The famed City of Lights, aka Paris, France, is great but Texas has light too, from the heavens. That struck me as I drove out to take the Sacrament to a churchman who'd just got back from hospital after hip surgery. There it was, the sun breaking through the clouds like the presence of God blessing the land of the Lone Star State.
And there I was at the ranch, parking up by an old Chevy 2500 and looking over at round bales, a random dog house sitting on the side of a storm shelter, and a barn beyond. A lot of memories. Many, many hours dove hunting and walking the treelines, gun in hand, a few unsuccessful coyote calls under a bright moon, target shooting photos of Episcopal bishops with GH, rest in peace, and on. What good times.
A cacophony of tiny dogs greeted me at the door, "Come on in, Fr. LSP!" And I did, TR was recovering on a recliner and everyone was watching Yes Prime Minister, a favorite in this part of rural Texas, but that had to pause for the short service.
Think, God, in the Sacrament, visited that house and the people who received him were united to his victory on the Cross. The sun, if you like, broke through the clouds and the glory of God shone. What a wondrous miracle, and how dim our eyes are to see it, but I won't preach.
TR's a neat guy, he used to cowboy at the King Ranch and I asked him once what it was like, "I'll tell you Father, nineteenth century work for nineteenth century pay." In related news, he cooks what might be the best brisket I have ever tasted. Just outstanding, and that's no idle plaudit.
God bless you all and grant TR a full recovery.
Tantum Ergo,
LSP
