War in Heaven

"But woe to you, O earth and sea, for the devil has come down to you in great wrath,
because he knows that his time is short!"

I got to read that great passage from Revelation 12 last night as subdeacon at the High Mass on the Feast of St. Michael and All Angels. We had a small but worshipful congo and our 4 voice evensong choir. No acolytes either, but we managed okay. There was no procession since our St. Michael shrine is at the high altar. We just smoked him really well a couple of times and had a nice bright votive light for him. He needs a good dusting off as do all the statuary after the summer's exterior cleaning project. The outside is really looking wonderful and who knew we had pink granite at the base. I can't wait until the scaffolding is taken down after they finish replacing the roof over the narthex and installing leaf screens for all the leaders. Then we must focus on fixing the other roof problems at least temporarily to get us through the winter. Recent storms have manifested a number of problem areas where water is getting in, over the organ chamber, around the skylight and the apartment skylight. Insurance companies are looking for every reason not to help us, and who can blame them in this economic climate. But hopefully we will be qualified for some kind of grant for at least part of the expense.

In other news, I got to hear the High Priest of Honky Tonk, the great Ray Price, a couple of weeks ago up in Monticello. My cousin, Laura Hazelbaker, plays fiddle with his band and she flew in from Cincinnati the day before and we drove up. I got to hang out with Ray and the band on his bus and that was a trip. Not quite as wild as Willie's bus, but close, with a great pre-show ritual of whiskey shots and orange soda chasers with a Mexican toast. It was a great show, even though the venue (a racetrack!) was not quite the acoustic delight that Radio City was, but Ray's voice, even at 82, is still so wonderful. He sang all his great songs and the band was just classic authentic honky tonk.

I'm sad to report the death of the Cursillo Kid, Kevin Farley, last Thursday. Kevin was one of the first people I met at St. Mary's back in 1996 and I believe the one that persuaded me to jump ship and join SMV for a 3-year term. He also persuaded me to go on Cursillo (something I could never have imagined on my own) and we served on several teams together. I'll never forget his Father Farley in the sacraments skit on one team. He was in seminary to become a Roman priest when his spiritual adviser had told him that he took his religion much too seriously to be a priest. He dropped out soon after that and became a public servant but also a devoted member of St. Mary's, having converted soon after Fr. Wells became the rector, and was thereafter a spiritual presence there serving at the altar and in many other capacities. Kevin's love of Cursillo was profound since he had been on the very first weekend in New York back in 1979, along with Fr. Wells. He was diocesan lay director for many years and a constant fixture at clausura and ultreyas until just a few years ago when his and his partner's health began to fail. He will be buried in Trenton after a High Requiem at St. Mary's on Saturday, mostly likely with Fr. Wells celebrating. Kevin left very explicit instructions and if I know him, it will be a lovely and very old fashioned requiem with a Cursillo tune or two thrown in, no doubt.

Almighty God, we give you thanks for all the benefits you have given us, you who live and reign forever and ever. Amen.