Clergy Family Confidential

As I mentioned in a previous post, we’re having the kitchen redone at the rectory. Note to self: the next time you take a sabbatical, don’t simultaneously renovate the kitchen. Progress is being made, however, and we once again have full use of the washer and dryer. Hauling laundry to my mother-in-law’s house across town got old. Okay, I only did it once but that was enough.

Fortunately the tiny new sink in the mudroom has been installed because the only other one in the house — the upstairs bathroom — is now clogged. I’m waiting for the plumber to call me back. And, yes, I tried one of those drain clearing products yesterday to no avail. I even tried shoving a bent hanger down the drain to clear it. That was after I tried to plunge it with the toilet plunger — not effective. And please don’t tell Bryna about the plunger; I’ll deny it. No one ever accused me of being handy.

Why am I sharing my plumbing issues? Because it’s all scriptural of course. Haven’t you been paying attention in church recently? The gospel passage last week was Jesus and the woman at the well. This Sunday Jesus tells the blind man to wash in the pool of Siloam. Lots of water! Water, water everywhere and I can barely get a drop.

Fine, that’s a weak connection. But the good news about my sabbatical is that no one will be subjected to a sermon illustration that involves the plumbing at the rectory.

Amid the doldrums of mid-Lent, hope is on the horizon. Yes, there’s the “sure and certain hope” of the resurrection. We’re Christians; we get that. Easter will arrive and we’ll be bathed anew in the warm glow of new life.

But hope abounds on this day because the Baltimore Orioles play their first spring training game. Sure, they haven’t had a winning season in a decade. And, no, they haven’t won the World Series in 25 years. But like the Phoenix, this year they will rise from the ashes. Or maybe next year. Or eventually. I hope.

Being a devoted fan of a lousy baseball team builds character. Though at this point I think I’m way beyond my character quota. Of course I don’t have anything on Cubs fans — that’s a real cross to bear. I’m bearing more of a “cross-ette” (that’s French for ”little cross” — okay, I made that up but you get the point).

Nonetheless, it’s an exciting day and I think this really will be their year. Fortunately I’m not a gambling man.  

It turns out some companies are actually marketing a crown of thorns Lent Wreath for liturgical use. Check out priest and blogger Scott Gunn’s post on this http://www.sevenwholedays.org/2008/02/26/lent-wreaths/. He includes a picture of a Lent Wreath complete with pink candle. Are you kidding me? How dumb do they think we are? I’m sure they’ll tell us it’s a little-known tradition from the Middle Ages that’s being revived (for $36 plus shipping and handling).

Plus, I have enough trouble finding candles to fit our family’s Advent Wreath. It’s a small silver-plated thing — not your standard size. We got desperate a few years ago and I’m pretty sure we were the only family on our block with blue Menorah candles in our Advent Wreath.

Okay, folks, it’s time to take down those Christmas wreaths. I’ve been forgiving up to now. I realize Easter comes earlier than it has since 1913. But for God’s sake, it’s Lent. A brown, wilted wreath is not one of the traditional symbols of the season. Remove it now before you realize it’s Pentecost and it’s still on your front door. At that point you may as well just leave it up for next year.

Sorry to sound so grumpy on this subject. I went for a run around my neighborhood yesterday and it seemed like every other house still had a wreath up. I still haven’t hauled down the Christmas lights from the front porch so I’m not exactly Mr. Holier Than Thou. But the wreath came off the door after Epiphany. So I’m a little bit holier than thou.

The seasons of the church year tend to bleed together. At least out there in “the world.” Anyone who’s been inside a Hallmark store knows this. Fortunately, thanks to our respective altar guilds, our worship spaces are immune to this. You don’t find some of the crosses veiled for Lent or some of the hangings changed to purple — it’s whole hog or nothin’ (totus porkus). Unlike my house where the Christmas lights are still up (though not lit) but the wreath is down.

So, Merry Lent. Now get that hideous thing off your front door! 

Do you hear that huge sigh of relief? The kids are back to school after a week of Winter Vacation. Actually this was a good one. When the boys were younger Bryna and I would be all set to check ourselves into the local insane asylum by now. Or at least order some padding for our bedroom walls. There are only so many consecutive games of Candy Land you can play before you want to fling yourself off Gum Drop Mountain.

But now we’ve achieved a pretty good balance between interaction with the boys and independent play. By “independent play” I mean the Cartoon Network.

Since they’re only 20 months apart they have two modes: playing great together or killing each other. There’s no in-between. Yesterday they spent an hour sledding and playing some sort of snow game. When I peeked out the window it appeared to involve eating snow. After they came back in and had a snack they were back to teasing each other mercilessly. Paging Sponge Bob!

An odd thing about being on sabbatical is not knowing where you’ll be going to church come Sunday morning. Last night I basically took out the Yellow Pages to figure this out. Okay, I wasn’t so desperate that I consulted the phone book — I know the local Episcopal churches. But I did have to check the web page for service times. I settled on St. Barnabas in Irvington http://www.stbarnabaschurch.org/. Although I’ve passed the church a slew of times — it’s about 20 minutes away on a major thoroughfare — I’ve never had occasion to go inside. Charlie Colwell, the rector, is a very gentle and learned man. He’s the longest serving rector in the Diocese of New York having started at St. Barnabas in 1972; he recently announced his impending retirement.  

It was great to be back in an Episcopal church after a two-week hiatus. A good reminder that you can quite literally hunger for the sacrament when you go without it.

I snuck in for the 8 o’clock service alone since Bryna had to leave soon after to go into NYC. I couldn’t drag the boys out with me at that hour without waking up the neighborhood. But before taking them out to brunch we did a little cyber worship. I found an online Stations of the Cross appropriate for kids http://frpat.com/stations.htmand they took turns reading the stations (without crucifying one another). We concluded our devotions by clicking onto one of Matthew Moretz’s great youtube videos — the one on Baptism  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLBRujWQc6c. They got a kick out this! Especially Fr. Matthew’s touchdown sequence (you’ll just have to watch it). And 15 minutes later we were enjoying “Coffee Hour” at The Patio.

Big snow day yesterday — 9 inches. Ben and Zack felt ripped off since it’s vacation week. “This would have been a snow day!” they lamented. Too bad, now get outside and go sledding. We have a great hill on the rectory property which helps. And now that they’re a bit older they can actually go sledding without my help. In years past I served as the pack mule, hauling sleds back up the hill after each run. It was a good workout but quickly got old.

I did get outside for a snowball fight, however. As usual I was pelted from all sides, which felt like the reenactment of the stoning of Stephen, the church’s first martyr. Unlike the story of Stephen, the boys’ victory dance consisted of making snow angels.

To continue the theme of martyrdom, I built a fire when we came inside. We then burnt several marshmallows at the stake. One confessed its heresy but still emerged as a gooey ball of flaming chemicals.

Here’s a fun game to try with the kids: name the marshmallows before you thrust them into the flames. Joan of Arc, Thomas Cranmer, Hugh Latimer, Nicholas Ridley. For more names, check Foxe’s Book of Martyrs http://www.ccel.org/f/foxe/martyrs/home.html the 16th century classic. And remember, kids, don’t play with matches!

Tough news released by my alma mater today, Seabury-Western Theological Seminary, located in Evanston, Illinois. http://www.episcopal-life.org/79901_95159_ENG_HTM.htmEffective immediately, they will no longer be offering the three-year residential Master of Divinity program (the basic curriculum for training priests). While Seabury will continue in some form — they’re entering a period of discernment as to their future mission — no one will again have the same experiences that have formed, nurtured, and fed generations of future priests. 

The bells which rang thrice daily to mark the communal prayers (Morning Prayer, Eucharist, Evensong) will be silenced. Long-standing traditions like the Lavabo Bowl (the annual flag football game between Seabury and Nashota House), the Boars Head Feast, and Awards Night will end. Lively informal refectory conversations, which nurtured me at least as much as the academic life, will cease.

For many of us, Seabury-Western http://www.seabury.edu/index.phphas become an integral part of our priesthoods. At its best, no seminary better prepared priests for parish ministry. I have a picture of the chapel — literally the heart and soul of the place — in my office alongside a picture of my graduating class. My first son, Benedict, was born the summer before my last year. He spent his first year of life as a community baby — going with me to chapel, classes, and the refectory. He was baptized by the then-dean Jim Lemler in Seabury Lounge. I served as Student Body President and have long been a passionate advocate of this very special place.

So I’m grieving this decision even as it may have been the only feasible one. I trust it wasn’t easy for the Board and current dean. The role and mission of seminary education is changing. I understand that. But it still hurts.

You may have noticed a new blog on my Blogroll (want duck sauce with that?). Seven Whole Days http://www.sevenwholedays.org/ is the new blog from the mind of Scott Gunn — priest of the Diocese of Rhode Island and my colleague on the Board of Governors of Episcopal Life. Scott’s a self-avowed “technophile” — how many priests do you know with their own Facebook page? — and has a great take on the goings on in the Anglican Communion.

If you’re curious about the title of Scott’s blog, it comes from a George Herbert poem (the great 17th century Anglican priest and poet). It’s familiar to Episcopalians as a line from the hymn, King of Glory, King of Peace: “Seven whole days, not one in seven, will I praise thee.” http://www.oremus.org/hymnal/k/k008.html As Scott puts it, “I think it captures our purpose as Christians — to praise God without ceasing. The Christian life is not an exercise for Sundays, it is rather something in which we seek to immerse ourselves at all times, and in all places.”

I feel a special kinship to George Herbert since my own church, All Saints’ in Briarcliff Manor, New York was built (by the renowned architecht Richard Upjohn) as a replica of Herbert’s parish church in Bemerton, England. There’s a reason it looks and feels like an English country parish. You can read the history of All Saints’ here: http://www.allsaintsbriarcliff.org/id16.html

And make sure to check out Scott’s blog!

Before leaving Virginia yesterday, we toured the world famous Luray Caverns http://www.luraycaverns.com/ with my brother and his family. I consider any tourist site that has a slew of billboards announcing its impending arrival to be world famous. Like South of the Border http://www.pedroland.com/ in South Carolina.

While I will never remember the difference between a stalactite and a stalacmite, the whole thing was pretty stunning. For $60 for a family of four it had better have been. The caverns are the closest I’ve come to being in the underworld. At one point we were 200 feet below the earth’s surface and I kept wondering what would happen if the lights went out.

The oddest or kitschiest part, depending on your perspective, was the 37 “pipe” organ that some guy had created in the 1950’s using stalactites. The tour guide pressed a button and the organ actually played “A mighty fortress is our God.” Quite the surreal moment. Not a great video but you can get a sense of it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSbbgQZCfGI&NR=1“Toto, we’re not in the Tri-State Area anymore.”