Photo Album Of NY Gathering

I inquired at Piskie's place if it would be possible for someone with more savvy than I have to put the pictures into a photo album that we could load into the pictures folders of our computers.

Lisa responded in an email and said...

It's easy. I have an account with FotoTime. Other's probably have Flicker or something else. The owner just uploads high-res photos, then sends invitations, and others can view, download, order prints, or even order the photos printed on t-shirts, mousepads, coffee mugs, you name it.

I asked Lisa if I could share her email.

Certainly, my dear. And if folks want an example, you have permission to share this URL from one of my online photo albums:

http://www.fototime.com/inv/34B2F924443D732
or
JAGSL Concours Sept 2003

Anyone want to volunteer?

Of course, I was in New York - Part 2

Image stolen from Allie. In the picture are, left to right, David, Dennis, Allen, Liz, Joan, and PJ.

Before I move on with the story, I like to do my official homage to the Priest Who Is Mad. Without MadPriest and his blog, "where the lunatics rave", we'd never have met and come to know each other, and I thank him for that. It was a job well done. Again, thanks to Gabe for the place to meet and the setting up, Dennis for organizing the whole affair, Allie for the cutout, That Kaeton Woman for the suggestion of the restaurant. Thanks as well to our own private paparazzi for the great pictures.

I confess that I was a little apprehensive about meeting Les Deux Formidables, Tobias Haller and Elizabeth Kaeton. Tobias seemed formidable because of his learning, his wonderful writing style, and his kind and patient manner with his adversaries, as he totally vanquishes them with his arguments. Then, there are his icons, and his musical compositions. Should any one person have so many gifts? But he graciously gives them away, which is the reason God gives gifts to us.

Elizabeth seemed a force to be reckoned with, and I was a little afraid of her before I met her. She is so strong in her fight for justice and inclusion, and she appears undaunted in the face of opposition, sometimes ugly opposition.

However, I must tell you that these two people are harmless. Neither would hurt a flea. However much this revelation may work to destroy their reputations, I must tell the truth. They are both delightful, witty people, fun to be with, and as down to earth as anyone I know.

After Evensong we all trooped over to Le Grainne which was almost next door. The restaurant had set up three tables for us, but I believe we overwhelmed them a little.

I finally got my wine in the restaurant. It's my medicine, you know. Doctor's orders. One glass of red every day. At our table, we raised a glass to all those who would have wanted to be with us, but could not be. We talked a lot of church politics, what our dioceses were like, how our churches differed. At one point I mentioned that most of the folks in my church are oblivious of the controversies swirling around, that they don't really give a shit. I said, "I wish that I could be like that, out of it. I wish that I didn't give a shit. I'd be a lot better off." And that's the truth of it.

The restaurant was a little noisy, so I talked mainly talked to Tobias, Allie, and Shel. Every now and again, I shouted something to Johnie, and he kept up with the wine, filling the glasses. I thought the food was quite good. I've forgotten what I had, but it was Italian and the same as Tobias' order.

Joan (JerseyJo) met us at the restaurant, (It was good to meet you, Joan.) and Elizabeth finally made her way to join us after we had finished eating. Her late arrival was due to a traffic horror trying to come in from New Jersey, but did she ever stir the pot when she walked in. We were standing up, talking to people we had not been able to talk to during dinner, very much in the way of the wait staff, and I don't know whose idea it was, probably That Kaeton Woman, for her and me to pose for a kiss on the lips picture - a peck, really, as she said, since I am a bird, and wounded, at that. We did, and cameras flashed. Then we had requests for another, so we did it again, but it seems none of the pictures came out, unless someone plans to surprise us down the road - or blackmail us.

David, the Rev Boy, joined us at the restaurant, too, and what a dear he is, and so good-looking. Everyone fell in love with him. I wanted to take him home with me.

Then we had to settle the bill, with each table getting their bill. I have no head for that, so I left it to Johnie to work out. Since I was running out of cash, I wanted, if possible, to put the bill on my credit card, and that's how we worked it out. You see, I don't have an ATM card, because I don't want another damned card. Besides, it seems to me that when you go to take money out of an ATM that you'd just as well have a "Rob me" sign on your back.

Parting is such sweet sorrow, and, sadly, all good things must come to an end, but all's well that ends well. We said our good-byes and gave our hugs, and went our separate ways. Klady and I were headed for the same subway station and Johnieb in the same direction for his train. Liz and Allen very kindly insisted on walking with us to make sure we did not get lost.

Outside the subway station, we bid farewell to Liz and Allen, and Johnie grabbed me and kissed me ON THE LIPS. So there you have it - another kiss on the lips, but without cameras this time. Klady and I took our separate trains, and it was over, but the sweet memories remain.

The next morning I met Dennis and David for a visit to MOMA, which did not happen due to locked doors. Dennis has a wonderful account of our time together at his blog.

I'll write later about my visit to Tobias' church, the exhibit at the Guggenheim, and the wonderful concert by the Winchester Cathedral Choir at St. Thomas Church on Fifth Avenue.

Of Course, I Was In New York - Part 1

Image stolen from Piskie.

On Tuesday, I set out from my hotel around 3:00 PM, headed for General Theological Seminary. I left early because my subway trip to the Bronx on Sunday was full of tribulation, which made me very late for the service at St. James, where Tobias Haller is the vicar. I got to where I was supposed to go with the help of a nice woman on the subway.

When I got off the subway on Eighth Ave., I had to ask which way was Ninth Ave. and which way was downtown,where I was going. I have no sense of direction. Something is missing in my brain, something that others seem to have that I am lacking. It seems to be genetic, since my two sisters had the same problem. Once I knew the direction of downtown and Ninth Ave., I was good to go, and found my way there easily.

Once on the seminary grounds, I asked directions, but reached several doors, which were not the right doors, and I had to ask directions a few more times before I found the Matthew Lounge. Johnieb, Allie, and maybe Doug were there, along with dear, sweet Gabe, who had reserved the place for us and supplied sherry and other goodies. I'll tell you about Gabe and QFC in my Sunday post. These posts will not be in chronological order.

Johnieb is not the disreputable person that he wants us to believe he is. He is quite respectable looking and acting. He seems nearly normal. I'm joking. He's a very nice man. Allie is such an attractive and smart young woman, that she makes me feel ancient and dull. Doug, of jokes fame, " Don't blame me, blame Doug," is also quite a pleasant man. I had met Doug at St. James on Sunday, so I knew who he was.

Then the others began to come in, Shel (Pseudopiskie), Eileen (The Episcopali-Fem), Dennis (Psychology, Dogs, Politics & Wine) and David (Dennis' better half), Tobias (In a Godward Direction), Dan (Toujoursdan), Jake-Terry (Fr Jake Stops the World) - the mustache guys, who were both instantly recognizable from their pictures, Klady (Lady of Silences), whom I already knew from spending time with her on Sunday, and PJ (PJ's Pointless Blog, whom I did not get to talk to much at the reception, because I did not know who she was (Who knew she was a blond?), Allen (Morningsider) and his wife Liz, and last, but not least, Paul (A) and his lovely wife Catherine. The links for the bloggers are on my sidebar, and lots of them have pictures.

I think that's everyone who was at the reception. I hugged and kissed lotsa folks - you know we southerners hug and kiss a lot. Dennis had brought a bottle of wine, but the other attendees there were quicker to the wine bottle than I was, so I didn't even get a taste of Dennis the winemaster's wine. Boo-hoo!

As I was retying my shoelace on my boot, the lace broke, but I figured out that the long piece would still fit if I restrung it and left the final holes without laces. One of the maintenance workers at the seminary helped me with that, because the holes were very, very small. Allen and Liz insisted on staying with me until I got my boot back on, I suppose worrying that I wouldn't be able to find my way to the chapel. We all made it on time.

The whole crew of us sat on one side behind the rood screen (I'm guessing). It was a formal, quite English-seeming Evensong service. The folks in the choir section were devoutly into the service as were the folks across the aisle from us. It seemed that most of the people there were regulars, since they knew what they were doing.

What with the prayer books and the hymnals and the sheets of paper, I was mostly lost. I would have been contented to listen to the chanting, and say the prayers that I knew, however a nice man from across the aisle kept handing me books which I did not have and sheets which I did not have, and I was able to follow along for a while. Johnie was trying to help me, but he didn't get very far either. After the second or third time the gentleman crossed the aisle to try to help me, I said to him, "Believe it or not, I am an Episcopalian." He smiled.

Do I sound challenged in many ways? Well, I am. My children can't believe that I make it around strange cities and back home again. But most folks, even strangers, are quite kind and helpful.

I don't know if the Evensong services at the seminary are open to the public, but my thought is that if a stranger wandered in off the street - not that that's likely to happen, because you have to pass through the reception area - but if they did, I wonder what they would make of it. Would they think it was the ritual of a strange cult? Our Evensong services are so very much simpler.

Since I seem to be wearing my long-winded lady hat, this will be Part 1 of "Of Course, I Was in New York". More coming.

UPDATE: I'm identifying the people in the photo above. If anyone wants their name off, let me know, and I will delete it.

Front row: PJ, Eileen, David H (photo), Piskie, Allie, Tobias,
Middle row: Klady, Johnie, Catherine, Mimi, Liz, Allen
Back row: David, Dan, Jake, Gabe, Dennis, Doug, and Paul

Whoops! It seems that Liz, Allen's wife, is not in picture above. Here's a photo which includes Liz (next to me) and all of the PhotoShopped presences. I'm sure everyone knows the ID of the old dog on the right.

I Will Write

Good morning, all. Happy Thursday to you. Je suis occupée des affairs. You know - real life, family, washing clothes, all the interesting and dull happenings of ordinary life.

I did not return home until last night, and I do not have a laptop, so using the internet while I was away was limited to dealing with urgent email messages and a few comments to blogs, as I was paying by the minute for the use of the computer.

My chef d'oeuvre on the gathering will very likely appear later today.

New York Trip

Tomorrow, I'll be off to New York City to meet with a virtual community formed at Of Course, I Could be Wrong. I'm looking forward to meeting with this group of folks I've known only through the internet, but of whom I have, nevertheless, become fond, and I'm sure that I will enjoy meeting them in real life.

It's not the first time I've done this. Grandpère and I met up with a group of bloggers to gut a house in New Orleans, and have a little fun. Athenae and Scout from First Draft organized the trip. We worked hard and partied hard. The New Orleans bloggers entertained us royally in their homes. It was lovely to meet the folks whom I knew before only from the internet.

Dennis at Psychology, Dogs, Politics, and Wine gets credit for organizing the whole affair. It was Gabe, partner to Terry, from Queer For Christ, a student at General Theological Seminary in NYC, who found us a place to meet before Evensong at the seminary. Elizabeth Keaton at Telling Secrets suggested a restaurant across the street from the seminary, where we will share dinner, and I believe she said she will bring some goodies for our pre-Evensong "tea", which may be heavily laced with additives. They may not let us in the chapel after "tea".

Thanks to all of you. I'm sure that I've left out someone who did a good thing. Oh, yes the folks who will do cutouts or effigies of MadPriest. Thank you, too.

I'll be offline during the trip, because I don't own a laptop. Have fun and behave yourselves - unless those two bits of advice turn out to be mutually exclusive.

"A CANDLE ... TO LIGHT THE WAY" - RIP

From the Atlanta Journal-Constitution:

'A CANDLE ... TO LIGHT THE WAY': Local Sudanese grieve for brave, kindly guide
A mentor to the Lost Boys who gave his life in Iraq is laid to rest in Atlanta
....

The double bed has been empty for several months, though the small room in the Clarkston apartment is filled with his things still —- things untouched since Beer Ayuel left home.
....

He escaped one war, but could not escape another.

Ayuel's death in a bomb blast last month in Iraq could be described as among the most tragic of all —- if one dares to qualify human toll.

Because he had survived the persecution of the Dinka people in southern Sudan and managed to find again a life without fear, his death in Iraq seemed sadly ironic.

The shock reverberates through Atlanta's Sudanese community. At Ayuel's funeral Saturday at St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church, those who eulogized him said what is said about a man who mattered.

They called him a pillar of strength, his character matching his tall, imposing build. They said he was selfless. And unwavering in his faith.
....

But to truly understand the scope of this loss, one has only to see the sadness that saturates the faces of the men known as the Lost Boys of Sudan. As children, they were separated from families in the turmoil of protracted war. They survived months of wandering and came of age in dismal refugee camps.

Six years ago, 150 Lost Boys were resettled in Atlanta. Many of them lined the church pews to pay their last respects. To them, Ayuel was a hero.
....

They say he was a man who practiced the kind of compassion you perhaps can only cultivate after seeing what he had seen. Like the Lost Boys, Ayuel fled home. He first meandered north when Sudan's Islamic government bore down on the predominantly animist and Christian south. His family, too, was splintered by war.

From the day the Lost Boys arrived in Atlanta, Ayuel made it his mission to look after human beings who had not just been stung by violence but who had never learned to function in modern society. They had never felt the heat of an electric stove or the chill of a freezer, and it was that much harder for them to begin life in America.
....

Most of all, he gave them what they had lost in their youth: the love of a father.

"He came to visit us every day," said Abraham Nyok, a Lost Boy who lives in Clarkston. "He made it his duty to go from apartment to apartment visiting us."

"He told us: 'Open your heart, try to learn new things, it's good for you to go to school.' "

Ayuel knew the importance of education in America, that a college degree would be the ticket out of poverty. He told the Lost Boys they had to learn for the sake of Sudan. They were the generation that could go back and help bring change.

Ayuel dispensed advice like a pharmacist dispenses life-saving medicine. He did it despite the struggles in his own life.

He almost finished college in Cairo, Egypt, where he lived for a decade after fleeing Sudan. He had two tests pending for a bachelor's degree in biology when a Sudanese woman he knew fell ill from kidney problems. He felt compelled to rush her to the hospital instead of taking his tests. He never earned his degree, though he had hoped to enroll one day at Emory University.

"That lady is alive and well today because of Beer," Nyok said.

Many of the Lost Boys have copies of a video that Ayuel sent back from his wedding in Cairo last April. He had known Amiot Mayen since high school, and had worked hard at a chicken plant to save enough money to return to Egypt to marry her.

In the video, Ayuel is laughing with his bride. Who could have known then that war would once again mar their lives, so soon after they had found joy?

Ayuel came back to Atlanta, the city that became home after his resettlement here in 1999, as his wife waited for a visa. But he had trouble finding a job.

"He didn't even have a car of his own because he spent all his money helping people," said Manyang, his roommate.

In the summer, Ayuel left to stay with relatives in Lincoln, Neb., hoping for better economic prospects there.

Then one August day, he left mysteriously for Virginia.

L-3 Communications, a company that provides contracted services in the war zone, hired Ayuel for his Arabic skills. They sent him to Iraq to work as a translator for the U.S. Army in early September. Seventeen days later, he was dead.

His body was flown to Dover Air Force Base in Delaware and kept there as Ayuel's friends waited to see if his wife could secure a visa to attend his funeral. Nyok said the U.S. Embassy in Cairo informed her that she would have to wait at least two more weeks.

"But we could not wait any longer," Nyok said.
....

Massengale told the mourners in the church about the first time she laid eyes on Ayuel. She was dropping off donations at a refugee assistance center when the Sudanese man approached her.

"If you wear such a shirt, people will think you're rich," she said, handing him a striped Ralph Lauren shirt, recognizable by the designer's logo.

"What I really want," Ayuel said, "is that Bible you are carrying."

Ayuel beamed as though he had hit a lottery jackpot as Massengale handed him the Bible.

Ayuel craved simplicity. It was the small things that made him seem so large to the people around him.

"He was a candle that consumed himself to light the way for us," Nyok said.

That is how Beer Ayuel will be remembered —- if one dares to judge.

What a beautiful man of God and what a tragic loss to his community. It's so sad that, in the end, he had to take a job that put his life at great risk, with the result that he was dead within 17 days of arriving in Iraq.

May Ayuel rest in peace and rise in glory. May God grant comfort, consolation, and his peace that passes understanding to his wife and family and friends. May God raise up a shepherd to care for the Lost Boys of Sudan.

Thanks to Ann for the link to the story.

"A Doorman's Journal"

Doorman-Priest, writes from The World of Doorman-Priest. In his profile he says:

I function as a Lay Minister within the Lutheran Church and, as a hang-over from a previous incarnation, I am also a Licensed Lay Minister in the Anglican Church which I attend about once every six weeks. I am theologically liberal, if not radical and sadly find that many other Christians I meet seriously get on my nerves.
....

I have been described as a misanthrope. I like that in a priest. Baptised into the Lutheran Church, I have oscillated between it and Anglicanism, evangelicalism and liberal radicalism.

With a profile like that, ya gotta love him, right? He is a misanthrope, and he oscillates. How cool is that?

Not only that, he lists five other entities in which he writes.

He holds down so many jobs that it makes my head spin. His day jobs are teaching, and teacher-training, but he's also a lay minister, he sings in a choral society, and his night job is working as a doorman. Oh, and he is studying theology in preparation for ordination as a Lutheran pastor. I believe I have all of that straight. With his oscillating, it's hard to know.

He has posted a journal of his adventures as a doorman, in which he shares with us his encounters with the various and sundry folk he meets while he's on the job.

From A Doorman's Journal:

SATURDAY NIGHT

There are three clocking on times: seven, eight - thirty and ten. Tonight, mine is seven and it's a killer shift. I prefer pub hours but as the stand - in I can't be choosy: I go where the boss sends me. If someone's ill or on holiday or just fancies a night off I get the call. I've been here before; a city centre bar and club aiming at (but not quite hitting) an upmarket image for thirty - somethings, so I wear black tie and D.J. I feel slightly over dressed without my black bomber jacket but that's for less salubrious joints.

I forgot to mention that he's a stand-in doorman, which, I'm sure, gives his work spice and variety that he would not otherwise experience. He can't afford to get comfortable in his job.

Here Doorman-Priest tells of a conversation between him and two co-workers:

Pete always calls me "son" though I suspect I may be the elder. He is deeply respectful of me and believes me to be a priest. The confusion arose over my attempted explanation of the term “Lay Minister”. Pete, who I later came to realise has a slight hardness of hearing, took the “Minister” bit and ran with it. Another doorman, Eddie (Equal Opportunities Eddie) – more of him in a moment – took the word “Lay” and ran with that.
“What are you a sex worker then?”
“What? What?”
“Is it about shaggin’ – you know - lay worker? Only Pete said you were a prostitute.”
“Pete said what?”

More about Pete:

I keep telling Pete I’m not a priest but he won’t hear it. Instead he gets very conspiratorial: “No, no, I understand, you’re not a priest this evening” (Wink) “You’re a doorman this evening. (Touches side of nose) You want to be incorrigible, I respect that” I assume he means incognito and I give up. (Although he may have a point: I am incorrigible.)

Is this enough to whet your appetite to read the whole thing? It's a bit racy at times, but very funny. And it proves the point that it takes all kinds.

Feast Day Of St. Luke The Evangelist

Image from Les Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry at the website of Christus Rex.

The extract from Saint Luke is related to the Annunciation: "And in the sixth month, the angel Gabriel was sent from God into a city of Galilee, called Nazareth." (Luke I: 26)

From James Kiefer at the Lectionary:

In Luke's account of the Gospel, we find an emphasis on the human love of Christ, on His compassion for sinners and for suffering and unhappy persons, for outcasts such as the Samaritans, tax collectors, lepers, shepherds (not a respected profession), and for the poor. The role of women in Christ's ministry is more emphasized in Luke than in the other Gospel writings.

I couldn't resist posting the illustration and lettering from the beautiful book of hours of the Duc de Berry and the reminder by Kiefer of Christ's humanity and inclusiveness.

As usual with the early saints, Padre Mickey has a wonderful post on Luke this morning.

Feast Day Of St. Ignatius Of Antioch

Padre Mickey has done his usual saintly work on St. Ignatius of Antioch.

Christ Of St. John Of The Cross

"Christ of St. John of the Cross" by Salvador Dale, 1951. Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum, Glasgow.

I've been saving this Dali painting for an appropriate occasion, but I'm tired of waiting. I find such power and beauty in Dali's two crucifixion paintings. Both are startling upon first glance, because they are so different from any other depictions that I have seen. The two seem quite reverent of their subject, Christ on the cross. The other is at the Metropolitan Museum in New York.

In the comments to the post on the feast day of Teresa of Avila, I was reminded that Teresa and John of the Cross were friends, soul-mates really, and that Teresa was a mentor to John, who also wrote lovely poems. That gave me reason enough to post the representation and a little holy poetry.

Here are brief quotes from John's poems:

The Living Flame of Love

How gently and lovingly
you wake in my heart,
where in secret you dwell alone;
and in your sweet breathing,
filled with good and glory,
how tenderly you swell my heart with love.

Stanzas concerning an ecstasy experienced in high contemplation.

I entered into unknowing,
and there I remained unknowing
transcending all knowledge.

1. I entered into unknowing,
yet when I saw myself there,
without knowing where I was,
I understood great things;
I will not say what I felt
for I remained in unknowing
transcending all knowledge.

2. That perfect knowledge
was of peace and holiness
held at no remove
in profound solitude;
it was something so secret
that I was left stammering,
transcending all knowledge.

Copyright ICS Publications.

Wiki says:

Christ of Saint John of the Cross is a painting by Salvador Dalí made in 1951. It depicts Jesus Christ on the cross in a darkened sky floating over a body of water complete with a boat and fishermen. Although it is a depiction of the crucifixion, it is devoid of nails, blood, and a crown of thorns, because, according to Dalí, he was convinced by a dream that these features would mar his depiction of Christ. Also in a dream, the importance of depicting Christ in the extreme angle evident in the painting was revealed to him.

From the Kelvingrove Art Gallery:

The strange title refers to Dali's principal inspiration for the painting - a pen and ink drawing made by the Spanish Carmelite friar who was canonised as St John of The Cross (1542–1591). The drawing intrigued Dali when he saw it preserved in the Convent at Avila, as it was made after the Saint had a vision in which he saw the Crucifixion as from above, looking down.



Drawing by John of the Cross from Carmelite.com

The little drawing by the mystic, St. John of the Cross, inspired the beautiful painting by Dali. So moves the Spirit of the living God.