On The Road

 

With apologies to Mr. Kerouac, I've been on the road lately, driving across the Texan country to visit the sick, tend the flock and take care of business.

And mess with tractors. That aside, the road took me to an old friend, Colonel E, who was languishing on the sickbed. Except that he wasn't. Full recovery, please. We prayed.

It was a good visit and full of memories. Many, many ride outs from his place to Lake Waco and plenty of racing to boot. 200 yard gallop? On! And beyond, to the trail by the little regional airport where you could really pick up steam and go flat out. Fast and flat. Big fun.

But that was then. Yesterday was communion from the reserved sacrament and with that, the true light which enlightens every man coming into the world entered my friend's home and soul.

The people, you understand, that sat in darkness saw a great light. Praise God for that.

Ride On,

LSP

Texas Light

 

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

The Pyx And The Knife

I drove to Waco this morning. No, not to visit the truly awesome Silos but to take the Sacrament to a man in hospital. Two of his family were there and I brought Communion for them too.

It's a simple enough rite and I use elements from an old book called the English Ritual, a relic from the days when the Church of England hadn't been taken over by Mantis People and the Anglo-Catholic movement was just that, a movement.

Regardless, when it was time to administer the sacrament, the strangely outsize Hosts stuck in the pyx; they wouldn't exit the small made-in-China faux brass container. Solution? Whip out your folder, mine's a Cold Steel Recon 1, and pry the Hosts loose. Then the rite can continue.

Ecce Agnus Dei... "Behold the Lamb of God, behold him which taketh away the sins of the world," the small congregation replying, "Lord I am not worthy that thou should come under my roof but speak the word only and my soul shall be healed." 

Communion administered and final benediction given, I remarked that I'd never done such a thing before and I haven't. Using a knife to administer Communion to the Sick isn't in the manuals, not even the Knott variety, and I felt a little sacrilegious. "Don't worry," said C, "We're all country people here."

That reassured me, as does the knowledge that Christ's Body was given to his Mystical Body, there in that hospital room.

Make of this what you will.

God bless,

LSP

Country Ministry

On the Road

I used to think that country ministry meant looking after several near empty Medieval churches and lots of parish "fetes." Perhaps you don't know what a parish fete is. They're mostly like day-long yard sales with little sandwiches, snacks and tea, maybe even some goofy game that the priest is supposed to take part in. 

Bad Craziness

Sometimes they'll have dancers who are like clowns but worse, and if the fete's high-stepping it might have tents, which is a good idea because these things are held outside and chances are it'll rain. That's what I figured rural priesthood was about, all these fetes and ancient churches, maybe even some real ale clowns.  

Rod and Gun

Apparently I was wrong. For me, country ministry seems to involve a lot of guns, horses, fishing and not a Norman church in sight, sadly. It also means plenty of driving to take the Sacrament to the sick.

Mischief

I pulled up at one place today, where a church lady had been knocked down by an animal, a four legged one, fortunately. A big black dog was padding about with a calf's leg in its mouth, right content, unlike the calf's owner, who wasn't. 

And that, my friends, is just the way it is.

God bless,

LSP