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Today it dawned on me that I am now one of the people who knows what's going on in chapel. Third year students spent half of last year away on placement...after spring placement and summer vacation a lot of them have forgotten the customary. First years, of course, are just learning the ropes and that leaves us middle-years as the chapel "experts." This doesn't mean we're in charge or anything, but it does mean that people look at us when they get lost. It's a bit odd. I've also come to expect extra looks because of my wardrobe. Everyone at Trinity has to wear their academic gown (think Harry Potter robes) for dinner in Strachan Hall, and many Divs wear their gowns for chapel. A few even wear them to classes, especially those classes taught by always-gowned Fr. R, the resident theologian. I have decided to wear my gown all day, everywhere. This is only a minor aberration at Trinity, but on the rest of campus...well...it's just weird. For a while I thought I must be looking particularly studly...then I realized that women were only turning to look at me because of the gown. Still, I like it. For one thing the gown covers many sins, such as my growing belly. It also makes one feel all academic and smart, and it casts a really cool shadow. I think it comes down to being a spike. In high-church Anglicanism, the sort of Anglicans who use incense and vestments and who sing the gospel, there's a subset of us real whackos called "spikes." If smells and bells are "high" then we spike even higher. It's not enough to fully vest in stole and chasuble, spikes like to add the maniple and an actual amice (these terms will mean little to non-church folk). Anyhow, I'm a bit spiky. There are students at Trinity who go way beyond me, but I do like a good Anglo-catholic ceremony. So I guess that I'm also academically spiky...incense and chant in church, gowns on campus. Still, even I know that there are limits. I only wore the thing to the subway station because I forgot I had it on. I was engrossed in conversation, I tell you. Honest. Stop looking at my gown! It's my baby! Don't touch my baby! |
