Right Place, Wrong Time

Veneration of the Holy Cross

On the Feast of the Holy Cross I went to St. Mary the Virgin for Solemn Mass and veneration of a (supposed) relic of the True Cross. This relic was donated in recent years by someone who acquired it from the Vatican. We venerated the (very small) relic (in a nice reliquary however) in the Mercy Chapel after Mass and I did feel an awesome power from the blessing I received with it. It was also a delight to see and hear the little "sisters balcony" reopened and put to use for the first time in many years, with a small choir singing some antiphons during the venerations. It seems the rector paid a visit there during communions to check the setup and his body mike somehow turned on. As I was walking back from communion I was amused to hear him advising someone about something one learns the first week in seminary (apparently this was not to always know the status of your body mike).

After a little refreshment in St. Joe's Hall, steamy as always (a steampipe runs under it) we headed down to the San Gennaro festival for dinner at Il Fornaio (excellent as always) and then zeppoles for dessert. I hadn't been down to San Gennaro for about 30 years so it was fun in an "only in New York" kind of way. I got a rose scented rosary from one of the orders selling wares there but the rose scent didn't last very long.

Then on the following Wednesday I went back down to the Feast of San Gennaro at the Church of the Most Precious Blood to help Fishngrl with her mystery worship. DL also joined us and we even took communion (don't ask, don't tell!). There were the usual electric votive lights everywhere but I was rather horrified to see that the high altar candles were electric with amber candelabra bulbs. I loved the Grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes, and the statue of St. Jude was just ghastly but somehow I couldn't take my eyes off him. In spite of vigorous swinging of a very ugly modern thurible, there was hardly a whiff of incense (thank Jesus for that because it was one of those horrible Roman blends) and the choir was barely holding it together, but the procession at the end through the streets of Little Italy was worth the trip. I just loved the way they swayed with that statute of San Gennaro, behind the priest in scarlet cope blessing the crowd with a relic. The procession was so slow because of the large crowd and small streets that we were finishing dinner at Umberto's (fabulous red clam sauce) when they returned down Mulberry Street. Then we had zeppoles for dessert and I vowed to go on a starvation diet for a few days.

Meanwhile, my new rector was waiting for me at Pain Quotidien, calling my cell phone, wondering where I was. I had written down the next day at 6:00 pm as the time of my first meeting with Fr. Blume, as I was mortified to learn the next morning when I got the message. I could blame it on being sick and high on Nyquil and Grey Goose the night I entered that date, but in any event it was not a very dignified start to our acquaintance and I was grateful that he made time to see me the next night before he had to hie back up to Boston. It was wonderful to meet him and find that he is absolutely just what we need right now: someone who has a lot of energy and good ideas about our future as well as a wonderful personality. Blume time is indeed here!

Outdoor statue of San Gennaro
Church of the Most Precious Blood, NYC

A Bog Intersection

window in St. John the Evangelist
Newport, RI

Last Friday I drove up to Newport with Bill and Kathy for a weekend of group reunion at Janet's new manse. Barbara was unable to make this, our next to last official group reunion after 11 years of semi-regular meetings after our Cursillo weekend together at the same table in May 1996. It was a bittersweet weekend of reminiscences and planning of next steps for each of us. Janet has now made Newport her home and Kathy will soon be moving to Saskatoon after her wedding in early October. Bill and I will continue to meet with Barbara, but it will never be the same. No more sharing of our spiritual journeys and our moments closest and farthest from Christ, over long evening meals and many glasses of wine, although we have promised to get together at least once a year if at all possible and also hope to meet by teleconference once in awhile.

In many ways the weekend was a bog intersection for our lives. We laughed until we almost couldn't see as we were driving toward Newport and Bill was reading me the directions that Janet had sent. He came to the part where she had advised that we would come to "a bog intersection" and need to make a turn, and I said "what's a bog intersection?" Bill said it must be a place where we would see a couple of bogs coming together, but then we cracked up when we realized she must have meant to type "a big intersection". It wasn't until late Sunday when we were driving back that I suddenly came to see that in many ways the weekend actually was a bog intersection for us. I was certainly bogged down with a miserable cold made worse with the heavy marine air to the point that my asthma came out of remission. Kathy was in her own bog of premarital planning and stress which precipitated a terrible migraine on Saturday night that sent her to bed without supper. The poor girl was almost driven mad, she said later, by the noise we were making downstairs carrying on at dinner while she lay dying. I myself went to bed rather early with a wheezing cough and sinus headache and that Springsteen tune playing over and over in my head about "this very unpleasing sneezing and wheezing as the calliope crashed to the ground." Bill's bog was much more pleasant I think as he rather continuously and good humoredly juggled text and voice messages from a variety of admirers who mourned his absence.

But we had a wonderful day on Saturday touring Newport. After a morning of silent retreat followed by a long group reunion, we went to Flo's Clamshack for lunch, then drove all around and saw the wonderful homes and mansions, then ended up on the lawn at Castle Hill for cocktails before going back to cook dinner outside on the grill. We went by St. John the Evangelist (also known as the Zabriskie Memorial Church--another branch of the family) where I took the picture above, which somewhat resembles an apostolic bog intersection. I had heard a lot about St. John's and wanted to go to High Mass there on Sunday. By some miracle the church was open late on Saturday afternoon so I was able to at least see it. The liturgy looks somewhat like ours and they still use the old Prayer Book and Hymnal, but when I read the literature in the narthex and realized they are part of the American Anglican Council and Forward in Faith, we all lost interest.

Sunday morning Kathy was still in recovery so Bill and I went with Janet to her church, Emmanuel, and had a low but meaningful worship experience. The sermon by Fr. Cole was quite good and had us imagine how popular Our Lord must have been when he was doing miracles and healing the sick, but then how the crowd grew smaller and smaller when he explained all that would be required of true discipleship.

So it ended with a bowl of chowda at the Black Pearl before we headed back to a final view of that bog intersection on our way home. Janet is now beyond the bog, lucky her, but we are still immured each in our own ways. I look forward to October 21, the Solemnity of the Feast of St. Ignatius, when the bog that has been this interim period at church shall at last turn into a new era of growth and renewal with our new rector, the Rev. Dr. Andrew C. Blume. Let us pray that our parish shall grow together again in spirit and service to Our Lord.