Holy Tuesday

 

So here we are in Holy Week, on our journey to the Cross and from there to the new life of the empty tomb, of resurrection. Part of this journey, for me, meant climbing into a mileage car this morning and driving from Dallas HQ to a place called "Bedford." 

No kidding. Nav out to Hampton, take a left on Singleton, behold the beat up ghetto strip malls as you do, then take a right on Mockingbird and wonder and its several rent-by-the-hour motels. 

You don't stop there, no, you ride on through to the I35/183 turn off. Be careful, it's a racetrack as you rev up the Civic and move hell for leather into the 183 aspect of this route. After that? Pretty much straight shot 'til you get to this place called "Bedford" and exit the highway onto Forest. And there you are, in Mid Cities suburbia, which is where our cathedral is.

Highway purgatory over, roll into the parking lot and go to Mass, our diocesan Chrism Mass or Mass of Collegiality. I was late, so didn't vest, but joined the clergy for the renewal of our ordination vows and at the Altar for the Eucharistic Prayer. Powerful stuff, and what a good, faithful body of men, always a pleasure to be with them. So what have we here?

The Cross, by way of Metrosprawl traffic, and Resurrection with a beautiful Mass and the good priests of our diocese. So there you have it. Safely back at Ma LSP's Compound, all's peaceful and in good order, and you'll be pleased to know she's watching some kind of show detailing the jewels of the Romanovs in their female aspect. Yes, they were spectacular.

On topic, do you think our current Bioleninist politics of envy and spite, aka socialism, started with the French Revolution? Perhaps so, though I'd argue the poison seed goes back to Luther, but that's me, we can parse the wicked Age of Enlightenment, see Age of the Raison, and its iniquitous fallout forever. Have at it.

In the meanwhile, we've got a war to win. D'ye reckon Don can pull it off? Money, as always, on the dam monkey.

Yours,

LSP

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