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

[Christopher Hart]

Absolutely! I totally agree with what Ginga said. A fabulous tribute to our
special brand of Anglican community.

On Sun, Nov 1, 2015 at 5:49 AM, Ginga Wilder <gingawilder at gmail.com> wrote:

> 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
> > >
> >
>



-- 

Christopher Hart

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