also thinking with gratitude of a great many human beings. Some of them have written reports for this meeting. More of them are named in the reports for this meeting. Many whose names may not appear here or elsewhere are still essential to the fullness of our life together. I am grateful to you all, each and severally, more than I can say.

But I would like to thank specifically, first, our invaluable Office Administrator – not least for her unfailing positivity and good humour. As one of my Internet clergy-friends commented, “the stuff that dreams are made of.” And my own work has been made, in various ways, very much easier and vastly more pleasant this year by the collegial presence and activity of the Reverend Curate and Mrs. Curate, to whom we wish all good things in their new posting, and of the Reverend Honorary Assistant and Mrs. HA, whom it is a joy to welcome into our midst.

As we embark, this next week, upon our Lenten discipline, I hope that thankfulness for the past year will empower us to attend with diligence to our thoughts, our habits, our speech and our action, to examine our lives and open ourselves to God’s transforming power wherever changes need to be made, and will strengthen our willingness to take time to prepare properly for the great celebration of Easter.

That Was the Weekend that Was...

At the moment high-intensity "fixin'" continues in the kitchen just down the corridor from my office. Vestry meets tonight and I have yet to amend the agenda and write up the Rector's Report. Main agenda item will be the budget for this year. It's a good one, I think; I'm hoping that it will be approved without too much acrimony.

Saturday somehow evaporated on me...a meeting in the morning of about a half-dozen people trying to form a book group, some in the parish and some not...various proposals revealing what I hope is NOT a fatal incongruency of expectations and agendas...maybe because I was the only gurrrrrl at the table, I was very much aware of territoriality ploys...or thought I was. Anyhow in the upshot we gently declined to take on the 900 page theo-socio-philosophical masterwork. And opted for Rupert Shortt's anthology, God's Advocates: Christian Thinkers in Conversation. Somehow in the process I became the person-in-charge of getting the books. Also the person-in-charge of making coffee. Words fail me...

Then I had a very happy interview with a delightful couple planning to be married in August. The groom's my-uncle-the-priest will be asked to participate in the service. FINE by me.

And so, eventually, home. Yesterday was a marathon, though; two communion services in the morning; there was "time for healing prayer" at the second one, but no takers, good! I take it that that means everyone feels hale and hearty. Then a parishioner made a presentation on ecclesiological understandings arising out of the South African experience of the last hundred years, with reflections from St. Augustine on the "two cities." Then it was time to run, with communion kit and all, to a seniors' residence for the monthly service there with the usual half-dozen faithful ladies.

Trying to be efficient, I had packed "gear" for the final stop of the day, the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity city-wide service (of course, at a church on the opposite edge of the city!) at seven o'clock. Being "The Anglican" on the committee, and in the program, I went the High-and-Lifted-Up Evensong route: cassock, surplice, academic hood, tippet. The Protestant clergy all were in dark suits, fair enough (though a Geneva gown would not have been out of place); but to my dismay the Roman Catholic and the Ukrainian Catholic, who can usually be counted on for suitably flashy haberdashery, also opted for plain dark suits. So there we were. A long row of undertakers, and one old woman apparently channeling Archbishop Laud. Sigh.

Never mind, the service went well, the readers read audibly and with understanding, a working projector was pressed into service at the last minute, the turnout was gratifying, the praise band "didn't suck" (apologies for that highly technical musicological jargon), and the coffee afterward was just excellent. As might have been foreseen; when over half the congregants' names begin with "Van," somehow, good coffee is one of the givens, right? Or am I just profiling, here?

Back to the writing of reports...and some office-cleaning by way of R and R.

edifying in the edifice

"The guys" who look after the building -- male parishioners in their mid-years and upwards -- are here in force this morning, charging about, putting various little maintenance and security thingies to rights. In the meantime they are bonding and fellowshipping and all that good kind of stuff. Serious technical discussion going on about the replacement of very high-up light-bulbs in the chancel arch--this is BIG LADDER work.
Presently the feminine counterparts will arrive, and knit, much to the same effect.
I've been asked this morning to help someone trace a private adoption from about 40 years back -- an adoption that may have been arranged through this parish. This is going to involve some very discreet consultation...
It's relatively mild today, no need to plug in block-heaters. Tomorrow we may get close to a thaw.
Arrangements are in place for tomorrow's memorial service, for the son of a former Rector (1927-1941); it should be quite small, mainly family members still living in Prairie Metropolis...but they've asked for 3 rousing hymns AND the Nunc Dimittis sung, so here's hoping the organist and I are in voice tomorrow afternoon!
Lots of paperwork still besetting us...

Satisfaction

Halfway through my Sunday. These are the moments when I feel most satisfaction in ministry -- I can hear at least 4 separate activities going on in the church...a theatre group rehearsing around the piano in the Green Room (small meeting room, lower level); a couple preparing a delightful reception spread in the Upper Kitchen, adjacent to the Upper Hall; set-up for afternoon free concert going on in the nave and the chancel. This will be on Chopin as a Romantic artist, with slides of paintings by Delacroix. Coffee hosts clearing up in the Lower Kitchen from our post-worship fellowship time. Ahhhhh. The pianist is now warming up too. I love sitting here, listening, hearing all this purposefulness going on around me.
I have a small Holy Communion service mid-afternoon at a Seniors' Assisted Living complex on the south side of the city. There may be as many as a half dozen elderly ladies there. One of them is the "instigator" -- no sooner was she moved into the facility than she was knocking on doors, identifying resident Anglicans, and bullying them genteelly into attending our monthly service! They're a most endearing bunch...
And then the day ends with dinner with a home-group...3 couples...plus self and #1 Son -- otherwise he is at home alone, having Sunday dinner alone, which would probably have been INSTANT NOODLES -- and that's just NOT right...
Tomorrow will be a full day with Vestry meeting in the evening and a lot of prep to do beforehand.

All Saints

WINDY today, enough to make the little car shudder on the bridges and other exposed bits of roadway. The kind of wind that might well have snow at the back of it -- drat, anyhow.
About a couple of dozen "spooks" last night, I think; I tended to fall asleep between squads--they really did come in bunches, and the sight of idling SUVs at the corner suggested they weren't all that LOCAL either. All over by about 9 p.m. -- lots of candy left -- now to put it somewhere inconvenient...
Celebrating All Saints Day at the 10 a.m. Thursday Eucharist with my minute usual congregation--we use the Book of Common Prayer lectionary and propers on Thursday, so everything is in one book...a brief extempore sermon, and then a brief "Bible study" after the service, which always focuses on the readings from the RCL for the past Sunday, mainly for the benefit of those who weren't able to hear either Sunday's readings OR Sunday's sermon. The participants are elderly...and the occasion is often as much about the stories that they need to tell as it is about Holy Scripture. It's also question time... I will never forget the third or fourth week that I did this service-cum-study, and the second reading was Philip and the Ethiopian. Up piped the littlest and meekest of the group, "Ummmm ... what's a eunuch?" So drawing a deep breath and commending my soul to God, I told her. "Well, now. I did not know that," she said. We've gone on to other blank spots and occasional long-lived misunderstandings since then...