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As I mentioned a while ago, the Diocese of Niagara is sending me to ACPO (Advisory Committee on Postulants for Ordination). What this means is that they're sending me to a conference during which I will receive a thorough going-over, a sort of look into the horse's theological mouth to see if I'm suitable for ordination. Some dioceses don't pay a lot of attention to the results, but Niagara puts a lot of stock in ACPO. What I'm saying here is that this is important. Right now I'm writing the essays that will accompany my (already finished) application. Oy...in 500 words, describe your understanding of Christian ministry (lay and ordained) and your sense of call to ordination. Double oy. By this time in the process I have told my story (the biographical sketch, essay one) and explained my opinions and feelings about ministry and my call (essay two) so many times that I think I'm going crazy. I'd simply love to talk about anyone other than myself, just for a while! So, of course, I come to my blog...navel, I ain't done gazing. I had a lovely day yesterday...I joined the crew at St. Bart's, and preached at the patronal festival. Good old St. Bartholomew, patron saint of tanners and leather workers. Why? I thought you'd never ask. Because he was flayed alive, that's why. You see him in medieval paintings, holding a tanner's knife and with his own skin draped over his arm. Say it with me...YUCK! Lucky me, St. Bart's (the church) doesn't require an authentic dress code for the patronal feast. Just cassock, alb and (for guest student preachers) a tunicle. Gasp. On days like yesterday one realizes why the American south is so full of Baptists...heavy vestments are the last thing you want to wear in hot, sticky weather. Why aren't vestments made from the same stuff from which they make basketball uniforms? I mean, really...silk and damask? In summer? It was miserable enough that I cut my sermonizing short by about five minutes. (Baptists have to preach in shirtsleeves, or they would never last for hours like they do.) By the time I was done you could have wiped my brow and gotten enough to drink. I administered the chalice and was afraid I'd drip into the wine. "The blood of Christ...oops...and my sweat." Again...YUCK! I did enjoy being back at St. Bart's, though. I genuinely like the people there and I'm very fond of Fr. W. They had a huge feast - burgers and corn on the cob and every good thing - and I'm afraid I rather gorged myself. That's not the way to get cool, fool! By the time I got home my shirt had absorbed so much sweat it had salt deposits forming in the underarms and across the back. One...more...time...YUCK! |
