The Fourth Sunday of Lent, 2019
Lent continues to be a season of reflection and vulnerability for many of us, even without having made any official pledges of fasting or sacrificing. I, myself have all but stopped eating ice cream, but, I probably would have done so anyway, just to get ready for t-shirt weather. Frank Lee says he has given up chocolate, a perennial favorite.
Frank found me sitting alone near the front of the epistle side of the sanctuary. How I had gotten there says something about the state of play within my small circle of "people of interest". I had grabbed an order of worship from the wicker basket carrying them near one of the columns when, pivoting around, my eyes met Juanita's. Already seated, ostensibly to be near the lower sacristy, she and Simon represented a sort Bermuda Triangle of compulsion as I tried, unsuccessfully as it turned out, to navigate the narrow shoals of the epistle side aisle. Not wanting to be rude, I stopped and chatted. It was still early and the Cross Team was still gathering.
I knew as soon as I did so that I would be there for a while, standing in the aisle while Juanita retraced the history of her late husband's death. I'm not sure how we got on the subject. It almost doesn't matter. I know for a long time after Mom died that somehow every conversation I had led back to something that reminded me of her. It could be the same thing with Juanita.
But, right in back of her, Simon sat, legs akimbo, in the next pew. So,, I sat down as soon as she was finished talking. The Cross Team was passing by and I was embarrassed to find myself forming a one-person receiving line as The Rector walked by.
I listened intently to see if I could hear Simon's voice through the singing of the opening hymn, "The King of Love My Shepard Is" (#646). But, I could not. He was too far away. That was when Frank joined me.
At some point, I figured out that Simon must have been one of the lectors; that's the only reason he would be sitting so far from his usual spot near the back of the church (and nearer the exit.) So I looked for his name on the back of the order of worship.
And, there, I discovered something: His surname. It lacked the usual Scotch-Irish ring of my parents portion of the American South. It looked Dutch or perhaps German. His parents, or perhaps just his father's family were relative newcomers to their farming village just as the Assistant Rector's were. I wondered if he might even have been Amish? I'd spotted a few Amish families in the local Walmart on my visits "Down Home". Wouldn't it be remarkable, if Simon were one of them?
It would explain a lot, especially his steadfast reticence in the face of so many people attempting to be his friend. Just about everything I have heard about the Amish suggests it would have been very hard for him to grow up there as a gay man.
I speculated about that as he left his seat and proceeded up the marble steps to the Chancel and led us through the Prayers of the People. And, my thoughts were confirmed in one aspect. He had not one trace of a southern accent. Much like me, he had either spent a lot of time in the north or, perhaps never had one because that wasn't the accent he heard at home.
Frank found me sitting alone near the front of the epistle side of the sanctuary. How I had gotten there says something about the state of play within my small circle of "people of interest". I had grabbed an order of worship from the wicker basket carrying them near one of the columns when, pivoting around, my eyes met Juanita's. Already seated, ostensibly to be near the lower sacristy, she and Simon represented a sort Bermuda Triangle of compulsion as I tried, unsuccessfully as it turned out, to navigate the narrow shoals of the epistle side aisle. Not wanting to be rude, I stopped and chatted. It was still early and the Cross Team was still gathering.
I knew as soon as I did so that I would be there for a while, standing in the aisle while Juanita retraced the history of her late husband's death. I'm not sure how we got on the subject. It almost doesn't matter. I know for a long time after Mom died that somehow every conversation I had led back to something that reminded me of her. It could be the same thing with Juanita.
But, right in back of her, Simon sat, legs akimbo, in the next pew. So,, I sat down as soon as she was finished talking. The Cross Team was passing by and I was embarrassed to find myself forming a one-person receiving line as The Rector walked by.
I listened intently to see if I could hear Simon's voice through the singing of the opening hymn, "The King of Love My Shepard Is" (#646). But, I could not. He was too far away. That was when Frank joined me.
At some point, I figured out that Simon must have been one of the lectors; that's the only reason he would be sitting so far from his usual spot near the back of the church (and nearer the exit.) So I looked for his name on the back of the order of worship.
And, there, I discovered something: His surname. It lacked the usual Scotch-Irish ring of my parents portion of the American South. It looked Dutch or perhaps German. His parents, or perhaps just his father's family were relative newcomers to their farming village just as the Assistant Rector's were. I wondered if he might even have been Amish? I'd spotted a few Amish families in the local Walmart on my visits "Down Home". Wouldn't it be remarkable, if Simon were one of them?
It would explain a lot, especially his steadfast reticence in the face of so many people attempting to be his friend. Just about everything I have heard about the Amish suggests it would have been very hard for him to grow up there as a gay man.
I speculated about that as he left his seat and proceeded up the marble steps to the Chancel and led us through the Prayers of the People. And, my thoughts were confirmed in one aspect. He had not one trace of a southern accent. Much like me, he had either spent a lot of time in the north or, perhaps never had one because that wasn't the accent he heard at home.