[Magdalen] Talk for St. George's Cathedral, All Saints Celtic service

[Ginga Wilder]

Oh, Molly!  What a wonderful way to awake to All Saints Day.  You have
written, said things I have thought.  Your words are beautiful.

Thank you and love,
Ginga

On Sun, Nov 1, 2015 at 1:15 AM, Molly Wolf <lupa at kos.net> wrote:

> I think I mentioned that I've been asked to speak at the 5PM Celtic
> Eucharist at the cathedral tomorrow.  This is what I've written.
>
> I cannot begin to say how important cybercommunity has been to me.  This
> is only a touch of it.
>
> Molly
>
> The man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no
> other way. -- Mark Twain
>
> Begin forwarded message:
>
> > From: Molly Wolf <lupa at kos.net>
> > Date: November 1, 2015 at 1:08:43 AM EDT
> > To: lupa at kos.net
> >
> >
> > Twenty years ago, I found myself in the middle of an online group of
> Anglicans.  We were joined in cyberspace by a listserv, an internet mailing
> list, but we were a definite community.  Not a peaceful community either.
> The list was extremely lively, contentious, and full of strong
> personalities.  We were redeemed by a wonderful sense of silliness and by a
> sense of community that grew stronger and stronger the more we became aware
> of it.
> >
> >
> > We called ourselves the international cyberparish of St. Sam’s (long
> story).  Our motto was “Via media via modem” and our song was “Shall we
> gather at the River,” as performed by the Miserable Offenders, Deb Bly and
> Ana Hernandez.  Sometimes we managed on-the-ground meetings, but mostly we
> lived community through the flow of electrons.
> >
> >
> >
> > Why bring this up? Because it was at St. Sam’s that I first truly
> encountered something I’d never really encountered before – the sense that
> church was much, much more than a gathering of mostly middle-aged or
> elderly nice white folks in pretty Gothic buildings, coming together on
> Sunday to sing familiar hymns and say familiar prayers, and gathering at
> other times to squabble over budgets, gay marriage, and the state of the
> parish plant. Not that St. Sam’s didn’t squabble – although in our case, it
> was more usually troll attacks or flame wars – but we were more than that.
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > We were a community that existed around the world, in Europe and Great
> Britain, South Africa, Australia, all U.S. states and a good many Canadian
> provinces.  We brought together people who were otherwise isolated: a
> homebound woman, a priest with near-complete hearing loss, another who
> served the remoteness of South Dakota.
> >
> >
> >
> > And aside from the fun and the fighting, we had one essential function:
> we prayed.  My mother was a member of St. Sam’s, and when she was starting
> the long slow slide to her death, she spoke of being held by St. Sam’s in a
> golden hammock of prayer.  The golden hammock.  When someone was in
> particularly need, we used to post prayers and say where they were coming
> from: praying in Harper’s Ferry, Virginia; in Oahu; in Canberra; in
> Chicago.  Prayers arising from all over.
> >
> >
> >
> > Through St. Sam’s, I discovered the community of saints.  Since we had
> little physical contact, we could be souls with each other.  And when
> individuals died – I count about 20 members who left this life – we knew
> that they had only gone to the other side of the River that flows by the
> throne of God, and that they were waiting for us there.
> >
> >
> >
> > Deb Bly, our Debele; Matt Tracy, the Muttster; Andrew Auld, the Official
> List Curmudgeon who I called Mudge; Mary Jane, Lane, Carol, Diana, Cynthia
> McFarland the blessed of Anglicans Online, my mother Barbara, the Wolfmama
> – all of these and more died as the grass dies, but their souls are in
> God.  And there’s a hell of a good picnic going on on those further shores.
> >
> >
> >
> > I know that when I myself come to death, I’ll plunge into that cold
> water, only to find it warm, and that when I get to the other side, the
> Muttster and the Mudge will swing me up onto the shore, swat my butt, and
> get back to arguing about the Only Correct Way to perform Real Barbecue,
> while Deb will lift her considerable voice in a jazz scat that will shake
> the stars.
> >
> >
> >
> > The community of saints is huge and ancient and it binds us together
> with hermits in the Egyptian wilderness and nuns in medieval Germany, with
> martyrs in Japan and preachers in Nigeria, with Christians far and near,
> past and present and future, for we are all one in the one body.  I learned
> that first and best from St. Sam’s.
> >
> >
> >
> > Lately, though, I’ve been spreading the margin wider.  Yes, we are all
> one in Christ, but we are one in God with all souls past, present and
> future, Jewish and Muslim and Buddhist and Hindu and Aboriginal and
> unfaithed, even Richard Dawkins, for we are all the children of God, and
> each one of us is precious in God’s eyes.  As are all God’s critters, from
> land snail to sperm whale and from galaxy to paramecium.  God loves God’s
> creation, and we are God’s creatures.  And so we have a deep duty to do
> right by one another.
> >
> >
> >
> > I still miss my Debele and the Muttster and the Mudge; I still miss the
> heady days when a torrent of mail came from around the world, arguing,
> rejoicing, bemoaning, praying, loving.  But I know that this was just a
> taste of what is to come.
> >
> >
> >
> > From earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s farthest coast,
> >
> > Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,
> >
> > Singing to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost:
> > Allel
> >
>