Holy (Dumping) Ground

Here’s my latest article in The Hingham Journal. It’s all about the new love of my life: the town dump.

 

 

Holy (Dumping) Ground

Hingham is charming. If you weren’t aware of this, you’ve either never been to Hingham or you suffer from charm deficiency disorder. Enough people have shared with me the famous Eleanor Roosevelt quote about Hingham’s having “the most beautiful Main Street in America,” that I’m beginning to wonder if longtime residents have this tattooed somewhere on their bodies. Don’t ask, don’t tell.

I’ve certainly succumbed to the wiles of Hingham since moving here in August. What’s not to love about the quaint historic houses on Main Street, the stunning vistas of downtown Boston from World’s End, and Nona’s homemade ice cream? You needn’t have attended charm school to realize that Hingham has, if not a monopoly on, at least an abundance of charm. So why is my favorite place in all of Hingham the town dump?

I first started hauling things over there when we were breaking down boxes from the move. It was fantastic to move boxes out as quickly as we could open them. At least from Thursday through Sunday. I’ve lived in a lot of places but never in a town with a dump. I understand that it used to literally be a giant hole in the ground. You’d go up to the edge and toss your bags into the pit – and hope you didn’t lose a child in the process.

But I admit I was shocked when I first heard there was no regular garbage pickup in town. A week or so after the move, the garbage started piling up in the garage. No sign of the garbage men. Not even a hint of the more politically correct term “sanitation engineers.” Definitely no “garbologists” in sight. I casually, with only a slight degree of desperation, asked a neighbor about the next trash pickup day. And he laughed in my face.

And thus began my love affair with the Hingham town dump. Now, I realize it’s technically called the “Transfer Station.” But I prefer “dump.” It’s much more emotionally appealing; to dump something feels cleansing. To transfer something feels like online banking. Plus, I love telling Bryna I’m going to the town dump – much more manly than saying, “Honey, I’m off to transfer the trash.”

It would be great if there were an emotional dump adjacent to the town dump. A place where we could toss our emotional baggage; a place to dump that which separates us from the love of God in our lives. Perhaps it could be placed between the paper and plastic recycling areas. For Christians, this is what confession is all about – a safe place to dump our sins. In the Episcopal Church, a general confession spoken together by everyone is part of the Sunday morning liturgy. Individual confession is also available with the basic rule of thumb that “none must, all may, some should.” Whether that confession is made one-on-one with a member of the clergy or as part of a church service, the point is the same: dump your sins and receive absolution in the name of Jesus. Not a bad deal.

One more thing about the Hingham town dump. My boys have discovered the swap area. If this isn’t the epitome of New England thrifty I’m not sure what is. The good news is that Ben and Zack like to come help me out at the dump. The bad news is that we sometimes leave with more than we dumped. It’s actually been fruitful – two skateboards and a basketball hoop. But I’ve had to institute the you-can-only-take-something-if-you-dump-something rule. It hasn’t been particularly effective or well-enforced but it’s a start.

Now that I have my permanent dump sticker, I guess I’m an official Hinghamite. See you there.

“McRage” on the South Shore

There have been strange and disturbing doings at some nearby fast food restaurants. “McRage” erupted at a Quincy McDonald’s when an employee mistakenly gave a customer a small order of fries when he ordered a large. He then reportedly threw the change in the cashier’s face before hurling an orange cone from the recently mopped floor behind the counter.

Later this same week, a couple went off at a KFC in Norwell when they decided their order was taking too long. After a loud, profanity-laden encounter with the manager, they beat-up a man on line who requested they stop for the sake of the children in line.

This all gives new meaning to the ubiquitous “Want fries with that?” And it makes you pine for the days when the only crime in fast food restaurants was committed by the Hamburglar.

But of course it also makes you wonder what was really going on in the lives of the suspects involved. Desperation caused by job loss? Debt? Relationship issues? It’s a reminder that so much suppressed pain is lurking below the surface ready to boil over at seemingly inconsequential matters. That’s not to condone the behavior but an attempt to better understand where it comes from.

Most of us wouldn’t go nuts at a McDonald’s. But there are all sorts of unhealthy and sinful ways that these emotions get dealt with behind closed doors: addictions, abuse, adultery. These may not end up on the front page of the Patriot-Ledger but they are equally insidious ways of “dealing” with problems.

I will pray for the individuals involved in these two incidents of fast food rage. Just as I will pray for the unknown (to me) folks who are in the throes of emotional trauma and those who face the brunt of their behavior. It is only the risen Christ who can heal what ails us and bring peace to our souls. The one who bears our burdens is forever reaching out his hand, beckoning us to deeper relationship. Faith is not a quick fix but rather one that abides over a lifetime. In other words it’s the exact spiritual opposite of fast food.

Doggie Dating

St. Francis Day pet blessings will abound this Sunday. A note to priests: if you use holy water don’t say the wrong words and end up baptizing the neighborhood hounds. It’s a theological debate your bishop may not want to engage. A note to pet owners: although your dogs, cats, goats, whatever may appear at times to be possessed, please don’t ask your priest to perform an excorcism. We’re not allowed (without the bishop’s permission anyway).

In honor of the day, here’s the latest installment of my monthly In Good Faith column for the Hingham Journal. It’s also pasted in below. Enjoy.

Doggie Dating, a Family Affair

 By the Rev. Tim Schenck

My wife, Bryna, and I missed the whole online dating thing. When we were married in 1995, eharmony.com was not even a gleam in the Internet’s eye. I’m not complaining; I can’t imagine a picture of someone in a clerical collar gets many hits. But I do feel like I made up for it when we decided to adopt a dog four years ago.

When we finally caved in to our boys’ incessant lobbying for a dog we went where else? To the Internet. There were all sorts of pet adoption sites out there. So we narrowed our search to local shelters and rescue agencies and started “shopping.” Hundreds of pictures of all sorts of dogs came up along with accompanying descriptions. So you’d see an angry-looking pit bull with the comment “not good with young children” or a cute little beagle with the observation “mostly housebroken.” Never having experienced it, this is precisely how I imagine online dating works – pictures of people next to descriptions like “hates watching Monday Night Football” or “leaves the cap off the toothpaste.”

This process of online doggy dating quickly became a family affair. The four of us gathered intently around the computer quickly judging the dogs by their covers, or fur in this case. And when we saw the 1-year-old yellow lab/husky mix, we all knew this was the dog for us. After filling out an amazingly detailed application, we went to meet her and fell in love. She was gentle, sweet and starved for attention. We found out from her handler that she was saved from a kill shelter in South Carolina – literally a “dead dog walking” until Pet Rescue stepped in to live up to its name. And speaking of names, we chose Delilah. Or actually I did. Assuming I’d be the one outside yelling her name for the entire neighborhood to hear, I vetoed Zack’s suggestion of Chippy.

In early October many Christian churches honor the little-known St. Fido. Officially we celebrate St. Francis Day on Oct. 4, but in many parishes this is merely an excuse to bless pets. I’m not sure how St. Francis would feel about this, but he probably wouldn’t mind. His concern for all God’s creatures lends itself to the tradition. And it could be worse: at least his statues aren’t buried upside down to facilitate a house sale, ala St. Joseph.

Most pet blessings incorporate a wonderful blend of holy chaos – yelping dogs, skittish cats, hissing snakes. Precisely how I envision the hold on Noah’s ark, except with vestments. St. Francis Day pet blessings provide profound testimony to the value we place upon the animals with whom we share our homes. Pets can open our eyes to the divine qualities of love and compassion in the world. That’s really why we bless our pets in October. But you don’t need a pet to see that the human condition is full of surprising, loving encounters. We just need to open our eyes to the possibilities that surround us. There are lessons to be gleaned that transcend the superficial plane of our existence. They can be found everywhere – through our relationships (human, divine and canine) and in the seemingly routine events of our lives. If a cat or a dog or even a snake can point the way toward harmony among us, what better way to honor the legacy of St. Francis?

You may not be surprised to know that Delilah’s got me wrapped around her paw. She comes to the office with me, walks with the family down to Nona’s on a regular basis and is my faithful running partner. At St. John’s we’re holding a Blessing of the Animals on Sunday, Oct. 4, at 4 p.m., out on the church lawn. Come on by, bring your pet, and meet Delilah. She’ll be happy to give you a lick.

The Rev. Tim Schenck is Rector of the Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evangelist. Visit him on the Web at www.frtim.com where you can access his blog “Clergy Family Confidential.”

Talbots vs. The Episcopal Church

Living in Hingham, the home to Talbots, has made me consider a few of the similarities between the Episcopal Church and the venerable clothing store. Here goes:

1. Talbots is known colloquially as “The Red Door” since all their stores have them. The vast majority of Episcopal churches have red front doors — though not, interestingly, St. John’s in Hingham. I guess this town’s only big enough for one red door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2. Talbots Catalog. Almy Catalog. Models striking unnatural poses.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 3. The classic Talbots look was intended for the customer whom Women’s Wear Dailyonce called “the country club woman.” In another era the Episcopal Church was half-jokingly referred to as “the Republican party at prayer.”

4. Famous people, like Michelle Obama and her mother, wear Talbots clothing for magazine shoots. Sometimes famous Episcopalians end up on magazine covers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

5. Snazzy seasonal colors: reds, purples, greens, and whites.

 

 

 

 

 

 

5. Bloody Marys are often sipped by Episcopalians wearing Talbots. In a fit of irony, Queen Mary Tudor (aka “Bloody Mary”) often persecuted Anglicans. 

6. Founders Rudolph and Nancy Talbot were Episcopalians and attended St. John’s in Hingham.

Well, that’s a start. And probably also the end of this nonsense. Come visit us in Hinhgam and Bryna will be sure to give you a tour of the original Talbots. Or at least take you to the outlet store (one of only two in the whole country I understand). I’d love to join you but I’ll be, um, busy.

First Impressions

Here are a few impressions of my new hometown of Hingham, Massachusetts. Everyone knows it’s beautiful, quaint, “the prettiest town on the South Shore,” blah, blah, blah. So I won’t go into all that. It’s pretty obvious that Hingham is special. If you’ve never been here, come on down. You can join my mother-in-law for her monthly visits from New York. Yes, monthly. See you soon, Rosalie!

1. As I’ve run around town with my dog Delilah, I’m thankful for the many sidewalks. My knees are doubly thankful that they’re paved with asphalt rather than concrete slabs. Asphalt is more forgiving than concrete — which is the worst possible surface on which to run. Otherwise I’d be running in the street and this may well be a posthumous blog post as I would have been run over by one of your infamous Massachusetts drivers. (And this coming from a guy who learned to drive in Brooklyn! ) My only complaint, I mean observation, is that the poet Shel Silverstein of “Where the Sidewalk Ends” fame could have laid them out. They seem to end for no apparent reason which means playing Frogger (old video arcade reference) to continue my run.

2. I used to scoff at the guys who would wander around Manhattan with those “The End is Near” signs. I’ve got nothing against The Apocalypse, I simply didn’t believe them. But now that I’ve been to World’s End, the state park in Hingham, I guess they were right. The World’s End is near — about a three minute drive from my house. And with its stunning vistas of downtown Boston the end of the world as we know it is a lot more attractive than I thought it would be.

3. The Derby Shoppes. They do seem to have everything: from Panera to Barnes and Noble to The Gap. What’s amazing, besides the odd configuration of speed bumps (see Jeff Cutler’s “Heard in Hingham” blog), is the blaring classical music one encounters upon exiting your vehicle. As I walk through the parking lot I feel as if I’ve been transported to Red Square in Moscow during the height of the Cold War and they’re playing Russian fight songs over the loud speakers. The only difference is that instead of Red Army tanks and soldiers marching in formation, I see lines of SUVs and young mothers pushing jogging strollers into Crate & Barrel.

4. Evidently the town fathers (and/or mothers) do not believe in street signs. At least along cross streets. Half the time I drive around Hingham I have no idea where I am. Fortunately, this is precisely why God invented the GPS.

5. The town dump is the greatest place in all of Hingham. I can’t get enough of the place and, since I got my permanent dump sticker yesterday, I’ll see you there. But only Thursday through Sunday of course.

I’d love to hear your own impressions of the quirkiness of life around Hingham. We’re delighted to be here and it’s always fun to view a new (375-year-old) place with fresh eyes.