St Nick’s on the Move

Flickr

Wow! They broke ground at church while I was on vacation for the
addition!

Ginny
I can has iPhone?

Via: Flickr
Title: St Nick’s on the Move
By: GinnyRED57
Originally uploaded: 7 Jun ’09, 10.31am CDT PST

UPDATE: And it’s about frickin’ time. This morning was my first day back after vacation – we returned late last Sunday. I knew that ground had been broken but wasn’t prepared to see the big mound of dirt, two earth moving machines, and the Honey Bucket tactfully screened by the sign provided by the Diocese of Chicago. Ahem, I see there’s a rather “The Episcopal Church in Northern Illinois” tag added, too. Good for them. My only regret thus far: the big pine tree that was to the right of the entry is gone. What a shame.

The service today was a typical summer one: the 9am “traditional liturgy” holdouts (Yay! that’s me and most of the choir) and the 11am “contemporary liturgy” people (everybody else that never had music in school… ) combine in the summer for a 10am service, which means one whole extra hour at home before choir practice. Also in summer: no Wednesday choir practice.

Of note today: one of our associated priests was presiding and giving the sermon, because there was a couple of people in attendance as a search committee from a parish in another state. I hope and pray that if it’s a good fit, they call her. She wasn’t feeling well and our main priest tends to throw things in at the last second to confuse people out of enthusiasm, but she coped all right. I did like her sermon, and I hope her interview with them after church went well. Fr. Steve had decided to throw a parish barbecue at VERY little notice (it wasn’t even in the email that went out on Wednesday or Thursday) and he called for volunteers to start the coals in the grills (they cooked under the overhang in front, and all the smoke came rolling inside at the end of the service). Oh, dear. But it seemed like it was all pulling together at the last second, just like usual. I think in the end our supernumerary priest and her search committee cancelled their lunch reservation and just threw in with the parish barbecue. When I left, they were all smiling at all the hubbub and activity, so I hope that it all helped with forming a favorable impression.

It was good to see my church frenz again and I maked the musics la la la. Actually, we all had to laugh at some of the plans for the summer; apparently several Sundays, we will be singing show tunes instead of hymns. Well, we heard the first few choices and thought “Okay, that could work, and people really relate to stuff like that…” but then we got to the “Sound of Music” selections for one particular Sunday, and all was hilarity. Sure, you could imagine “The Hills are Alive” and “Climb Ev’ry Mountain” and the nuns’ “Alleluia,” but the kicker was that the suggested number for the recessional was… waaaait for it! “So Long, Farewell.”

All pretense of musicality, oppenness to new ideas, and pro-am churchy decorum dissolved. We all broke into bits of the chorus – different bits, in different keys – and then the men hit on the same verse and did the hand motions and the “Adieu, adieu, to yieu und yieu und yieuOOOH!” and we fell about laughing. Choir dominatrix Mary lost it big time when I asked if we couldn’t convince the Liturgy Committee to let us do “The Lonely Goatherd,” since… “we could do a puppet show from behind the piano!!!” And frankly, we really could do a puppet show the way Mary’s arranged the instruments. She could even play the melody with one hand, since they’re giving her plenty to do anyway finding arrangements. Oy.

There were more suggestions for other Sundays – a lot more of highly improper songs and improvised pastiches – and aside from how funny it was, it’s a serious matter to convince somebody whose enthusiasms have run away with them that it really wouldn’t be appropriate at the Gospel reading for the choir to break into “So You’re Jesus Christ, The Great Jesus Christ?”

Some of the other suggestions are intriguing and we don’t want to completely balk at the idea; there would be something from “Big River” that would be pretty nice, but there are problems with pulling off “Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ The Boat” or any other songs from “Guys ‘n Dolls” in a liturgically appropriate way. For one thing, where would we get all the gamblers, streetwalkers, and mobsters to pretend to be a revivalist congregation? See? Problems.

All this happens this month and next month, so there will probably be more later after the dust settles, both from the construction site and from the impending discussion betwixt Mistress Mary and the committee member. She’s gonna be rockin’ their boat for sure.

Healers’ hands blessed by many faiths

St Mark’s Hospital in Salt Lake holds an annual Blessing of the Hands of healers. It’s the hospital where Mom was during her last illness, and our family got a lot of support from the Episcopal priest who runs their pastoral care program, Fr. Lincoln Ure. This event sounds just like Fr. Linc; I experienced the regular Wednesday Eucharist with him and some of the staff when Mom was upstairs, and the following week, I had to go back after she passed. Those people are some powerful healers, and I got a sense of how deeply they care for one another’s spiritual needs.

Healers’ hands blessed by many faiths – Salt Lake Tribune

Few of the St. Mark’s Hospital employees who reached out their hands for a blessing from Imam Shuaib-Ud Din understood the words he spoke in Arabic.

But that didn’t much matter.

It was a gift to be received, one of many Wednesday during the eighth annual Blessing of the Hands at St. Mark’s.

An estimated 100 of the hospital’s 1,600 employees spent time on the lawn at the rear of the hospital, washing their hands in blessed water and having their hands, palms upturned, blessed by Din of the Utah Islamic Center, representatives of the Buddhist, Episcopal and LDS faiths, a nondenominational chaplain and an Arapaho healer.

Rowland Hall-St Marks Had A Marketing Problem

The problem was the “saint” in the name, as Utah is the state of the Saints. The Salt Lake private school has changed its name so that it will seem less parochial sounding and easier to market to local families looking for an educational alternative.
Rolly: A sign of the times? – Salt Lake Tribune

Rowland Hall-St. Mark’s School has been a prominent fixture in Utah education for about 130 years. Founded by the Episcopal Church, the school has proudly boasted on uniforms, school communications and signs its motto: “Nihil Longus Deo” Never Far from God.

Until now.

The school began this year to put a little distance between it and God.

A recent letter sent to the Rowland Hall-St. Mark’s community from marketing and publications director Susan Koles noted the new logo, sans the Latin motto, and said that on public displays and official communications, the school will be referred to as Rowland Hall, dropping the St. Mark’s part.

Apparently it’s the “St.” that’s the sticky part.

Koles told me that while school officials will always be proud of its Episcopal tradition St. Mark’s was founded in 1867, Rowland Hall in 1880, and they later merged, it has been independent of the church “for a long time, although we still have an Episcopal chaplain and the school teaches world religions and ethics.”

A marketing firm hired to assess the school’s image found that because of the “St. Mark’s” part of the school name, many people believed it was a parochial school, which it is not. Hence, the move to a more secular public image.

The school’s official name still is Rowland Hall-St. Mark’s, and it will appear that way on diplomas. It just won’t be publicized.

It’s too bad, really. My niece Raeanne graduated from there, and a relative by marriage got married there in their beautiful, English style chapel. My pre-teen encounter with a full-on High Church marriage service is one of the experiences that led me to become an Episcopalian.

Whan That Aprille With His Shoures Soote

NPR’s 5 part program “The New Canterbury Tales” is excellent, catching up on them at
The New Canterbury Tales : NPR. Long ago I studied Chaucer’s long travelogue in the original Middle English, and the reading I heard today was so familiar. I actually had memorized the opening lines, years ago, because Mom boasted that she could still recite the Prologue some 50 years or so after graduating high school. So I had to give it a shot just so I could come home from my fancy college education one spring break and spout off about

I can get as far as

WHAN that Aprille with his shoures soote
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich 3 licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;

and can patter on a bit after that with prompting, before giving up about when the “tendre croppes” appear.

Yes, of course I get what it means. Don’t you?

When you hear it pronounced, it sounds very Scandanavian and sing-songy, but with a lot of quasi-English sounding words pronounced oddly (hint: silent E was not silent in Chaucer’s day). I even remember learning about The Great Vowel Shift in that long-ago class. Just now, I read on and on, struggling to remember how to pronounce the words, and achieved a fairly consistent cadence. I’ll have to check it later against a sound file NPR will upload later, recorded by a man that has memorized the entire saga who performs for schools and theater groups.

The thing is, if you carry on reading it, IT’S PORN. At least, some of the tales are HIGHLY UNSAFE FOR WORK if you were to read it outloud in modern English… but if you’re reading it in the Middle English, you’re quite safe.

The other thing is, IT’S A BLOG POST. A medieval trip report. A dishy smorgasbord of pre-Reformation celebrity gossip.

The NPR pieces are enjoyable, because Rob Gifford literally goes out of his way to find interesting people to talk with. Even though as an Episcopalian, it’s disappointing to hear how the importance of church-going has slipped badly in Britain, part 3 is really fascinating. It starts with a visit to Charles Darwin’s home. It goes from there to touch on the tension between the different kinds of Christianity represented by the Anglican church – the moderate, intellectual kind that’s more to my taste is derided as “wishy-washy” by the evangelical/fundamentalist wing. And Gifford goes on to talk to some decidedly unchurched British youth, out for an evening’s pub crawl before ending up in a cab, talking to the driver about how rude and uncivilized his passengers sometimes are.

Great Britain has changed substantially since the time of Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, which described life in late 14th century England. For this five-part series, Rob Gifford retraced Chaucer’s steps, walking the 60 miles from London to Canterbury, to give a snapshot of Britain in the early 21st century.

Once upon a time, England was very Christian. One can tell just from the number of church men and women whose tales grace the pages of The Canterbury Tales.

The parson, the pardoner, the nun’s priest — the list goes on. But the church was just starting to change at the time, as the early stirrings of the Reformation were just beginning. Fast forward several centuries beyond that Reformation, and there has been plenty of change in the church in Britain in recent decades, too.

Today’s installment will be up on the NPR.org site later, and delves more into the racier, bawdier aspects of life in Britain in Chaucer’s day, and in our own time. It features fox hunting without foxes, and pole-dancing lessons. It’s also the one that features the long readings from the original poems. Huzzah!

UPDATE: Today’s installment is now online.

My Church Can Has A YouTube Channel!

St Nicholas Episcopal Church has a new video camera, and we’ve been uploading to our own YouTube channel. Soon everybody in the world can hear me mess up singing that one solo…
YouTube – 1bread1body’s Channel

Welcome to St. Nicholas Episcopal Church! We are a church in the northwest suburbs of Chicago that celebrates all people and focuses on mission to children, LGBTQ individuals and families, the hungry, those in need of healing, and those seeking a deeper spiritual life.

The church is located at 1072 Ridge Avenue, Elk Grove Village IL

They haven’t uploaded anything that they taped during Lent, so I hope new content will be going up soon. I’m interested to see how it looks, especially for some of the special services we do over Lent where the entire space gets re-arranged into a new configuration.

Holy Week services have been effective and pretty well attended except for Maundy Thursday, but Palm Sunday was a big deal as it was a single, combined service. We “strowed” the palm leaves all over the space, especially in the area between the font and the current location of the altar, which is more or less centered in the sanctuary.

I wasn’t all that impressed with the sermon on Thursday; it was given by one of our lay preachers, who tends toward the “show and tell” end of the spectrum, and also likes to dramatize a little. A display was constructed from small tables draped in black (okay, wooden TV trays covered with black plastic tablecloths) and each table contained something symbolic of one of the 6 Sundays in Lent and the sermons other people gave. At the end of the display, a small barbecue had been set up with Sterno cans, with small rocks piled around to make it look like a campfire. This was actually lit and the lights were dimmed while the sermon went on (and on).

It could have been a disaster, as the little rocks were cracking from the heat and sparks occasionally flew up. I could just see Fr. Steve’s fancy new chausuble (think “holy poncho”) going up in flames. As it was, all the little display tables became an obstacle course when it was time for Communion. By the time I finally left, I was wiped out – for such a lightly attended service, there was A TON OF MUSIC that we had to perform. We’d worked on the two (two??) anthems for months, and there was a lot of extra music.

Last night’s service went really well – the Good Friday music was challenging, but aside from having to chant the entire 22nd Psalm (“I am a worm, and no human”) it didn’t seem to be overly long. My friend Dave gave the sermon; he’s another lay preacher of ours (we have a pretty deep bench) and he did an excellent job. Check out his blog, Beware of Pfalz Prophets – he’s a former denizen of the old Jake’s Place comments.

It’s been a long, long week – tonight we have THE BIG VIGIL at 8pm and I have to be there at about 7pm for rehearsal, screaming, and last minute agita. Tomorrow there’s an Easter Sunday service at 10am, so I’ll be there at about 9am. I’m taking it easy today, although it’s a beautiful day; may get out later and enjoy the outside for once. It’s supposed to be nice tomorrow afternoon, too.

Christmas Disasters | Padre Mickey’s Version

Padre Mickey tells the thrilling tale of one memorable Christmas, when a flaming dessert burned itself into the memories of everyone present (also the carpet, furniture, the kitchen floor) before being kicked back into the kitchen). He promises 2 more visitations of this memory, as recalled by other, saner heads. It’s a Rashomon Christmas! You owe it to yourself to read the whole thing: I nearly coughed up a lung laughing at it.

We had a wonderful meal; lots of good food, and the children opened presents, and oh, what a wonderful Christmas it was! Gramma Connie had prepared a lovely Plum Pudding (Gramma Connie can bake like nobody’s bizness!). And, as is normal with any foody and creative cook, she wanted the presentation To Be Perfect (we were all unaware of Martha Stewart, and quite happy about it, I might add!). Grampa Jim splashed some clear rum on the pudding. Gramma Connie splashed some clear rum on the pudding. Aunt Sally splashed some clear rum on the plum pudding. I don’t think any of them had discussed this rum-splashing with the others. Then, Gramma Connie artistically placed the holly on the pudding, Grampa Jim lit the rum, and, with it all flaming, our hostess, Aunt Sally, slowly walked into the living room carrying the pudding-laden platter into the living room while we all sang, Now bring us some figgy pudding, now bring us some figgy pudding, now bring us some . . .OH MY GOD!!!!

Via Padre Mickey’s Dance Party: Christmas Tales Of Padre’s Family: Rashomon Kurisumasu: The Flaming Pudding Toss.

I’m trying to think of a comparable Christmas Disaster from our own family’s collective memory; there’s photographic evidence somewhere of one from the last Christmas I spent “at home” with mom, before I got married. Mom was making a batch of “disappearing cookies,” which had to be started in a double boiler to melt butter and brown sugar together. She somehow bobbled the transfer of the stuff (I think she was bending down to retrieve something from the dishwasher, and knocked the bowl on herself from the counter) and was covered with warm, sticky, buttery goo. Fortunately, it wasn’t hot enough to burn, but it was in her hair, down her front, and all over the kitchen. She was laughing so hard she couldn’t talk. Scratch one batch of cookies.

The Feast of Saint Nicholas

St Nicholas is special to me. Not only do I attend a church named after him (he’s our “patronal saint” in liturgical churchspeak) but he’s indirectly responsible for my 20-year career in travel. As he’s the patron saint of children, sailors, and travelers, this seems more than mere coincidence. How’d this happen?

When I was still living in Eugene, I was drifting along at a dead end job after I left college, working at a dry cleaners. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life or what I could do to improve my circumstances. More schooling seemed impossible; I had no more veterans’ or Social Security benefits left that paid tuition, and I’d pretty much wasted several years of my life goofing off and having fun, with no degree to show for it.

I’d become friendly with Eveline Elliot, a travel agent who worked down the street at the old Eugene Travel (which closed years ago). She was the person who got me started in the exciting and glamorous world of travel (oh brother) by hiring me to deliver tickets to her many clients on the University of Oregon campus. As a former student, I knew exactly how to find my way around the various office buildings on campus; I knew what “508 PLC” meant, where the building was, and that it was likely an English Lit. professor. After a short paid gig, I was asked to become an unpaid intern for 6 months, take all the free SABRE self-guided lessons in the computer system, and even travel to Dallas to American Airlines’ training center for weeklong classes, from the most basic to more advanced. The catch was the “unpaid” part, and since I didn’t wash out in the first month or two, they had a free employee with the understanding that if I got up to speed quickly enough, I might be offered a real job. Well, I couldn’t have gone 6 months without a paycheck, without Mom’s help. When I told her about it, she said it was no problem if it was what I really wanted. And my expenses were really, REALLY low: rent at the time was $125.00 a month, plus groceries and phone. Utilities were included.

As it happens, I got offered the paid position, but something had gone horribly wrong between h the owner of the agency and Eveline, and she was no longer working there (long story, owner was SO in the wrong: prison ensued on a later issue). But I was offered a better deal at another agency down the street because Eveline let them know I was available (an Apollo shop, so I had to totally re-learn some formats) and I was set for a year. Eventually, I got laid off from there (at Christmas, naturally; Eveline’s departure the year before was also at Christmas). More than a decade later, I was working in Seattle, not happy, and had met David, who lived in the Chicago suburbs. After a Christmastime trip with David to Colorado, I came home to the news that my employer was firing me (well, I really didn’t know what to do about that one big debit memo and put it off, can’t blame them). So I ended up working in travel here in the Chicago area, and now attend a church named after St Nicholas. It’s weird how it worked out that way. I just hope that my big job change (switching to another team sometime in the next week) is just another Christmas work-life development and not the harbinger of yet another holiday-time interruption in my continued employment in the industry. But I remain thankful for my job, which I suspect I may owe to the machinations of a Turkish saint who is very popular in Holland.

Eveline was Dutch, the seamstress at the dry cleaners was of Dutch extraction, and Eveline included me in her circle of friends. Eventually, this led to my participating in her annual Sinterklaas parties with other local friends. These were a lot of fun; the gifts could be quite modest, or even dug out of the trash and re-used, but they had to be elaborately wrapped and presented with a satirical poem that contained clues about the gift secreted somewhere inside the package, which could take any outlandish or mundane shape.

I remember Eveline one year had to work her way through a meticulously built cardboard steamer trunk, that opened on hinges and had little drawers and construction-paper clothes on hangers. It was lined with wrapping paper, and contained an itinerary that had the sprocket-holes along the sides just as the SABRE printers in her office produced for her clients. Eventually, she found something simple, like a luggage tag… that was the gift! Another year, an avid runner got a Nike running shoe, about the size of a breadbox. After reading the clues and taking it apart in the prescribed manner (there were several more installments of snarky poetry giving him clues) he eventually discovered a half-used tube of Shoe Goo.

You weren’t supposed to know who gave you the gift, and had to call out “Thank you, Sinterklaas!!” once you found your gift. Every now and then, someone would throw a handful of ginger nuts (also called pfeffernuessen)into the center of the group. This was to commemorate St Nicholas’ penchant for tossing gold and money bags through the windows of poor orphans and impoverished lovers.

Earlier today, I found the candy boxes from this years Fannie May fundraiser stacked on the front porch, dusted with snow. I knew UPS would be delivering it to the door, rather than to one of the St Nick’s parishioners, but I forgot to check the porch for it yesterday before the snow started. It should be fine, a little cold won’t harm fine chocolate. But as I brushed the snow off and brought it in, with David’s help, I couldn’t help calling out “Thank you, Saint Nicholas!”

From Benjamin Britten’s
St. Nicholas Cantata (1948):

Nicholas:
Across the tremendous bridge of sixteen hundred years
I come to stand in worship with you, as I stood
Among my faithful congregation long ago.

All who knelt beside me then are gone.
Their name is dust, their tombs are grass and clay,
Yet still their shining seed of Faith survives-

In you! it weathers time, it springs again
In you! With you it stands like forest oak
Or withers with the grasses underfoot.

Preserve the living Faith for which yours fathers fought!
For Faith was won by centuries of sacrifice
And many martyrs died that you might worship God.

Chorus:
Help us Lord! to find the hidden road
that leads from love to greater Love, from faith
To greater Faith, Strengthen us, O Lord!
Screw up our strength to serve Thee with simplicity.

Benjamin Britten’s St. Nicholas Cantata (1948) – The Saint Nicholas Center

Via Madpriest

Popcorn! Getcher Popcorn Heah!

I don’t usually go for interblog communications or linkery, much, but every now and then I notice something interesting shaping up via my Google Reader feed. First I noticed that the official blog of the Discovery Institute (ironically named “Evolution News & Views”) had an item where they seemed to be following evolutionary biologist PZ Myers’ movements very closely and accusing him of secretly espousing eugenics. And then Myers responded thusly with Pharyngula: Egnor loses it, again.

I’m reading both blogs because at Holy Moly, we’ll be discussing evolution and creationism and the “Intelligent Design” in the adult forum for the next few months. There may be some back-and-forth, or there may not. I read the Discovery Institute’s self-aggrandizing double-speak because I have to; I read PZ Myer’s Pharyngula (even the posts about cracker worship) because I really enjoy his writing and find the topics he covers interesting. I have only a bit of college background in evolution – I took a year-long evolution class at Oregon that was designed for non-science majors that I absolutely loved, but to me, the theory is all but proven. There’s no way to really prove it without going back in time and collecting specimens from all the places and eras where the fossil record is lacking – you can’t have ideal conditions for fossilization everywhere and everywhen but there’s a convincing preponderance of evidence for any rationalist.

Unfortunately, a complete fossil record of every type of creature, with samples from about every 1,000,000 years or so, will never be found and categorized unless science manages to figure out how the Tardis works. Also unfortunately, nothing less will convince a Biblical literalist of the truth of evolution, plus they’ll need a note from God saying “Sorry, your monkey really was an uncle, and fossils are real, and the seven days were really eons, but that bit got left out of a later edition of the Bible.

I want to note here, very firmly, that I’m a liberal Episcopalian, not an unthinking Biblical literalist, and I accept evolution as the most likely explanation for how humans came to be. I may believe in a God that atheists scoff at and agnostics question, but my God is both loving and logical. In my view, the Big Bang happened pretty much as physicists theorize, but the Deity was and is and ever shall be, from the nano-moment that the Light was first kindled in the Universe. And it appears that other Episcopalians, and also physicists, have a similar point of view.

I happen to think that God is very interested in what’s going on with His Creation, but He doesn’t meddle, much, because that would mess with His results. Never screw with your data, you know.

Anyway, for the first part of the discussion in Adult Ed., we’re watching the movie “Inherit the Wind” in the house Holy Moly now has re-purposed as a parish meeting place. I watched about the first third of the movie Sunday morning between the services, after my big numbah (sang a trio from Elijah with Katy and Mary). Had to scoot back to be sure I was there if Mary decided to rehearse the choir for second service (since I had to be there anyway for the reprise performance). So I missed out on the actual discussion, although they may be saving that up for later, once all the installments of the movie have screened. Steve G., the guy leading the Adult Ed. sessions, is a big fan of the movie, but knows exactly where it differs from the real story. He actually owns a copy of the trial transcript, which is published in book form by a college named after William Jennings Bryan. So he’ll probably be able to point out the various liberties the film took with reality. He’s not an Episcopalian, Steve G.: he’s Jewish and is married to one of the parishioners, but he likes running our discussion sessions. Interesting guy.

I’ve never actually seen the film, just know of it from its reputation. I was surprised to find that at the time it came out in 1960, it was understood to be a commentary on intellectual freedom as it pertained to living and teaching in the McCarthy era… the evolutionists-versus-fundamentalists angle was just a convenient hook to hang the story on. But a remake now would be, ironically, more literalist in scope. It was based on a play, and there are significant differences between both, and neither are completely accurate depictions of the events that took place during the “Scopes Monkey Trial.”

The play includes a note reminding the reader that “Inherit the Wind is not history.” The characters have different names from the historical figures on whom they are based, and the play “does not pretend to be journalism.” The authors go on to argue that “the issues of [Bryan and Darrow’s] conflict have acquired new dimension and meaning” in the 30 years since the actual courtroom clash. They do not set the play in 1925 but instead say that “It might have been yesterday. It could be tomorrow.” This timelessness of the setting can be seen as a warning about repeating the wrongs of the past, which can recur unless we are vigilant. During the play’s original Broadway run, it was widely understood as a critique of McCarthyism, but subsequent interpretations have been more literal, given the resurgence of the creation-evolution controversy after the play and film appeared, and the events of the film are sometimes incorrectly taken as a near recreation of the trial.

Despite the authors’ warnings and the fact that the play and the film are about defending truth from ignorance, both play and film contain major inaccuracies. Inherit the Wind portrays the Cates/Scopes character as unfairly persecuted when, in reality, the ACLU was looking for a test case with a teacher as defendant, and a group of Dayton [Blogula’s note: the real town where the trial took place] businessmen persuaded Scopes to be a defendant, hoping that the publicity surrounding the trial would help put the town back on the map and revive its ailing economy. Scopes was never in the slightest danger of being jailed.[citation needed]

Inherit the Wind has been criticized for stereotyping Christians as hostile, hate-filled bigots. For example, the character of Reverend Jeremiah Brown whips his congregation into a frenzy and calls down hellfire on his own daughter for being in love with Bertram Cates. In fact, no such event took place — Scopes had no girlfriend and the character of Rev. Brown is fictitious.[citation needed] The 1960 film depicts a prayer meeting during which some express hostility about Drummond and Cates, but Brady intervenes to calm the situation, urging a gentler and more forgiving strain of Christianity than the minister’s.

In reality, the people of Dayton were generally very kind and cordial to Darrow, who attested to this fact during the trial as follows:

“I don’t know as I was ever in a community in my life where my religious ideas differed as widely from the great mass as I have found them since I have been in Tennessee. Yet I came here a perfect stranger and I can say what I have said before that I have not found upon any body’s part — any citizen here in this town or outside the slightest discourtesy. I have been treated better, kindlier and more hospitably than I fancied would have been the case in the north.” (trial transcript, pp. 225–226)

The film does justice to this fact in the scene where Drummond first meets the Hillsboro [Blogula’s note: the fictional location] town mayor, and also in Drummond’s interactions with Cates’ students.– Wikipedia, Inherit the Wind

As a result of watching the movie in weeks to come, I’ll probably become more interested in reading up on H.L. Mencken, although he was a bit of a Fascist in his latter years.

We’ll be watching the film for the next 2 or 3 weeks. Sadly, no popcorn shall be popped; Steve G. told us yesterday morning that he can’t stand the smell of popping popcorn, and in the mornings it would tend to turn his stomach. I’ll be watching the various evolution (rational) and creation (irrational) blogs in my feed in the meantime, because later on we’ll focus on evolutionary theory itself and then look at what the ID people put forward as arguments against it, and I’ll probably pull some handouts together for discussion some week.

Schismatics Again: Why Wheaton? Why Not Quincy or PA?

It seemed like things had been starting to move on the “Episcopal split” front, what with dioceses like Quincy, Ft Worth, and Pittsburgh shaking the icky liberal dust from their sandals. It seems like such a terrible waste of everybody’s time and talents. But then, I forget: homosexxxuls are teh evul! They do not deserve to live, let along marry! The Devil is constantly going about tempting people to decorate with pink flamingo accent pieces and sing show tunes!

Anglican Primate ‘Disturbed’ by New Rival Body| Christianpost.com

Nevertheless, breakaway Anglicans have expressed little hope that the current church bodies in North America would get back in line with orthodox Christianity and Anglican tradition. The Common Cause Partnership plans to unveil their draft constitution and affirm their stance at an evening worship celebration on Dec. 3 in Wheaton, Ill.

Why is it these angry Anglicanists – there, I coined it myself – always seem to have their renewal whoop-de-dos in the Episcopal Diocese of Chicago? Why not in a venue they still claim as theirs in “friendly” territory: Quincy, Ft Worth, Pittsburgh, or San Joaquin?

Why? Because there’s money and support from well-funded Evangelical bodies in the Wheaton area? How long are the Anglo-Catholics going to put up with the Evangelicals, and vice versa? High Church and Low Church don’t really see eye-to-eye on a number of matters, and there are often hints that the highest-profile leaders are jockeying for position. Also, there’s definitely an aspect of “in your face, Chicago” because our previous Bishop, William, voted to sustain Bp. Gene Robinson’s election. Methinks that conflict and drama are essential to their plans, too – no conflict means no publicity, and no publicity means people lose interest as the movement appears to become less viable.

I ran into some old friends, who left the old Holy Moly a few years ago, while my husband David and I were at REI today. It’s always a bit uncomfortable when I see them, because they left pretty much because the vicar was too much Teh Gay when preaching and speaking. I don’t know if they found another church home; we’re friendly when we see each other, but I’m not comfortable enough to ask them flat out. A number of other former parishioners didn’t come along to the new church after the closure and merger, and I now seem them only at the occasional funeral. They probably feel that we left them, or we made it seem it was “our way or the highway.”

It’s a difficult thing. The Bible does condemn various kinds of homosexual behavior, but Jesus Himself was silent on the subject, choosing instead to condemn (heterosexual) adultery and the uncaring rich. Meanwhile, He hung out with tax collectors and other riffraff. Who are we to exclude any group by name, when He didn’t?

More discussion, and plenty of accusatory “you liberal Episcopalians aren’t really Christian” commentary here.