Scenes from a churchy weekend
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| Ian Fleming RSA RSW Sunburst - Yellow Theme, 1972 |
In view of two early mornings in a row, I have used points to rent a hotel room in St Petersburg. There's a great little diner a few minutes' walk from my hotel. I have a nutritious meal of sangria and tater tots and then return to work on my sermon and my adult formation presentation.
Do I care about the Quartodecimans? It seems to me very much that I don't.
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Saturday, 2 April, being the special convention to elect a bishop coadjutor for the Diocese of Southwest Florida
I arrive a little after 8:00, fully breakfasted. The Cathedral is abuzz with activity. I put on my cassock, because that is how priests should dress for a diocesan convention. No one else is in a cassock.
"Father," I say to an old friend (which is to say, a friend of long standing; he's quite a bit younger than I am), "I was sure that at least you would wear a cassock." "It was 50-50, but I went the other way," he says. "You have time to go home and change," I suggested.
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One of my canon friends offers an over/under bet on the length of the sermon. I take the under. I win by a comfortable ten-minute margin. He owes me a margarita.
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The bishop changes into his cassock after the Eucharist. I feel vindicated.
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We elect a new bishop on the third ballot. He too is quite a bit younger than I am. But I think we'll be in good hands.
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A reasonably quick election means that I have more time to tweak my sermon. Back to the diner -- it's pouring rain, and I have no umbrella, so I'm very glad it's close. A healthy meal this time.
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Email from a parishioner: "I happen to have some nard I can bring tomorrow if you want to know what it smells like."
Yes, please.
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Sunday, 3 April, being the Fifth Sunday in Lent
I have no way to print my sermon, so I'm going to preach from my tablet for the first time. I'm more worried about length: I try not to go longer than 1000 words at the 8:00, and this is 1600. The technology works fine, and there are no complaints about the length (not within earshot, anyway).
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Nard is sweet, but not cloying; a bit earthy, a bit spicy. It's quite lovely.
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The adult formation hour is part of a series on "The Shape of the Year." I'm doing Holy Week and Easter. I am just prepared enough to say what I need to say and get out of the way a fair but so people can talk about their experience and understanding of the liturgies. I think it goes really well.
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At coffee hour I sit down with a young couple and a boy of about six or seven. It takes me a few minutes to realize that he is not their child. He has simply introduced himself to a couple of grownups and started confidently making conversation. He is smart and funny and totally unselfconscious, and he will rule the world in thirty years or so.