Sentiment or Sentimentality

I note this week a blurb from the June 14th edition of News of the Weird: a 17-year old; a new plumber, first day on the job; using a blow torch, burned a mansion down in England. Not a good start.

I was an acolyte, for a day. All the pre-Communion rituals were taking place on the altar; I stood there, ready to assist, towel on arm. The rector asked, "do you have any idea what you're supposed to be doing?" The reply was negative. I was finished.

At one time, we held Taize services in the old church. For a man who sits on the couch at home, remote in hand, never landing for too long in one spot, it was torture. In preservation of sanity, I took to counting chants; when the total reached 39, still climbing, I thought my head would explode. I was saved (no pun intended) from silent madness, when the young acolyte on the altar, reaching to snuff a candle, caught the sleeve of his vestment on fire. The woman in the pew in front of mine yelled "Fire!" and leapt over the bench into the aisle. The acolyte, stood, unharmed, transfixed by the flame, as it slowly flickered out. I was awake, restored, and happy. Thus ended any monastical vocation I might have harbored.

I read of an Eastern Orthodox service that lasted for three hours. As described, the focus was on a God who might only be sensed through the most powerful telescope of the mind; the specks of humanity who made the effort were to gain access through the repeated recitation of their worthlessness in His presence. If there's uplift to be gained through the process, I imagine it's of a same degree as a fast; a sort of empty cleaner personage.

To each her own. It doesn't do it for me. I'm reminded of Kerouac in his year of fire watch in the tower above a forest. He'd chant, meditate and fast, for days, and then head to town to get drunk.

I am, above all, a soppy sentimentalist. I shed copious tears every December at Scrooge's transformation (the '51 classic Alistair Sims version). I hold hands with the Mrs. when Linus says "lights, please, I can tell you what Christmas is all about." Jesus is accessible; He comes through the Holy Spirit. I sense His presence, not only by abiding through the sacraments and sentiments of the Church, but within the sentimentality of the culture of church. I'm told by the theologians, ancient and modern, that sentimentality has no place in any serious contemplation of the salvation of humanity. I find I can't approach God well, if in full presence of mind, there's no heart.

I imagine the Holy Spirit as akin to an old Southern blue-tick hound; sniffing out the places where a degree of compassion is present, so extraordnary, it attracts His presence. Perhaps it's where there's empty and full. Let me explain: I worked for years at a camp for children who lost a parent. The directors were expertly skilled in drawing out the experience of grief, so that the kids didn't carry it as unopened baggage for the rest of their lives.

At the close of camp, we'd gather in a circle around a fire, tossing in scraps of paper upon which we wrote cherised memories of those who died. As the smoke rose, we said our goodbyes. It became habit to lock eyes with the Director, in an unspoken communion, and silently pray, as Elton John's 'Circle of Life,' played softly in the background. I also prayed, one year, for God to empty my presence and fill it with His overpowering love, here, where all those serving had offered all they had to give. I felt lifted, rising off the ground, floating in recognition of how good the world can be at those brief moments.

Sickeningly sentimental, eh? Sorry....

As always, I ponder without ceasing on our church struggle. Some have said, when it's over, the lasting legacy will be knowledge of the tactics employed by those determined to 'win.' I attended a meeting recently of the four churches in our Diocese who are temporarily worshipping elsewhere, having been displaced by those who call themselves Anglicans, pending a decision on property by the court. The purpose was mutual support and fellowship; it's gratifying to share the generosity that's been poured out upon us. A plan was made to hold a retreat, over a weekend, at the much beloved local mountain retreat, so that we could get to know each other better, and gain strength for the journey, as they say.

No sooner were the plans announced, then they were attacked as a cynical component of a dastardly masterplan by 'shadow' churches to inflict terrible evils upon God knows what. Although Connie prefers I not visit the sites she knows dangerously raise my blood pressure, I yet strive to read it all so as to gain perspective I might not otherwise would have known (see last week's post on yahoo). I could not resist posting a rejoinder; it actually resulted in a meaningful exchange between myself and another poster.

My posts were not retributive; I conveyed, as I always strive to do, what it is we represent, positively, in a way that inherently holds the statements to logic. While the post exchanges occured, the site writer, grew quiet. Is there any chance that she was affected so that she might write less antagonistically in the future, especially, when, at the same time she's tossing out epithets, she claims a desire for an amiable relationship.

Today I'm fasting in preparation for a medical procedure tomorrow. I still don't like it. Maybe I can use it in some spiritual sense? I doubt it.