Is that the finish line I see?
The Cathedral Church of St Peter, St Petersburg, Florida: my parish home since January 2015.
Yesterday I preached my last sermon as a priest on the staff of the Cathedral. It was not my last Sunday—that will be August 18—just my last sermon.
It was fine. I had two versions ready to go: a shorter one for the 8:00, which was a revision of the longer one for the 10:15. The longer version was a more satisfying piece of theology, but the shorter one was a better piece of homiletics, and I decided on the fly at the 10:15 to give the shorter version. I think it was a good decision, though neither version was exactly mind-blowing.
I’d say it was a respectable enough conclusion to my appearances on the preaching rota.
If I had my way, I’d preach no more than once or maybe twice a quarter. This sermon was my seventh of the year (not counting four Wednesdays), and I was beginning to feel the drain on my energy. It didn’t help that I’ve been struggling with some writing. I have two overdue papers for edited volumes, and for some reason I just haven’t wanted to write either of them.
Last week I broke through the resistance somehow. Unfortunately, just as I was building some momentum on the first paper toward the end of the week, I had to set it aside to work on my sermon. Fortunately, though, it turns out that I had something stewing in the back of my mind from the Sewanee Conference that lent itself to a decent sermon. And by the end of the day Saturday I had done an extra workout, finished the sermon, played straight through Bach’s E-major French Suite (the Allemande is fully under my fingers now),
Yes, I’m playing from a printout of an online copy of the Schirmer edition, because the Bärenreiter (behind it) has no fingerings and is grossly over-ornamented.
and even cooked a new recipe (which, for good measure, turned out to be delicious).
Someone asked me after church yesterday whether I had a parish lined up in DC where I’d be preaching. No, I said: I’ll be attending Christ Church, Georgetown, but I’m not going to preach for at least a semester. It will be good just to do my one job for a while.
Part of that job is translating John Duns Scotus. I’m just getting started on some crucial texts on substance and accidents.
I’m giving myself two weeks to finish those two overdue papers, one for a Routledge volume, Esteem and Self-Esteem in the History of Philosophy, and one for The Oxford Handbook of the Philosophy of Work. That gives me two weeks to catch my breath before classes resume on St Augustine’s Day, 28 August.
Top, from left to right: Debra the Zebra; James Watterston Herald, “Ladies in town centre”; James McIntosh Patrick, “The Path, Dron Wood.” Bottom: Tess of the d’Durberbellies.
Last week we also uncrated and hung my two most recent Scottish Art acquisitions: a watercolor by James Watterston Herald and a landscape by James McIntosh Patrick (whom many consider the greatest Scottish landscape painter of the 20th century). I was lucky to get both of them rather cheaply at auction. I finally feel as if my little collection of Scottish art really is a collection now, and not just an agglomeration: I have another Herald watercolor and a McIntosh Patrick portrait. As I finish a year on half salary, only to be looking at the cost of an apartment in DC for the academic year, I doubt I will be making any further acquisitions anytime soon; but I’m beyond thrilled with what I have.