I have gotten stuck working on a chapter of memories from my priesthood. I'm not sure why so I thought I'd write about it here and see if I can either understand my stuckness or move through it.
The chapter is about events from my first parish. St. James in Charleston WV is now merged with another parish, but when I was there it was a separate mission church. A 'mission' merely means that the congregation is not self-supporting. In a diocese like WV there is a much different way of doing business than in a diocese like CT where there are more self-supporting parishes than mission congregations.
When I was in WV, there were 80 churches--30 were self-supporting. The other 50 were 'missions', which meant the 30 helped support the 50! I hear people complain about the voluntary 'assessment' of the Dio. of CT of 12.5% of total income. In WV in the 1970's the 'apportionment' the Diocese required was between 25% and 30%. And no one complained. "We were all in it together". The self-supporting congregations saw the mission churches as extensions of their mission and ministry. We all hung together. The attitude of many of the wealthier churches in CT is that we should all hang separately!
Anyhow, St. James eventually, years after I left, reached a self-supporting status for a while. It could have done so much sooner except for what I considered an obvious, if not intentional, plan by the diocese to keep the Black church in it's place. The two pockets of black population were in a certain area of Charleston and in the town, some dozen miles away called Institute, where WV State College, a historically black college, was located. By the time I got there, WVSt. was integrated by, mostly, white commuter students. Many of the black students were residential and much of the staff and faculty was African American.
The original St. James was in the black community of Charleston, near other black churches and black owned businesses. The Institute community was more mobile and affluent and could get to church. So, about a decade or so before I came to be the Vicar, the diocese built St. James a new church building--not in downtown Charleston OR in Institute--but in North Charleston, a mostly industrial neighborhood that was almost totally white in population. It was as if the Diocese wanted to 'split the distance' between the two communities. In fact, what happened, was the church was located where neither community wanted it.
Conspiracy theorist that I am, I decided the Diocese didn't move the church to Institute or keep the old church down town to intentionally keep St. James from thriving. That's just me thinkin' outloud, but it seemed--and still seems--true to me.
Anyhow, I have this chapter called "Of Clarity and Justice" written. It's about 15 pages long, but as I try to put it in a final draft, I'm just stuck.
Perhaps it is that I don't trust myself to be objective. I loved that church and those people. It was the best possible place to begin my ministry. I was the third white priest, I think since black priests were rarer and more expensive! My family and I were so totally and completely welcomed into that community in ways that a black priest would have never been in a white church. Both my children were born in Charleston and started life in the St. James community. In fact, they were so accustomed to being around black people that when we moved to New Haven and lived in a yuppie neighborhood, my son saw a black lady on the Green and ran over to hug her....
And I was fortunate beyond measure to serve three integrated churches. St. James was integrated while I was there by mixed race couples and white folks who really wanted to be there. St Paul's in New Haven was integrated both racially and socially and St. John's in Waterbury was the most diverse parish, I believe, in the diocese--especially after the Spanish congregation was formed. The old saying was 'the most segregated hour of the week is at 10 a.m. on Sunday morning." That's never been true for me and I am both humbled by and proud of that fact.
Anyway, besides being afraid I won't be objective in writing about what happened between the Diocese and the congregation, I think it makes me look a little too good. Most of what I've written has had a degree of self-effacement that isn't as present in this chapter. What happened was, for the most part, extremely good and the real work of transformation was done by the folks at St. James, not by me.
Maybe I'll move on to the next chapter and come back. That might be a way to get loosened up about it. Thanks for listening. This has been helpful....
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Monday, January 3, 2011
Black Bird New Year
So, I heard that thousands, yes thousands, of red-wing black birds feel from the sky into a tiny town in Arkansas on New Year's Eve. Thousands of dead birds. Imagine if you went out in your back yard and red-wing black birds were piled up two or three deep. What a nightmare....
So, the autopsies of these birds revealed they died from internal bleeding, caused by what, at midnight on New Year's Eve in Arkansas?
THE DEATH OF MANY BIRDS
They were all roosting in trees, people said,
as darkness came.
Red winged black birds don't fly at night,
since their sight is limited
to daylight flying.
And at midnight, like the coming of the new year,
they fell in masses,
dead from trauma and bleeding inside themselves.
These birds who live in the summer
up where we live,
in the elbow of the country.
When I used to go to Block Island
on a regular basis
in the summer and early fall,
there would be
dozens and dozen of them--
red-winged black birds--
around a pond down by the ocean
on my way from St. Ann's church
to the town.
I'd hear them a quarter of a mile
before I saw them,
all around that pond,
a congregation of them,
singing.
And once I passed them,
walking to town,
I'd hear them for another
quarter of a mile before the sounds
of town drowned out their song.
And, I've been told, thousands of them
fell dead in Arkansas
on New Year's eve,
for no reason
yet discerned
by the state Veterinarian
(who knew Arkansas
had such an official office?
do they have a state Poet
or a state Chef
or a state Auto Mechanic
as well???)
"Perhaps," he said,
in an accent I recognize
though I grew up
a thousand miles from Arkansas.
It is all Appalachia, after all,
we all sounded like that
some time, and some of us
still do.
"Perhaps," he said,
that official animal doctor
of the state of Arkansas,
"they were startled from
their roosting and flew into
the trees."
It was all, he said, blunt trauma
injuries.
"So what could make them do that,"
the radio voice asked him,
(the radio voice wasn't Appalachian,
or Southern, or New England
or Mid-west--just the voice people
who talk on the radio have.
No accent to speak of.
Accents are disappearing, it seems to me,
and that is as sad
not 'more sad' surely,
than the death of thousands of blackbirds.)
He wasn't sure.
Perhaps the thunder storms that
raced through that part
of Arkansas on New Year's Eve.
Or even the sound of the fireworks
that are perfectly legal in Arkansas
and most places below
the Mason-Dixon line.
Imagine that:
our way of celebrating the birth
of 2011,
startled thousands
(thousands)
of precious, wondrous birds
who live with us most of the year,
and caused them to wake from sleep,
fly blindly,
and kill themselves on the trees
where they had roosted
for the night.
Imagine that.
How many I wonder,
will come back to Block Isand
next spring?
Happy New Year!
(Five times a thousand
blackbirds
were baked into a pie.
Until the fireworks
exploded
and caused them to fly....)
So, the autopsies of these birds revealed they died from internal bleeding, caused by what, at midnight on New Year's Eve in Arkansas?
THE DEATH OF MANY BIRDS
They were all roosting in trees, people said,
as darkness came.
Red winged black birds don't fly at night,
since their sight is limited
to daylight flying.
And at midnight, like the coming of the new year,
they fell in masses,
dead from trauma and bleeding inside themselves.
These birds who live in the summer
up where we live,
in the elbow of the country.
When I used to go to Block Island
on a regular basis
in the summer and early fall,
there would be
dozens and dozen of them--
red-winged black birds--
around a pond down by the ocean
on my way from St. Ann's church
to the town.
I'd hear them a quarter of a mile
before I saw them,
all around that pond,
a congregation of them,
singing.
And once I passed them,
walking to town,
I'd hear them for another
quarter of a mile before the sounds
of town drowned out their song.
And, I've been told, thousands of them
fell dead in Arkansas
on New Year's eve,
for no reason
yet discerned
by the state Veterinarian
(who knew Arkansas
had such an official office?
do they have a state Poet
or a state Chef
or a state Auto Mechanic
as well???)
"Perhaps," he said,
in an accent I recognize
though I grew up
a thousand miles from Arkansas.
It is all Appalachia, after all,
we all sounded like that
some time, and some of us
still do.
"Perhaps," he said,
that official animal doctor
of the state of Arkansas,
"they were startled from
their roosting and flew into
the trees."
It was all, he said, blunt trauma
injuries.
"So what could make them do that,"
the radio voice asked him,
(the radio voice wasn't Appalachian,
or Southern, or New England
or Mid-west--just the voice people
who talk on the radio have.
No accent to speak of.
Accents are disappearing, it seems to me,
and that is as sad
not 'more sad' surely,
than the death of thousands of blackbirds.)
He wasn't sure.
Perhaps the thunder storms that
raced through that part
of Arkansas on New Year's Eve.
Or even the sound of the fireworks
that are perfectly legal in Arkansas
and most places below
the Mason-Dixon line.
Imagine that:
our way of celebrating the birth
of 2011,
startled thousands
(thousands)
of precious, wondrous birds
who live with us most of the year,
and caused them to wake from sleep,
fly blindly,
and kill themselves on the trees
where they had roosted
for the night.
Imagine that.
How many I wonder,
will come back to Block Isand
next spring?
Happy New Year!
(Five times a thousand
blackbirds
were baked into a pie.
Until the fireworks
exploded
and caused them to fly....)
Friday, December 31, 2010
8 minutes before midnight
It is almost 2011. Bern and I didn't go anywhere. We hate going anywhere on New Year's Eve.
There's so much to say about a new year--possibilities, promises, resolutions, all that.
But I noticed a piece of paper Bern had put on her little computer space. It was about a lost dog.
LOST DOG! (it said) REWARD
on it went:
SADIE, a blond, 40 pound Lab mix, escaped from...
on and on it went. Bern took this down from somewhere because the picture of the dog was so similar to our dog Sadie, BB before Bela, who was a Lab mix--Lab and cockier spaniel, go figure and ponder that--who we loved, loved, so profoundly loved. And our Sadie was dead and some other person's Sadie was missing. Painful it was, but she kept it.
So the new year will begin and there will be lost dogs.
Maybe that is how we should approach this new year--knowing there will be 'lost dogs', lost love, lost loved ones, lost stuff, lost and not forgotten, lost and forgotten, lost things.....Like the sheep and the coin and the son from the Gospels, like that.
2011, like any other year, will be a year of loss.
Loss is, it seems to me, a part of life and reality and 'what IS'.
So celebrate and rejoice.
And ponder what last year's losses were. And what this new year's losses might be.
it's now 12:05, my computer tells me.
Happy New Year to you all. It is now 1-1-11. What a remarkable moment.
Watch out for lost things in 2011.
There's so much to say about a new year--possibilities, promises, resolutions, all that.
But I noticed a piece of paper Bern had put on her little computer space. It was about a lost dog.
LOST DOG! (it said) REWARD
on it went:
SADIE, a blond, 40 pound Lab mix, escaped from...
on and on it went. Bern took this down from somewhere because the picture of the dog was so similar to our dog Sadie, BB before Bela, who was a Lab mix--Lab and cockier spaniel, go figure and ponder that--who we loved, loved, so profoundly loved. And our Sadie was dead and some other person's Sadie was missing. Painful it was, but she kept it.
So the new year will begin and there will be lost dogs.
Maybe that is how we should approach this new year--knowing there will be 'lost dogs', lost love, lost loved ones, lost stuff, lost and not forgotten, lost and forgotten, lost things.....Like the sheep and the coin and the son from the Gospels, like that.
2011, like any other year, will be a year of loss.
Loss is, it seems to me, a part of life and reality and 'what IS'.
So celebrate and rejoice.
And ponder what last year's losses were. And what this new year's losses might be.
it's now 12:05, my computer tells me.
Happy New Year to you all. It is now 1-1-11. What a remarkable moment.
Watch out for lost things in 2011.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
The $9 two dollar bill
I just saw an ad on TV, during the UConn Women/Stanford game--Go Stanford!...except I wanted WVU's women to end the streak in Feb....
Oh, well.
Anyhow, you can, for a short time, get a $2 bill for only $9 if you call right away. The regular price is $30 for a 2$ bill, so, what a deal....
Bern has a theory that I can't fault--we are being sold stuff we either already have or don't want.
And we keep buying.
and buying...
and buying...
Well, maybe we'll restart the economy and lower the national debt by buying $2 bills for $9, plus shipping and handling.
Who knows? Something to ponder....
Oh, well.
Anyhow, you can, for a short time, get a $2 bill for only $9 if you call right away. The regular price is $30 for a 2$ bill, so, what a deal....
Bern has a theory that I can't fault--we are being sold stuff we either already have or don't want.
And we keep buying.
and buying...
and buying...
Well, maybe we'll restart the economy and lower the national debt by buying $2 bills for $9, plus shipping and handling.
Who knows? Something to ponder....
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
5th day of Christmas
The Christmas Cards I've used for several years are from Michael Podesta in Carrolton, VA.
They say the following:
"If, as Herod, we fill our lives with things and again with things. if we consider ourselves so unimportant that we must fill every moment of our lives with action. When will we have time to make the long, slow journey across the desert as did the Magi? Or sit and watch the stars as did the shepherds? Or brood over the coming of the child as did Mary? For each one of us there is a desert to travel, a star to discover, and a being within ourselves to bring to life."
Instead of Five Gold Rings, I give you that to ponder on this 5th day of Christmas.
Happy Christmas--5 of 12 days in.....
They say the following:
"If, as Herod, we fill our lives with things and again with things. if we consider ourselves so unimportant that we must fill every moment of our lives with action. When will we have time to make the long, slow journey across the desert as did the Magi? Or sit and watch the stars as did the shepherds? Or brood over the coming of the child as did Mary? For each one of us there is a desert to travel, a star to discover, and a being within ourselves to bring to life."
Instead of Five Gold Rings, I give you that to ponder on this 5th day of Christmas.
Happy Christmas--5 of 12 days in.....
five golden rings
It's the fifth day of Christmas--happy 5th Day of Christmas.
I've been taking a few days off from writing anything--including the Castor Oil Tree.
I'm at a hard point in my writing about my priesthood. It's a chapter about some very nasty things that happened at St. James in Charleston WV. I just don't want it to be too judgmental. So, it is slow going.
On the Canal today a guy stopped me because I had on my West Virginia University jacket. A guy from the Soup Kitchen gave it to me because he knew I went there. He told me he bought it at the Mall. I'm sure he stole it somewhere. But it is very warm, so I wear it walking the dog on the Canal.
The guy saw my jacket and asked if I was from WV. Well, of course I am. Wearing that jacket makes that clear, I think. (You may not know it, but advertising that you're from WV isn't easy--just like it took me 30 years to admit how much I like country music....)
The guy told me about his grandson (8), who is quite an athlete and his granddaughter (11) who is musically talented. The boy's parents want to keep him from playing football, though he wants to. The guy said, "I told him, wouldn't it be great if the first day you played 2nd base for the Red Sox, your sister sang the National Anthem?"
"No," his grandson said, "what I imagine is when the New England Patriots choose, in the first round, Jake, the running back from West Virginia University."
He told me Jake liked the Mountaineers' uniforms. I had to admit I'm a long time Chicago Bears fan because I love their home uniforms--black helmets and jerseys and white pants with orange and white numbers.
So, what do you know. WVU may have a running back in 10 years or so from Cheshire. I'd like that.
I've been taking a few days off from writing anything--including the Castor Oil Tree.
I'm at a hard point in my writing about my priesthood. It's a chapter about some very nasty things that happened at St. James in Charleston WV. I just don't want it to be too judgmental. So, it is slow going.
On the Canal today a guy stopped me because I had on my West Virginia University jacket. A guy from the Soup Kitchen gave it to me because he knew I went there. He told me he bought it at the Mall. I'm sure he stole it somewhere. But it is very warm, so I wear it walking the dog on the Canal.
The guy saw my jacket and asked if I was from WV. Well, of course I am. Wearing that jacket makes that clear, I think. (You may not know it, but advertising that you're from WV isn't easy--just like it took me 30 years to admit how much I like country music....)
The guy told me about his grandson (8), who is quite an athlete and his granddaughter (11) who is musically talented. The boy's parents want to keep him from playing football, though he wants to. The guy said, "I told him, wouldn't it be great if the first day you played 2nd base for the Red Sox, your sister sang the National Anthem?"
"No," his grandson said, "what I imagine is when the New England Patriots choose, in the first round, Jake, the running back from West Virginia University."
He told me Jake liked the Mountaineers' uniforms. I had to admit I'm a long time Chicago Bears fan because I love their home uniforms--black helmets and jerseys and white pants with orange and white numbers.
So, what do you know. WVU may have a running back in 10 years or so from Cheshire. I'd like that.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Christmas memories
Since I don't have any Christmas Eve services this year--which feels odd--I've been sitting around, looking at the tree and remembering.
Two things my mother always did:
She would buy small, impersonal gifts--salt and pepper shakers (a big deal in my family, several people collected them), towels, a box of candy, stuff like that--and wrap them with a blank name tag (everyone used name tags then). If someone brought her a present she hadn't expected, she'd go into the bed room and write their name on one of the tags.
She would try to save the Christmas wrapping paper for next year. That was maddening to a child, having to unwrap carefully, but she was way ahead of the recycling awareness of today.
Have a great Christmas.
Two things my mother always did:
She would buy small, impersonal gifts--salt and pepper shakers (a big deal in my family, several people collected them), towels, a box of candy, stuff like that--and wrap them with a blank name tag (everyone used name tags then). If someone brought her a present she hadn't expected, she'd go into the bed room and write their name on one of the tags.
She would try to save the Christmas wrapping paper for next year. That was maddening to a child, having to unwrap carefully, but she was way ahead of the recycling awareness of today.
Have a great Christmas.
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