Laurel

 

May 21, 2021

Long hot summer day. I left for the forest in the cool of the morning. I went south from the Bad Fork tunnel, looking for the path that led to the most beautiful field I ever knew. Took the path I thought it was, and though it led to lovely laurel-y woods, it did not lead to my high meadow looking bold on Pisgah. Maybe I didn’t go far enough, though I think I did. Maybe the world has so utterly changed in the twenty years or more since I walked there. Maybe there is another road off the Hard Times that I stopped just short of. But saw rose acacia and false indigo and laurel in all colors from snow to peach. Got me 11000+ steps, which is either a record or a near-record. Was alone until the clock neared noon.

Watering the garden twice daily against the days of bracing dry.

“Holy Conversations” began last night in Zabriskie Hall. It was not actually very holy. The woman from Holy Cow descended, claws out, into defense of her position. I think she was trying to make the point that she was not on any side but that of the facts, but she was angry, and ended up scolding us for not falling in line behind her vision. We were not in fact falling in line behind her vision, which is statistical and useful, but not exhaustive, and not true. N went on–as she has in the past–praising herself for her visionary excellence in coming up with Koinonia. When asked for what skill she could bring to her parish, she said, “I guess I am a prophet.” Some good angel prevented me from saying, “You know Koinonia is over, don’t you?” It never made much sense, though I endured explanations of it at least three times. She doesn’t realize that T gave her the green light for this because it was the only way to get her out of his office, with retirement already a glimmer in his eye.

The last thing we did was make a list of those things we wanted in a new Dean. I almost wept, realizing that all this year of questionnaires and discernments and grave counsel comes down to that one exercise, the only one of actual direct and perceivable efficacy. One might lament the waste of time, money, patience. We simply could have met and made that list. But we wouldn’t be Episcopalians if we really trusted the guidance of the Holy Spirit. It is my conviction that in matters such as this agonized and intricate planning and spontaneous acclaim will land exactly upon the same choice. 

Now that I’m on the Vestry, I stay to put away the chairs and close the windows.