A Letter from Rev. Clarence, 4/3/2020

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Good People and Friends of St. James!

I attach* my reflections (the usual 95 minutes!) on the Passion Gospel according to Matthew [that] you would have heard had we been able to meet on Sunday next in public, i.e. in-person worship.  I confess to you that I gave serious thoughts to the permission of our bishop to go alone on Sunday to our sanctuary and bless our palms, so that, when we may next assemble, they would be there for those who desired them.  I refrained from that action, not because I desire to deprive those among us who would like to have a palm.

Rather, for two reasons I shall not go alone to Broadway and Clarendon.  No, I am not afraid of being alone in the building.  I have often found myself alone there, at night even.  I refrain because a feeling overcame me that I would be like a thief in the night, as it were, carrying out something clandestine.  Either we wave together our palms, already paid for, or we keep them—and who cares should they no longer be green?—until we are able to meet again in person when, in a time of great rejoicing and thanksgiving, we can wave with real vigour those palms.  Liturgics notwithstanding, there is no theological reason that we of faith cannot at other times in the year wave our palms to proclaim the presence in our lives of the Messiah of God.

The second reason for my refusal, as if I needed one, was literally reflected to me in a mirror.  Although I rarely drive, preferring to support our local transit system—actually I break out in sweat (not perspiration) just to imagine driving on the streets of Boston—I looked this week (yes, I violated our “shelter in place” mandate, but just to have dinner with my younger favorite daughter in their flat five minutes away) into the right rearview side mirror.  There I saw, as I always see but this time _really_ saw, the following words etched into the mirror: “Objects in this mirror are closer than they appear.”  Different times and different circumstances demand appropriate adjustments.  To drive at 85 mph on I-90 during an Upstate New York snowstorm would be not only idiotic but, in all likelihood, suicidal.  I have, as most assuredly have you, in my possession what I call “photos of the heart,” pictures [that] are difficult to erase with the delete button, no matter the distance. So, ……

FYI: On Sunday next at 10:00 a.m., I shall read silently the words of the Holy Eucharist Rite II.  I invite you to join if you are able and so choose.  Or you may join any other virtual celebration of the Mass of your choice.  Know only that you are closer than it would appear.

CEB+

 

*See separate posting