Senioritis

Among the announcements at Dean's Mass on Tuesday:
"There will be a class meeting tomorrow for all those with 248 days left until graduation."

For Ruth, we were asked to list hallmarks of Anglican worship.
"Use of a BCP"
"Paschal Mystery"
"Juxtaposition"

In Dr. Wondra's class, we were asked to introduce ourselves: to give our name, diocese, and canonical status.
"My name is Jane, and I'm a Candidate from the Diocese of Northern Indiana."
"My name is Aune, and I'm a Postulant from the Diocese of Olympia."
"My name is Richard, and I'm in the Witness Protection Program."

St. Swithun

For years, I've heard this as a rather odd-sounding title. When someone wants to make reference to a general, generic church-- as an example in conversation, or to avoid using a familiar local parish, etc.-- St. Swithun is often the appelation of choice. Sometimes, it's augmented: "St. Swithun's in the Swamp."

I'd always figured that it was simply a name that someone made up, as a change to protect the innocent. I rather like it, actually; it sounds kind of silly, to my 20th century ears, and it's fun to say.

Yesterday, I found out that he was real. I was reading one of my "England in the Age of Reform" texts, and came across a reference to St. Swithun. Who knew? So I looked him up, and learned that he was a bishop who lived in the 9th century, recognized as the patron saint of draught relief. Apparently he was popular enough that a lot of ancient British churches were named for him-- hence, I assume, his use as a generic.

Not a learning of major consequence, I suppose; but I'm strangely entertained by it.

Yes, I'm easily amused.

And so it begins...

My senior year begins today. Actually, the fall term at Seabury started yesterday, but I don't have Monday classes this term.

So, I finished moving "onto the block" last night. Brought up bed linens and suchlike, and got the dorm room situated for the duration.

Tuesdays are going to be busy, busy days. All four of my classes meet today, so I'll be in class pretty much from 9:00 this morning, until 9:30 tonight. Breathing will be optional on Tuesdays.

I'll call home in a bit, to check on the family. You know, that's the one thing-- being away from Bruce and the kids-- that I will never, ever get used to.

Okay, off to take a shower, and get ready. Onward!

Ding, dong, the wedding bells are ringing...

This was certainly a weekend for it. We were down in southern Indiana for sister-in-law Billie's wedding. The youngest of Bruce's siblings (once upon a time our flower girl!), she was the only one not married-- until yesterday, when she took David's hand and made an honest man of him. They are good for one another, and we were all blessed to share in the celebration. That brings the immediate family on that side-- Mom, 8 kids, 8 spouses, 16 grandchildren-- to a total of 33 people. And we were all there; a gathering of the clan, indeed!

The wedding was in the groom's parent's back yard, and we had perfect weather for it; then an evening reception at a local country club, where we talked, and laughed, and danced...

Even Kyle got into the exuberance of the evening in a big way: first making an amazing leap to snag the bride's garter, and then dancing! Yes, you hear right-- the young introvert was out in front of everyone. Sedately at first with various relatives (including his mom!), but later, he was jammin' with his cousins so that he tore a brand-new pair of pants beyond repair. Yes, a good time was had by all.

Of course, not being able to be in two places at once (just where is that $#@! transporter when you need it?!), I had to forego Tripp and Trish's Virginia nuptuals. All reports indicate that the day was lovely, and the pictures (thanks, Mark!) certainly show the bride and groom were, as well. Sorry I missed it, dear ones, though my thoughts were with you often that day-- wishing all the best for you, forever and ever.

Registration

Classes start Monday at Seabury, so we officially signed up today. I have four classes on the docket:

1. England in the Age of Reform - Essentially, the way the Protestant Reformation worked its way out in England, and how that finally led to the break with the Church in Rome (Yes, it was more than Henry VIII's perfidy, really).

2. Anglican Worship - The history and theology which have formed the Book of Common Prayer, from 1549 to the present day.

3. Anglican Identity - a survey of the theological thinking (Hooker, Taylor, etc.) which has gone into the formation of our tradition, and what makes it distinctive.

4. Sex, Money and Real Estate: Canon Law and Church Polity - pretty self-descriptive here.

This is going to be a very good year.

Festival day!

Today is Bruce's birthday! Certainly a day worth celebrating; I've only been around for the last couple dozen, but I'm grateful for every one of them. It's a hectic day around here, though, so we're postponing our family festivities until tomorrow.

Still, if you would like to drop him a note, or in some way convey birthday wishes, today is the day to do so. Thanks!

Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 20C
Jeremiah 8:18-9:1
Psalm 79:1-9
1 Timothy 2:1-7
Luke 16:1-13

“That’s not fair!”

That's the phrase that I heard when I first read today's Gospel. I mean, what was Jesus thinking? First, he talks about rich man’s manager, who is apparently doing a lousy job. “Squandering the property,” the scripture says. So he’s told to bring out the books, because he’s out of a job. His response to this? To go through the accounts receivable, and doctor the books, in the hopes that maybe some of the rich man’s debtors will have pity on him when he’s unemployed. And for this, he is commended by the same guy who just fired him for his poor management! What is that about? That doesn’t sound like fair business practice to me, not at all.

Then, after telling this story, Jesus says two things that seem to directly contradict one another. V. 9 - “Make friends for yourself by dishonest wealth...” and then in v. 11 & 12 - “If you have not been faithful with dishonest riches... if you have not been faithful with what belongs to another, who will give you what is your own?" This sounds to me like a no-win situation. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

"That’s not fair!" Seems to me I’ve been hearing that a lot lately. And I’ve been saying it myself. There’s a lot about life that’s not fair.

It’s not fair that my friend’s brother should have been dealing with health problems so severe that the only medical answer is a multiple transplant-- essentially, someone must die for him to live. And it’s even more unfair that he was told this week that matching donor organs had indeed been found... only to have the doctors change their mind about their suitability at the last moment.

It’s not fair that my daughter’s assistant principal-- a big, burly teddy bear of a man, who apparently has a gift for connecting with the teens who fall through the cracks-- was given orders to report for training, along with the rest of his National Guard unit, prior to shipping out for Iraq. His last day at school was Friday.

It’s not fair that the same Guard unit includes my young friend David-- a spare, 24-year-old college student, whom I’ve known since he was a gawky 13, all arms and legs and unsure bravado. He’s in the process of getting his life on a solid track, maybe for the first time; and he’s being called away from that for God only knows how long.

It’s not fair that people who have no interest in children, nor any inclination to care for them, get pregnant every day; while others who would be fine parents, and who are desperate to conceive, cannot do so.

It’s not fair that I have people dear to me getting married on the same day, several hundred miles apart, so that I have to choose between them!

I could keep going here; and I’m sure you could add to the list; but the point remains. So much that happens in our lives seems to make no sense. It doesn’t come close to following the way we would like to see things arranged.

You know, we joke about this at home. Whenever I see some situation that seems to me to be patently misarranged, or badly handled, or just plain wrong; whenever I hear of someone being clueless and ignorant, messing things up for the rest of us, it’s easy to pontificate: “Well, if I were queen of the universe...” This is followed, of course with some solution, or behavior modification, that would obviously Make The World a Better Place.

Trouble is, I have found more than once that when I start making unilateral statements like that, I have been caught up short by someone who able to point out how my brilliant solution is shortsighted, and would likely do more harm than good, because I don’t have all the information. I’m not really arrogant enough to believe I have all the answers; but sometimes I am firmly reminded that I don’t even know as much as I thought I did.

Take today’s gospel, for example. I learned today, what the original hearers of the story would likely already have known: that a property manager for a wealthy landowner in Jesus' time was not paid much of a salary, if any at all. Instead, he worked on commission, tacking his charges onto the debts owed to his master. So when he calls the debtors in and starts reducing their bills, it’s not his employer that he’s shortchanging; he’s simply eliminating his own profit margin, opting to build goodwill at this point, rather than to inflate his bank account. He’s sacrificing tangible assets now, in order to improve his situation later. And his actions, though not entirely logical by worldly standards of wealth and acquisition, end up benefiting both the manager and those whose lives he touches. In light of this, Jesus’ words about how we handle “dishonest wealth,” and where we place our loyalties, make much more sense. Using the gifts of the world for godly purposes, other than our own self-gratification, is indeed walking in the footprints of Christ.

Okay, so now I understand the story better; and the lesson here doesn’t seem so unfair. But there are still all those other examples. And I don’t have an explanation for those, not at all. I find myself in Jeremiah’s shoes, crying...

“Hark, the cry of my poor people from far and wide in the land: 'Is the LORD not in Zion? Is her King not in her?'" When and how will God answer prayers for healing, for conception, for life and health and wholeness?

"The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved." How much longer will we be in the Middle East, and how many more men and women-- American and Iraqi-- will be in harm’s way over there, before the work is done, and we can see a peace that most people long for?

I won't even try to pretend that I have answers for these. But I do know that, at the same time as we struggle with questions like these, we can take comfort in one thing: God understands unfairness, and injustice. Think about this: Jesus suffered, and died a bloody, pain-filled death, as a result of incredibly unfair human injustice. He hadn’t done anything to deserve that kind of treatment, not by half.

And the response? Oh, that’s the ultimate in unfairness. God was unfair enough, unreasonable enough, to reward us for this... with the gifts of forgiveness, and salvation, and eternal life.

As Dag Hammarskjöld, former secretary-general of the United Nations, once observed:

“The Cross is that place at the centre of the world's history… where all men and all nations without exception stand revealed as enemies of God… and yet where all stand revealed as beloved of God, precious in God's sight.”

No, not fair at all. Thanks be to God.

Decisions worth celebrating

This afternoon, some friends stood before God and a community gathered, and pledged themselves to one another. Charlie and Christina, all the best as you begin your life together this day.

And then, Rev. Ref. reports that his COM and Standing Committee have given their final official nods of recognition to what we've been seeing all along: he's been given the green light for his priestification in December. Blessings and alleluias, my beloved brother; it couldn't happen to a nicer guy.

Not exactly predator...

My son is now a Barracuda.

He has garnered this title by signing up for the local swim club. A swim club, I have been learning, is not the same thing as a swim team. Oh, there were tryouts-- but they were simply designed to gauge a minimum level of ability. Any child who could swim a length of the pool (25 yards) without stopping, could join. And they have competitions-- but meets are entirely optional; you may sign up for them or not, at your preference. And they have regularly scheduled practices 4-5 days a week-- but they are not mandatory. You pay a set amount at the beginning of each "season," (about 6 months), and then it's up to you whether you use it or not. Most folks apparently go 2-3 days each week. They have coaches-- but their job is to teach form first, and then distance and speed. Kyle's skill group will be working on the four basic strokes. Only when one reaches a given level of proficiency does one move up to the next level.

This setup will suit us well. Dad likes the schedule: the flexibility with practices will allow us to get Kyle there regularly, while still working around jobs and school. Mom is happy about the sport having a low possibility for injury, and encouraging an interest he can enjoy for the rest of his life. That, and we don't have to buy a whole gob of new equipment for him to get started. Only a swimsuit and towel, and he already has those. And Kyle is thrilled about the prospect of time in the water, and the structure suits both his cautious and his competitive nature. He will be able to compete, without being pushed before he feels ready.

I think this will be a good thing.

...and not exactly prey.

Meanwhile, our eldest had a close encounter at her high school this week. While she was standing in the hall, chatting with some friends between classes, a boy came up behind her. She had not ever met him before-- entirely possible, as hers is a very large school. For whatever reason, this young man apparently decided that this was not his day to be a gentleman. He reached over on his way by, and grabbed her backside.

I should probably say here that my daughter is not a formidable figure. Quite frankly, she's tiny: standing up very straight, she's still only a little over 5 feet tall. So maybe this kid assumed that small meant more easily victimized.

However, someone forgot to tell her that part. Her reaction was to whirl around before he had time to think, and crack him good. A solid, open-handed slap, right across the face. And a stern injunction: "Not public property! MINE!"

Now, this could have escalated to be a big problem. Because they were right in front of the door to her classroom, and her teacher happened to look up just as she swung around. And in this day and age of "zero tolerance," striking another student, for any reason whatsoever, is grounds for suspension.

Fortunately, CJ had two things going for her: other students in the hall who were witness to the initial grab; and a teacher who did not feel bound to enforce the letter of the law.

You know, parenting is many things. But it is never, ever dull.

Organizational frenzy

I've spent a fair amount of time helping folks to pack, move and unpack this summer. People moving off the block, and others moving in, have collectively sorted, and/or boxed up and labeled, and/or given away, and/or carted to the trash, an amazing amount of stuff. After each of these exercises, I've come home to my own abode, and looked around, and considered having to go through that here. A terrifying prospect, indeed. In a word... EW.

And so, I've become a woman on a mission: CLEAN IT OUT. A few weeks ago I started at one end of the house, and began the process of working my way to the other. One by one, we're going through every room in the house. No box, or drawer, or closet is escaping this time.

My current mantra, given me by one of my Bible Study women this summer: "If you don't love it, or use it, get rid of it." This has been enormously helpful. Oh, it's not a total failsafe; but it does help to eliminate some of my most insidious pitfalls:

"It might be useful someday." Then find someone who can use it, now.

"It's too nice to throw out." Then give it away. If not to someone we know, then Amvets, salvation Army, or the parish Rummage Sale are eager candidates.

At this point, we're a bit less than halfway there; and boy, does it feel good.

My other project: I'm following Susie's excellent example, and beginning to put my books and files in order for the GOE's. Sorting them as I box them up for school will not only make unpacking easier, but is a good reminder of what all is there-- sort of a quickie refresher.

(Unsolicited endorsement: Booxter is a highly nifty little program for cataloguing one's library. It's cheap ($15, if you like it after trying it; you can use it for the first 30 books for free); does a lot of the work, fetching all kinds of info given only the ISBN number; and allows handy entry of personal preferences and data, that even turn into pulldown menus, so you don't have to type the same thing over and over... yes, I'm a believer.)

Milestones

Two birthdays yesterday: my sister Janice, with whom we'll celebrate Saturday; and Heather, who hosted a party in her new digs last night (belated chocolate presents graciously accepted!).

Today is an anniversary for Rev. Ref and his Lovely Wife. I believe this makes 15 14 years of wedded bliss. Hooray, and congrats!

And then Friday, of course, will be AKMA's birthday.

Please feel free to stop and offer salutations to these fine people; I'm grateful for every one of them.


P.S. To my surprise, the last entry marked my 400th post on this blog. Time flies when you're having fun!

Ephesians 5:22-33

The following came over my email this afternoon. Seems I have a namesake... and a soul sister. No, I have not tried this technique-- haven't needed it. Bruce is a good cook, and does as much of it as I do. There are, however, myriad applications for the general theory...

*********************

Jane had a system for labeling homemade freezer meals.

She would carefully note in large clear letters, "Meatloaf" or "Pot Roast" or "Steak and Vegetables" or "Chicken and Dumplings" or "Beef Pot Pie."

But when she asked her husband what he wanted for dinner, he never asked for any of those meals. So, she decided to stock the freezer with his various requests-- what he really likes.

In Jane's freezer now you'll see a whole new set of labels. You'll find dinners with neat little tags that say: "Whatever," "Anything," "I Don't Know," "I Don't Care," "Something Good," or "Food."

No more frustration for Jane; now, no matter what her husband replies when she asks him what he wants for dinner, it's there waiting.

Lessons learned

I've had to spend some time at our local clinic lately. Oh, don't worry; nothing earth-shaking, really. Just some necessary rechecks. Still, sitting in waiting rooms does give one time to think.

Caution: some of this is gender-specific. Sorry, gentlemen; I'll try to keep the gory details to a minimum.

1. Think about footwear. If all the nurse is going to let you keep on are your socks, then by all means-- wear socks.

2. Discussing intimate anatomical details becomes much easier after childbirth. There's something about having one's reproductive system the subject of constant attention for nine months, and then displayed in an enormous overhead mirror for the world to see during delivery, that pretty much punts a lot of squeamish modesty right out the window.

3. Sometimes that's not enough. There is, quite frankly, no pleasant way to discuss symptoms in the aforementioned arena.

4. People who invent medical procedures and equipment bear watching. On one hand, I am very grateful for the evaluation and diagnosis that is possible through modern examination and testing techniques. On the other hand, where do they get their ideas?

"Hey, let's try this!"

"Huh? You want to put that WHERE??"

With those kind of thought processes, I am not certain that these are folks I want around my children.


What about you? Any medical musings to share?

School days

Yesterday, my son brought home the first fundraiser sheets of the school year.


Cookie dough.

Ten different flavors.

In 3-pound tubs.

Ooh, baby...


Oh, sure, it's pricier than the homemade variety, being a fundraiser and all; but it really is good stuff.

Here's a disorienting thing: at the same time I look over these order sheets, I've been listening to the radio reports about another school. Children in Russia who came for their first day last week, and will never leave. Babies, with gap-toothed smiles and skinned knees... used as disposable cannon fodder by armed militants. Caught in the crossfire. The lucky ones carried naked and bleeding from the scene...

All this, while deciding how much cookie dough we can afford to buy.

I generally hug my kids when they get home. Today, when I stop crying, I think I'll do it twice.