If we can live through the weekend...

It's February in New England, what did we expect?

The news is calling it 'life threatening cold'. And it is cold. Really cold. Below zero cold. February in New England cold.

But, looking ahead, it seems if we can live through the next couple of days, it will be back in the 40's. Gulf Coast weather in February in New England!

So, live for the weekend and life will be better, the Weather Channel promises...so it must be true.

Until then, bundle up, or better yet, stay inside.

One thing about cold weather, though, I really can sleep when it's cold.

I slept until 9:45 this morning! Under about 6 inches of bedding. My dog would stay in bed most of the day, I think, if he could hold it. He was ready to go out at 10, let me tell you....

Sleep tight.

Dark and quiet and cold...

I took Bela for his evening walk about 10:30 p.m. tonight. It was so dark and cold and quiet.

The street lights on Cornwall Avenue aren't all on at once, they alternate on and off to save electricity, so there are canopies of deep darkness along the way. The darkness embraced us as we walked and he sniffed.

This is also one of the coldest nights of the winter--and the next three days will be as bad or worse. I could have been heard begging Bela to pee! He seems to be oblivious to the cold, at least until his foot pads start to hurt. He sniffed a lot more than he peed! It was so cold my back ached.

And quiet....Lord, was it quiet!

When snow is on the ground, the silence falls. When it is dark, the silence deepens.

Occasionally a car would pass on Route 10--a block or so away. But it seems more distant than usual and the cold and darkness swallowed up the sound, muffled it, made it seem far away, like a sound in a dream.

I hate winter, I do.

But, I must admit, there is something strangely comforting and redemptive about the chill and the darkness and the quiet of winter nights. Something soothing and comforting and whole. Bela gave me a gift by taking so long to pee.

Take a walk (a short one!) late at night some of the next few days. Feel the chill. Lean into the dark. Be present to the silence.

Feel, lean, be present. Not just on your chill, dark, quiet walk--but always....

owning up...

Well, I did say I wasn't sure I could remember all the bishops of Connecticut....

My friend, Rowena, who is always delighted to comment on my blog--especially when I mess up!--wrote to tell me I left out Wilfredo Ramos-Orench from my list.

I feel awful about that. Wilfredo was a gentle, sweet man and a good bishop. He left to go be a bishop in Central America. I pray he is well. I'm sure he's still a good bishop.

(Truth is, he was so soft-spoken and self-effacing that I should have never left him out.)

Sorry, Wilfredo. Thanks for the head's up, Rowena.

The simple man I am....

OK, most of the time I think about myself, I think I am complicated, ironic, multi-dimensional, complex, nuanced, brilliant and difficult to describe.

Then the other day I went to Marshall's in Hamden (which I like better than the Cheshire Marshall's because it's larger, roomier, not 'Cheshire-like' and still believes men buy clothes there) and bought 6 pairs of wool-blend, thick socks and 6 pairs of cotton boxer shorts.

Most of my socks have holes in them somewhere and, like a lot of people, my boxer shorts go back years. Time to restock!

Today I have on a pair of new socks and new boxer shorts and I am a contented, aware, joyful man.

All it took was new socks and new boxer shorts.

So, maybe not as complex and nuanced as I thought.

And maybe not 'brilliant' either--though I have a Phi Beta Kappa key I could show you if I knew where it was....

But contented. Socks and boxer shorts was all I needed.

A man of simple tastes, easily satisfied--that's me.

More bishop stuff

Two more Bishop Campbell stories--one as bad as the others, the other one no so.

That summer I worked at HEP, I helped out at Grace Church, Keystone with Pop Bailey.

Bishop Campbell made an Episcopal visit that summer. The altar guild had scraped together enough money to buy three candle candelabras especially for the bishop's visit. Had I thought about it hard enough, I would have realized the bishop would celebrate the Eucharist and the candelabras were more suitable for Morning Prayer. But I didn't think hard except to admire how the altar guild wanted to do something special for their bishop.

We were half-way down the aisle during the Processional Hymn when the bishop looked up and saw the candelabras and told the organist to stop playing.

"I will not celebrate without proper candles," he said, "put out the Eucharistic candles!"

Sheepishly, the altar guild took down the offending candles and put back the two single candles appropriate for Eucharist. Then we began again.

Needless to say, it was a somber and distinctly non-joyful service. Certainly not a way to endear yourself to others.

Afterwards, to his credit, Pop Bailey reamed Bishop Campbell a new one over Scotch back at his house. Pop told him in no uncertain terms that the sacrament would have been perfectly valid with the other candles and that he was, I think I remember the quote, "an ass in a purple shirt!" It was the only time I saw Bishop Campbell humbled.


The other story is about me. Back before all that happened, before I'd ever met Bishop Campbell besides at my confirmation as a sophomore in college, I was awarded a Rockefeller Foundation "Trial year in Seminary". The first piece of mail I got at Divinity Hall (some name for a dorm, huh?) was a draft notice. This was the autumn of 1969 and Viet Nam was on overdrive.

I called Snork Roberts, the chaplain at WVU and he told me he'd call the bishop and call me back. After Snork called me, I called Bishop Campbell to explain my situation. I was honest and told him I didn't intend to be a priest but I did want to go to school instead of South-east Asia. When he asked me what I planned to do, I told him that in Cambridge I was closer to Canada than to Beckley, West Virginia, when I was supposed to report for induction in five days.

The Bishop asked me if my father had been in the service and I told him that Dad had hit Omaha Beach on the second wave and fought all the way across France and into Germany.

Then Campbell asked me what my father would do if I went to Canada.

"I think it will break his heart," I answered.

The bishop told me to stay near the hall phone and 15 minutes later called to tell me my draft notice had been 'rescinded' and I was a Postulant for Holy Orders. I didn't know how a man could turn back the will of the Draft or what a Postulant was.

"Just remember," Bishop Campbell told me before hanging up, "this is for your father, not for you."

Whatever Campbell said to whoever he said it to about my draft notice, I never heard from Selective Services again. Not once. I've been thankful for that for over 40 years.

Giants and Ogres are cut from the same cloth, it seems to me. I'm happy these days with bishops who aren't of either ilk.

Bishops

Bishop Laura Ahrens visited St. Andrew's today. She was great--high energy, humorous, engaging, able to get everyone involved in the conversation.

On the way home, I was trying to remember how many bishops I've served with and for. There were two in my time in West Virginia and 8 or 9 in Connecticut--Connecticut always has multiple bishops...the Diocesan and a couple of what are called suffragan bishops. Suffragans are assistants who share the load with the Bishop bishop.

Maybe there were 10 in CT--though I can't be sure. (I am sure Bishops might be surprised that they blur in the memory!) OK, Aurthur, Brad, Clarence, Jeffery, Drew, Jim, Laura, Ian. Eight, like I said.

Bishops are mostly part of the background noise of parish and community life. We know they are there, there's just not a lot of day-to-day proof they are. And, far as I can see, that's good--around if you need them but not in the way.

I used to long for the time when Episcopal Bishops walked the earth like Giants. That used to be the norm, before elections became so terribly democratic (not that democracy is 'terrible', quite the contrary, but because the election of bishops is firmly in the hands of the people, they are so thoroughly vetted no Giants or Ogres get through. I've decided, in my elder years, what I used to call "vanilla bishops" are just fine. Most all the bishops I've served with and for have been decent, well-meaning, gifted people. That's, in the end, what you need as a bishop, not some personality larger-than-life.

The only bishop I've had who was a throw-back to the Ice Age of Bishops was Wilburn Camrock Campbell III. Bishop Campbell did not suffer fools gently; however, neither did he suffer smart, well meaning people either. It was the Campbell way or the highway.

Here's one example: Bishop Campbell owned two Doberman Pincers. They came to his office with him most days. He even had a huge old chair where they would sleep. When you came to visit him, you're initial reaction was "how kind, he's giving me the best chair in his office". The problem was, while you sat there there were two 90 pound dogs staring at you and showing you their teeth! People didn't visit Campbell's office often or for long.

Another story. When I was in seminary, I spent the summer between my Junior and Senior year working at the Highland Education Project with 'Pop' Bailey. (Most Protestants in southern West Virginia couldn't get their mouth around "Father"--too Roman Catholic--so they called Ross Bailey "Pop". The HEP ran work camps for Episcopal Teens the summer I was there. Kids came from places like Chicago and Boston to have culture shock and 'help the poor'. I was their native guide because I spoke the language and understood Appalachians, being one myself. The HEP was 12 miles from where I grew up.

There was a lay reader in HEP--there were two churches (Keystone and Davy) and only one priest--so Dominic Lagatto and I would traipse off the Davy three Sundays a month to lead Morning Prayer. One Sunday, to my complete and utter surprise, Dominic didn't end Morning Prayer but plowed right on into the Prayer of Consecration and celebrated the Eucharist. I've never been one to keep with rules and regulations and since most of the people who came to the church in Davy had been to a Holy Roller service the night before, I thought the sacrament might be good for them.

On the way back to Keystone, I told Dominic never to breathe a word about what he had done and I'd keep mum and it would probably not be something he should repeat often. However, when we got back to HEP, folks from Davy had already called Pop to let him know how much they enjoyed the Eucharist from Dominic's hand and somehow ('how' I know not, this being long before texts and cell phones) Bishop Campbell heard of it Sunday night. On Monday morning, he was in Keystone and Dominic (a frustrated RC priest if there ever was one) was called on the carpet and read out of the church. I was there. It was brutal. I was humiliated for Dominic and tried to speak up for him only to be battered by the bishop myself.

Last Wilburn Camrock Campbell III story (though there are many, many more). One of my friends was a student at Virginia Seminary. He had a scam of sorts going since he'd go to WV and buy dope and then sell it to Virginia students. The Seminary found out and expelled him. Campbell flew to DC and my friend picked him up at what was then National Airport. They stopped to get a bottle of Scotch and then went to my friend's dorm room. Campbell called my friend everything but a straight man and tore his room apart. Then they went to the Dean's office. Campbell walked right in without speaking to the Dean's secretary, picked up the Dean's phone without asking and dialed General Seminary in NYC. (He had already assured my friend had been accepted at General and said that on the phone in front of Virginia's Dean.) The Bishop hung up the Dean's phone, said, "you're losing a good man", and left with my friend.

Great theater! And, my friend was a great priest in the end. But is that the kind of behavior you want from the person with 'authority' over you and you're work?

I think not.

Lots of Bishop Campbell stories left. Some showing how a Giant can move the Earth. Others illustrating how Ogres can destroy the Bridge they guard.

Maybe I'll come back to them sometimes.

But, for now, I'm so joyful and thankful for Bishop Laura and Bishop Ian being part of my ministry and my life.

  

The ground is frozen

We hoped to bury Luke in our little pet cemetery beside our back deck where 2 dogs 4 cats, a bird and who knows how many Guinea pigs lay resting. But the ground is frozen bone hard.

We agreed this morning to take him to be cremated. I went to the movies and when I came home, Bern was out. I called the Animal Hospital and they said to bring him in.

I drove all over Cheshire with Luke in his box in my car's trunk, looking for Bern. Found her in Big Y and told her I was taking him.

They were wonderful at the Hospital. I had to uncover his head so they could know he was dead. Everyone was kind and the young, female vet didn't blink when I told her he hadn't been to a vet for 15 years. "Wish I could avoid doctors like that," she said.

She also told me when older cats start losing weight rapidly, there is seldom any intervention that isn't invasive and painful and, in the end, animals are better off to die without treatment if they aren't in pain.

It may have been what she tells pet owners to make them feel better--and it worked for me....

When I came home, Bern was damp eyed and told me she'd started crying in Big Y and had to leave before she was through.

"Did you get the groceries?" I asked.

"Barely," she said, tearing up.

That's what they do to you--these creatures you invite into your lives...they get under your skin.

In a big, big way.

Rest well, Lukie....