Day at Jazz Fest

The New Orleans Jazz Festival opened this past weekend, and I went on Saturday. I always head first to the Fais-do-do stage for Cajun music and dancing. The band was Bonsoir Catin, all young women playing traditional tunes with hoots and hollers. A fiery accordionist named Kristy Guillory, and a fiddler from somewhere up north (Cajun by la porte en arrière, the back door). They were led by Christine Balfa, guitar, daughter of fiddler Dewey Balfa, who started the revival of Cajun music in the 1960s. (Attending the Newport Jazz Festival with a Cajun band, Dewey expected a small crowd and little enthusiasm for chanky-chank country tunes. Instead, the immense crowd found the music exciting and authentic. This experience taught the Cajun musicians a valuable lesson.) I hung around and listened and eventually asked a woman to dance, although I tend to avoid dancing at Jazz Fest because Cajun dancers raise clouds of perhaps toxic dust. (Note to Jazz Fest: Please, a wooden floor next year.) The next band was Ray Abshire, all men, including Ray's two sons (I forget their names) and Marc and Ann Savoy's son, Joel. Cajun bands tend to be family affairs. Also traditional music, the best kind. Again I danced.

I was glad to see so many young people playing French music (as we call it in the country). For a while it looked as if the old music was about the die out, as the musicians got older and died. But their children and grandchildren have picked up the art, and they can even sing in French. (I wonder if they speak French at home.) And women too. In the past it was rare to see a woman play anything more serious than the ti-fer (little iron, a triangle) or maybe a guitar for accompaniment. Now it's common for women to play fiddles and accordions, the lead instruments in a Cajun band.

Then I wandered off and watched some local native Americans dancing and chanting. Soon they started a circle dance and invited the spectators to join them. So I danced again. The men and women dancers were in separate groups, women with a complicated step, men just shuffling. Several women tried to join the men's group, but the head guy told them to dance with the women.

For lunch I had crawfish Monica at Monica's own booth. Foot weary, I decided to go inside the grandstand and rest on a bench while watching a cooking demonstration, only to find all seats taken. Frank Brigtsen (of Brigtsen's in the Riverbend area) was showing how to make crawfish bisque, and the crowd was on his side, cheering him on and asking lots of questions. Cook the roux in an iron pot, 45% vegetable oil and 55% flour, to a mahogany color (stirring all the while), and let it cool, pouring off the oil. Separately cook celery, onions, and peppers (the trinity of Creole cooking). Add crawfish stock and a mixture of spices. Add the roux. I don't remember the rest, except that he adds crawfish twice, chopped and tails, to enhance the flavor. Afterwards we all lined up to get a little cup of bisque. Formidable!

Thus fortified, I went to Economy Hall Tent to listen to the Young Tuxedo Brass Band, playing traditional music of a New Orleans marching band. Dr. Michael White played clarinet. This included the music for a funeral, going from the gathering place to church (hopeful), from church to cemetery (sad), and leaving the cemetery (upbeat and even raucous). For the last part, they played "When the Saints." I would have preferred "Didn't He Ramble" as more in the bawdy spirit of life after death. During each selection a lot of people came up with little umbrellas or colorful handkerchiefs and formed a second line (the group that follows a marching band in the streets of New Orleans), for a slow parade with lots of twisting, hand gestures, and hip movement.

After wandering around from place to place, I ended up at the Fais-do-do stage for Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys, and more dancing. And so to home, tired but happy, grabbing an oyster and spinach salad on the way out.

What does this have to do with church? You guess is as good as mine. Church is too often like the middle, sad part of a funeral. What we need is lively music, space to dance, and tasty food. That should pack them in.

MDGphobia

In some circles it has become fashionable to criticize the Millennium Development Goals and even to ridicule Bishop Katharine for supporting them. The United Nations thought them up, which is cited as cause for suspicion. And Katharine doesn't mention Jesus enough when she talks about them.

But wait a minute! The bishops of the Anglican Communion voted for them at Lambeth 1998. Archbishop Williams and Bishop Tutu are strongly in favor of them. General Convention endorsed them in 2003 and 2006 and called on all dioceses to contribute 0.7% of their income. Almost all dioceses, even conservative ones such as Forth Worth and Dallas, have accepted the challenge. The money is supposed to be used for international development programs. And best of all, the MDGs are scripture-based (do I need to cite chapter and verse?). So what's the problem?

Falling apart

There's a good article on the Episcopal Majority blogsite, by Victor J. Rizzo, which begins: "Organizational structure is the bone and sinew that enables an organization to function in the role for which it was originally created." He goes on to make some points about the Anglican Communion and its tendency toward multiple structures and points of view. At its best, diversity is innovative and healthy. At its worst, it causes the organization to dissolve.

Isn't that what Yeats was saying in "The Second Coming," in a grim picture of millennial dissolution?

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

But Yeats goes on with an antithetical vision, of a future as different as it is troubling:

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

News from the mudflats

Why are we sinking into the Gulf of Mexico about a third inch per year? No one really knows, and anyway it depends on where you are and who's talking. If you live by the river, the ground may be relatively stable. The land in East New Orleans, because of a fault way down, may be going down fast. C'est comme la terre tombe.

Meanwhile, poor people are trying to find a place to live. According to the Times-Picayune the other day, people of African descent find it harder to rent an apartment than people of European descent. The article didn't say what happens to people of mixed heritage, which is common around here, from the beginning. Take a big bowl, make a roux, and throw in African, French, a little Spanish, and a lot of German, Irish, Italian, Cajun, Slav, Isleno, and Scotch-Irish, and add some native American and Vietnamese, and you've got your gumbo of south Louisiana. What race is all that? Creole? And where will they live? If you're slightly swarthy, watch out.

Respecting dignity

I've been thinking about the last question in the baptismal covenant: "Will you strive for justice and peace, and respect the dignity of every human being?" Compare that with the catechism (BCP 847): "God required the chosen people [the Hebrews] to be faithful; to love justice, to do mercy, and to walk humbly with their God." Note: Louie Crew has pointed out that the catechism misquotes Micah 6:8, which actually says "to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God" (NRSV). It's odd that we haven't gotten around to correcting our teaching about the Bible.

But my real quarrel is with the baptismal covenant. It's not enough to swear that we'll respect the dignity of every human being. We need to take the same responsibility for all God's creation, because everything is good (Gen. 1) and we are to care for everything (Gen. 2). Rocks, mud, air, water, everything that flies, swims, walks, slithers, or crawls on, above, or below land. Everything created has dignity which we need to respect.

In giving orientation lectures to visitors in New Orleans, here to work in our recovery from wind, rain, and flood, I begin by talking about our earliest inhabitants, not just the settlers from France (former convicts, most of them), but also the Africans who were soon imported to make the colony work. Most of them were from the Senegal River valley in West Africa, from the Bambara nation, a remnant of the great Mali empire of the middle ages. Their advanced culture included a sophiscated theology in which all creatures, animate and inanimate, are descended from a common ancestor (their version of Adam and Eve). Thus all creatures are cousins, and in this family relationship the Africans found dignity and gave respect. Can Jews and Christians interpret their creation stories in a similar way and respect the dignity of all God's creatures?

My favorite dioceses

These web sites aren't for normal dioceses, and they certainly don't include the run-of-the-mill site of my own storm-tossed diocese. The dioceses I like, for different reasons, are Wenchoster (not serious) and Partenia (serious):

Diocese of Wenchoster. Click on the diocesan seal to enter the site and follow the numerous links for wondrous expositions of ministries and mysteries. Those with a love of liturgy will appreciate the hymnody and customary (Sarum restorations, unfortunately lacking many details). Merci, Grandmère Mimi, for reminding me of Wenchoster.

Diocese of Partenia. In 1995 Jacques Gaillot, bishop of Evreux in Normandy, was called to Rome and fired for his liberal writings against war and for immigration reform. Instead, he was made bishop of Partenia, a sandy, barren diocese in the highlands of Algeria, which became extinct in the fifth century. With this Saharan plum as a nominal seat (he actually lives in Paris), Gaillot has built a career as bishop of social justice for all peoples. Rome probably regrets posting him to the desert.

Guns and Satan

The killings at Virginia Tech raise a number of questions about cause and effect. So far, on the listserv anglodeacons, we have heard the crime blamed on:

1. Guns--free access to them, at least in backward states such as Virginia.

2. Mental illness--lack of care, especially of those so deranged as to be dangerous.

3. Satan--dark angels and demonic forces working their evil will either directly or through human intermediacy.

I can see some legitimacy, or at least historical precedent, in all three. Yet I am troubled by the problem.

1. As someone raised in the country, I own several hunting rifles and shotguns, and even a 22 pistol, although I have not fired them in many years. I would be horrified to have to fire them at a human being.

2. Many of those who commit murder are deranged, but I am not sure how far we should go in excusing evil deeds among the mentally ill. The definition of mental illness has been stretched almost out of sight. A crafty lawyer could probably a case that Hitler or Stalin was acting involuntarily as the result of errant brain cells or chemical imbalance. Where is the defining line between mental illness and evil acts?

3. As a rational person, I am blind to Satan as an active power, and I wonder whether God's creation can logically contain evil spirits. Free will may extend to the purely spiritual realm. If we have spiritual creatures who choose to be good (angels), we may have some who choose to be evil. We may even have an arch-fiend with charismatic skills. Christ thought so, or at least said so.

Reginald H Fuller

The Rev. Reginald H. Fuller, New Testament scholar, died on 4 April 2007 in Richmond, Virginia. In 1975 (I believe) someone brought him to a Twelfth Night (= Epiphany) party at my house in New Orleans. I had blessed the front door and marked it with chalk "19 + C + M + B + 75" for the three magi and year, not remembering where that custom came from. On reaching the door, Fr. Fuller and his wife Ilse stopped and she said delightedly, "Reggy, look!" She was Hungarian or other eastern European and recognized the custom from her home country.

Stormy weather

In New Orleans we have heard that the Archbishop of Canterbury will be coming here for the meeting of our House of Bishops on September 20-25. It will be the peak of hurricane season. If a storm appears anywhere near the Gulf of Mexico, we will have to evacuate all those bishops and supporting cast to Baton Rouge. There won't be enough planes, trains, and cars to get everyone else out. Why are the bishops meeting here?

Titanic aliens

Today is the 95th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic (on 15 April 1912), with great loss of life, an example of progress in the modern age. I confess that I failed to pray during mass (Easter 2) for the victims and their families. Another blog, on Sunday afternoon, reminded me of the anniversary.

The sermon by Fleming Rutledge, largely on Job, gently chided us for our human arrogance in attempting to know God's ways. During the sermon a strangely garbed visitor entered the nave of Trinity and took a seat up front. When Fleming happened to mention that God might be a "she" or an "it" as well as a "he," the visitor left in a hurry. (His departure actually illustrated a homiletic point the preacher was making.) An usher, having followed the visitor outside, reported that his car had a voodoo altar on the dashboard. Should we have been more hospitable to this alien?

Many years ago, in my former parish of St Anna's in New Orleans, we had a parishioner named Louis Chardonnet. Supposedly the grandson of an Anglican archbishop in the West Indies, Louis was a Creole of color from the neighborhood, suffered from schizophrenia, and always wore a red cloak to mass (red because of the martyrdom of Christ, which Louis believed he was). Mostly, Louis sat quietly in the back of church. One Sunday, however, as I was singing the gospel, Louis left his pew, spread his cloak, and advanced up the aisle, straight toward me. After all, the gospel was about him. Suddenly I heard a loud stomping noise as the rector, the eccentric Father Dodwell, rushed past me. He tackled Louis around the waist and dragged him out of church. So much for religious imagination.

Mass of the Lord's Supper

The Maundy (from mandatum novum, the new commandment to love one another) Mass of the Lord's Supper was powerful in symbol. We had three stations with washtubs and chairs, piles of towels, and warm water. The clergy started by washing each other's feet, and then people came up, had their feet washed, and stayed to wash the feet of those coming after them. Then the washers and the washed hugged, apparently a local custom. The congregation was small, about 55 (in a parish with some 2,500!), and I wonder whether people are going out of town. But I was impressed with those who came. Too bad we didn't reserve the sacrament for Good Friday. Why was that?

Funeral for Jesus

The liturgy on Good Friday was led by eight ministers in black cassocks, without vestments. Only a liturgy of the word. Three priests read the passion. No veneration of the cross or communion. The eight of us knelt at the altar rail, on bare wooden blanks, for the solemn collects, three anthems (said), hymn (sung), and closing prayer. I came close to fainting from pain in my knees. Good Friday isn't supposed to be fun, is it?

Exsultet

The literal meaning of "Exsultet" (from ex + saltare) is "leap high" or "leap vigorously." Thus the opening of the Exsultet may be translated "Leap now, angel swarms on high." The currently used "Rejoice now, heavenly hosts and choirs of angels" is bland by comparison, too churchy and abstract, like Sunday morning in Protestant America. In 1990 I wrote the following poem, influenced by my love of country dancing:

Dance now, angels, leap and fling,
grab a partner, circle round,
spirit hands who scrape the bow
fiddle a tune for Christ our king.

Enter, earth, and orbit right,
swing your corner, now your own,
astral lanterns dazzle dark,
round all fly in cosmic light.

Push back pew, complete the ring,
mother church in shimmy gown,
bring your loud and rowdy crowd,
fling this night for Christ our king.

“Exsultet,” The Living Church, 15 April 1990, 13.

Thoughts on the Triduum

The Paschal Triduum begins at sunset on Thursday and ends at sunset on Sunday, and the three days are Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. We're in Jewish time, sunset time. Although we call the day Maundy Thursday, it is really Maundy Friday, since the Mass of the Lord's Supper occurs soon after sunset on what is liturgically Friday. At the very least, "Maundy Thursday" or "Maundy Friday" should apply only to the hours after sunset. (It's hard to make sense of days that are both sunset time and midnight time.) The eucharistic liturgy includes the washing of feet and the reservation of the sacrament for communion later in the day, at the liturgy of Good Friday. The liturgical color is red, since Christ is the king of martyrs. There's no dismissal because we take a long time out for prayer and fasting.

Gathering again on Good Friday, about the hour of Christ's death (probably closer to 3 p.m. than to noon), we proclaim the passion according to John, pray for the needs of the church and the world, venerate the cross, and receive the body and blood of Christ (reserved on the previous night). The liturgical ministers wear red eucharistic vestments, and again there is no dismissal. Some congregations prefer black (or black cassocks) as if Jesus had gone away somewhere grim, and a bunch of mourners were holding his funeral, but Jesus is still among us in word, sacrament, and people.

The third and supreme act of the Triduum is the Paschal Vigil, beginning after sunset on Saturday (and hence on Sunday). A Vigil during daylight is an offense to our Jewish heritage, and it makes no practical or symbolic sense. The historical reason for lighting candles was to furnish light for evening worship. A Vigil before sunset on Saturday or after sunrise on Sunday is weak in symbol, lacking darkness in which to proclaim the light of Christ. Some have celebrated, or at least proposed, a Vigil starting just after sunset with candle and readings and ending, after a break for sleep, at sunrise with baptism and eucharist. Whatever the hour, a Vigil lacking one or two of its four parts is truncated and weak. Candle-lighting and readings (the more the merrier) prepare us for baptism (preferably of adults) and eucharist. The vestments are festal and rich with color. Finally, we have the great paschal dismissal, sung with two alleluias. Then there may be a party, with red-dyed eggs to crack. All the rest on Sunday is a reprise of the Vigil, and a lot of it is designed to make visitors and occasional Christians happy.

Communication: Autocratic or Participatory

We were having a discussion in an outreach ministry group about the best way to send messages to people in my congregation. The current, preferred way in this congregation is called an "email blast," sending an email message to all the communicants or to targeted groups. The recipients get the message, but they don't get to respond or to have a discussion about the topic. I call this method "autocratic communication." It's sometimes dictatorial and sometimes manipulative, from those on high to those on low, but at least it avoids the messiness of disputation with all its fuss and bother.

Another way is "participatory communication." This method is typical of the Internet listserv or group. Everyone in the group gets to say what they want. Sometimes the conversation gets out of hand, and some members start to act disrespectfully toward others. A moderator then has to step in, tell the offenders to calm down, and occasionally kick people off the list. Despite these risks, the nature of the list resembles liturgy in the post-Vatican church. All the people are encouraged to participate fully and actively.

Blogs like this one are a combination of the two types. The owner sends messages (autocratic), and everyone else is able to post comments (participatory). True, the message is clearly the most important part of the communication, and the comments, even in their typographical treatment, are subsidiary. But the comments are significant in drawing out the meaning of the message.

There are also "autocratic" and "participatory" styles of leadership. If you are an autocratic leader, you tend to send autocratic messages.