The Belfries of all Christendom

John Gurka's version of "I heard the Bells on Christmas Day"

It always gives me goosebumps.

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play
And mild and sweet the words repeat,
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I thought how as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had roll'd along th' unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bow'd my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong, and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."

Next Sunday at a church very near you...

(saw it at Lindy's place)

All over but the grading...

Well, stick a fork in this semester; it is done. All but the grading...I finished giving my last exam on Tuesday and now am working my way through a huge stack of Blue Books, research papers, extra-credit assignments and the inevitable frantic flurry of late assignments ("to be turned in by 5 pm Thursday").

There is not much to be done but put nose to the grindstone, play Christmas... er...Advent music to keep one's spirits bright, take a break when one gets too disgruntled (Oh, just for once I'd like to be gruntled!), and keep the kettle warm.

Tonight is fall graduation with its pomp and ceremony. Much better to wear full academicals when it is 40 degrees out than when it is 100!

I hope you are warm and safe out there!

As the Dust Settles

It's been a whirlwind few days. Saturday, after the convention, we all met at Holy Family to console, be consoled, and pray. We talked a lot about our fears, our hopes, and our sense of loss. Afterwards I spent some quiet time setting up for the Second Sunday in Advent service. The familiar task of filling the candles, setting up the altar, and preparing the elements was very soothing to a soul troubled by the recent events.

Sunday morning we had what must have been a record attendance for a non-holiday Sunday for our two services. We almost ran out of wafers! Luckily some prudent Altar Guild member put out a reserve :-). I can't honestly say if it will last, but it was wonderful. The mood was optimistic and the fellowship grand. Father Keith gave a great homily about "How can we find peace--in the world, in the church, in our hearts" filled with his usual humor and thoughtfulness.

Well, towards the end of the service several press crews started showing up, including one from Univision. Ojalá que usted esté aquí, Padre Mickey, for we had no fluent Spanish speaker at the early service. (As a bit of humor, we delegates at the HF table at convention began to speak in Spanish after the vote, but my Spanish is very rusty.) All the more reason seriously to discern your calling, Padre; we need you here in the continuing Diocese of San Joaquin!

There was a piece in the L.A. Times that had some good things to say, including the last bit about Father Keith:

"Meanwhile, Axberg, Holy Family's rector since 2003, urged his congregation Sunday not to worry about the future. He told them about the convention votes and answered a few questions about steps likely to be taken by the national church. Finally, he asked them to pray for all involved in the diocese's continuing struggle, including for Schofield. First one, then all, rose to applaud their priest."

Now things are starting to settle down from the buzz over convention, but as the word spreads, some folks in other parishes (not delegates, but the people in the pews) are beginning to realize what this vote means, and they are asking questions and writing letters.

One last thing: you cannot know how much your support has meant to us. Father Jake has opened up his blog as a place for comfort and news, and reading your comments has done much to lift our spirits. Kristin, Paul, Diane, Padre Mickey, and others, thanks for dropping by and adding your words of support!

Personally, I feel most for the missions, who have no choice in this process, and whose clergy are appointed by the Bishop. They can be closed at his desire, and their buildings sold. I hope that this does not happen, but as parishes begin to place their assessments into accounts earmarked for the Episcopal Church, not the Province of the Southern Cone, the diocesan budget will feel the pinch.

We are still here

We mourn the departure of many of our brothers and sisters in Christ who did what they thought was right. We love them and pray for them and wish them well as they join the Southern Cone.

We, however, are not going anywhere. We ARE the Episcopal Diocese of San Joaquin, and although we are currently without a bishop, we have godly clergy to lead us and courageous laity eager to carry on the Great Commission.

Diocesan Convention, Day one

The first day of convention consisted mainly of procedural matters.

I attended the Eucharist that opened convention this morning at St. James Cathedral. It has been a year since I attended mass here. I felt a certain sadness because we used to attend here regularly until we felt we could no longer do so in good conscience.

It was certainly awesome in its ceremony! Three pointy hats, dozens of priests and deacons, pomp and pageantry, glorious music and wonderful sung liturgy. There was nothing liturgically here that I did not agree with--why am I not orthodox in their eyes?

The Bishop of Bolivia, the Right Reverend Frank Lyons, gave the sermon. In essence, he said that we are on a journey, and that it may not always be comfortable. In fact, although we may wish for a comfortable Jesus who shows up in the morning to give us tea, this is not the case. It's scary stuff.

In the afternoon, we heard the Bishop's address. Rather than giving you my paraphrase, here is a link to the text of the speech.

I will blog more tomorow. I am exhausted in body and soul.

Thoughts for this weekend...from our friend Billy.

THE World is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,	5
The winds that will be howling at all hours
And are up-gather'd now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.—Great God! I'd rather be
A pagan suckled in a creed outworn,—	10
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

San Joaquin Diocesan Convention is coming up

Our Diocesan convention is a week away. As a delegate, I must admit I am not looking forward to it at all. It is most likely that the second vote on the constitutional changes will pass by a large majority.

And so those of us who do not want to abandon our Church wait for the vote that will put us in no-man's land--not wishing to "leave" with the rest of the diocese (as if they could actually vote to remove an Episcopal Diocese out of the Episcopal Church) and not knowing how soon, if at all, the National Church will act to place some sort of presence here.

I feel two main emotions: sadness and frustration.

I'm sad because my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ no longer feel that they can worship with us.

I'm sad because our Bishop, who is supposed to visit all of his parishes, never visited Holy Family, although we repeatedly asked him when he was going to come.

I'm sad because when the vote passes, everyone around me will be rejoicing. I will not be.

I'm sad because my fellow Episcopalian professor now calls herself an Anglican, and there is now an unspoken barrier between us.

I'm frustrated by people who know little or nothing about the history of the Bible and the transmission of texts speaking of the "faith once delivered" as set in stone (as if it were some sort of moldy archaeological artifact!)

I'm frustrated because my theology is just as orthodox as theirs is, and in most areas certainly more Anglo-Catholic, and I'm getting tired of being labeled a heretic. The bishop said in a recent interview with our local ABC news affiliate that the Episcopal Church has "abandoned much of the Bible and its ethical teachings." This is, in a word, poppycock. I'm so tired of this refrain, "you disagree with me, therefore you're a heretic..."

The Bishop has said time and again that those of us who do not want to leave (although he puts it as those of us who want to "leave the diocese") will be allowed to do so, and he will not take our property. I want to think he is a man of his word.

In his pastoral letter, he states:

"Should the second reading of the Constitutional changes receive the necessary two thirds of each order voting affirmatively next month, this will mean that the Diocese is free to accept the invitation of the Province of the Southern Cone."

He also says that it may not be permanent--that (citing the old invalid comparison to the Dioceses of Southern States during the Civil War) if the Episcopal Church repents, the Diocese may return. Hmm. Don't hold your breath.

Already chinks in the armor have begun to show, and the vote may not be as overwhelming as last year's first vote. I have to be honest, though, if the vote doesn't pass, we'll still be in the same position of Limbo, with a Bishop who no longer wishes to pastor us, and we will continue to endure the same misery. Let's end this now and get back to our true mission--the Great Commission.

We could all use your prayers Friday and Saturday next.

Goodbye, Sneakaround Jones

Sneakaround Jones died this evening.

We were out today "getting and spending" as the poet says. In a lull during cooking dinner I went to check on Sneakaround Jones. He was sitting in the litter box--he's never done that before. I lifted him out and put him on the bed. I could tell something was wrong. He seemed weak and his legs looked very odd. This was about 8:00.

I took him in the blanket out to the couch and told Liam that there was something wrong with Sneakaround. We laid him on the couch, wrapped in the blanket. He was still purring. Over the next hour he became progressively worse. I called the Shabazz-man and got his service. I left a message to call, that we may need him to come out.

Soon it became apparent that Sneakaround was failing fast. We told him that it was ok--he could go to sleep and that we would see him soon. We kept vigil.

For the most part he seemed very weak although at one point he tried to get up. His breathing became very labored. Liam had to walk Grendel and so I told him that Sneakaround would wait till he got back. When Liam brought Grendel back, I could see that Sneakaround was laboring. I called Liam. We forgot about dinner.

We sat on the couch and cradled him for about an hour. He died in our arms. He did not seem to be in pain. He gave a couple of deep breaths and then he left.

We said goodbye and wrapped him in the blanket. We brought the other cats to say goodbye too, so they would not wonder what happened.
Then we put him, still wrapped in the blanket, in a cardboard box, and Liam brought him out to the garage. We'll take him tomorrow to the SPCA to be cremated.

He was a good cat.

Sneakaround Jones is sick

We're not exactly sure what is wrong, but the vet (The Shabazz-Man) thinks it may be bladder cancer. Sneakaround has always been plagued by bladder infections, but lately it has gotten worse. We have tried antibiotics and steroids and anti-spasmodic medicine...nothing seems to help. But he seems in good spirits and he's not in pain that we can tell--his quality of life is still good. But soon we may have to make a difficult decision.

I've never loved any cat this much--Sneakaround is special. Dog-like in his affections, a real people-lover. He sits next to me as I type, purring away. Hi ssoft snoring on the couch is the most comforting sound in the world. He is about 13 years old as far as we can tell-he and his brother Bertie Wooster were brought to us by Jean the Cat Lady when I was still in graduate school at Bryn Mawr. He's already been through at least nine lives--operations for ear tumors, a needle in the throat, the infections that have landed him in the pet hospital more than once...and has yet he has always kept his good humor.

I asked Cassandra, the vet's assistant, if the Shabazz-man ever made house calls to give the last necessary medicine--I don't want Sneakaround's last minutes to be in the vet's office, but at home with us. She said that he would for his favorite clients. I hope we will know when the right time will be. Until then I try to give him extra love and special food. He has his own place to sleep when he wants to get some time away from the other cats.

I don't even like thinking about it, but the visit by the Shabazz-man is the last bit of loving care we can give him.

Happy Guy Fawkes Day...and my birthday!

Remember, remember the Fifth of November...

I do love birthdays, mine especially. And since I celebrate Birthday Tide, there's still time to buy presents! It lasts for a week month!

Thank you, MP, for the lovely music! Yer the best!

What type of Liberal am I?

My Liberal Identity:

You are a Reality-Based Intellectualist, also known as the liberal elite. You are a proud member of what’s known as the reality-based community, where science, reason, and non-Jesus-based thought reign supreme.

Take the quiz at www.FightConservatives.com

I guess I never thought of myself as either intellectualist or elite...

St. Laika

On a cold November morning fifty years ago today
Russia sent a dog named Laika to the cosmos far away.

How ironic that your capsule bore the name of Sputnik Two!
For there would be no companion on this odyssey for you.

Good-natured mutt, a street survivor, how life must have seemed so good
When they saved you, brought you home and bathed you, trained you, gave you food.

Little Barker, Little Muttchik, unsuspecting pioneer
How could scientists have named you and yet be so cavalier?

Trustingly, you let them strap you in the cockpit, shut the door–
“It’s the same game we had played, about a thousand times before”

Surely soon, they would come back, release you, give you treats and praise
As you waited, patiently, yet puzzled by the long delays.

Then the take-off, oh, how frightening, as your heart beat twice as fast,
Three times, as you felt the power of the g-force from the blast

Did you whimper? Did you shudder? Did you fear that cosmic night?
Did you wonder why your friends had sent you on this fatal flight?

Or did love and deep devotion to them calm your deep alarm
Trusting, hoping, still expecting them to keep you from all harm?

And then, finally, was nothing, only silent, empty space
Only Little Laika, sleeping, still with hope upon her face

On a chilly April evening, finally your journey’s end
Shooting star lights up the night sky, welcome home, my valiant friend.

Blessed Laika, we are sorry, for the horrors we put you through
Blessed Laika, please forgive us, for we know not what we do.

Irish triad

Three things that soothe the weary spirit: a cup of strong sweet tea, the smoky smell of a peat fire, the soft snoring of an old cat.

Friday Evening Office Hour Blogging

My office hour after my last class is always fairly quiet, allowing me to get a bit of work done. Or (getting one's priorities straight) some blogging!

If a picture is worth a thousand words, this one speaks volumes:

(Guess what I'll be doing this weekend!)

But not tonight. Not on Friday Night!

It's time for Chinese food, a glass of wine, the latest Netflix, and some Blogsurfing. I have a feeling Red Mr. Peanut is going to be brilliant tonight!!