Most Moving Holy Week Ever
It was the kind of Holy Week that could only follow such a long and bitter cold Lent: bursting with renewal and faith and probably culminating in mid-week when we got to meet Innamorata for the first time.
As Holy Week approached, I mainly was looking forward to everything getting back to normal. I felt like I was treading on eggshells every time I had a humorous, lustful or transgressive thought. And, it's always complicated by the arrival of March because there are so many family birthdays during it. This year was a milestone for Big Bro' and a rather small one for myself.
The turning point came during a day long refuge organized around the idea of "quiet time" in the middle of the work week. It was organized by the twenties-thirties group, but, Crosby seemed to take a particular governing interest in it. I know that when I hear him calling me by my first and last name that he is both needling me AND that I am usually the object of his complete attention. He demonstrated it by offering to make another pot of coffee as I was milling about the pantry, waiting for the sanctuary to open.
It's amazing how sound travels in the sanctuary when there are no people to absorb it. From the roof of the side gallery I could hear every footstep of every person who came into the main sanctuary of St. Michael's. It was so weird that everyone, meaning, Crosby, Huggy and myself, wound up taking their shoes off and walking around in their stocking feet (bare feet in the case of Crosby, at one point - he does have have sexy feet.)
I think the quiet time gave me an opportunity to contemplate God in an unusually concentrated way that wasn't in complete isolation and yet was separate and spacious in its surroundings. I was also able to revisit "Sit Where You Eat", see the weaknesses in character development and motivation and come up with some fixes. So much of it takes place in a church that it was a natural place to put my attention.
Unfortunately, for everyone else, every turn of the page on my foolscap tablet echoed like a crack of lightning throughout the church.
There were three breaks, or litugies, during the course of the day where we would gather in the Little Chapel to sing hymns and listen to a Bible selection. Huggy Bear wore vestments.
Colette and Pale Male arrived at one point. Colette stayed until pretty much the end, even going into the pantry and making more coffee.
The end of the day was nearing when Huggy Bear approached the high altar and lit some incense. It gave us something else to bliss out on as the smoke rose in tendrils, twining with the sunlight and issuing in unpredictable patterns before gathering at the top of the ceiling.
I think it was just Huggy and I on the walk home. It must have been, because I remember dishing about Colette (she looked like she had a migraine headache and had to lie down in one of the pews at one point) and that's probably not something we would have done in Crosby's presence.
When I got home, I read a message addressed to the Vestry from our Sunday School coordinator, explaining that she needed speakers for the Stations of the Cross on Good Friday - and, that she expected the Vestry to step up to the plate and fill in. I didn't see a single response the entire weekend.
That was Saturday. Sunday was our birthday celebration and I was late for Intersection. Crosby left early, after demurring on some birthday cake I brought with me. He left relatively early and I was already beginning to feel the effects of Crosby withdrawal when Huggy Bear let drop the bombshell that Crosby and his real world BFF have been roommates all this while, which led to the rather bitter LJ entry below this one (apologies, if it is locked - it doesn't put me in such a nice light.)
Tuesday was my actual birthday and after stewing all day, I finally e-mailed Huggy Bear and Pale Male to meet me in The City for drinks. I did not call Crosby, in part, because I knew Huggy Bear would do it for me and in part because I couldn't handle another demurrer from him.
A good time was had (Crosby texted his birthday wishes) and Huggy Bear introduced me to the frozen yogurt place called, Handles (not such a great name if you are weight conscious.)
Wednesday started off badly as I did not get the time right for Crosby's sermon and wound up getting there during The Peace, long after he had finished. But, I did get to meet Innamorata. In fact, Crosby escorted me over to her and introduced us. And, what a revelation. It was like talking to Crosby himself, someone whose eyes you could fall into as they observed you directly looking back at them, as they took up various themes and ran with them in unexpected directions. Bing soon came over and joined us, quickly getting us on the subject of the tattoos, just when I had just about filed them away as so much Lenten tomfoolery.
Bing reminded me that it was Innamorata who held Crosby's hand as he underwent the painful one and a half hours (down slightly from the two hour duration in Crosby's telling) process and I finally got to explain to Bing all the shennanigans I had to pull in order not to spill the beans. Somehow, Bing's being fine with it and Innamorata's assumption of responsibility for Crosby's future nightlife activities seemed to smooth everything over.
Strangely, Bing called it an evening and left the young folks to their own devices and suddenly I was the oldest person in the room. Huggy Bear more or less threw me under the bus as he made his way past me, explaining he was going to "wait" for an audience with one of the clergy, which I could only assume was meant to be private.
By Maundy Thursday, I was back on track with my timing and managed to get a seat several rows behind the Bings. Huggy was next to me, but kept getting up and leaving only to return a while later. Couldn't figure out where he was going.
Bill Fields was across the aisle from us, sitting alone. He looked trim as ever, but much grayer. It was odd watching him listen to the choir instead of being in it. While I was processing that whole story, there came time in the liturgy for a special hymn composed especially for the occasion by a former St. Mike's choirmaster. It's a haunting recital of Christ's last words to his disciples during the Last Supper:
http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=qLqPbxRdEgA
[That will probably be my anthem every day Crosby is gone during his Camino - yeah, he was chosen over a gazillion other candidates as the sole representative from NYC.]
I looked for Bill during The Peace, but, he had apparently disappeared into the collective bosom of his former colleagues. I caught him on the rebound and it was probably fortunate; he had turned all warm and cuddly as a result of all the hugs he was getting.
The stripping of the altar is always dramatic and parts of the musical liturgy were excruciatingly moving. Later, it was Colette's turn to leave unescorted with a half-hearted, "Have fun." directed Crosby's way as she headed out the Parish House doors.
She had left us in the Gray Lounge munching on scones all pimped out to look like hot cross buns. It was only then that I realized where Huggy Bear had been during those long absences from Colette's pew: he'd been baking! There was even extra cream frosting.
I was just hitting my stride in a slow to simmer conversation with Crosby (I literally had him eating out of my hand, taking bits of hot cross bun) when Richard and Peter came in, demanding to know whether I was coming to Brooklyn with them. They had been acolytes the entire evening and were tired and were ready to go home.
I couldn't very well demur without embarrassing Crosby (which I'm sure was part of their calculation) so I left with them.
On the subway ride home, as we sat in a row, Richard asked about Mom and seemed particularly interested in where the nursing home was located. I barely had time to describe the directions when Peter interrupted to say that Richard's brother had suffered a heart attack on Monday and that he had only just taken himself to the emergency room four days later. We collectively dished and dissed the poor older brother for his stubbornness and sense of exceptionalism and continued in that general vein until I got off at my stop.
The next morning, I felt something odd about the Good Friday proceedings as they were about to get underway. There was an unusual amount of milling about. Now one was there to answer questions. No one seemed to be gathering the troops before the long program to come. There was no Peter. There was no Richard.
Unbeknownst to me, they had arrived earlier only to reverse course and leave suddenly upon receiving word that Richard's brother was in bed, not breathing and not responsive to the increasingly frantic shaking of his sixteen year old son. He was dead.
As Holy Week approached, I mainly was looking forward to everything getting back to normal. I felt like I was treading on eggshells every time I had a humorous, lustful or transgressive thought. And, it's always complicated by the arrival of March because there are so many family birthdays during it. This year was a milestone for Big Bro' and a rather small one for myself.
The turning point came during a day long refuge organized around the idea of "quiet time" in the middle of the work week. It was organized by the twenties-thirties group, but, Crosby seemed to take a particular governing interest in it. I know that when I hear him calling me by my first and last name that he is both needling me AND that I am usually the object of his complete attention. He demonstrated it by offering to make another pot of coffee as I was milling about the pantry, waiting for the sanctuary to open.
It's amazing how sound travels in the sanctuary when there are no people to absorb it. From the roof of the side gallery I could hear every footstep of every person who came into the main sanctuary of St. Michael's. It was so weird that everyone, meaning, Crosby, Huggy and myself, wound up taking their shoes off and walking around in their stocking feet (bare feet in the case of Crosby, at one point - he does have have sexy feet.)
I think the quiet time gave me an opportunity to contemplate God in an unusually concentrated way that wasn't in complete isolation and yet was separate and spacious in its surroundings. I was also able to revisit "Sit Where You Eat", see the weaknesses in character development and motivation and come up with some fixes. So much of it takes place in a church that it was a natural place to put my attention.
Unfortunately, for everyone else, every turn of the page on my foolscap tablet echoed like a crack of lightning throughout the church.
There were three breaks, or litugies, during the course of the day where we would gather in the Little Chapel to sing hymns and listen to a Bible selection. Huggy Bear wore vestments.
Colette and Pale Male arrived at one point. Colette stayed until pretty much the end, even going into the pantry and making more coffee.
The end of the day was nearing when Huggy Bear approached the high altar and lit some incense. It gave us something else to bliss out on as the smoke rose in tendrils, twining with the sunlight and issuing in unpredictable patterns before gathering at the top of the ceiling.
I think it was just Huggy and I on the walk home. It must have been, because I remember dishing about Colette (she looked like she had a migraine headache and had to lie down in one of the pews at one point) and that's probably not something we would have done in Crosby's presence.
When I got home, I read a message addressed to the Vestry from our Sunday School coordinator, explaining that she needed speakers for the Stations of the Cross on Good Friday - and, that she expected the Vestry to step up to the plate and fill in. I didn't see a single response the entire weekend.
That was Saturday. Sunday was our birthday celebration and I was late for Intersection. Crosby left early, after demurring on some birthday cake I brought with me. He left relatively early and I was already beginning to feel the effects of Crosby withdrawal when Huggy Bear let drop the bombshell that Crosby and his real world BFF have been roommates all this while, which led to the rather bitter LJ entry below this one (apologies, if it is locked - it doesn't put me in such a nice light.)
Tuesday was my actual birthday and after stewing all day, I finally e-mailed Huggy Bear and Pale Male to meet me in The City for drinks. I did not call Crosby, in part, because I knew Huggy Bear would do it for me and in part because I couldn't handle another demurrer from him.
A good time was had (Crosby texted his birthday wishes) and Huggy Bear introduced me to the frozen yogurt place called, Handles (not such a great name if you are weight conscious.)
Wednesday started off badly as I did not get the time right for Crosby's sermon and wound up getting there during The Peace, long after he had finished. But, I did get to meet Innamorata. In fact, Crosby escorted me over to her and introduced us. And, what a revelation. It was like talking to Crosby himself, someone whose eyes you could fall into as they observed you directly looking back at them, as they took up various themes and ran with them in unexpected directions. Bing soon came over and joined us, quickly getting us on the subject of the tattoos, just when I had just about filed them away as so much Lenten tomfoolery.
Bing reminded me that it was Innamorata who held Crosby's hand as he underwent the painful one and a half hours (down slightly from the two hour duration in Crosby's telling) process and I finally got to explain to Bing all the shennanigans I had to pull in order not to spill the beans. Somehow, Bing's being fine with it and Innamorata's assumption of responsibility for Crosby's future nightlife activities seemed to smooth everything over.
Strangely, Bing called it an evening and left the young folks to their own devices and suddenly I was the oldest person in the room. Huggy Bear more or less threw me under the bus as he made his way past me, explaining he was going to "wait" for an audience with one of the clergy, which I could only assume was meant to be private.
By Maundy Thursday, I was back on track with my timing and managed to get a seat several rows behind the Bings. Huggy was next to me, but kept getting up and leaving only to return a while later. Couldn't figure out where he was going.
Bill Fields was across the aisle from us, sitting alone. He looked trim as ever, but much grayer. It was odd watching him listen to the choir instead of being in it. While I was processing that whole story, there came time in the liturgy for a special hymn composed especially for the occasion by a former St. Mike's choirmaster. It's a haunting recital of Christ's last words to his disciples during the Last Supper:
http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=qLqPbxRdEgA
[That will probably be my anthem every day Crosby is gone during his Camino - yeah, he was chosen over a gazillion other candidates as the sole representative from NYC.]
I looked for Bill during The Peace, but, he had apparently disappeared into the collective bosom of his former colleagues. I caught him on the rebound and it was probably fortunate; he had turned all warm and cuddly as a result of all the hugs he was getting.
The stripping of the altar is always dramatic and parts of the musical liturgy were excruciatingly moving. Later, it was Colette's turn to leave unescorted with a half-hearted, "Have fun." directed Crosby's way as she headed out the Parish House doors.
She had left us in the Gray Lounge munching on scones all pimped out to look like hot cross buns. It was only then that I realized where Huggy Bear had been during those long absences from Colette's pew: he'd been baking! There was even extra cream frosting.
I was just hitting my stride in a slow to simmer conversation with Crosby (I literally had him eating out of my hand, taking bits of hot cross bun) when Richard and Peter came in, demanding to know whether I was coming to Brooklyn with them. They had been acolytes the entire evening and were tired and were ready to go home.
I couldn't very well demur without embarrassing Crosby (which I'm sure was part of their calculation) so I left with them.
On the subway ride home, as we sat in a row, Richard asked about Mom and seemed particularly interested in where the nursing home was located. I barely had time to describe the directions when Peter interrupted to say that Richard's brother had suffered a heart attack on Monday and that he had only just taken himself to the emergency room four days later. We collectively dished and dissed the poor older brother for his stubbornness and sense of exceptionalism and continued in that general vein until I got off at my stop.
The next morning, I felt something odd about the Good Friday proceedings as they were about to get underway. There was an unusual amount of milling about. Now one was there to answer questions. No one seemed to be gathering the troops before the long program to come. There was no Peter. There was no Richard.
Unbeknownst to me, they had arrived earlier only to reverse course and leave suddenly upon receiving word that Richard's brother was in bed, not breathing and not responsive to the increasingly frantic shaking of his sixteen year old son. He was dead.