Wake up, feed the dog, boil the kettle, say Morning Prayer. Shower, go to the Pick 'n Steal and get coffee, check the news. Note how Operation Boomerang is progressing nicely for Joe "Don't Call Me Quid Pro Quo" Biden. Play Groove is in the Heart by Deelite.
Then drive to Waxahachie. Yes readers, all seven of you, Waxahachie. Why? Because you've been invited to the Global Orthodox Anglican Church's clericus. And there you are , at this little Texas Gothic church in the midst of a pretty neat town. Note, Waxahachie's been gentrified, thank God.
I heard a talk from the OAC's Primus about the Eucharist. Simple stuff but alright with it. Then I lurked off to the church hall and talked horses with a ranching woman who was making pulled pork, even though it was Friday.
She was down to earth and used to cowboy because her Father didn't have any sons to look after the cattle. Respect. We talked Arabians and "hitting the ground like a sack of wet charcoal." Then it was time for Mid-Day Prayer.
The impressively bearded Primate of the OAC performed a quick change parade and walked over to the church in Rochet, Chimere and all the rest. I called out, "Bishop, you're looking terrifyingly Choir Dress," he chuckled at that, which I liked.
As we were entering the small but winsome church I told him, boldly, "Years ago I went to the King's School Canterbury and we used to have Summer assemblies in the Quire of the Cathedral. It was Sung Mattins, and after the first one I wrote home, "Dear Mother, I think I've been to a non-communicating Solemn High Mass. I was twelve at the time."
His Eminent Grace thought that "very good" and I replied "very ridiculous" and off we went to the Office. All well and good. And it was. So good to be with loyal, catholic Anglicans, people who actually believe in the Creed they stand up and proclaim Sunday by Sunday.
Waxahachie's neat too, nice little town.
God bless,
LSP
