In which I wear many hats and come to some realizations
Tuesday morning, 11:00, Holy Eucharist, Rite Two, Chapel of the Apostles. The final hymn is “The Church’s one foundation.” I’m singing with my usual enthusiasm right up until we get to the third line of stanza 4:
till with the vision glorious her longing eyes are blessed,
and the great Church victorious shall be the Church at rest.
Well, anything about the vision of God, especially seeing Jesus, gets me every time. I have that in common with my namesake apostle. The absolute worst is from “Once in royal David’s city”:
And our eyes at last shall see him
through his own redeeming love.
Not once have I successfully sung that stanza.
Anyway, I fall silent, make a game attempt to rejoin the singing at the beginning of the last stanza, and am almost immediately defeated:
Yet she on earth hath union with God, the Three in One,
and mystic sweet communion with those whose rest is won.
O happy ones and holy! Lord, give us grace that we,
like them, the meek and lowly, on high may dwell with thee.
This is my first conference since Mom died, and that hymn is just too much for me, as I stand next to the celebrant and hope that no one is noticing.
The Wednesday Eucharist, by longstanding tradition, uses the Propers for the Departed and includes a necrology in the Prayers of the People, which are taken from the Rite One Burial Office.
There’s no way.
There’s just no way.
I speak to Bishop Alexander afterward. “If I can’t even make it through ‘The Church’s One Foundation,’ I should definitely not be the assisting priest tomorrow.” Fortunately, a substitute is readily available. I can just be the acolyte, so if I end up melting into a puddle, at least I’ll be doing it way off in a corner in All Saints Chapel.
Wednesday morning, 8:30. Four of the brethren (and sistren) present themselves for the sacrament of healing.
I realize over the course of the day that I can manage being a chorister, assisting priest, pastoral caregiver, and general walking sacrament, all at the same conference. But doing it all while fielding emails about a condo I may be buying in DC is wearing one hat too many.
11:00 am, Holy Eucharist, Rite One, All Saints Chapel. I do not in fact melt into a puddle, though I do tear up when Mom’s name is read. Being off on the margins was exactly what I needed. In particular, it would otherwise have been my job to read the necrology. Which, no.
As he walks by on his way to the altar, Bishop Alexander offers me a kind tap on my arm. This is both pastorally comforting and surprisingly painful. I worked my triceps really hard on Monday.
One further realization and I’m finished. When there’s a good chance that set mealtimes and a cooperative esophagus will not coincide, it’s absolutely crucial to have protein bars handy.
That’s all.