Sunday Mass

 

You pull up to Mission #2, not far at all from Belle Starr's onetime ranch/hideout, and what do you see? Nothing fancy, just a couple of lines of pick ups, a horse trailer and a lowish church built in the 1980s in an act of faith on the part of people who retired from the Metrosprawl to live by the lake. They're mostly gone now, bless 'em. But what do you find inside?

The few readers of this unassuming mind-blog would be shocked. No guitar playing nuns, no wymxn priestesses, no rainbow flags, no felt applique banners, not even any liturgical dance. What you do get is an oriented sung Mass, Rite I (think Ordinariate style, all you RC trads), with traditional hymns. And here's the thing, the singing was led by a couple of ex-Baptist women.

I tell you, it was good, and I don't say that lightly. Imagine, if you can, Amazing Grace at the Offertory on a Loretta Lynn tip. Here's Miss Lynn:

High on a mountain top? You bet. In related news, I called our Senior Warden after Mass, "Hey, J, I haven't ridden for four years and feel it's time to get back on. Can you recommend someone to give me remedial lessons? You know, leads, asking for gaits the right way and all of that." She thought about it for a second or two, "Sure! Come out this week and ride with us, we'll find you a horse."

Now, pundits, mark me well. This is equivalent to, say, a pub guitarist calling up Jimmy Page and saying, "Hey man, is it OK if I jam with you and Eric Clapton?" You know, to get better on the guitar, and he replies, "You bet, swing by the studio sometime this week, Roy Harper's gonna be there too. He needs help."

J in the Zone and then some

Wow, what good people we have in this little country church, where the Word of God is preached and taught and the Sacraments confected. There's hope and no inconsiderable uplift in that and I feel privileged to serve here. Stay tuned for equestrian adventure.

Your Old Pal,

LSP