Sweating alone

Yesterday evening, I encountred the bane of the summer commute: The unairconditioned el car. When I felt the first blast of heated air, I told myself Maybe it's been sitting in the yard for a while. Maybe so, but the fact remained that what was coming out of the vents was in no way cooler than the air already in the car.

So I weighed the merits of coolness against the merits of quiet and decided I'd rather have a car all to myself, even if it were 100 degrees inside. I also seized on the banging-your-head-against-a-wall rationalisation: Think how much cooler the outdoors will feel after this!

I began to take a perverse pleasure in watching everyone who boarded exclaim about the heat and make a beeline for the emergency doors in order to cross to the next car. Yes, flee, lesser mortals! At some point, it occurred to me that I might be luring some of them in, since an empty car on a busy train is far more suspicious than one with even a single highly visibile passenger.

Prostration without Consubstantiation: A Review

Speaking to niemandsrose caused me to realise what a poor job I'd done of making clear the reason for my trip to the monastery: The ordination of Father Medlar, monshu's oldest friend in the world. I can't say I was overjoyed to learn that he was returning to religious life, but two things brought back from that trip have set my mind at ease: (1) Getting to know the monastic community, which impressed me as being not only extremely loving and supportive, but also intelligent and thoughtful (if not necessarily the most practical-minded). (2) Seeing his face when he was dispensing communion for the first time as a priest (though hardly for the first time ever, since even laypeople can do that); he was radiant.

Now ladytiamat has been clamouring for my review of the Mass of Ordination and I feel I must begin with a ( disclaimer. )

It's a novel thing for me to regard a mass as a performance, but that's what I'm going to try to do; it really cried out for a play-by-play à la welcomerain, but (a) I suck at those and (b) at two hours in length, it would've gotten tedious.

The Setting: I've covered this already. Classy old-style Church with all the trimmings. We had third-row seats. Groom's side (more on that later).

The Cast: Omigod I can't remember the last time I was around so many clergy. My entire high school (including brothers' residence) didn't have that many men in frocks. By some stroke of luck, all those who didn't fit on stage were seated just across the aisle from us. There were two real honeys, the "big leather daddy one" (in Boon's characterisation) and Padre Adán de San José. *su-WOON* But, as is usual with this big productions, the bears are extras and the speaking parts go to skinny, smooth-faced, weenies. The Bishop had charm bordering on smarm. His homily was something of a rambling mess that started with misquoted Latin and quotes from Presidential Inaugural Addresses. Near the end, the Abbot shone in a cameo role.

The Plot: Long on exposition and damned short on surprises. There was at least a half-hour of padding that should've been eighty-sixed. Tension was provided by wondering how long it would take the Bishop to correctly learn the new priest's names.

Memorable Scenes: The ordinands spent a notable amount of time prone before the altar. The pamphlet explains, "As our German confrere, Fr. Anselm Grün, tells us: 'This ancient custom symbolizes the priest's offering himself to God [and the Church] just as a husband offers himself to his wife.'"

(Would any husbands out there care to comment?)

A very promising scene of mass affection as every priest present rose and filed past in order to embrace and accolader the newly-minted priests was marred somewhat by overlength and the fact that everyone involved was wearing at least three layers of full-length clothing.

Memorable Quotes: Masses of this sort tend to end with a formulaic closing prayer along the lines of "Bless all bishops and pastors and those who hold authority in the Church, especially ___________ our Bishop, and the pastors of our sister congregations." This would be a completely unmemorable line if not for the fact that the Archibishop of LA is Roger Mahoney--and even then it made no impression on me until one of the Oxonians asked the Abbot, "How did you manage to say 'Roger our Bishop' with a straight face?"

The Abbot also got the best laugh of the day with the line, "Thank you, Bishop, for that wonderful homily. I wasn't sure where it was going at first..." (at which point the Bishop mugs abashedness).

Special Effects: Laughably poor. Particularly disappointing was the lack of any kind of dramatic visual during the Laying on of Hands. The transmission of sacerdotal authority from bishop to priest absolutely cried out for sparkling CGIed tendrils of heavenly force. An unforgivable missed opportunity.

The Soundtrack: Largely unremarable, even the "Te Deum". The cantor sang well but had a weaker voice than I would've liked.