to speak with my Bishop Mark yesterday night along with other clergy from our deanery (a deanery is a small grouping within a diocese). I was impressed.
If there was a person would had every right to be bitter and jaded about everything that has happened it would Bishop Mark but there was nothing of the sort as he spoke with us. He spoke from his heart and his heart was not dark or angry. He spoke of how all of this has drawn him closer to Christ. We had questions and he had answers but no recriminations, no hostility, and no resentments. For about two hours we got to see what a Bishop truly is and I am better for it.
Many years!
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
The day the music died...
It's an obscure place. North on 8th Street, right on 315th, left on Gull, Clear Lake Iowa. Look for the pair of glasses and then walk 1/2 mile west along the fence.
I was pondering whether to go at all. I had no desire to feed the macabre side of human nature and my imagination went to what it must have been like in those last few moments. Did they know? Did they have time to prepare? What thoughts raced through their heads in the cold winter night as gravity overcame technology and pulled them to earth?
The wind came from the west, cold, and shedding mist as clouds passed before the sun. The sky was wide as it is in these places where trees are scarce. We walked, hand in hand, on a dirt path keeping an eye on the fence. Somewhere along the wire there would be a break and we would know.
Towards the end of the field was a small metal sign. Buddy Holly. Ritchie Valens. Big Bopper. 50 years ago a small plane with three rising stars fresh from the applause was suddenly brought down to earth just minutes after it took off for North Dakota and the hope of a warm bed. For the next hours the bodies would lay in the snow waiting for others to discover that the bus with the band had arrived but they were not to be found. Valens was still in his teens and the Big Bopper had not yet reached 30.
We paused for a minute as the breeze circled around us and the air got colder. Rain from a cloud far away fell in a short burst as we walked away. It was almost 7 at night and the fields were quiet except for the sound of the wind. Everything else was silent and at rest as Iowa prepared to sleep.
I was pondering whether to go at all. I had no desire to feed the macabre side of human nature and my imagination went to what it must have been like in those last few moments. Did they know? Did they have time to prepare? What thoughts raced through their heads in the cold winter night as gravity overcame technology and pulled them to earth?
The wind came from the west, cold, and shedding mist as clouds passed before the sun. The sky was wide as it is in these places where trees are scarce. We walked, hand in hand, on a dirt path keeping an eye on the fence. Somewhere along the wire there would be a break and we would know.
Towards the end of the field was a small metal sign. Buddy Holly. Ritchie Valens. Big Bopper. 50 years ago a small plane with three rising stars fresh from the applause was suddenly brought down to earth just minutes after it took off for North Dakota and the hope of a warm bed. For the next hours the bodies would lay in the snow waiting for others to discover that the bus with the band had arrived but they were not to be found. Valens was still in his teens and the Big Bopper had not yet reached 30.
We paused for a minute as the breeze circled around us and the air got colder. Rain from a cloud far away fell in a short burst as we walked away. It was almost 7 at night and the fields were quiet except for the sound of the wind. Everything else was silent and at rest as Iowa prepared to sleep.
Holy Trinity Church, Overland Park, Kansas...
It's not been the best of years to be Orthodox in the Antiochian Archdiocese. Byzantine finances, felons in official structures, a sex offender restored to ministry involving parishes. And the beat goes on...
I wish it would all go away, but it will not. I wish it would change, but it won't, at least not for the near future. I'd like to wake up one morning and not say to myself "My goodness, what are they thinking...?" It's push through time, slog on step by step, take care of the parish, play the game and wait for some breakthrough. Months? Years? Who knows?
I was hoping for something better. Actually, truth be told, I was expecting better. This is the Church, after all, and I know its made up of strugglers just like me but I was hoping that somehow there was a sum better than the parts. Perhaps there is in the whole of history but not in this moment.
So yesterday morning I stood in the back of Holy Trinity Orthodox Church and let the music and the liturgy wash over me. Now the rest of the story is supposed to go something like, "..and then my heart melted and great joy and peace flooded through my soul." Well it wasn't quite like that. I'm still tired. I'm still troubled. I'm still disappointed. Yet standing there I remembered why I came to this Faith and why I'll stay.
That's a start.
I wish it would all go away, but it will not. I wish it would change, but it won't, at least not for the near future. I'd like to wake up one morning and not say to myself "My goodness, what are they thinking...?" It's push through time, slog on step by step, take care of the parish, play the game and wait for some breakthrough. Months? Years? Who knows?
I was hoping for something better. Actually, truth be told, I was expecting better. This is the Church, after all, and I know its made up of strugglers just like me but I was hoping that somehow there was a sum better than the parts. Perhaps there is in the whole of history but not in this moment.
So yesterday morning I stood in the back of Holy Trinity Orthodox Church and let the music and the liturgy wash over me. Now the rest of the story is supposed to go something like, "..and then my heart melted and great joy and peace flooded through my soul." Well it wasn't quite like that. I'm still tired. I'm still troubled. I'm still disappointed. Yet standing there I remembered why I came to this Faith and why I'll stay.
That's a start.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
I'll be on vacation...
through Monday and offline. Folks are staying over to watch the house and the fortune cookie I had at supper told me to relax and so I'm leaving the computer at home. We'll talk when I get back.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Tomorrow night...
I'll be back in Woodville, WI, this time as part of a trio "Ross, Martin, and John" (the bassist always seems to get last billing) because we don't have another name yet. We have a five song set and the crowd, if there is one, will probably determine how many of them we play.
There's something about night in a small town. Mostly dark, with streaks of light wherever people gather, the shadows are cool and inviting and so are the sounds that greet you when you step indoors. Playing at these small places is like beautiful noise in the middle of quiet and when its done everything returns to silence again. The first step out the door is always the best.
I may forget to take the interstate on the way back and take my chances with the small highways and the villages strung along them like irregular pearls. Its the smell of the outdoors as it speeds past your window and the sense of home as you pass through into the night. There is a romance in the dusk that day dwellers never seem to understand.
I have many lives all wrapped up in one body and this life, the life where music flows from my fingers for two or two hundred as night settles into the countryside is one of my favorites. I never tire of it and tomorrow as the sun sets I'll be heading east into Wisconsin to sample the menu.
There's something about night in a small town. Mostly dark, with streaks of light wherever people gather, the shadows are cool and inviting and so are the sounds that greet you when you step indoors. Playing at these small places is like beautiful noise in the middle of quiet and when its done everything returns to silence again. The first step out the door is always the best.
I may forget to take the interstate on the way back and take my chances with the small highways and the villages strung along them like irregular pearls. Its the smell of the outdoors as it speeds past your window and the sense of home as you pass through into the night. There is a romance in the dusk that day dwellers never seem to understand.
I have many lives all wrapped up in one body and this life, the life where music flows from my fingers for two or two hundred as night settles into the countryside is one of my favorites. I never tire of it and tomorrow as the sun sets I'll be heading east into Wisconsin to sample the menu.
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