June 21, 2022

Solstice, and a perfect day for it. Vestry last night. The preference for the general over the specific seems to me to be catastrophic, though I’m clearly outnumbered and end up sounding spluttery and indignant. I AM spluttery and indignant. The painstaking, often self-hobbling, process of discernment is referred to as the work of the Holy Spirit, though it seems to me that is rather an oxymoron. When did the Holy Spirit come when it was not sudden, un-looked-for, blazingly aside of any expected context? Yet my faith is that the slow grinding of the blunt wheels and the flash from the mountain ultimately reveal the same truth. The sentence, “I am Alexander and not Eisenhower” has just come into my head, so I might as well write it down. Both were victorious. 

Our strongest baritone has Covid. Two days until the concert, so who knows what will come to our aid? 

The lemon yellow day lilies must have been planted, but I don’t remember doing it.