This is the Gay Church

 Someone was upset by the fact that some people were saying that this is the gay church. 

I'm not quite sure what the point was. I don't think they liked the church being identified that way. I was less sure what they wanted to do about it. I believe there was concern that maybe gay people were having too large a voice or influence in the church? We didn't need to stand out so much, but we needed to blend in with the general culture more.

I can only guess.

Statistically speaking, we are well represented by the LGBTQ+ community. They may be about 20% or so of our parish. I'm guessing. I don't know because I don't keep track of things that way. In the general population, they're about 10%. That means our parish is above average but not stratospheric. 

The fact is that we are virtually the only church that fully includes the LGBTQ+ community. In this intolerant area, if you want to be a loving and loved Christian, our church is virtually the only place available.

Well, you know what?

This is the LGBTQ+ church. Love and acceptance are complete and unconditional. They attend. They serve. They can be bishops, priests, and deacons. They can be Senior Warden, vestry members, lay episcopal members, readers, choir members, chief cook and bottle washer. I can't begin to imagine what our parish would be like without them. The intense shine of their devotion to Christ and the fruits of their gifts and talents are truly a wonder to behold.

But it doesn't stop there.  

This is the women's church. We've had a female rector, vestry members, including the Senior Warden, and leaders of many wonderful church projects. They are fully equal to their male counterparts. And our church is so much richer for it.

This is the church of the homeless and poor. We extend the hands and feet of Christ through our food ministries and other aid. We extend our support without preconditions or proselytizing. We don't do it to create new church members. We do it because that is what Christ commissioned us to do - to extend love and support to our neighbor, to bring the Kingdom of Heaven to Earth.

This is the church of ALL ethnic and racial groups. We are lit up by love, understanding, and empathy, not by hatred, fear, and othering.

This is NOT the MAGA church, worshipping at the feet of the false idol, the orange conman. This is not the Democratic Socialist church, waiting hopefully for AOC or someone very much like her to become President. Nor is it the church of libertarians, conservatives, and liberals. We have a wide variety of political opinions. The only thing that needs to be in common is that the love of neighbor and bettering the life of all must be paramount - and that goal may have different political positions, but all work toward the same end.

First and foremost, this is a church of LOVE. Love for God, love for each other. We are the hands and feet of Christ, bettering the world for all.

Dolly Takes a Bath

 Dolly* was huge. Almost as tall as Carol and me. Here we are, all dressed up in our Easter best. I'd hate to think that doll came to church with us. Surely, I would have remembered that if it had happened. But the only way to be sure might require extensive therapy.

Carol also had a Barbie doll. It was very early on, one of the originals, or close to it. Unfortunately, Carol does not still have that doll. If she did, she might have been able to pay for one of her kid's college education.  

Alas, I am the reason she doesn't have it. One fine day, her brother decided to find out at what temperature Baribe would melt in the oven. Weren't I special?

Dolly is long ago, too. I'm not sure what happened. It could have something to do with drowning,

You see, one fine day, my sister decided that Dolly needed a bath. So, she drew water in the bathtub and placed Dolly in the tub, naked, facedown.

And then, as children are wont to do, she went to play someplace else and forgot about how she had left Dolly.

Mom was looking for Carol. She couldn't find her. And then she opened the bathroom door.

The wailing and screaming could be heard throughout the neighborhood. "CAROL!" she screamed. She grabbed her, fearing it was too late, pulling her precious daughter out of the tub, ready to do whatever it took to revive her.

"Mama," Carol said as she entered the bathroom. "Is Dolly all clean now?"

Mom looked at Carol and then the Dolly. She threw the doll down and started screaming all over again. "Carol! Don't you ever scare me like that again!"

Yes, with all the noise, I had also come around to observe some of this. I was relieved that even though I was to blame for melting Barbie, I was not at fault for trying to drown Dolly.

After that, I have no more memories of Dolly.

My poor sister just had so much trouble keeping dolls.

*I am trying to remember if Dolly had an actual name. Maybe when my sister sees this, she'll remember the name, and I'll fix it. And if she wonders how I remembered the dialogue from that long ago - well, everything I wrote is true, except for the parts I made up.

A Joyful Weekend of Friendship, Love, and Grace

A joyful weekend at Grace Episcopal Church! The name of our Valentine's Dinner was changed to the Friendship Day Feast. And since we are all each other's friends, everyone was welcome!

Alison prepared her special lasagna, Edie Teal prepared a delicious vegetarian lasagna, Audrey Jernigan made a beautiful and extensive salad bar, Ken Taft brought tasty garlic bread, and Jimmy and Selina Pinckney brought scrumptious chocolate cakes.

All the money raised by the meal went to funds to enable our youth to go to summer camp at Honey Creek. The youth also served as wait staff and did an excellent, professional job.

Hannah is here waiting to help ensure you have the best meal experience ever.

The illustrious and talented Mike Taylor, our church choir director and organist, provided entertainment.

 And on Sunday, we had a baptism! Father Donald Holland baptizes the young Samuel Jones, son of Alex and Jessica Jones.

What a beautiful weekend!

What a wonderful church family!

Burning Fields

 Tenderly, he reached out to her.

She bit off his hand.

Blood gushed from the open wound.

Who knew a harpy's beak and teeth could be that strong? She popped it off like a bottle top.

He felt faint. He was losing too much of life's sustaining fluid.  

She was no help. She just cackled incessantly at him, like a crow magnified. 

He yanked off his shirt with one hand and clumsily tried to wrap his bleeding wrist. It was to no avail. He could not abate the red torrent.  

"Why?" he cried out.

"Because it is in my nature,  you fool of a man! What did you think would happen?"

Everything was dimming. "I cared for you. I just wanted to ..." He hesitated. Focus was becoming harder. "...to help you."

He had defended her. Other neighbors were ready to clip her wings and burn her at the stake. But he saw something in her that made him believe she was worth saving. He knew that she could be tamed and cared for and be used to aid the community instead of threatening it.

He had come into the cave where she hid. He heard her weeping. "There, there now. I've come to help you, not hurt you."

She looked at him, sad eyes brimming with tears. "No one wants to help me. You all just want to see me dead."

"That's not true! I know you are good deep down. When my field burned, I saw you swoop down, pick up my niece, and move her from the all-consuming flames."

She looked at him, her eyes seeming to reach out and appreciate his understanding.

This was a fatal misunderstanding on his part.

Now, he was bleeding out. His shirt failed to staunch the wound. She did not move to help him.

"Of course, I moved the girl. I did not want the fire to take her. I prefer to cook my own food. She slipped from my grip. Before I could grasp her again, your entire village came out after me."

She spread her wings. "But now it is time for me to try again, see what strays I can find."

At that, she flew off, leaving him there to die.

Which he did.

Wandering Dunes

 Are those dunes? Eh, maybe.

It's the world-famous Jekyll Island, semi-exclusive off the coast of Southeast Georgia. Well, semi-exclusive in that it requires an $8 day pass to get on the island. We go there once every few years, nowhere as often as we go to St. Simon's Island.

Think Mackinaw Island, but with cars. And bars. Men from Mars? Probably not, but I can't rule it out.

You really want dunes? Try Sleeping Bear Dunes in Northern Michigan, by Lake Michigan.

We'd go there when I was a kid. Boy, it was exhausting getting up and down them! They are also well known for dune buggy rides. After going up and down a couple, I was certainly in favor of that mode of transportation.

Ok, this is if you really REALLY want dunes! Try the Sahara. They went for miles, and they got camels and bedouins.  

I had trouble getting up the Sleeping Bear Dunes, so I will give these a hard pass. I'll see them in the movies or National Geographic specials.

Oh, my goodness. Just looking at that makes me thirsty.

Pardon me while I go to the oasis.

Wanderingly yours,

T. M. Strait

NOT Phone a Freind

 As all ye former landlubbers are aware, the nature of phones in our culture has changed considerably in recent decades.

It's changed from dialing an operator to connect with anyone, to party lines where you might be inadvertently sharing a conversation with half the town, to the Princess phone, to cordless phones, to all kinds of cellular devices.

My Mom was on the phone a lot. She had many long conversations with many people. My Dad was less enamored with it. His conversations were much shorter, even when conducting school business. Me? I was terrified of the phone. I had difficulty talking to people when I couldn't see their faces or gauge how they reacted to what I said. Even the rare times I might have a girlfriend, I talked very little on the phone with them.

The phone, now adapted to our all-purpose cellular devices, has changed in a more comfortable way for introverts. We get information about most callers and can decide whether to answer.  

Not only that, most of our communication now is in the form of texts. It is much easier to respond in writing than in a call. And my understanding is I'm not alone. Among the younger generations, texting is much preferred to calling.

Indeed, some are worried that, for the first time, we are moving towards an introvert-friendly culture. This is due to our social media culture, spurred on by the isolation of the recent pandemic.

I don't know. America is still a culture dominated by the socially aggressive, the gladhanders, and the snake oil salesman. Too many of us are attracted to the Trumpian, 

The whole introvert/extrovert thing is kinda weird. Many of us are not entirely one or the other. It's more like human sexuality - there aren't simply two points on the axis. There is a great variety of mixes on the scale between the two. Few are 100% introvert or 100% extrovert.

Society best functions when there are roles for all kinds of people. It fails when it is structured so only one or the other thrives.

So, some are worried that we are tipping too much to introverts. I don't know. That may only seem that way because this country had tilted too far to the extrovert side.

But only time will tell.

Meanwhile, I'm pretty happy with the way phones are right now. Text me, but be patient for how long it may take me to return the text.