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

[Jim Guthrie]

Really nice . . .  Thanks for sharing.

Jim


-----Original Message----- 
From: Molly Wolf
Sent: Sunday, November 01, 2015 1:15 AM
To: magdalen at herberthouse.org
Subject: [Magdalen] Talk for St. George's Cathedral,All Saints Celtic service

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
>