Bettie Bookish

Where's the Rev. Geraldine Granger when you need her?

This is why I love the Innernets. After I posted about the rector retiring from the Little Church That Could, one peripatetic polar bear commented:

Well, the way these things go,you're most likely to hire a 'freshoutofseminaryIcansavetheworldandthechurchtoo' rector who will be shiny and new and get all sorts of new members for the church while solving mysteries in her spare time with the hotter than hot local police officer who is unhappily married. No, wait. That's a mystery series I read--but it's set in your part of the country--does that count?

Yes. Yes it does count. Although I'm sort of hoping for the Vicar of Dibley, who seemed to have a congregation of about 7, and never seemed to have to worry about fund-raising initiatives or growing her church.

Seriously though, your scenario sounds about right, because only an idealistic, energetic, foolhardy new priest would take on two congregations whose average age is Dead in a region of the state where the population is steadily declining. There literally is no membership development to be done, short of recruiting new residents to the area or convincing people within 50 miles that the church offers something they just won't find anywhere else - something they want so badly that they'll wake up early on Sunday mornings and travel for it.

And while I love zeal as much as the next person, I'm not sure that a church full of people who make a serious weekly pilgrimage is the right place for me. I like my Episcopalians a little calmer.

And yet, there is always a part of me that is all Big Ideas. I start to wonder how a growth campaign might be possible. I start to think about fundraising. I forget that I already have too much to do.

Happy Valen Times 2008

Happiness to all of you. May you all be positively swarmed with love and affection. I know I am.

This morning, my HSH gave me a box of Lindt truffles. We looked at the nutritional information (stupidstupidstupid) and declared that - since we are both attempting to lose some weight - the most prudent thing for us to do is to share a single truffle per day.

Of course, on Sunday, if I choose to toast the Little Easter again, all bets are off. ARE YOU THERE, GOD? IT'S ME, CHUNKY.

In answer to Rev. Dr. Mom's questions/comments:
We're in the Diocese of Albany, NY. Not exactly a bastion of Northeastern Liberal Anglicanism.

I would actually love some tips for researching churches and/or rectors.

As for The Little Church that Could, they actually do have a little basket of toys in the back of the church and some books for keeping visiting grandchildren (or great-grandchildren) quiet. And everyone is always very supportive of the girls' presence, telling them how good they were during the service.

Our little church in Florida had very few kids and no programming for kids, and that was fine for Bee because she was so little. And for Posey, I would be happy to stay at the little church and just accept that I can't sit through service.

But Bee is very much at an age where I think it's becoming important for her to have a peer group at church. And that will only become more important as time goes on.

And ocme to think of it, I wouldn't mind having a peer group, myself.

I'll definitely take The Rev. Dr. Mom's advice about asking questions if we try out the new church.

The Little Church that Could

Not long after we moved to New York, we found a sweet little Episcopal church that has about 25-50 people in the pews every week. And that 50 is on Christmas and Easter.

We like the priest, and we like the people. But there are no other children. There is no child care during services. There is no way I can get through an entire service without having to walk out with one girl (because she's screaming for coffee-hour cookies) or the other girl (because she wants to go to the bathroom, which is in the parish house a full 3/4-block away).

We've tried the big village church, where there is child care. It's a very Blue Blazer type of place, and the rector seems very much to be the CEO of the church. The people are nice enough, although there is a certain sense of the church being the place where a the social elite gather on a certain day. The Sunday morning country club.

On Ash Wednesday, I attended services at another church, close to where I work, far from where we live. The rector seemed very down to earth and conversational in his sermon. The building is big and old, with obvious mid-Century renovations, a combination that always makes me think of my grandmother's house.

After the service, I asked if they had child care during the Sunday services, and he answered in an incredulous tone, as though I had asked, "Do Episcopalians drink?"

"Oh YES!" he said. "Of course we do."

And not only child care, but care that is individually tailored for different ages of children.

The only thing that gives me pause is that they offered little Lenten meditation books written by a writer who has a reputation for being a very conservative voice.

I know how churches work - maybe the booklet came free, or maybe there are members of the church who really appreciate that.

Still, it gives me pause.

We're going to visit on Sunday - assuming there are no blizzards. So we'll see.

I really would love to hear about other people's experiences in this arena.

Forgiveness

This morning on NPR, there was an installment of Story Corps, in which a man related this story of his adult daughter's murder and what he and his wife experienced in the aftermath of that. It was an incredibly powerful illustration of the capacity of the human heart to forgive, and the enormous relief that is found in forgiveness.

Black says he couldn't sleep that night "because I really felt as though a tremendous weight had been lifted from me ... and that I had forgiven him."

Imagine being unable to sleep because a weight had been lifted. What a beautiful insomnia that must be - not wanting to miss a moment of that peace by sleeping through it.

MyBloPoLe

This season, while I am remembering that I am dust, my plan is to post every day.

This season is always very sacred to me because it was on the afternoon of Shrove Tuesday four years ago that I first learned my pelvis was cradling a grapefruit-sized mass. You guys all know what happened.

In addition to a daily, morning meditation and a daily blog post, I will observe the season by fasting from alcohol.

Stop laughing - I can SO do it. Watch me.

All associates

All associates are currently assisting other customers. Your call is important to us. Please continue to hold and your call will be answered in the order it was received.

This has gone on for, oh, about 45 minutes now as I have waited to speak to someone at my bank. Apparently home equity lines of credit are HUGE just after Christmas. I suppose that's not surprising.

The holidays were just fabulous here.

Christmas Eve found me serving chalice at our church, where roughly 75 percent of the regular parishioners fled the city for Yuletide. This left our very sweet, very dottering supply priest and me (also dottering, though less sweet) to do midnight service as a two-person show.

Little secret: I don't know how to acolyte - which is a big requirement if you're the only other person up there with the priest.

But Fr. Dotter is a quick thinker, so he quickly pulled someone from the congregation who has experience with liturgy. Unfortunately, that person was a gentleman with what seems to be some developmental challenges, which include voice immodulation disorder.

I AM WHISPERING.

He also has some personal frangrance challenges - so much so that half way through the service I started wondering whether the frangrance was actually coming from me, since it seemed to be filling the air around me. Then I realized it had filled the entire sanctuary, rising like incense and prayers through the rafters up to God in heaven.

The comedy was truly worthy of a special holiday service.

Fr. Dotter and the Conscripted Acolyte - neither of them blessed with good hearing - stage whispered in loud (and since the priest was miked, amplified) voices throughout the liturgy.

"GIVE ME THE WATER."

"THE WAFERS?"

"NO, THE WATER. HANDLE SIDE FIRST."

"HANDLE WHAT?"

"HANDLE SIDE FIRST"

"WHAT PURSE?"

My husband told me afterward that the congregation could hear every word.

Fr. Dotter also cut short what had been planned as three communion hymns played by a guest musician on acoustic guitar. Halfway through the first song, Fr. Dotter abruptly launched into the post-communion prayer.

If he is found strangled with a guitar string, we all know where to look.

Now I must be off. My phone took matters into its own hands and disconnected itself from the neverending holding pattern.

Tomorrow - Christmas pictures!