Trying on the dog collar . . .

I just realized that I forgot to tell my loyal blog fans--all three of you, I think--that I have been accepted as a candidate for the diaconate. That's the last official milestone before ordination. Next I finish my formation (book larnin'), then apply for ordination.

This weekend at Diocesan Convention, in celebration of my candidacy, I decided to try on the dog collar. Well, not THE dog collar . . .

That would be inappropriate. Instead, I experimented with an actual dog collar embroidered with the Episcopal shield (for those liturgically minded canines who have chosen the Episcopal Church as their faith community--episcopooches) . . .

and then, of course, someone has to hold the leash. After consultation with the CoM (Commission on Ministry) it was determined that since I'm a candidate for the diaconate, the bishop should hold the leash since I will be ordained to a "ministry of servanthood directly under [my] bishop."

To the church ladies who were perturbed: This has nothing to do with gender! It's a play on words--"dog collar," get it?--and a hyperbolic interpretation of the historic relationship between deacons and their bishop. In other words, it was a joke! Thanks to Bishop Waggoner for being such a good sport!

All the birds of the air . . .

I know all the birds of the air, and all that moves in the field is mine. -- Psalm 50:11

This afternoon I made an unplanned trip to Holy Trinity. I'd forgotten to drop off my electric roaster for use at the weekly dinner party we throw for the neighborhood. I also needed to have an extra parish hall key made, so I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone. I didn't plan on rescuing one.

I'd dropped off the roaster in the parish hall--a separate building from the church--and was about to leave when I realized we might have an extra key kicking around in the sacristy. It would save me a trip to the hardware store then back to the church to test a new key. I unlocked the church and stepped in when a flutter of wings erupted in the cool, dim light.

Our vicar likes to have the doors open in the summer. This one must have flown in earlier that day, or the day before. No one would have noticed him perched high in the beams of the sanctuary.

The bird was tiny, grayish brown with a pale yellow belly and the kind of long slender beak that would make him adept at picking insects from the bark of a Ponderosa pine. Inside the church--where the crumbs of sacred bread had all been swept, where the holy water had dried up months ago--he didn't stand much of a chance.

Except chance--or a nudge--had brought me here, prompted me to unlock the door. Now I propped both front doors wide, and fetched a broom from the sacristy. He was easy to spook. All I had to do was raise the broom in his general direction, and the poor thing fluttered back down the nave coming to rest on a light fixture near the door. I tried to coax him down and out the door, but instead he shot into Lady's Chapel and clung to the chain of a lamp that hung from the high ceiling.

We went up and down the chapel a couple of times before I saw the problem. As long as I was there, he wasn't going to fly down low enough to pass under the door's lintel and back into the sanctuary where the wide-open doors awaited.

I stepped outside the chapel, out of sight and waited. He flew from the light fixture into a bundle of twigs in a vase on the altar.

What to do? A net? It probably wouldn't work. Even if I could get close enough, I'd probably just end up hurting him. I prayed for a little St. Francis mojo. This wasn't working. I could wait. But could I wait all day? It never occurred to me that perhaps this bird did not need to be micromanaged, that he didn't even need me to save him.

Out of ideas, I pulled out my cell phone to call for help. There must be a way.

I had no idea I'd already done all that was required of me: I'd opened the door, and now--distracted by my cell phone and my mission of mercy--I'd gotten out of the way. A flutter of gray wings swooped into the sunlight, pulling hard in the safe and open air.

Committed

Do you now in the presence of the Church commit yourself to this trust and responsibility?

Today, looking for a place to record random musings, I dusted off an old journal. Well, from 2007--a month or two after I decided to give church another chance.

At the suggestion of a cathedral matriarch, I had just begun preparing for confirmation by journaling about the Articles of Religion. Ever so thorough, Episcopalians have 39 of them first formally established in 1801. They mostly consist of doctrinal statements ("Of Faith in the Holy Trinity") but extend to ordination ("Of Consecration of Bishops and Ministers") and the relationship between church and state ("Of the Power of the Civil Magistrates).

Right now, my friends are laughing. They know my attention span for rules and regs. I made it to Article III before I abandoned the project in favor of quotes from Eugene O'Neill and Anne Lamott and reflections on John Donne's poetry. (Yes, that's a fair-sized chunk of my spiritual discipline).

Oh, well. I've never been good at following a party line. Which makes this vow a fascinating one for a "non-joiner" like me.

As a child, I was far more likely to create a club than join one. No surprise, my clubs were cause driven. There's a new movie out called "Hotel for Dogs." After reading the book almost 35 (gulp!) years ago, I hatched elaborate plans for creating a hotel in my treehouse for abandoned dogs. I recruited friends to the effort--a Hotel for Dogs Club. And I was young enough to think that my parents wouldn't have a clue what I was up to 100 feet from the house.

Well, that particular cause never came to fruition. It's kind of sad when the imagination of childhood fizzles against the reality of execution.

So how strange, all these years later, that I've joined this club called the Episcopal Church--a church very different than the pentecostal church of my youth (though if Roman Catholicism is genetic, that could explain a lot). And we're not talking about my local parish (Holy Trinity) here. I joined a big honkin' mainstream church, and by extension the Anglican communion (provided they don't boot us out). I mean, the Body of Christ is one thing, but this has gotten pretty damned specific.

I've not only joined the club, but I'm ready to commit the rest of my days to an ordered life in service to it. And if you really listen to the vow, this is not just about a promise to God, this is a commitment in the presence the Church (note the capital C) to serve God in the Church. Once ordained, I'll be a deacon for the rest of my life--good times and bad, regardless of how I feel about the Church at any particular moment. That is a trust and a responsibilty.

P.S. To create a groovy tapestry like the one I did (above) go to The Historic Tale Construction Cit (sic).