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Once again I woke up very...very...very early to hurriedly dress and catch the streetcar. I had a book with me (The Ecclesiastical History of the English People, by the Venerable Bede...I need to change my "What I'm Reading" link!) but was too tired to do much reading. Instead I watched the night-grey city roll out into the seemingly endless tract of apartment buildings and shopping strips that is Long Branch. At the terminus of the streetcar line I took the short hike from TTC to GO and bought my day pass to Clarkson Station (Oakville). I plopped my weary self down on a bench on the platform, clutching my ticket like a toddler clutches his blanket. When the train roared into the station I shuffled to the door and boarded. As we pulled out the rocking motion of the train sent me into a fitful doze...I knew I mustn't fall asleep lest I miss my station, but oh the seats were comfy. I'm not sure what happened between hearing the conductor announce "Clarkson" and my foot hitting the platform, but by the time I shook hands with the dear parishioner sent to fetch me, I was wide awake. Maybe it's the excitement of Sunday's liturgy (OK, church geeks have their own standards for excitement) or perhaps the knowledge that I had to be functional. Either way, I was ready to go by the time I got to St. Cuthbert's. True, I still missed my cue for reading the gospel - I was off visiting the Sunday school kids. Oops. Watch the time, Aaron. Oh, well...it was worth it to hear a gaggle of adorable children squeaking out "All Things Bright and Beautiful". There is some serious cuteness in these munchkins. I have to admit being a bit overwhelmed at St. Cuthbert's...not by the work, since I'm only there for Sundays...and not by the early-morning trip in, which I actually find quite pleasant despite my sleepiness. I'm overwhelmed by the reception I've received. The people of St. C's are enormously welcoming and have made me feel very much at home. One parishioner has even invited me, at no small expense to himself, to a swank dinner party. Beyond the cost of the ticket, I'm honoured that he'd want to have me as a guest. There's something in my nature that shies away from the centre of attention. (Those who know me are laughing out loud at this point.) But really...when I end up at the centre of attention it's more out of forgetful exuberance than any desire to be noticed. I take the centre of attention to get things done, but I'd rather people were focused on what I was trying to do than on me. I'm uncomfortable with birthday parties (thrown for me, that is) or being given awards. Mind, I like the award itself, the token that says "well done", but going up in front of people and accepting it? I draw inside myself, as if I have my own little Roman servant following along, repeating "Memento mori!" (Remember that you're mortal!) I even have trouble accepting compliments on sermons or, when I was acting, on a performance. As Don Quixote says, "It is my study to deserve and avoid applause." So to have such a warm reception, just three weeks into my time at St. C's, is a bit overwhelming. Not bad, of course. No matter how shy of praise and kindness one might be, it's never a bad thing. Nor is it unusual...parishioners are often quick to compliment a student. But I'm not entirely certain how to process it. I suppose I could just start preaching really wretched sermons and making a mess of the liturgy. Spilling the communion wine, dropping babies at baptisms, that sort of thing. I could begin pastoral visits by saying, "What an ugly house!" and teach catechism out of The Anarchist's Cookbook. Or maybe not. |
