Eighth Sunday After Pentecost, July 14, 2024
Today was another in a seemingly endless parade of hot, humid Sunday mornings with the Cross Team processing down the center aisle and up the altar steps with bare legs and track shoes visible beneath their vestments. Not only was it unbearably hot but the solution - a cadre of stand-up fans set next to certain strategic pews - likewise proved to be a barrier to some of the elderly who complained about the air being "too much."
It was this reason that I found myself virtually alone in my preferred pew near the front of the sanctuary. It is a location that has taken me the better part of thirty years to decide that not only did I "deserve" to sit that close to the front of the church, but that, thanks to my declining years, would serve to buffer the effects of the building's unpredictable acoustics.
It was the first outing for my ancient seersucker jacket, the one with the impossibly padded shoulders. The middle button would be a casualty of the day; it has been replaced numerous times since the original was lost, usually hastily stitched by a home needle and thread kit. The biggest problem, of course, is in locating a replacement button that doesn't entail buying an entirely new jacket.
Today marked a couple of other milestones.
One was the launching of "A Woman in Every Pulpit", a celebration of women in the Episcopal ministry. A poster featured four women in clerical collars. Three of them had connections with St. Michaels.
The other event was the last working day for Mother Julie before she takes a medical leave. It was announced via email within the last week, and it caught a lot of people by surprise when it was announced once more during her sermon.
Mother Julie's sermon had to do with the differences between the Episcopal Church and the more orthodox Armenian Church in which she was raised. She chided us for being among "the frozen chosen" because of the way we resisted being overly swayed by music. She even said that there were eastern churches where parishioners practically danced down the aisle on their way to receiving Communion.
And wouldn't it be wonderful if, someday, the people fo St. Michael's could do the same?
Well, it wasn't long before I found myself having to calibrate the cost/benefit to my soul's chances of being condemned to Hell, if I did a dance step before receiving The Host. I decided it was worth it. And because I was sitting in the second pew from the front, my happy feet (a stamp/shuffle step in place) caught the attention of quite a few congregants in back of me.
As a result, Mother Jule would have to stop handing out wafers long enough to stifle a laugh as parishioner, after parishioner would pause in front of her to sway and twirl and move to a silent tune in their own head. It was quite amazing.
After The Benediction, I was surprised to see Colette. I had spotted neither her nor her husband during the service and had not thought to turn my gaze upward towards the Choir Loft which I had assumed was empty for the summer.
But she appeared at my side, all the way in the front of the sanctuary as I was exchanging remarks with Johnny Apple. Johnny was in a louche mood after the exuberance of the service and insisted on lying cross-ways across the front pew with his head resting on his arm, supported by nothing more than the hard wood armrest of the seat.
"You should use one of the cushions, John.", Colette called to him.
John pretended not to hear her. Or perhaps he did and just wanted to hear the sound of her voice again. "Why don't you lean on one of the cushions? You look like you're waiting for a psychiatrist." This made John break up.
Colette was her own version of climate change, aiming lightning bolts of good humor at John, taking note of my jacket, even opening it to examine my green polo shirt more closely. "Where's the alligator?" she said just before I bent toward her to give her cheek a hug (it made me regret that I had not shaved a little more closely before I left the house.) She brushed aside any attempts to return the compliment even though she always manages to out sparkle anything she wears. "Oh, this thing? I just pulled it out of the closet this morning." It was a black, short-sleeved, blouse with tiny, silk, rose buds embroidered all around it. The blue of her eyes were as elusive as ever.