Monday, March 18, 2013

Holy Week Meditations 2

(Read the passage slowly, twice, waiting to see something you haven't seen before in these familiar texts. Ponder them for 5-10 minutes in silence, read the meditation and conclude with the Collect for the Day. Listen in the silence....)

MAUNDY THURSDAY John 12.1-35

The thing I've noticed over 30+ years of Maunday Thursdays is how awkward it is for us 21st century westerners to wash each others' feet.

Feet, in our culture, are very private things. I am, like most people, embarrassed by my feet--my little toe toenails are stunted and odd looking while my big toe toenails are gnarly and thick. I love to get a pedicure but seldom do because I'm humiliated by having Asian women massage my feet--though it feels so good!

I've tried, over the years, to institute foot washing as part of the Maundy Thursday liturgy and it has never been comfortable and moving. Socks and pantyhose don't help--but one thing I believe is this: it is easier to wash someone's feet than to have someone wash yours.

Which brings us to Simon Peter and his protestations that Jesus shouldn't wash his feet, even though washing of feet in those days was as much of common hospitality as hanging up a coat and offering a drink to guests is our day. However, in spite of Peter's objections, Jesus wins him over.

Why is it so hard for us to be 'served'? Is it out culture's 'self-reliant' obsession? Is it the embarrassment of being made to feel 'special'? Why is it so difficult for us to let someone wash our feet?

Maundy Thursday is a day to ponder our inflated pride and privacy. It is a time to ponder the relationship of our fierce 'individualism' to the invitations of 'community'. It is a time to wonder how vulnerable we are willing to be in order to receive service and love.

COLLECT: Almighty Father, whose dear son, on the night before he suffered, instituted the Sacrament of his Body and Blood: Mercifully grant that we may receive it thankfully in remembrance of Jesus Christ our Lord, who in these holy mysteries gives us a pledge of eternal life; and who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.


GOOD FRIDAY John 18.1-40--19.1-37

A long reading today. Today is a long day, unrelenting in its sadness. Haven't you ever wondered why we don't call it Bad Friday instead?

John's gospel is the best for the detail and the gore, the agony and the suffering and the touching moments (giving his mother to John to be his mother; naming the slave whose ear was lost to Peter's sword--Malcus; the care of the soldiers for Jesus' cloak, things like that.)

So, the Passion, in all it's glory and all it's misery is lived out today. Over the years, I have presided many times over the traditions 3 hour liturgy of Good Friday, beginning at noon and ending at 3 p.m. It is wrenching and cleansing. When we most nearly got it right, nearly 2 hours of the the 3 were in silence with on occasional readings and prayers and the receiving of the reserved sacrament in silence as well.

My predisposition toward silence become highlighted and enhanced this week of the year. There is an old saying: "Do not speak unless  your speaking can improve on the silence."

Good advice this day or any day. We fill our lives with so much noise that it is often difficult to hear the still, small voice of God over the chaos.

Keep silence this day: honor it, adore it, listen to it, ponder it.

COLLECT: Almighty God, we pray you graciously to behold this your family, for whom our Lord Jesus Christ was willing to be betrayed, and given into the hands of sinners, and to suffer death upon the cross; who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.


HOLY SATURDAY (EASTER EVE) Matthew 27.57-66

Sealing the tomb was a big deal. Jewish funeral practice involved going to anoint the body for two days before the tomb was sealed away. Part of that was honoring the dead but a big part was because medical science was practically non-existent and there were occasions when coma had been mistaken for death and there was a chance someone might 'wake up' who was thought to be dead. But in that climate of Palestine, by the third day, death was made obvious by the smell of decomposition and the tomb was sealed for good. (Remember the complaints of those Jesus asked to roll the stone from Lazareus' grave: in the wondrous King James Version it was, "Lord, he stinketh!"

The guards feared someone would steal his body and claim he was alive. So they sealed the tomb.

I sometimes ponder the things I haven't 'sealed the tomb' on in my life. There are resentments and anger and guilt and regrets that I have kept artifically alive long past their endings. I should have 'sealed the tomb' on those things and moved on with forgiveness and gratitude in my heart. But I haven't. I've kept the stink of those unreleased, unfinished emotions around for sometimes years, decades.

Ponder what emotions, thoughts, feelings, regrets and resentments you need to 'seal the tomb' on and move on, forgiven and refreshed and renewed. Ponder that on this day when we remember Jesus was dead and the tomb was sealed. Who knows how those painful things we seal in their tombs might be transformed on the Third Day....


COLLECT: O God, Creator of heaven and earth: Grant that, as the crucified body of your dear Son was laid in the tomb and rested on this holy Sabbath, so we may await with him the coming of the third day, and rise with him to newness of life; who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.


THE FEAST OF THE RESURRECTION (EASTER SUNDAY) Luke 24.13-49

The Emmaus Story is my favorite passage of all scripture! I love it not just as gospel truth but as a paradigm for life.

Often we flee from the pains of life and try to go to another place. Often, if we are open to possibility, it is a 'stranger' we meet on the road that will teach us and reveal truth to us. Often, hospitality to the stranger results in remarkable and wondrous insight into the burning in our hearts. Often, most often, we find that if we return to the place of suffering and pain, it is there we will be healed and made new.

On this day, I urge you to simply rejoice and be glad and party! And, as the darkness of Easter night closes in, ponder in your heart how insights come in strange ways, how returning to the place of pain brings healing, how hospitality and welcome is the gift most needed for us to give and receive.

And then say the collect and close by proclaiming once more: "Alleluia! Alleluia!! Christ is Risen! He is Risen indeed, Alleluia! Alleluia!"

Collect: O God, who for our redemption gave your only begotten Son to death of the cross, and by his glorious resurrection delivered us from the powers of our enemy: Grant us so to die daily to sin, that we may evermore live with him in the joy of his resurrection; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.



(Dear Friends, have a profound and wondrous Holy Week and Easter. Let this week be for cleansing and healing and new life. Feel free to share these reflections with friends and family and acquaintances. Share the journey of this week with others and 'let them see Jesus' in you love and compassion and gentleness and silence and hospitality. Shalom, jim)



Jim Bradley
padrejgb@aol.com

Holy Week Meditations

Thought I'd share the Holy Week Meditations I wrote for the Middlesex Area Cluster Ministry churches: St. James, Higganum; Emmanual, Killingworth; St. Andrew's, Northford.

(If you would like, read the gospel passage twice then ponder it for ten minutes or so, then read my meditation and close with the collect for the day. A good discipline for Holy Week. jim)


PALM SUNDAY Luke 19.28-40


Just before things go wrong, they sometimes go oh so good. Jesus is welcomed by the cheering crowds, throwing palm fronds and their clothing in his way as he enters Jerusalem on a donkey. A strange parade at best. But strangely moving and powerful. A humble prophet welcomed into the city that murders its prophets on a regular basis. They welcomed a King on a donkey who would, in short time, become a criminal executed and dead. When you're on top, there's a long way to fall.

Ponder the 'good times' of your life and the 'bad times'. Notice the chronology of it all and ponder that. When the 'highs' are really 'high', sometimes the 'lows' are really 'low'. So it goes. Know that it all holds meaning....

Jesus has 'come home' in triumph to die. The "Hosannas!!" the crowds cry out will morph into "Crucify him!" in less than a week.

Life has a way of treating all of us to ups and downs. It is a roller coaster ride of sorts. But for Jesus (and for us!) as bad as it's going to get, the best is yet to come....



COLLECT: Almighty and everlasting God, in your tender love for the human race you have sent your Son our Savior Jesus Christ to take upon him our nature, and the suffer death upon the cross, giving us the example of his great humility: Mercifully grant that we may walk in the way of his suffering, and also share in his resurrection; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.


HOLY MONDAY John 12.1-11

The English word 'anoint' derives from the Latin ungure--which means, 'to smear'.

The Greek word for 'anoint' is chrio and the noun Christos--'Christ' is English--means 'the anointed one'.

So, a few days before he dies, Jesus is 'anointed' by Mary for his burial.

And 'the poor' are always with us. Perhaps the most 'true' of all the sayings of Jesus is that: "the poor are always with us."

Spend today noticing what you eat and how full you are. When I say, "I'm hungry" there is no relationship between my hunger and the hunger of half the planet, including millions (mostly children) in this, the richest country in the world.

As Jesus is anointed for his burial by Mary, we need to remember those who will die from starvation or malnutrition on this day. Just hold those countless ones in your heart today. As we fill ourselves, we should always remember those who hunger and we should pray for them and pray that we may, day by day, hunger more and more for God.

COLLECT: Almighty God, whose most dear Son went up not to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen


HOLY TUESDAY John 12.20-36

Notice how difficult it is to hear the Voice of God? Some of them thought it was thunder while others heard it correctly as an angel speaking.

It was only when the Greeks, non-Jews came to him that Jesus announced that 'his hour had come". For a moment he wavers ("Father, save me from this hour...") then he embraces his destiny ("No, it is for this reason I have come to this hour.") The Greeks--non-Jews--were the key. Notice they came to Philip, who had a Greek name. And what they said was this: "Sir, we wish to see Jesus."

One of the interns, then deacons who worked with me was Michael Spencer, who was then chaplain to Taft School and is not chaplain at St. Paul's school in New Hampshire. When an Episcopal Chaplain dies and goes to heaven, it looks a lot like St. Paul's school!

At some point in his several years at St. John's in Waterbury, Michael taped a typed out piece of paper to the pulpit that said, "Sir, we would see Jesus." I don't think I ever used the pulpit after the first time I saw that little note. And I never removed it. He and the note were both right, when anyone preaches it should be so people could 'see Jesus'. But the request was too daunting to me. I simply couldn't live up to it Sunday after Sunday. But it did inspire me and humble me and give me hope that someday, somehow, someway I might say something that would allow someone to 'see Jesus'.

But for Jesus, he somehow knew that since even the Gentiles were asking for him, the hour had come for him to be 'lifted up'. His mission to 'all the world' was finished. Now it was time to die.

Ponder, if you will, how you would like to help people to 'see Jesus'. Don't be, as I often am, to embarrassed to imagine showing Jesus to others. You can, through simple acts of kindness, through just being there, through a hug and love and support. Ponder how you might help people 'see Jesus' through your life....Give it a go, really....

COLLECT: O God, by the passion of your blessed Son you made an instrument of of shameful death to be for us the means of life: Grant us so to glory in the cross of Christ, that we may gladly suffer shame and loss for the sake of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with  you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.



HOLY WEDNESDAY
John 13.21-32


This reading is out of time, out of space. Out of sync. Tomorrow we will read the 13th chapter of John from the beginning and hear this passage again. So we jump ahead 'proleptically' (one of my favorite words!) to a time before the time that we are yet to come to. 

But on this day we need to ponder the betrayal of Judas.

BETRAYAL
. What a bee's nest of problems that is. I ponder the betrayals of my life--and they are many, a multitude of betrayals.

When I was silent when protest was called for. When I misspoke in anger or confusion or to make myself look good at the cost to others. When I betrayed those who loved me out of self-serving instincts or desires. When I didn't flinch at a racial or ethic or gender demeaning joke.

Judas is my brother.

Your might, in this holy week, ponder your betrayals. It will be painful and full of angst--but worth it, because God will love you in the betrayer you are. Really. It is the dark places of our lives that God's love shows up most clearly. I'm not kidding. I truly believe that when Jesus said to Judas, "do quickly what you are going to do", he said it with love and forgiveness 'proleptically", even before his actual betrayal. So, ponder who you have betrayed, knowing that even before you betrayed them, God forgave you. Imagine accepting joyfully the sufferings of this present time, knowing your betrayals, when acknowledged are already forgiven.

How good is that? Forgiven before the act. Not bad, as things go.

COLLECT: Lord God, whose blessed Son our Savior gave his body to be whipped and to be spit upon. Give us the grace to accept joyfully the sufferings of the present time, confident of the glory that shall be revealed; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God for ever and ever. Amen

(The rest of the Holy Week meditations are to follow)

Shalom, jim


 
(rest in next post)



Jim Bradley
padrejgb@aol.com

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Fish sandwiches

I seldom like fish sandwiches even though I love fish of all kinds. I think I figure out why fish sandwiches disappoint me so--it was the fish sandwiches at the Central Cafe in Anawalt, West Virginia.

The Central Cafe was about a block from where I lived (if Anawalt, pop.400) could be said to have blocks. In fact, it was a parallelogram twice as long as it was wide. There were no cross streets. The street where I lived was Front Street--though there were no street signs, we just knew it and there were no numbers on buildings since everyone got their mail at the Post Office which was next to my
Dad's Nationwide Insurance office, across the street from my Uncle Del's Esso station (spell check just underlined Esso so I tried Exxon and that was fine...time passes...names change, and one door down (my dad's office) from my Uncle Russel's H & S grocery store which was next door to Uncle Russel's Anawalt Dime Store.

The street parallel to Front Street, across the creek behind where I lived, was, what else, Back Street. The two shorter parallel streets connecting Front Street from Back Street were, to the north, Side Street and to the south, Jenkinjones Road because it you stayed on it long enough you'd come to Jenkinjones (named, not ironically after a man named Jenkins and another named Jones who started the coal mine there). Jenkinjones was the last coal camp in West Virginia just across the state line from the first coal camp in south-western Virginia. You could get to Virginia on any of the two roads through Anawalt (state Rt. 7--Main Street, and whatever Rt, if it  had one, was Jenkinjones road. By going east or west or south you would eventually run into Virginia across mountains called Elkhorn, Peel Chestnut and Jenkinjones. McDowell County (pronounced, if you were from there MACK-dowell and you referred to it as 'the Free State of MACK-dowell') poked down into southwestern Virginia so far that you hit Virginia, after crossing at least one mountain in three directions from Anawalt.

None of which has much to do with fish sandwiches and the Central Cafe.

The Central Cafe was one of the three beer joints in Anawalt that were legal. The others were Paul's place, named after the owner Paul Greek (whose real name was Genendopolis but no one is Anawalt could speak Greek so they just called him Paul Greek) and a beer joint on the corner of Front Street and Jekinjones road that once belonged to Clovis and my dad. My dad sold out to Clovis after dad was forced to pull the pistol from its hiding place to get one of his cousins, who was pretty drunk, to leave the premises without violence. The next day, dad sold out to Clovis at a loss and started working in the H&S with Uncle Russell. Then he became a dry cleaner route driver, then an insurance salesman. When he came back from WW II his lungs were shot and he couldn't go back into the mines, which was, I think, a blessing in disguise. Clovis sold out to someone else, I don't remember who though I think it was the two barbers who owned the barber shop next to the beer joint. The little restaurant changed hands and names a lot after that. (None of these places still exist and Anawalt has a population of about 150 these days. The last time I was there, about 12 years ago, my dad's old office was a beauty parlor and the H&S was a 7 day a week flea market and there were no other businesses on Front Street. When I grew up there were two groceries, a hardware store, a clothing store, a Gulf station, my dad's office,  the post office and my two uncles' three businesses.

I could still weep when I think of Anawalt and the whole state where I grew up. Sad and tragic.

Finally, the Central Cafe's fish sandwich: a fried fish filet, haddock I think, about as long as a hot dog bun which it was served on with mustard, onions and chili. I swear to God, it was the best think I've ever eaten! The fish was deep fried in the french fry oil until it was so crisp it cracked when you bit into it and yet it was moist and flaky inside. It was, in fact, the only fish I ate as a boy since Anawalt was so far from anywhere that there was never fresh fish. And putting it on a hot dog bun with hot dog ingredients was, as horrible as that might sound to your sophisticated pallet, shear genius. God it was good!

I've tried to get places like Frankie's and other places that serve both hot dogs and fish sandwiches to prepare it for me. But it's not the same. And I've tried myself but just couldn't come close.

If I were on death row, I'd ask for a Central Cafe fish sandwich as my last meal. (If they can't find your last meal do they have to let you live???)






Saturday, March 16, 2013

No joy in Mudville

I've been watching Louisville play Syracuse in the championship game of the Big East basketball tournament. It is a piece of history and an occasion of great sadness. After this game, the Big East will be no more, kaput, finished, over. What a shame.

The first defections from the Big East were Virginia Tech and Boston College to the AAC (ok, if you don't follow college sports enough to know AAC is the Atlantic Coast Conference then the rest of this is going to get more and more arcane and un-understandable....) Boston College is in a conference that all the other schools are below the Mason-Dixon line in Confederate states. God help us.

Notre Dame was a part of the Big East in everything but Football. If they'd played football in the Big East the Big East would still be the Big East. You see, lot's of what was the Big East were Roman Catholic Schools that didn't play big time football--St. John's, Georgetown, Seton Hall, Providence, like that. But MONEY (from here on out to be signified by $, runs college sports. So football schools like Virginia Tech and Boston College left first. That's why if Notre Dame, a part of the Big East except for football had played football with the other Big East football schools--West Virginia, Cincinnati, Louisville, Boston College, Rutgers, UConn and Virginia Tech, the Big East would be a healthy Football conference and an incredible basketball Conference. Why didn't Notre Dame do that? Need you ask, $. They stayed 'independent' in football and had their own TV contract with CBS.

So, all the football schools started looking elsewhere for $. VT and BC jumped. My school, WVU, joined the Big Twelve, which makes no sense since all those schools are in the heartland and WVU is, for god's sake, in West Virginia. Pitt and Syracuse are gone after this year to the ACC. Get serious, Pittsburgh and Syracuse is about as on the Atlantic Coast as Tennessee. So, college sports, that should be about regional rivalries has become 'continental' because of, well you know--$.

Georgetown's basketball coach, John Thompson III, who followed his father, John Thompson, Jr. as coach of the team, said something that made more sense to me than almost anything else coming out of Washington, DC (where Georgetown is) than I've heard in a long time. "For a few more dollars," he said, "this amazing conference could have been saved."

There's the rub. A few more $ seems to control, not only college sports, but most everything these days.

What happened to being a part of a community, a part of a region? WVU plays sports with people in Texas and Oklahoma and  Iowa rather than people in PA and VA and DC and CT and MA. Makes no sense at all...unless 'what makes sense' these days is $ and ONLY $.

Which, beloved, I believe, much to my chagrin, is true, true, True, TRUE....like really true....

My wife, Bern, who is a bigger sports fan than me, has adored, almost worshiped the Big East every year for year after year. She couldn't watch the end of the Louisville/Syracuse game tonight because Reality will never be the same again.

What a shame.

It is a shame when $ dominates geography, rivalries and traditions. It really is.

We are diminished when all that we love is driven by nothing more than $.

Poor UConn, our state team who is dominate in basketball (both men and women) and seeking to make an impression in Football, what are they to do....?"

"The world is too much with us,
getting and spending...."

College sports don't have the same attraction they did a few years ago. And that is sad.

Friday, March 15, 2013

a cold day

Temperature, like most everything is relative. Today has seemed so cold to me I could hardly stand it. And yet, it isn't nearly as cold as it was a week or so ago. It's just that a few days of 40+ degrees spoils me and when it drops back to 30 it feels like 15.

But it's also been a 'cold' day, in that I have a terrible cold. Bern does too. We move around the house like zombies on Valium, wading through the air, struggling up the stairs, practically falling into chairs on onto sofas. I feel like I feel in those dreams when you really, really have to be somewhere and you're trying to run as fast as you can and it's like moving through molasses. I'd bet you've  had a few of those dreams too.

So I read a whole book today and ate a lot (it is "feed a cold and starve a fever" isn't it?) and did, oh, not much else.

I have to take the dog out one more time before bed and I may just wear all the clothes I own because it feels so cold outside.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

New Popes and other irrelevant stuff

Here's one of the biggest reason I hate the Internet. So, we've got a new Pope (and I mean "we" though I have very little use for Popes--since he's the only Pope we've got) and already the Internet is dragging up stuff about him when he was a mere bishop during the Argentinian dictatorship and people are wondering on line whether the Francis he means is 'of Assisi' or 'Francis Xavier' who was the founder of the Jesuit order. Give me a break, he's Francis, let it go at that.

I walked into our TV room just as a photo of Francis I was shown and Bern said, "look, my uncle Frankie just got elected Pope!"

It was absolutely true, the new Pope looks just like Frank Pisano--except Frank is 90 and Francis is 'only' 76. Which brings up what I don't get--if the Roman Catholic church wants to be relevant why do people between 70 and 80 elect a guy who's 76? I mean, really, 76 is the best they can do? He could have been on Medicare for 13 years! He's 11 years past retirement age. But then the average age of the Cardinals is probably not much younger than that.

And why do Cardinals live so long? I have a theory about skinny, unmarried women living to a great age, but Cardinals? What's up with that?

Also (the other irrelevant stuff of the title) I drove by St. Bridget's RC church today and noticed a new sign. It said: "The Journey is the Reward".

I've come, in the last few years, to not be the fan of "journey" theology that I was for most of my life. I've come to see theology, not a a journey 'to somewhere' but as being 'present to where you are'. Maybe it is just that I'm slowing down and a 'journey' is not as attractive to me as it once was. Maybe, as Jung thought, your bliss and passion change as you enter a new era of living. So, 'abiding' with God is much more a part of what I would suggest and lean into that 'journeying toward God'--the metaphor that sustained me for decades.

All that having been said, I really liked that sign in front of St. Bridget's. Many folks think the 'destination' is the reward, 'arriving', 'getting there'. If you're going to be into 'journey metaphor', I think the most accurate and life-giving way of seeing it is that the journey IS the REWARD. "Getting there" isn't 'half the fun', it is 'all the fun'. If the 'destination' is the point then all the movement is just prelude. If, in fact, the journey is the reward, the point, the meaning, then that is very compatible to my assumption that just 'being present' to the moment is the reward, the point, the meaning.

It's a nice melding of metaphors for the meaning of life: being aware of the the journey is much the same as being present to the moment. The pay-off isn't 'out there somewhere', it is right here and now. In this moment and the next and the one after that, on and on.

Ram Das said, "Be here now".

Yeal, I'd buy into that....

Something to ponder besides the new Pope....


Monday, March 11, 2013

mailbox baseball and other musings

Today I was going to meet a friend who lives in Fairfield County for lunch in Seymour. The easiest way to get to Seymour for me is to go down Cornwall to Mountain Road and then across Bethany Mountain to Bethany and through Beacon Falls to Route 8. Much of the way to Route 8 is through parts of Cheshire, Bethany and Beacon Falls where people have mailboxes on the side of the road. I was astonished (as I often am) by the extremes people go to to protect their mailboxes from mailbox baseball.

(If you don't know about mailbox baseball, this is how it goes. One teenage boy drives a car slowly down the road and another teenage boy--I just can't see teenage girls doing this...there are some gender specific activities and this is one of them--is leading out of the passenger seat window with a baseball bat which he uses to smash as many mailboxes as he can. Just smashing them up a bit is like a single but knocking them off whatever is securing them to the ground is a home-run. I would go into a long diatribe about how teenage boys are assholes these days for doing wanton acts of violence with a baseball bat, but then I remember how, as a teenage boy, we used to get across the fences around coal company property and steal copper. We had no need for copper and left it along the road after we'd stolen it, but that's what we did since people got their mail at the post office in southern West Virginia and mailbox baseball wasn't a possible form of teenage boy entertainment.)

Some people have actually built little buildings around their mailboxes. Some have resorted to concrete supports. Others have put what looks like metal poles on the driver side side of their mailboxes. The most amusing one I saw was someone who had piled up what looked like tractor trailer truck tires and the mail box was inside them, pointing up.

What kind of juvenile delinquents would do such destructive things?

Well, just this year, my son, who is 37 and has three children, told me that in his Senior year of High School he was acclaimed the "Mail Box Baseball Champion" of Cheshire. Apparently this idiots keep statistics and Josh was the best! He was a bit embarrassed and a tad proud to share this accomplishment.....

I was never good at climbing fences and stealing copper wire....


I'm reading a mystery called The Altered Case by Peter Turnbull. It takes place is Yorkshire but it is written in a style that belies the grittiness of most Yorkshire mysteries. (Being a devoted reader of British and Scandinavian and some American Crime Fiction, I've decided, from all I've read, that Yorkshire is a very dangerous place. At least 3 or 4 of my favorite mystery writers write about the whole Yorke/Leeds area and lots of people get murdered there.

But Turnbull has a different style. There is the prerequisite murder--in fact 5 murders, a mother, father, two daughters and friend of the daughter from London found in a deep grave on Yorkshire farmland 30 years after they were killed. But the style is just so different. If Barbara Pimm or Alexander Smith McCall ever wrote a Yorkshire murder mystery, it would be like this: very polite and calm and oh-so-British. I've been deep into Robinson's series about Inspector Banks (which is also a BBC TV series) that tripping across Turnbull's much more urbane and sophisticated Hennessey and Yellich series is remarkable.

Hennessy, in the Trumbull series, took his young wife's ashes (who died from sudden death syndrome--aka, no reason for dying) and put them in his back yard (or 'garden' as the British say) and when he comes home at night takes a drink out and tells her about his day.

I've decided to do that with Bern's ashes if I happen (small chance!) to outlive her. And every afternoon I'll take my first glass of Pinot Grigio out on the deck and tell her stuff like this: "I was noticing how people try to protect their mailboxes from mailbox baseball and I played 20 hands of hearts on my computer and I took a nap about 3 and I had seafood salad for lunch and I watched MSNBC to renew my liberal biases..." Not a lot to report from my days....

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some ponderings by an aging white man who is an Episcopal priest in Connecticut. Now retired but still working and still wondering what it all means...all of it.