The Twenty-Third Sunday of Pentecost and Our Annus Horribilis
Things are winding down for one of the longest parts of the Church calendar. Pentecost lasts for more than half the year and for some reason I always associate it with a long shadow that descends upon the imagination. More marriages break up during Pentecost I'm sure. But, more marriages also probably occur. More of life in general probably takes place during Pentecost.
What follows is Advent which I realized for the first time on Sunday is really about the Second Coming of Christ, or as some Christians believe, The Rapture.
The Rapture can be a scary concept, especially coming right after Halloween, or All Saints Day, as it is called. The Rapture is when all the graves empty out. It is also when Christ arrives to judge the living and the dead and I believe The Rector spoke for a lot of us when she said during the sermon that she, for one, couldn't be more ready for stupid humanity to hang it up and let God clean house.
Yeah, I'm pretty disappointed with the year so far. There aren't a lot of people left to look up to anymore. Even The Muses have feet of clay. Something dark and unfathomable marked the weekend of The Moonshot and something else: just the merest whiff of cruelty. And, that which I don't understand I tend to fear and shrink away from. Two more Vestry meetings and I'm out of here.
What follows is Advent which I realized for the first time on Sunday is really about the Second Coming of Christ, or as some Christians believe, The Rapture.
The Rapture can be a scary concept, especially coming right after Halloween, or All Saints Day, as it is called. The Rapture is when all the graves empty out. It is also when Christ arrives to judge the living and the dead and I believe The Rector spoke for a lot of us when she said during the sermon that she, for one, couldn't be more ready for stupid humanity to hang it up and let God clean house.
Yeah, I'm pretty disappointed with the year so far. There aren't a lot of people left to look up to anymore. Even The Muses have feet of clay. Something dark and unfathomable marked the weekend of The Moonshot and something else: just the merest whiff of cruelty. And, that which I don't understand I tend to fear and shrink away from. Two more Vestry meetings and I'm out of here.