The Twenty-Fourth Sunday of Pentecost, 2017
Yesterday was a long day. It began by waking up to my alarm, which is something I haven't had to do in a long, long time, and it ended with my falling asleep by ten o'clock, watching an old film noir called, "Whirlpool". The very next day, I had to change nearly all of my appliance orders for the new kitchen to - you guessed it - Whirlpool (the other company was in the middle of restocking the gas range and microwave for my old order and I didn't want to wait the extra week. But, you could well ask whether this is a matter of metaphysical convergence.)
In-between all of that was a 9:00 breakfast with a lot of the new members at St. Michaels. This is the second such gathering in less than a year and it is gaining the atmosphere of a matriculation ceremony for a college. Each year's new class arrives with a few new personalities and rekindled hopes for bonding and friendship. At least, that's the hope. I remember thinking last year how interesting it would be having two new gay men who also happened to be from my parent's home town. But, they've been pretty quiet and don't seem to depend on too many people beyond each other for companionship.
Montana has been squiring a handsome young man of indeterminate sexuality these past few months and I finally heard the fellow speak in his own voice yesterday. Another southerner, he has been staying with Montana until he can find an apartment of his own. This was all spoken without any sense of embarrassment during the open circle of the breakfast where everyone spoke for a few seconds about themselves.
There's also an interesting fellow, a recent college graduate who hails originally from the Midwest and shows real enthusiasm for his church home. I've barely been aware of his presence for a week and he's already become an usher.
Usher has a keen eye and meets your gaze willingly and unabashedly. He wants to be friends and we chatted each other up briefly at the breakfast. He specifically asked whether there were "any other social organizations" he should be aware of. I got the feeling he was asking about gay organizations and much to my complete chagrin, I couldn't tell him about any. Saint Michael's hasn't had an active gay social scene since the last Rector retired. I honestly think people have been waiting for me to start one.
Towards the end of the hour, we all began moving toward the main sanctuary. It was a warm and chatty beginning to what hopefully will be a long-term commitment to getting to know one another. In the meantime, there were signs of life among some of the old Muses. Frank Lee sat next to me in the same pew and we shared the same prayer book and hymnal for much of the Mass. It's a lot of fun worshiping with him because he's a fellow convert and isn't embarrassed to admit that he doesn't have all the right words memorized or occasionally misses a high note in a hymn. Nothing stopped us.
The Rector gave the sermon for the second Sunday in a row which was unusual. The Gospel theme was about the parable of the man who summoned his slaves to determine how each of them had invested some currency or "talents" given to them some time in the past. I don't really remember too much about it except that I suspect it was connected somehow with the ongoing campaign to solicit pledges of gifts to the church.
This was the first Sunday in a dog's age I haven't had to retire right away to the Lower Sacristy for one task or another. I very nearly was drafted again as Juanita hinted broadly that she had to leave for the airport shortly after the service. I'm ashamed to say, I ignored her hints. But, I'm glad I did. As I moved toward the hallway leading to Parish Hall, I saw our Deacon Emeritus from out the corner of my eye. I bounced over to him, realizing as I did that nothing is better designed to make a sixty-year old man feel young again than the sight of a ninety year-old. I happily planted a kiss near the corner of his mouth.
Then, I recognized Pierre's mother standing near the doorway. She seemed to recognize me, though I don't remember ever talking with her before. We held each other's gaze for about thirty seconds or so before I blurted out a question about Pierre. "How old is he?", I asked.
"He's sixteen."
"Really? He doesn't look it."
"Don't let him hear you say that!"
She then explained that "All of my children are small, so people assume they are younger than they really are."
I wanted to say that Pierre isn't that small any more, but, decided that was not the right time to get into the weeds about Pierre's growth spurt or how accurate (not to mention, appropriate) my observations were.
Next, a big Gray Lounge Forum...
In-between all of that was a 9:00 breakfast with a lot of the new members at St. Michaels. This is the second such gathering in less than a year and it is gaining the atmosphere of a matriculation ceremony for a college. Each year's new class arrives with a few new personalities and rekindled hopes for bonding and friendship. At least, that's the hope. I remember thinking last year how interesting it would be having two new gay men who also happened to be from my parent's home town. But, they've been pretty quiet and don't seem to depend on too many people beyond each other for companionship.
Montana has been squiring a handsome young man of indeterminate sexuality these past few months and I finally heard the fellow speak in his own voice yesterday. Another southerner, he has been staying with Montana until he can find an apartment of his own. This was all spoken without any sense of embarrassment during the open circle of the breakfast where everyone spoke for a few seconds about themselves.
There's also an interesting fellow, a recent college graduate who hails originally from the Midwest and shows real enthusiasm for his church home. I've barely been aware of his presence for a week and he's already become an usher.
Usher has a keen eye and meets your gaze willingly and unabashedly. He wants to be friends and we chatted each other up briefly at the breakfast. He specifically asked whether there were "any other social organizations" he should be aware of. I got the feeling he was asking about gay organizations and much to my complete chagrin, I couldn't tell him about any. Saint Michael's hasn't had an active gay social scene since the last Rector retired. I honestly think people have been waiting for me to start one.
Towards the end of the hour, we all began moving toward the main sanctuary. It was a warm and chatty beginning to what hopefully will be a long-term commitment to getting to know one another. In the meantime, there were signs of life among some of the old Muses. Frank Lee sat next to me in the same pew and we shared the same prayer book and hymnal for much of the Mass. It's a lot of fun worshiping with him because he's a fellow convert and isn't embarrassed to admit that he doesn't have all the right words memorized or occasionally misses a high note in a hymn. Nothing stopped us.
The Rector gave the sermon for the second Sunday in a row which was unusual. The Gospel theme was about the parable of the man who summoned his slaves to determine how each of them had invested some currency or "talents" given to them some time in the past. I don't really remember too much about it except that I suspect it was connected somehow with the ongoing campaign to solicit pledges of gifts to the church.
This was the first Sunday in a dog's age I haven't had to retire right away to the Lower Sacristy for one task or another. I very nearly was drafted again as Juanita hinted broadly that she had to leave for the airport shortly after the service. I'm ashamed to say, I ignored her hints. But, I'm glad I did. As I moved toward the hallway leading to Parish Hall, I saw our Deacon Emeritus from out the corner of my eye. I bounced over to him, realizing as I did that nothing is better designed to make a sixty-year old man feel young again than the sight of a ninety year-old. I happily planted a kiss near the corner of his mouth.
Then, I recognized Pierre's mother standing near the doorway. She seemed to recognize me, though I don't remember ever talking with her before. We held each other's gaze for about thirty seconds or so before I blurted out a question about Pierre. "How old is he?", I asked.
"He's sixteen."
"Really? He doesn't look it."
"Don't let him hear you say that!"
She then explained that "All of my children are small, so people assume they are younger than they really are."
I wanted to say that Pierre isn't that small any more, but, decided that was not the right time to get into the weeds about Pierre's growth spurt or how accurate (not to mention, appropriate) my observations were.
Next, a big Gray Lounge Forum...