Palm Sunday

"The Entry of Christ into Jerusalem" mosaic by the Master of the Cappella Palatina in Palermo, Italy

The Coming Ruler of God’s People

Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion!
Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem!
Lo, your king comes to you;
triumphant and victorious is he,
humble and riding on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim
and the warhorse from Jerusalem;
and the battle-bow shall be cut off,
and he shall command peace to the nations;
his dominion shall be from sea to sea,
and from the River to the ends of the earth.

As for you also, because of the blood of my covenant with you,
I will set your prisoners free from the waterless pit.
Return to your stronghold, O prisoners of hope;
today I declare that I will restore to you double.
Zechariah 9:9-12

I was struck by how eventful the life of Jesus is between his triumphal entry into Jerusalem, which we celebrate on Palm Sunday, and his victory over death which we celebrate on Easter Sunday.

From the "Litany of the Palms", Book of Common Prayer:

Assist us mercifully with your help, O lord God of our salvation, that we may enter with joy upon our contemplation of those mighty acts, whereby you have given us life and immortality, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Image from Wiki.

Kishnevi's Wallpaper

Kishnevi, thank you. This is lovely.

SPREADING ASHES

Periostyle at City Park in New Orleans.

My brother-in-law, the husband of my sister and best friend, who died almost two years ago, is visiting us. Today we will go to New Orleans and spread a few of her ashes near the Peristyle, pictured above, or somewhere in the park - clandestinely, of course, because I believe we're not allowed to do that. Don't tell.

When we were children, we often picnicked at City Park, Gayle took dancing lessons through high school and, on Sunday afternoons, the dance school students performed at the Peristyle. My sister met my brother-in-law after one of the dance recitals there, and they went on to get married and have three children. They were due to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary later in the year she died.

Prayer Request From KJ (That Nice Boy)

I'm zapping off a quickie prayer request before heading to lunch with a woman from my past Evangelical life. She and I were the pianist and organist at our little church of infamy (There actually is a book about it!). Anyway, I've not seen her in years, so that makes it a coming out event, which always comes with its challenges in the given demographic. However, she has gone through a divorce, and that often tempers the evangelical in the Evangelical, but hopefully does not kill the Evangel. I trust that makes sense. Thanks for praying!

Peace of Christ,

KJ

When I asked KJ if he wanted this kept private he responded:

Oh no! The more praying the better. I'm hoping she'll come out to me as a lesbian! That would make things really simple. :-)

KJ, tell us more about the book, please.

The Opera - Part I - "Peter Grimes"

Finally, John D and NancyP, here is the first episode.

For a long time I have wanted to hear an opera at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York. I've tried several times to get a ticket, but I have been unsuccessful in matching an opera ticket for a performance that I wanted to hear with the time that I was to be in the city, because my visits are usually short. Then, too, most times Grandpère was with me, and he doesn't like opera.

Since I am 73 years old, going to an opera at the Met was on my list of things I want to do before I die. A brochure arrived from Smithsonian Tours offering four operas in four nights with lectures from an opera expert before each opera, Renée Fleming as Desdemona in "Otello", and a backstage tour of the Met. I jumped in. I have longed to hear Fleming in a live performance after hearing her gorgeous voice only on recordings. I could not resist. It was expensive, but I gave myself a treat.

Our first opera was Britten's "Peter Grimes", which I considered would be my least favorite of the four. However, I found it to be much more compelling than I expected. The tenor, Anthony Dean Griffey, who sang the part of Peter Grimes was excellent and strong both in voice and acting. He's a powerfully built man and totally believable in the part of the ostracized fisherman in the small, claustrophobic English fishing village. The other singers were also quite good, especially Patricia Racette as Ellen Orford, who wants to save Peter, and Felicity Palmer as Mrs. Sedley, the gossipy widow who eggs the others on to turn against Peter.

The opera reminded me of Arthur Miller's "The Crucible", with the small community, which includes a good many small-minded folks, inclined to the herd instinct, with the resulting recipe for tragedy. Not that I didn't know the story, but the portentousness from the first moment was palpable in the opera, in a manner which reminded me of the play.

The opera includes the "Four Seas Interludes" orchestral pieces, which divide the acts and serve to set the scene for the next act, and are often performed in concert on their own. The first of the interludes I found especially beautiful.

From the first moments, I was caught up in the story and the music, and I enjoyed it far more than I expected to. The singing and the acting in "Peter Grimes" were both excellent. I appreciate an opera in which the acting is treated with the same importance as the singing, since opera is, after all, a dramatic presentation.

Apparently, quite a few did not like the set, which consisted of large moving rectangles, covered with material to resemble the rough boards of a fisherman's shack, nearly as high as the very tall opening of the Met stage, with doors at different levels, in which the characters appeared to perform from time to time. The doors swung open and closed spookily on their own and, to me, worked to good effect to help set the mood. Most of those who did not like the set had seen other performances of the opera, with the set consisting of a more realistic representation of a fishing village. All in all, a good evening.

Photo from the New York Times.

Conductor - Donald Runnicles
Hobson - Dean Peterson
Swallow - John Del Carlo
Peter Grimes - Anthony Dean Griffey
Mrs. Sedley - Felicity Palmer
Ellen Orford - Patricia Racette
Auntie - Jill Grove
Bob Boles - Greg Fedderly
Captain Balstrode - Anthont Michaels-Moore
Rev. Horace Adams - Bernard Fitch
Two nieces - Leah Partridge, Erin Morley
Ned Keene - Teddy Tahu Rhodes

Eugene Robinson Says It For Me

From the Washington Post:

...But what was she thinking?

Why did Silda Wall Spitzer literally stand by her man, not once but twice? What compelled or inspired her to accompany Spitzer on Monday as he responded to the breaking story with a terse apology, and then again on Wednesday, when he announced his resignation?

CNN's resident curmudgeon, Jack Cafferty, put the question best: "The other thing I don't understand about this story is how these guys always get their wives to go stand on the podium with them when they cop to this stuff. I remember during the Monica Lewinsky thing, some member of Congress -- I don't remember who it was -- said, you know, if that was my wife, she'd be standing over my bleeding body in the kitchen saying, 'How do you reload this thing?'"

Exactly. I have spoken in the comments at various blogs about the wives who literally stand up in the spotlight at the podium with their wayward husbands, apparently giving their full support to their waywardness just so the men express proper remorse. Whatever comes afterwards in the marriages is a whole different question to be worked out by the couple in private, but I can tell you that I would not be in the lights beside my man sharing the public shame with him. You did it; you go face them. I'm shamed enough by your actions, but I will not share that public moment of shame with you.

Robinson lists the names of other wives who have shared the shameful moment with their husbands:

Wendy Vitter, wife of Sen. David Vitter of Louisiana
Carlita Kilpatrick, wife of Kwame Kilpatrick, mayor of Detroit
Suzanne Craig, wife of Sen. Larry Craig of Ohio
Dina McGreevy, wife of Gov. James McGreevy of New Jersey

Robinson ends his column with these words:

No one deserves the kind of public humiliation that Silda Wall Spitzer had to endure. The governor says he wants to regain his family's trust and respect. He should have begun that process by facing the cameras alone.

My emphasis.

Is There No End To The Venality?

From the Washington Post:

The Environmental Protection Agency weakened one part of its new limits on smog-forming ozone after an unusual last-minute intervention by President Bush, according to documents released by the EPA.
This Story

EPA officials initially tried to set a lower seasonal limit on ozone to protect wildlife, parks and farmland, as required under the law. While their proposal was less restrictive than what the EPA's scientific advisers had proposed, Bush overruled EPA officials and on Tuesday ordered the agency to increase the limit, according to the documents.

"It is unprecedented and an unlawful act of political interference for the president personally to override a decision that the Clean Air Act leaves exclusively to EPA's expert scientific judgment," said John Walke, clean-air director for the Natural Resources Defense Council.

Bush is not only an expert in diplomacy, military strategy, and the economy, expert enough to overrule his advisers, but he knows more than the scientists about environmental science. Amazing!

For Jane R - Who Wants A Joke

From Doug again. This one is a bit naughty:

Into a Belfast pub comes Paddy Murphy, looking like he'd just been run over by a train. His arm is in a sling, his nose is broken, his face is cut, and bruised, and he's walking with a limp.

"What happened to you?" asks Sean, the bartender.

"Jamie O'Conner and me had a fight," says Paddy.

"That little O'Conner," says Sean, "He couldn't do that to you, he must have had something in his hand."

"That he did," says Paddy, "a shovel is what he had, and a terrible lickin' he gave me with it."

"Well," says Sean, "you should have defended yourself. Didn't you have something in your hand?"

That I did," said Paddy, "Mrs. O'Conner's breast, and a thing of beauty it was; but useless in a fight."

Dining With Friends - Part Two

After attending services at St. Thomas Church in New York City, I flagged a cab to head downtown to meet with Terry aka Queer For Christ, Gabe, and their friend Lynn at Maroons, for a cool jazz brunch. Terry has a job, works as an actor on occasion, is writing a play, and has a blog. I told him that I definitely wanted an invitation to the opening night, once his play is produced. Gabe aka U.C. or Ultimate Concern, is a seminarian at General Theological Seminary. He has a blog, too, and he writes beautifully, but not often enough.

For our gathering in New York last October, Gabe had kindly arranged a room for us to meet in at the seminary, after which we attended Evensong as a group. On the Sunday following, several of us met at St. James in Fordham, Tobias' church, and Terry, Gabe, Klady, and I went to lunch afterwards and had a lovely time. When I knew I would be in New York, I emailed Terry, and we made our plans to meet.

Gabe is a smart, sweet, gentle man, and I believe that he will make a fine priest. Judging from the writing at his blog, I'm certain that he will be a wonderful preacher, too. Terry is gracious (he's from the South) and kind, full of fun and quite the wit. He also has a law degree, so if all those other efforts don't work out, he can always fall back on that - maybe. The way Terry tells it, it would be a last resort.

At Maroons, Gabe recommended that we order a dish of waffles and fried chicken, which we did, and it was absolutely delicious. I believe the waffles were covered with orange butter, but I could be wrong about that. The dish may sound like a strange mix, but it was quite tasty. In the background, or the foreground, sometimes nearly drowning us out, we heard real jazz - not some of the second-rate noise that is, on occasion, called jazz. Gabe and Lynn had to leave early to get Lynn on a plane, but Terry and I lingered and talked for a while and had a lovely tête-à-tête.

When we left the restaurant - it's the kind of place that allows lingering after the meal - Terry was quite solicitous about assuring that I got the right subway back to the hotel. In fact, he went down into the station and sliced his own subway card to get me through the turn-style, since I had not purchased a pass. He had to slice it over and over through the slot to get it to work. I hope that I didn't put gris-gris on it. It was great to see Gabe and Terry and meet their friend Lynn, who is on her way to becoming a doctor. Oh, and they treated me to brunch, too.

Later that afternoon, I went to the Museum of Modern Art, particularly to see the Lucian Freud exhibit, which included etchings and paintings, often of the same subjects. Freud, who is the grandson of Sigmund, does not idealize his subjects, but portrays them just as they are, warts and all, without prettifying them. Women in the area who are not satisfied with their own bodies should hasten over there. Some of Freud's women are downright obese, and I guarantee that you will come away feeling absolutely svelte.

The highlight on Monday was lunch with PJ and Johnieb. They arrived right on time, despite PJ's getting them lost and headed in the wrong direction after getting off the subway. That happens to me often, too, since I have absolutely no sense of direction. I'm always pleased to meet fellow sufferers of the same malady. It makes me feel not quite so stupid.

Since PJ had a recommendation to The Eatery, the same restaurant where I had eaten with David, aka Reverend Boy, and which I had enjoyed, we decided to walk over there. We had a very good meal. PJ and I had meal-sized salads, and Johnie had a very large dish of I can't remember what, except that it was a lot of food. Then he ordered dessert! It was a scrumptious mixture of chocolate and cheesecake, I believe, and he did share with us, as he was pretty much forced to do, since the waitress had pointedly brought three spoons.

At the meeting in October, I hardly had a chance to talk to PJ. In fact, for a good portion of the time, I didn't know who she was, and then we sat at different tables for dinner, so we didn't have a chance to talk much. PJ won't like my saying this, but she's a beautiful woman, and her hair is absolutely gorgeous.

Johnie and I sat next to each other in October, and we had a chance to talk, so I knew him a bit better before our lunch. We chatted like old friends throughout the meal and then returned to the lounge in my hotel to continue the conversation. Once the bar opened, the barmaid asked what she could bring us, but we didn't really want anything, so we had to move along if we were not going to spend money. It was time for them to get to their train and time for me to move to my other hotel for the opera program. What a pleasure to meet Johnie again and to spend more time with PJ. They are two great people, and I am proud to call them friends.

Again, it was amazing how we dove right into conversation as though we had known each other for a long time. We had a few gaps to fill in about our personal lives, but other than that, I felt as though I was with old friends. Communities that form online and then turn into friendships are fairly new phenomena, and it will be interesting to see where they go.

Anticipating St. Paddy's Day - From Doug

Six retired Irishmen were playing poker in O'Leary's apartment when Paddy Murphy loses $500 on a single hand, clutches his chest, and drops dead at the table. Showing respect for their fallen brother, the other five continue playing standing up.

Michael O'Conner looks around and asks, "Well, me boys, someone got's to tell Paddy's wife. Who will it be?" They draw straws. Paul Gallagher picks the short one. They tell him to be discreet, be gentle, don't make a bad situation any worse.

"Discreet??? I'm the most discreet Irishmen you'll ever meet. Discretion is me middle name. Leave it to me."

Gallagher goes over to Murphy's house and knocks on the door. Mrs. Murphy answers, and asks what he wants. Gallagher declares, "Your husband just lost $500, and is afraid to come home."

"Tell him to drop dead!", says Murphy's wife.

"I'll go tell him." says Gallagher.