broken and cannot be mended
On 7H porch, outside dark early, what do I see? About halfway up in the east, a geostationary satellite; because of the "streetlight" right on the shoreline of Oaks by the Bay Park next door, that's daylighted my night ever since soon after Hurricane Michael, no stars from here anymore.
Back inside, with my eyes and ears on and a magic mug of hot & black from my coffee club, what do I taste? Thinking I'd never do it because the grape jelly is too perfect, I did it anyway: succumbed to a taste for a PBJ on extra thin white bread. With the hot & black, the PBJ sits well at this dark hour.
With a sermon draft to supply at HNEC on Shell Island Sunday 22 September, and my Revelation lesson plan about firmed up for this coming Sunday, what's on my mind, what else is new?
From ENS, Episcopal News Service, the Episcopal Diocese of Florida moves toward diocesan convention that will seek to proceed with another election to choose their diocesan bishop. When I was growing up, we were part of the Diocese of Florida, and I've since watched their interesting antics - -
- - recently, a couple of bishop elections that were disapproved by the Episcopal Church at large and therefore invalidated.
- - against their now retired bishop, allegations regarding prejudicial treatment discriminating against gay and female clergy. Sometimes those who don't get their way choose to play the discrimination card, but IDK
- - some years ago, the split of the major parish in Tallahassee when the rector led a sizable part of the congregation away based on hating gays, to form a parish of one of the breakaway so-called "Anglican" denominations that are not part of the Anglican Communion but a type of Garrison Keillor's last surviving remnant of the one true church; their constructing a cathedral-like edifice that is so necessary to the mission of Christ; and then the male rector who led them away because they all hated gays, himself accused of sexual harassment of males - - playing out Shakespeare's best line, "The lady doth protest too much, methinks."
But where was I going with this? In yesterday's email an invitation to register for an Ignatian directed, silent retreat, one may choose either three days or four days, offered by the Ignatian spiritual center in Mobile, Alabama, in October.
invitation below, scroll down
I've done these before, first driving up to Boston for one in about 1985 or 1986 and then three Ignatian silent, directed retreats the summer of, it must have been 2011 or 2012, the first or second summer after my heart surgery at Cleveland Clinic. It's going through a car wash and coming out spiritually new. In need of shoring up against life, the world, and life around me, almost desperately do I feel the need to do it again; but at this age and physical state I RSVP regrets. Maybe repeat my own self-directed retreat from here in 7H. The month of May on my morning walks, mostly pausing with a thermos of hot & black, or a bottle of water, to contemplate, on one of the boardwalk decks below here in Harbour Village and Oaks by the Bay Park, with no one around but gulls and wading birds. Oh, leaping mullet one morning.
And, aside: No, please and no thank you, I neither need nor want anyone stepping forward to make this happen for me, I'm a loner with my life making my own decisions. Maturity at this age is not a number but wisdom to acknowledge and accommodate life as it comes down, and I'm there.
sail away with me, to another world.
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Still sits the schoolhouse by the road - - my love and total enthusiasm is for one single Episcopal school in the very same building where as a small and growing child, I went to elementary school from 1941 through 1949.
But looking around at America, I am dismayed unto depression about the evidence, voiced recently by a disenchanted former public school teacher, that the public school system in America is broken and cannot be fixed. I'm believing it. On television our Bay District Superintendent of Schools said that already, one week into the 2024 fall semester, there have been 11,000 unexcused absences and 4,000 excused absences of students. And that parents have no idea whether their kids are going to school or not.
Something negative has been happening, exacerbated by school experience during covid and after, and the public school system has collapsed. There is no higher calling in life than the vocation to teaching children, but teachers, in despair, are leaving the schools and the system that is broken and cannot be mended.
What's the answer? It isn't even clear what the question is.
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My birthday the end of next week, Saturday, September 14 my calendar will turn over to mark 89 rides around the sun. What to do? A small shipment of lobster meat from Maine so I can make lobster rolls with part of it and dip the rest in hot lemon butter or mayonnaise. Maybe a small celebration with Linda, Kristen, and Malinda at Pruitt, blowing out candles and cutting a small cake, probably coconut, from Publix, and maybe takeouts from Wendy's because Malinda worked there fifty years ago? Maybe a Time or Time and a half, or Two Times at Hunt's and/or Captain's Table to confront platters of cold salty ones? Mullet at some point, either fried dining out, or oven-baked here at home?
Where am I? Forty years on from the day I went to my bishop's office in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania to tell him I was turning down the call to the Pennsylvania parish and accepting a call to Trinity, Apalachicola. Somewhat stunned, he responded, "Apalachicola?! I know it well." (He had been the Canon to the Ordinary of the Diocese of Florida before the Diocese of the Central Gulf Coast was formed.) He said, "It's the end of the earth, whatever will you do there?" I said, "I'll eat oysters and mullet." The bishop then asked, "And when you get tired of oysters and mullet what will you do?" I've told this reminiscence here more than once. Tired of oysters and mullet? At that moment, I knew that the bishop and I were in two different realities, and there was no point in continuing the conversation.
Other than my sea duty on the destroyer nearly seventy years ago, relocating from Harrisburg to Apalachicola the summer of 1984 began the happiest chapter of my life.
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Still sits the schoolhouse by the road, a ragged beggar sleeping - - around it still the sumachs grow, and blackberry vines are creeping.
Within, the master's desk is seen, deep scarred by raps official.
The charcoal frescoes on the wall,
the jackknife's carved initial.
Long years ago, a winter sun shone over it at setting ...
In a bookclub years ago, we were asked to bring and read a favorite poem or two for discussion. I may have done Kipling's "If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you," but for sure I brought and read Whittier's "Still sits the schoolhouse by the road," only to have another club member, who had just read his modern poem of incomprehensible rubbish, light into me for bringing such tripe. He was a trip, who once viciously tore into his young step-daughter who had just put on lipstick for the first Time, and came to show him, telling her, "You look like a whore. Go wipe off that lipstick." A kind and gentle man who cruelly bullied his wife, and who prided himself on never telling a lie, not even a white lie in lovingkindness. He was despicable, I could not stand him!
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Last evening I watched the film, "The Inglorious Basterds," which I'd long read was one of the best in a long list of movies relating to WW2 and the Third Reich. Scrolling, I chanced upon it to watch for free, which, being cheap, I immediately took up on. Either it was entirely tongue in cheek grotesque comedy or, being so totally unlikely and unreal, it was stupid and ridiculous. I'm glad I wasted the two and a half hours watching it and crossing it off my list, but I'm voting ridiculous.
At any event,
God is good.
All the Time.
RSF&PTL
T88&c
IGNATIAN SPIRITUALITY CENTER
Mobile, Alabama
Silent Directed Ignatian Retreats What is a directed retreat?
A directed retreat is an opportunity for a person to focus on one’s personal relationship with God, particularly one’s prayer life, as well as one’s relationship with others. This is done over a period of days, in solitude and silence, in communion with God.
During this time the retreatant meets daily with his/her spiritual director for forty-five minutes to an hour during which (s)he shares whatever information about his/her relationship with God and prayer life that (s)he wishes. This information helps the director to be an eCective spiritual companion. The director will help the retreatant discern the presence of God in his/her life and will suggest themes of prayer or meditation for each day, oCering appropriate scripture passages the retreatant can pray with prior to their next meeting.
How one prays the Scripture passages is left up to the retreatant and the director. Usually three or four formal periods of prayer from a half to a full hour are recommended; the scheduling of these prayer periods is left up to the retreatant. Daily Mass is also available. The remaining informal time of each day should be spent in rest and relaxation in the presence of God, whether reflecting on how God is touching one’s life, journaling, or simply soaking up the beauty of the retreat house grounds. Each person finds his/her daily rhythm of prayer, reflection and relaxation in an atmosphere of silence, peace and calm. The important thing is to be alone with God in a spirit of silence and simplicity, for it is in this climate that one can best experience the voice of God.
See the reverse side for information about an upcoming silent retreat opportunity being o7ered in Mobile by the Ignatian Spirituality Center.
The Ignatian Spirituality Center is an independent nonprofit organization registered with the State of Alabama (Entity ID # 001-113-085). Its governing Board of Directors is comprised of laypeople and Jesuits. The Center’s mailing address is 4000 Dauphin Street, Mobile AL 36608. Its website, www.ignatianspirit.org, is under construction (Fall 2024).
IGNATIAN SPIRITUALITY CENTER
Mobile, Alabama
What: Individually directed silent retreat (3- or 4-day) When: October 23-27, 2024
Where: Sacred Heart Retreat House of the Visitation Monastery
2300 Spring Hill Avenue, Mobile AL, 36607
For Whom: Any adult seeker with an open heart who desires time away with the Lord
ake step into God’s presence to ay.
Take a step into God’s presence to rest, pray, listen, reflect. Enter the silence and serenity of the Sacred Heart Retreat House at the Visitation Monastery. Whether you are searching for a new way of knowing God that is real and personal, want to deepen and refresh your faith, or find yourself at a crossroads in life, individually directed retreats in the Ignatian tradition provide an environment to meet the unique spiritual needs of each retreatant.
This is sacred time to spend with the Lord at your own pace and under the gentle guidance of an experienced spiritual director chosen especially for you. Come away awhile and, like Elijah, let the storm, the earthquake, and the fire pass by. In the quiet beauty of the monastery, rest and reverently listen for loving voice of the One who created and cares for you.
Check in 3-5pm Wednesday (23rd) or Thursday (24th). A short orientation will follow.
All meals provided, plus coCee/water/snacks.
Daily one-on-one meetings with a spiritual director trained in the Ignatian tradition.
Daily Mass available; Reconciliation easily arranged upon request.
Each retreatant is given a private room; bathrooms are dormitory style. If both men and women register they will be lodged in separate wings with separate bathroom facilities.
Depart after lunch on Sunday, October 27th.
The retreat fee is $315 for 3-day; $420 for 4-day.
Spaces will be limited for this retreat. For more information or to register, contact Jean Dempsey, Executive Director, at jcdempsey251@gmail.com or 251-422-3141.
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In School-days
Still sits the school-house by the road,A ragged beggar sleeping;Around it still the sumachs grow,And blackberry-vines are creeping.Within, the master’s desk is seen,Deep scarred by raps official;The warping floor, the battered seats,The jack-knife’s carved initial;The charcoal frescos on its wall;Its door’s worn sill, betrayingThe feet that, creeping slow to school,Went storming out to playing!Long years ago a winter sunShone over it at setting;Lit up its western window-panes,And low eaves’ icy fretting.It touched the tangled golden curls,And brown eyes full of grieving,Of one who still her steps delayedWhen all the school were leaving.For near her stood the little boyHer childish favor singled:His cap pulled low upon a faceWhere pride and shame were mingled.Pushing with restless feet the snowTo right and left, he lingered;—As restlessly her tiny handsThe blue-checked apron fingered.He saw her lift her eyes; he feltThe soft hand’s light caressing,And heard the tremble of her voice,As if a fault confessing.“I’m sorry that I spelt the word:I hate to go above you,Because,”—the brown eyes lower fell,—“Because, you see, I love you!”Still memory to a gray-haired manThat sweet child-face is showing.Dear girl! the grasses on her graveHave forty years been growing!He lives to learn, in life’s hard school,How few who pass above himLament their triumph and his loss,Like her,—because they love him.