Closer to fine

After the eighteen months of wandering through the desert (though having moments of hospitality), after eight discernment committee processes, I finally ended up fifteen miles from where I last served a congregation. I considered congregations in MA, CT and even Mexico. And when everything settled down, I landed at the congregation where Anne has been attending since 1994, eleven miles from our tiny house.


The preacher at the service of installation and celebration of a new season of ministry, the Rev'd Gwen Groff, a local Mennonite pastor, said eloquently:

... Which leads me to the last thing that Lee wanted us to focus on. This land. This thin place on the earth. Lee said what she is interested in is "connecting with the land and living in a thin place." The term "thin place" has been used in many ways, but I believe the phrase was originally used by the Celts, whose theology said that there are places on earth where the veil between heaven and earth is very thin, places that serve almost like a portal where you can practically reach through or step through and experience God.

Now I think of those sacred places as destinations, a place you travel to as a deliberate pilgrimage, or stumble upon unexpectedly. Lee's words, that she is interested in what it means to live in a thin place made me think of thin places a bit differently. Because if the psalmist is right, and Basil is right, that God's Holy Spirit is everywhere, then one place isn't more "thin" than another. A thin place need not be a windswept stone circle built on an energetic convergence of ley lines. A thin place is anywhere our hearts are opened to God. God is always here. But in a thin place we are more open to God, we are suddenly made aware of God's constant presence, and we are more likely to take risks of listening and being transformed.

A thin place is not only a place we feel something; it's a state of being where we become more like the God we meet when our hearts are open. A thin place can be experienced in worship. This sanctuary is worn thin by the prayers that have been spoken here. And a thin place can be experienced in action, in working across differences and finding God in the other. [(c) Gwen Groff, 14 June 2013]

Church of Our Saviour, with its long history of farmer priests, its close connection to the land, and its Benedictine tradition all make for a peaceful, peace-filled spot in the Vermont Greens. COS is where the priest truly can live out relational priesthood, come back close to a vocational rather than professional priesthood, live with one foot in the 19th century when this place was founded and the 21st where it lives and reaches out to the local community.

I feel exceptionally at peace here, in a way that I have not since 2008 when I left Northfield. This sense of 'coming down' right was solidified as today I attended a wedding reception of two former parishioners. As I talked with other members of where I last served, I gave thanks again that I am no longer in that stressful place. Somehow COS seems more authentic, closer to the ground, not lost in pretense.

To my delight, I once again have a vegetable garden with potatoes (I no longer remember what types), green, purple and yellow beans, tomatoes and lots of hot peppers. The beans are sprouting as are the 'taters and the peppers and 'maters are coming along. No, I won't be Fr Dan or Fr Heminway in cassock out on a tractor (the church doesn't have one), but in a small way, I can tap into the ethos of the farmer priest which is so much a part of the history of this place.

Now... if any of you have $30K out there, it would go a long way to helping us repair the vicarage chimneys and replace the roof, and shore up a collapsing barn, all of which are on the National Historic Registry (!).

[Blogger ain't wordpress; formatting here is disastrous.]

Where is God in this all?

Last night after sending off yet another round of answers to a parish discernment committee, I had an strong sense of sadness. I needed to go back and look at like answers from 10-15 years ago when I was in other searches with congregations to pin down exactly what caused my malaise. What I saw confirmed what I felt: the preponderance of questions nowadays concern the institution, the administration and running of a congregation and no longer ask things such as: what authors do I read, who inspires me, what my core values are, what is my theological understanding of the sacraments, who is Jesus for me, and questions of that nature. Fair enough, a congregational discernment committee wants to know what sort of administrator I will be, how I will manage their finances, and how I will help the church grow (I cannot stand the current trendy phrase, 'to grow the church;' it sets my teeth on edge). I am OK with this; it is just that I miss discussion of the other things. That discussion eventually comes out in an interview if one is lucky, but as the initial introduction, the practical shows up first.

Several of the questions from the Office of Transitional Ministry focus on the doing rather than the being of a priest in community, though one certainly can weave in one's theology and core values:

Describe a moment in your recent ministry that you recognise as one of success and fulfillment.
Describe your liturgical style and practice.
How do you practice incorporating others in ministry?
How do you care for your spiritual and emotional well-being?
Describe your involvement in either the wider church or geographical community.
How do you engage in pastoral care for others?
Tell about a ministry project that exists because of your leadership. What was your role in its creation? Who are its contacts?
How are you preparing yourself for the Church of the future?
What is your personal practice of stewardship and how do you utilize it to influence your ministry in your worshipping community?
What is your experience of conflict involving the church? And what is your experience in addressing it?
What is your experience of leading/addressing change in the church? When has it gone well? When has it gone poorly? And what did you learn?

Congregations submitting their form answer this set of questions:

Describe a moment in your worshipping community's recent ministry that you recognise as one of success and fulfillment.
How are you preparing yourselves for the Church of the future?
Please provide words describing the gifts and skills essential to the future leaders of your worshipping community.
Describe your liturgical style and practice for all types of worship in your community.
How do you practice incorporating others in ministry?
As a worshipping community, how do you care for your spiritual, emotional and physical well-being?
How do you engage in pastoral care for those beyond your worshipping community?
Describe your worshipping community's involvement in either the wider church or geographical community.
Tell about a ministry that your worshipping community has initiated in the past 5 years. Who can be contacted about this project?
What is your practice of stewardship and how does it shape the life of your worshipping community?
What is your worshipping community's experience of conflict? And how have you addressed it?
What is your experience of leading/addressing change in the church? When has it gone well? When has it gone poorly? And what did you learn?

As you can see, most of the questions overlap. They are fine questions; they invite reflection and conversation since priest and congregation basically answer the same things.

But when do we get to talk about God? Jesus? The Holy Spirit working in our lives? Oh, they can and should be woven into an answer, but the focus of the question does not always permit a full exploration of these aspects of our faith.

Then parish questions follow the same line of thinking (the questions below are a composite of some of the questions I have answered in the past seventeen months):

Of the work you have done during the past year, what single thing has been the most satisfying to you, and why?
What intrigues you and what challenges you about St. Swithin’s profile, and why?
What beyond your current resume and OTM portfolio do you think is important that we know about you, and what isn’t in our profile that you would especially like to know about us when we talk?
Describe your experience in developing a multi-year plan for a church where you have been the Rector.
What is in our Profile that is of particular interest to you? Why?
Describe a recent accomplishment and a recent challenge in your ministry, and how your leadership affected the outcome?
What potential benefits and drawbacks would you anticipate in a ministry at Saint Swithin's?


What intrigues me is a focus on 'success' and 'satisfaction' with whatever ministry one has done. Should we be emphasising a notion of success in ministry? Does success overshadow service? And are success and satisfaction one and the same? If I encourage some sort of ministry, am I doing so to guarantee success or is it because I am trying to live the words of Jesus? Do we do what we do because we are trying to be faithful to the Gospel message of hope and reconciliation?

Perhaps my angst comes from knowing what life in a small congregation is compared to life in a large congregation, where ministry is more hands-on with fewer layers of committees and hierarchy. Part of it might also come from knowing that more and more congregations can no longer support a 'professionally' trained priest; that a full-time position in this part of the country is going the way of the dinosaurs. More and more of us will have to become bivocational priests, finding alternative sources of income while engaging in ministry. That, in turn, can invite more people into ministry. Perhaps some of my reaction comes from the total sense of uncertainty the institutional church faces across the denominational board. The institutional church occupies a very different place in society than it used to; we can no longer count on civic religion to carry us; we need to get back to basics, the gospel.

This post is a bit rambling because I am still trying to figure out just exactly what is triggering these thoughts. Maybe others can kibbitz and help nail it down. Am I off-base for wondering where have gone the conversations about theology, God and our love of Jesus? I ask myself what I always ask of others: 'What else is going on here?'

That answer is for another post, another time.

A month later

It now has been more than a month since Agatha died. I keep her ashes, fur, paw print, heart and candle in the gold bag in which they arrived when I picked them up from the vet. They sit on the window sill to my desk so that when I look out to the little shed, I see the bag knowing what it contains. It is not that Agatha spent time sitting in front of me, but she did sleep in the baskets that were on either side of me. To add to the collection, I have a little shrine, half serious, half silly, for her.

A friend gave me the little Saint Gertrude statue. I had no idea she was the matron saint of cats. So she watches over Agatha and the two are on a little knitted prayer rug from another friend's congregation. The photo of Agatha is when she was still feeling well (April 2009) and looking her imperious self. But, oh, we still miss her.

However, life goes on.

This is what I see most mornings: August in my face as he stands on my chest ready to lick my forehead (I think I must have an invisible 'M' that most tabby cats have) or, worse, my eyes.

This 1817 house has heaters that are just the right height for making cat nests. These two are sleeping on top of a box that still has kitchen utensils in it. No matter, under the ratty towel is a pillow and the two bask in the forced hot air heat. I suspect Aelred (Orange Guy) was there first.

The evening after August killed a vole in the kitchen, I decided to let things settle down in there so shut them out of the back part of the house (dining room and kitchen). When I came downstairs, they rushed to the door so I had pity on them and let them in. Always a stampede.

Meanwhile, I occasionally have reason to drive around Vermont. This photo shows Killington/Pico taken from Rte I-89, heading south in Randolph. I still struggle with the idea that I am going to have to leave these beloved mountains.



And here is Camels Hump taken from Rte 2 in Burlington.

Vermont got off easy with the blizzard of 2013. We got the usual 12-14 inches. The town plows create cement walls that are tough to shovel or snow blow one's way through; I did penetrate the walls on Saturday and my shoulders are still complaining.

Mission Farm Road on Saturday 9 February. It used to be Rte 4 but now is a tranquil side road, perfect for taking walks (one mile long).

The Guest House at Mission Farm and breezeway between the GH and vicarage. We cleared away a bay in the shed so I could get my car in there. It is a tight fit, only an inch on either side of the rear view mirrors and it doesn't completely protect the car but it is an improvement from having a car turned into a blob of snow. This photo was before I started working on the driveway and walkways.

I live here (loving it), now in my fifth month, but there is such provisionality to it that I haven't unpacked and am trying hard not to settle in. It has been almost a year since I moved out of the rectory. And frankly, life has not been secure since I left Northfield  in November 2008. Security is illusory, for sure, but sometimes it can seem steadier.


I occasionally have to remind myself that I am still and always will be a priest (photo taken at the cathedral before a RHE for a colleague last month). I passed my 19th anniversary two weeks ago and find myself in my 20th year still unemployed. I supply on Sundays so at least I am connected that way with an aspect of priesthood. To an outsider it probably looks as though I am doing nothing but I have been wrestling all this time with the distinction between the vocational and professional priesthood. It seems to me that as churches diminish in numbers, size and income, those who serve congregations will be forced to return to a vocational priesthood in which the main source of income no longer comes from the congregation but from another job. The priesthood, the esse, will be part of the individual but the individual will not have the luxury (or challenge depending on how one looks at it) of spending all of his or her time within the confines of the church. Twenty years ago, this sort of priest was called a tent-maker or bi-vocational priest. Call it what you may but for those of us who wish to stay in the northeast where churches are many, congregations are small, this looks like the future. My problem is age and experience... for a struggling congregation calling a priest at the top of the pay scale (my diocese's pay scale tops out at twenty years and then it is just a percentage added on) is not optimum.

So what to do? Where to go? How to live this vocation out? During this desert time of discernment, I keep trying to figure out what priesthood means to me and how I am being called to live into it. I know that a vocational call is one that is impossible, persistent, good for all and one that others see for you, and that is well and good. But what about the interior landscape? I still don't know other than the idea of leaving the only diocese I have really served (all but ten months of ordained ministry) is unappealing. However, the options truly are running out.

Sometimes the only thing I can do is meditate or, in this case, pray with the General Ordination Exam readers as we gather in community for compline.



So, things are quiet. I just don't have a lot to say. [Nor do I have the patience to figure out the oddball formatting here.]

Gardening

A dozen or so of us
helped Eric with his garden
today.

A cookie jar
that he would take to his
wife, Elaine,
and say, 'The jar is empty,'
and she'd fill it
with wonderful home-made
cookies
sat on a shawl of hers.

Today, though,
the jar held Elaine's
ashes
and we gently and lovingly
scattered them in her
garden midst the rows
and plants now
fallow
awaiting the spring blooms.

And while some chose to
wash their hands after
scattering these holy ashes,
I did not,
preferring instead
to let them seep into my skin,
to take Elaine's spirit
into my hands
only to lift them up
to the sky
and commend her
to God.

A new place to abide... for a spell

Church of Our Saviour, Killington, VT is nestled between two ridges; it is on the Killington Flats right across from the ski resort lift, the Skyeship. The vicarage (building furthest to the left) is an 1830s house; an older one was there before. Next to it is the Guest House which the church runs and finally the church, an 1895 stone structure. The church in the past was served by a farmer priest and, indeed, in the 50s-80s, the priest cultivated some of the 170 acres that the church owns.

When the most recent vicar retired, I asked if I could move into the vicarage because 1) I wanted to get out from a landlord who nickled and dimed the lessees; 2) I thought my money would be more appreciated by the church; 3) there would be someone living in the house which is on a very-well travelled side road. The Executive Committee of the church agreed and so I moved in on 7 September.

This, again, is a stop-gap measure because they will look for a new priest and I need to find a cure somewhere else, despite it being so convenient here... for the time I reside here, I will appreciate the peace of the church, the tranquility of the valley. Kirstin's ashes are across the street from the vicarage in the church orchard and her spirit helps me, too.

Someday this past year will make sense. Right now, I know it has been ten months of unemployment and the one thing that keeps me connected to the priesthood is supplying on Sundays. Even that, though, will dry up in October.

So I drift aimlessly. At least for the time being, I am in a valley so I can't get too far off course. And the mountains are close by which provides for good walking.

Pencil seller? Grave digger?

Nine months without a job and seemingly unable to break through the brick wall that is deployment in The Episcopal Church.

I just looked at the classifieds and I am not even qualified to be a housekeeper at a local nursing home. Can't be a secretary or administrative assistant because I don't do Microsoft operating systems.

What can I do? Going back into the world with a Ph.D. in medieval French language and literature and a M.Div. doesn't cut it.

Maybe I could dig graves. That doesn't take a ton of skill, the physical work would be good and the pastoral background I have would come in handy.

Continuing transition

A year ago as I was contemplating 'jumping off the cliff,' by leaving Trinity, I honestly did not think I would be unemployed a year later and having to move yet again. But that seems to be what is in the cards for me. The difference is that this time I am packing up my things without a clue to where I will move. I just know I need to leave the place where I currently am living because the rent has become prohibitive.

Any priest in The Episcopal Church knows how glacially slow parish discernment processes can be. While I may be in conversation about two, I know realistically that we are talking until late fall at this point.

Meanwhile, the state of Vermont approaches the first year of Irene when a lot of people's lives were turned upside down in ways far worse than mine. I guess we are all in it together.

Easter Sunday evening

This is how most clergy are right now... if not in a hammock, with their feet up or asleep.

Not being in a congregation has made things different and slightly less tiring for the simple reason that I was not in charge of everything. Perhaps not being in charge made it all more difficult.

I presided and preached on Palm Sunday and Easter, and preached on Good Friday. Sermons are up on my other blog, Peripatetic Pilgrim Priest.

It has been weird. What else can I say?

Regardless, Christ has risen. The Lord has risen indeed, Alleluia.

Renewed

Some people may well think I am crazy to say that by going to El Salvador, I come back renewed, but that is always the case. Even though I may come back tired (and with a cold, thanks to flying), I am energised from the culture, the music, the food and, most of all, the people. This trip was no different from others.

Sunday the 18th, the bishop of El Salvador and I concelebrated at a congregation who was celebrating its patronal feast day of Saint Joseph. The following Sunday, I presided at the Eucharist in the small chapel in the diocesan office building. It was so restorative to be able to be a priest again in community after this long desert time.

I led a day-long Lenten retreat for the clergy and a half-day conference on Holy Week for the laity, participated in an interfaith event to commemorate Msr Oscar Romero, walked in the candlelight procession down Avenida Roosevelt from Salvador del Mundo to El Rosario (since Catedral has been occupied since 10 January with no sign of the occupiers leaving) and visited and met with my Salvadoran sisters and brothers.

One never knows whom one will meet... in this case, Gaspar Romero, Oscar Romero's brother, who spoke at an event sponsored by the Attorney General's Office on Human Rights.

Quid es tu?

In these desert days of not being a priest in community, I actually said out loud yesterday something about my being a lay woman. There is nothing inherently wrong in that; I have no intention of disparaging the faithful laity who have to endure clericalism in all its oppressive forms; after all, it is a different expression of saying that I am baptised like everyone else and baptism is the degré zéro from whence all ministry flows, but nonetheless, as one who was called to serve the people of God as a priest, it was an odd moment.

O Sacerdos, quid es tu?
Non est a te, quia e nihilo,
Non es ad te, quia mediator ad Deum,
Non es tibi, quia sponsus ecclesiæ,
Non es tui, quia servus omnium,
Non es tu, quia Dei minister,
Quid es ergo? Nihil et omnia,
O Sacerdos.

Symbols

This spring I was given a typical Salvadoran aumbry, handmade by someone who used to work for the Fernando Llort taller in La Palma and hand-painted by the diocesan treasurer of the Episcopal Anglican Church of El Salvador. The giver, someone who went to El Salvador with me in March intended for us to use it this coming winter when we moved worship into the parish hall. But it was not meant to be and so the aumbry came home to live for the time being on the downstairs front hall table.

Once I had moved out of the parish office, everything associated with me came home. The bottle of water from the River Jordan, the blessed oil from Church of the Holy Sepulchre, incense from right around the corner from the church, my communion kit with reserve sacrament, ashes for Ash Wednesday — all those outward signs of the mystery found in the sacraments needed a place to reside. The Salvadoran aumbry was just the spot and everything fit.

Last night I opened the door to the aumbry to look at these symbols. I wonder how long it will be before I will once again be anointing the sick, putting the oil of chrismation on the forehead of the newly baptised, adding River Jordan water to the water poured into the font, taking the Sacrament to the shut-in or ill, burning incense and using all these outward signs of what it means to be a priest in community, a relational priest.

A priest without a community is nothing. At least that is how I feel right now. I know I am a priest but I am wandering in the desert, a pilgrim moving from church to church to church but not having a place to call home right now. I am truly in between places, trying to be still to hear God's still, small voice.

So this aumbry takes on more meaning than before because not only does it serve as a reminder of a wonderful trip to El Salvador but it also is a reminder of priesthood and the hope that once again some day these oils and incense and water will not be tucked away but in an office and church to be used midst the community.

Useful advice for clergy leaving cures

From the Episcopal Diocese of New York


Relating After You Leave

Arrange for change of address and mail forwarding.

After your last day, do not return to the office to check for mail, e-mail, or phone messages.

In all cases, the responsibility belongs to clergy leaving to make clear that the pastoral relationship has ended.

Never be involved with the search process including giving names or offering opinions about candidates.

Avoid getting triangulated with members of the congregation and your successor.

Be clear that it is not appropriate for you to discuss any parish business after you leave.

Make plans to worship with another congregation.

In the absence of a rector or interim pastor, the wardens are canonically responsible for the worship, finance, property, and administration of the parish.

Remember, you have no official or canonical role in the parish you leave and your priestly, pastoral, and administrative functions end on the effective date of your retirement or resignation.

+++

Some think the separation is 'shunning' but it is necessary. Check out the related article over at the Lead.

Hands

Two totally different moments today...

Anointing two people for healing,
holding hands with eight other people
around the two who asked for prayers of healing,
looking at the wonderful weave of our hands
surrounding them,
holding them in prayer,
some hands touching them,
others connected through someone else's hands,
but all in all a tapestry of handful prayer.

Three hours later
alone in the sacristy
one of my last quiet times there,
taking the ashes of someone
who will be buried tomorrow
in the memorial garden,
gently pulling the bag out of the
cardboard box in which they arrived
at the church
so that I can put most of them
into the marble box that we
use for everyone
from which we pour the ashes
into the ground,
ashes to ashes,
dust to dust,
yet even at the grave we make our song,
Alleluia, Alleluia.

Healing.
Death.
Resurrection.

The quotidian life of a parish priest.

I am going to miss it
for this season
however long it is going to
be.

Winding down the clock

The office now looks like this.

And the exterior and interior landscapes look like this.

Pre exit interview, I burned some incense and lit candles for help. The burner will go with me; the candles can remain.

Tomorrow, the last 8.00 and 9.00 services.

Migratory furniture

The armchair came from my office and joins the Calvin Coolidge rocking chair A won in a raffle in 1998. Figure that we have a small fortune in cherry wood hand-made chairs that we won individually in raffles, costing us a total of $15. The second armchair will arrive later this week. Then I will just have my Princeton chair and Kennedy rocker to get out of the office (that's for the furniture).

Art made us the cherry wood Shaker table for our civil union eleven years ago. I was floored when he took us into the guest house at Mission Farm to show us the table that he had made. Art formerly worked for NASA on the shuttles.

All this is getting crammed into a house that is 19x19 feet. Very Salvadoran in size.

Meanwhile, I putter because in the eleven days remaining, I have:

two choir rehearsals
two Thursday morning HEs
two Sunday mornings (one with the usual track race of 8.00, 9.00 and 10.00 and one with only one service)
one last vestry meeting Thursday
exit interview Friday
meeting with the altar guild Saturday
transformational team vision summit next Thursday
wake in the chapel Friday next
funeral and interment Saturday next
saying goodbye to elders in the congregation
and whatever else might present itself

Thursday 17 November will be three years to the date that I moved out of the rectory in Northfield. It all has gone by so quickly.

Winding down into irrelevance

I was just given copies of the termination of my dental coverage policy, my health insurance policy, and contributions from the congregation to my pension. I don't even know what to say.

All I can think of is Genesis's 'Get 'Em Out By Friday' from their 1973 album, Foxtrot.

[Deleted the repeated photos... didn't remember having already put them up.]

One more chair and two boxes have left the office. Poco a poco.

Church life

This is for real in response to our sexton writing a state wildlife technician.

'Thank you for allowing me to investigate the bats you have in the Episcopal Church.'

I could stop here and leave this line standing by itself because it lends itself to all manner of absurdities. But here's the rest of the letter.

I confirmed that the guano is from Big Brown Bats. Though this species is not listed as endangered, all of Vermont's hibernating bat species have suffered great losses from white-nose syndrome so anything we can do to help them makes a big difference.

After speaking with other biologists, I can also confirm that it is not unusual to find dead bats after a particularly hot spell during a time when the young are just starting to fly for the first time. This seems consistent with what you are finding. As for the location that you are seeing these dead bats, it may be the area that they actually enter and exit the building. This could be confirmed by watching the eaves by the two walls you showed me at dusk (between 8.40 and 9PM these days) to see if bats come out. Based on what I saw today, I suspect you have a scattering of resident males living at the church, rather than a large concentrated colony of breeding females.

Thank you for your concern. I am pasting some links to exclusion techniques and bat house installation guidelines below. How does the church feel about having a few bats there?

Let me know if you have any questions and thanks again.....

Have at it.

The electronic tether

During CPE so many years ago, two decades ago mas or menos, I hated having the pager because it would beep, calling me to some emergency, usually someone dying or who had died... I never knew if it would go off; in fact, on my days of carrying it, the thing only went off once. Lo, these many years later, I probably would do better.

Nowadays there is a new sort of pager in a different context and it is called a smart phone... the old cell phone was not nearly as invasive, though it could be sometimes. The smart phone, however, can totally upset one's life no matter where one is (that is, if one is dumb enough to check email).

Yesterday, en route to the beach with my family on a two-day break to visit with my sister from the west and nephew from the big city, I happened to check my email to get a note related to work that was sufficiently problematic as to upset the emotional balance for the rest of the day. And, so, even though the day was glorious at the beach, and I enjoyed walking down the beach with my sister and nephew and then standing in the water (jellyfish so I did not swim), inside, I was totally off-kilter, worried and anxious. Said problem will not be resolved until next week at the earliest so I will continue to be in that state of flux.

And then there was talking to the canon to the ordinary as I drove down to my parents', and fielding frantic phone messages from parishioners in distress...

Lest anyone think that part-time priests don't earn their keep, let me remind them of the electronic tether.

Another burial

It's hard not to think of all the people I have buried since arriving at Trinity... fifteen last year, two this year thus far, eight to ten the year before. A generation of The Episcopal Church is dying literally before my eyes. Of these funerals, I have actually known the deceased in four or five cases. The rest are phone calls the office gets from one of the three funeral parlors in town. In these cases, the deceased are members of the communion of saints and what I call the alumni/alumnae society — those folks who twenty-thirty years ago had a connection with the church but since then have fallen away. No matter how much I entreat the survivors to come back and check up on them, they don't. I am beginning to wonder if I should hang out in the graveyard?

In any event, today's interment was in a beautiful graveyard on a beautiful day in May before the black flies have emerged (and they will be FIERCE this year for all the rain). The cemetery is on Rte 103 in Cuttingsville; it looks across the road to Hateful Mountain (dunno why it's called that). The maple tree leaves are just about to open fully so they are wonderfully effervescent. [These photos are pulled off the web because the winter 'house' that curators put over the statue and door to the mausoleum are still up.]

What distinguishes this graveyard from others is the mausoleum at its entrance. Local tanning magnate John Porter Bowman's daughter died in 1879, the following year his wife died and two years after that he built this mausoleum complete with his statue, a grieving husband and father bringing flowers to his daughter and wife. He then built his house (now a B&B) across the road so he would not have to go far. It is reminiscent of Victor Hugo's poem, Demain dès l'aube....

Demain, dès l'aube, à l'heure où blanchit la campagne,
Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends.
J'irai par la forêt, j'irai par la montagne.
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.

Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,
Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,
Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées,
Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.

Je ne regarderai ni l'or du soir qui tombe,
Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,
Et quand j'arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe
Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur.

Tomorrow, at dawn, in the hour when the countryside becomes white,
I will leave. You see, I know that you are waiting for me.
I will go by the forest, I will go by the mountain.
I cannot stay far from you any longer.

I will walk the eyes fixed on my thoughts,
Without seeing anything outside, nor hearing any noise,
Alone, unknown, the back curved, the hands crossed,
Sad, and the day for me will be like the night.

I will not look at the gold of the evening which falls,
Nor the faraway sails descending towards Harfleur.
And when I arrive, I will put on your tomb
A green bouquet of holly and flowering heather.

Good Friday

As I washed the bare altar tonight at the close of our Maundy Thursday liturgy, I thought of the 13th station in Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem. It's a large slab of marble and, as you can see, people are venerating it, placing religious articles on it (extra dollop of prayer) and praying. The photo does not really show all the votive holders strung above it. It was a madhouse the first time I saw it, perhaps because it was a Sunday. It commemorates the stone on which Jesus' body was washed after he was taken down from the cross of Golgatha (the rock on which it stood up some very narrow and steep stairs as the 12th and 13th stations, depending on whether you are of the Eastern or Western Church — such is the complicated nature of the church).

In any event, I thought of this slab as I poured wine on the horns of the altar and in the middle, letting the wine puddle on the inlaid crosses and then poured water on the wine puddles to let it all comingle before washing the altar clean and then kissing it before I leave, praying that it remain holy before we return to it.

There are moments when my heart breaks during the Maundy Thursday liturgy and this is one of them. I also am so hit by the words of institution on this night because I know that I cannot preside at the Eucharist again until the Great Vigil of Easter. We enter this barren landscape year after year. I would not have it any other way either.