Virtual Renewal

It happens this time every year, whether we need it or not.

If today is Tuesday in Holy Week, it must be time for the Annual Renewal of Ordination Vows.

In some places, it is known as The Chrism Mass. Or, The Mass of Chrism, depending on how obtuse or mysterious and therefore important those in charge want it to sound. 

Any other year, every priest in the diocese would get all gussied up in our clergy shirts and suits and schlepp off to the Cathedral - or the chapel at a "diocesan center"  or, perhaps, a church in the diocese with a Very Large sanctuary.

Generally, the festivities begin at 9-ish with a yummy but very unhealthy "Continental Breakfast" of an assortment of sugary pastries and the omnipresent, peripatetic bagels and cream cheese. 

And, coffee. Lots of coffee. And a few tea bags. And, sugar. And, chemical milk. 

We'll stand about in the Parish Hall in what always feels to me like the last vestige of the way 'the old boy network' used to work. Or, perhaps because there's this queasy feeling that this is a possible manifestation of clericalism, fueled by the low self-esteem or narcissism which often runs rampant in the ranks of the ordained. 

And, to be truthful, my most serious vocational crisis always comes when I'm in a room filled with other clergy. At some point, the following thought usually crosses my mind: "Dear Lord, what's a nice girl like me doing in a place like this?"

It's all "hail fellow, well met" when you know damn well that some of these boys are hanging on by threads. Six months from now, someone will have had a heart attack or their wife will have left them, or their church will have suffered a major financial loss that they knew was coming. 

Some of the women are also very adept at playing hardball with the boys. They are not, however, as adept at compartmentalization. 

Women rarely are. You can see it in their eyes, and the sadness that hangs about their shoulders like an old worn-out sweater. 

It may or may not have anything to do with their personal life. Mostly, they've just been listening to the stories and confessions of the people who have come into their office or the ones they've seen at home or hospital, in the living rooms of the Assisted Living Facilities or at the bedside of Extended Care Facilities. 

Some of us look around at the assembled and silently play the annual game of "Who is the healthiest neurotic in the room?" I mean, other than me. Because, if you aren't neurotic when you started the ordination process, it won't take too many years later of living into what John Snow called "The Impossible Vocation" to get tossed right onto your kiester by the impossibilities of it all. 

After that, it's just a short, slippery slope into neurosis. Some of us pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and try to maintain a healthy balance between living into the Gospel promises with confidence and living into the fear of being discovered an imposter. 

Some of us do that quite well, actually. There are always those clergy in the diocese who can't help but stand out as shining examples of everything you understand the priesthood to be. Their vocation is just obvious - in a marvelously understated way - whether or not they are in clerical collar. 

They help me to remember just why it is I do this work - even though some will insist on the Church Pension Group's definition of "active" vs "retired" clergy. 

I hate it. Not the designation as "retired" clergy. I earned that status, damn it, and I'll take my paltry monthly pension, thank you very much, and then do the work I love to do. No, it's the assumption that, as someone who thankfully retired from parochial ministry, I'm no longer "active". 

Truth is, I more "active" these days than many days when I was a full-time rector of a suburban congregation with a staff of eight. I know many clergy who are "retired" who are in the very same situation. Many of them work harder than they did when they were "active" because the combined income of their pensions and social security payments are not sufficient to keep body and soul together, much less food on the table. 

No one talks about that, though. You can see it, bubbling there under the surface of the very surface conversations and chatter that fill the room.

But mostly at these gatherings, among this august body of clerics, breathing in the air thick with what one clergy colleague called "priest-osterone'" it will be, "Fine. Fine. Doin' just fine. Great to see you. Call me, we'll have to have coffee or lunch and catch up."

And, we never will, of course.

I think that's the saddest part of the day.  

And then, the possibilities of the rest of the morning vary from bishop to bishop and year to year. 

Sometimes, there's a bible study or "topic of conversation". 

Other times, the bishop will use the time to "pontificate" - as a pontif is o'ft wont to do - on his (usually his) thoughts on a particular theological matter or diocesan goals for the year. 

And then, it will be off to the church to renew our vows and celebrate Eucharist. The Oils of Chrism for anointing and healing will be blessed and then distributed. Lunch will be served. More polite conversation will be had. And then, it will be home again, home again, jiggidy-jig. 

What would I like to see? Why, I thought you'd never ask!

I'd love us to gather in silence, a time of contemplation on the past year. I'd love for us to make silent confession for all the things "done and left undone". I'd love for us to have an opportunity to rejoice at the things we've been able to accomplish, even through adversity.

I'd love for us to then arise and wash each other's feet - led by the bishop, of course, who models the behavior by having his feet washed.

Then, we'd celebrate Eucharist together, to be fed so that we can feed and blessed so that we can bless.

Then, we'd arise again and take to the streets to do some corporal act of mercy: Perhaps make some sandwiches and assemble a lunch bag to distribute to the neighborhood needy. Or, make and serve the regularly scheduled hot lunch for those in need. 

If there are too many of us for that, perhaps we could help sort clothing at a local Thrift Shop. Or, distribute those bag lunches to the neighborhood needy. Or, help out for an hour at the local Boys/Girls Club or YM/WCA. Or, do some yard work around the diocesan center or Cathedral. 

And then, we'd gather back at the Diocesan Center/Parish Hall and share a meal together and talk about all the things we saw and did. Maybe get a blessing from the bishop. Pick up our vials of blessed oil. Go back to our churches or places of ministry renewed for ministry.

Something like that. Anything other than the "talking heads" approach to renewing our sacred vows.

Honestly? I don't know why I do it every year. 

But, I can't ever seem to stay away. 

Even this year.

Today will be different. Very. Different. Today, we'll be renewing our Ordination Vows via Zoom Conference Call. That means it looks like we'll just cut to the chase and join in - as best we can using the "miracles of modern technology" - and participate in The Chrism Mass. 

We've all been mailed a service bulletin, although we've been told that will still need our BCP. 

So, why do I do this, every year?

Perhaps I'm simply a creature of habit. Perhaps I have more loyalty than intellect. Perhaps I'm still "the best little girl in the whole world" I was brought up to be and simply do what's expected of me (stop laughing).

Perhaps it is because the liturgy and ritual are powerful enough, in and of themselves, to be compelling. Something happens when we gather together to break bread - even "virtually" - from a distance. Something that is more powerful than our most passionately held assumptions and biases. Something that is transformative - even if only subtly, gently - that renews the spirit despite our resistance.

Perhaps enough of all that is true, and maybe, just maybe, enough good happens, once a year, to make me go back again. And, again.

Besides, it's only once a year.

Every Tuesday in Holy Week, whether we need it or not.

Sigh!

As my sainted grandmother - she who I accompanied on our daily morning walk to Eucharist - would say, "Oh, the things we do for Jesus."

Whether He needs it or not.