sting

Arriving yesterday before we could check in at the hotel, we stopped by Trinity Church to pick up the key that was waiting for me, then parked on the riverfront downtown, 

ate a salmon sandwich brought from 7H for a light lunch, afterward returning to the church to wander around inside, reminisce a bit not overly or maudlin, snap pictures, head to the hotel and have a rest before the wedding rehearsal.

In our time here, my entering Trinity Church was always the back door, through the sacristy. So my first glimpse was never the beautiful gothic-style inscription “The Lord is in His Holy Temple.” at ceiling level over the front wall and that strikes who enters the front door, 

but the one over the balcony that probably most worshipers and visitors never notice. It was lifted from the Book of Common Prayer, Psalm 93 of the Coverdale Psalter

Thy testimonies, O LORD, are very sure: * 

Holiness Becometh Thine House for Ever. 

which always kept me mindful of what is expected, required, demanded of a clergyman regardless of all others. 

There’s a hymnboard set up for Sunday morning worship, Rite Two at 10:30 tomorrow, 

snapped with reminisce of my indescribable joy of grandson Nicholas visiting me summers, Christmas vacations, and spring breaks when he was growing up, and every Saturday evening Nick and I would go into the church and change the hymnboards. I think of the evening, we were getting him ready for bed, he exclaimed, “Granddaddy! We forgot to change the hymnboards.” In those years before he and his mom moved from Florida to Michigan, he was Granddaddy’s Boy, loved beyond imagining.  

And the shuttered side windows on the west side of the church there were, and always are as sure as the Gloria Patri, wasp nests. Maybe they prefer the west side because of the sun’s heat, IDK.

Which brings to mind my one great sadness in being a priest has been and is, the almost inevitable cost of a friendship in working with people, couples or individuals who come to me with troubles, for help, pastoral counseling, friendship. My priest mentor in Pennsylvania cautioned me to expect this, that it would happen, that almost every time I ministered with people working through problems, before it was over, one or both would hate me, it would be exceedingly painful and impossible to understand, but always to remember that this is inevitable and I don’t need to understand, just keep on. Seemingly almost always so, it first happened to me during my years here in Apalachicola at Trinity. Nonetheless, to juggle a favorite proverb, Tell the Truth, Cost What It Will. ὁ ἀναγινώσκων νοείτω.

Early morning, predawn, daylight hasn’t yet begun to break beyond this screen porch facing east: a man in a boat glides along Scipio Creek emptying his crabtraps one by one. All I can see is a light in the darkness, red heading upcreek, green as he glides back down. 

Wedding this evening, five o’clock.

Saturday dawns

DThos+