The Silly Episcopalian

Yesterday our dog walk through the woods was through a veritable ice-rain shower, one that made my face feel like it was being pelted by miniature ninja stars.  I was cranky anyway, as I'd been having stomach issues all day and felt like garbage.  By the end of the walk, I was downright... bitchy.  I said something short to my husband, and he replied that for an aspiring clergy member, my words and behavior were not very reflective of that. I wouldn't be surprised if you heard my eyebrows slam together just by reading that.  I hate when he does that. I mentioned it to him today, once I'd gotten into a better place, asked him why can't clergy be human and have mistakes and instances of bitchiness.  He replied "because you're closer to God." Nope. I hate to think of any person as closer to God than another person.  (Unless you're being the smart aleck who says someone older is closer to God than someone younger because likely the older person wil...

About a month ago, I started noticing something beautiful on our dog-walks.  Along the trail we walk (it's in the woods in a state park), I noticed some rocks at the base of trees, on fallen logs, etc.  Each rock was painted a rather neutral color to fit into the woods, and each rock had a positive message on it.  I remember "ah, songbirds -- the love song of the morning" as one of them. (I've made my Cursillo, and I immediately thought of these as palanca, but I refused to take them because I wanted them to make other people's days better too.) One night the rocks disappeared.  I thought the park maintenance workers had taken them, and when I asked them (they know us well), they said they hadn't, so I hoped more would come. Meanwhile, I started making rocks of my own, and thought I'd add  Project Semicolon  work to these rocks.  Project Semicolon is a mental health initiative (see link above), and I thought to myself that maybe having the semico...

Two years ago this past May I was received into the Episcopal Church.  My particular reception liturgy was awkward and chaotic for me.  Our priest-in-charge at my church had just stepped in at that point, and so I missed some of the information that I needed before the liturgy.  So I came in late and wound up walking into the meeting with the Bishop when it was halfway through; 10 minutes before the mass my priest hadn't shown up yet owing to getting stuck at the doctor, and he was in a flannel shirt and jeans when he did.  It was in a tiny church in a tiny town, and the music consisted of a single organist who meets every stereotype of the classic little-old-lady-set-in-her-ways organist who makes so many mistakes that it threw off all the people who actually read music.  All in all, quite the "rinky-dink" service.  It was my mother's first exposure to the Episcopal Church, and I'm afraid that it wasn't the best possible impression for someone being comple...

"so what'd you give up?" Invariably we hear the ubiquitous: sweets, chocolate, junk food, cursing... and so many non-observers of Lent leave their knowledge at this. So what of this "giving stuff up" business that is the first thing "muggles" think of Lent?  Are we masochists?  Are we glorying in our own martyrdom, so that everyone can see what devout Christians we are?  I never like to think that Lent is about "giving up."  Giving up implies sacrifice, yes, but it also implies resignation.  Why would we ever want to give up?  Give up on our faith?  Give up on our convictions?  Why not come at Lent stronger, more willing to take on the challenges of this beautiful time - a way of NOT giving up.  Lent is not a season of deprivation.  It is a season of sacrifice, but that is not its focus.  Lent is so, so much more. In Lent we remember.   We remember those 40 days that Christ spent being tempted and tested by the fallen a...

In the novel Father Melancholy’s Daughter, Gail Godwin creates a narrative of a priest who is prone to bouts of depression, who earns the nickname “Father Melancholy” from his parishoners.  Throughout the book, Father Melancholy describes his depression as getting lost behind a Black Curtain, and he can’t find his way out.  When encouraged by his wife to take antidepressants prescribed by his well-loved doctor, Father Melancholy says that he wants to get to the bottom of it, to “look the damn thing in the face… to help me see… well, I don’t know what,” so that he could emerge triumphant. His emergences in the novel are always sudden.  The passage that struck me most about his emergence was when he told his wife that “these mashed potatoes are creamy and delicious, the ham is tasty, and I have a new book from the library I’m looking forward to reading later.”  And as a firsthand sufferer of bouts of depression, I can assure that these sudden emergences sometimes ...

Welcome.  I am the Silly Episcopalian.  I am also a music teacher for students with developmental disabilities. I go to Zion Episcopal Church in Rome, NY.  I'm on the vestry, in the choir, and newly hatched, and I'm here to tell my story about my faith and its journey. I was baptized, raised, and confirmed Roman Catholic.  I went to parochial school from kindergarten through grade 8; I was allowed to go to the local public school in my hometown because of the music program it had (which ultimately led me to pursue music education in college). As a little girl, I was always impulsive and couldn't keep myself still for longer than a couple of minutes.  Welcome to me messing around during mass, and mom putting me in the children's choir. Music transformed my faith. "Sing to the Lord a new song" became the philosophy of my life, even though I didn't quite know it yet. I was also interested in priesthood and ministry.  Mom started quite the lively di...