You’re at General Convention. And I’m at home doing what I always do when you’re on a trip – painting a room in our house. This time, there’s a significant new piece of information: You actually know I’m intending to do this, as opposed to coming home and being surprised (your least favorite thing)... though there may still be that factor at the end (Did I mention the dining room will have a passionate, bold appetite, feng shui kind of look, appropriate to a dining room? pls note: our Bishop-with-extremely-artistic-taste would approve). A thoughtful adjunct to this distinctive awareness is that you have a deep sense of the magnitude of what I’m taking on and are concerned for my (mostly mental) well being, so I thank you.
The aged wallpaper is the canvas – no, I’m not brave enough to remove it, so I’m painting over it to incorporate/capitalize on its inherent beauty. I am sincerely, and truly reverently, mourning its passing. A quality cloth, with silk or linen threads, elegant, looking somewhat drab and soiled, worn… but sweetly dignified: just the kind of thing I’ve always valued. So the truth is, it’s giving its life for an artistic higher calling, lending its unmistakable threads to the backdrop of a Benjamin Moore creation, which may or may not be what I’m envisioning.
I can assure you there was much trepidation along the way (way = the past 48 hours), or should I say, I’ve been trying to hang on to sanity while on a roller coaster ride. Loving the wallpaper-with-history; loving the chosen/bought paint, recommended by my favorite Benjamin M young salesman; being crushed by the above mentioned magnitude of the project; finding new strength as I vacuum the beloved cloth and prepare a trial spot: yes, I removed the mirror and have painted a large section with “cinco de mayo” , testing to see if the staples holding together the spots where the wallpaper I’m-sure-will-NOT-come-off-the-wall-without-a-fight has actually pulled away (temptingly) from the wall is distinguishable from the vertical threads of the cloth. Yes. I love the paint. It does conjure up intense gastronomical extravaganzas…(though I remember with relief the Ben Man telling me it will look lighter on a large surface… and perhaps even more so in daylight… and maybe the second coat will be a bit brighter…???)
What started as mostly a way to break the news gently to you about the dining room might, perhaps, in some partial way, be a microcosm of (you at…) General Convention. I’m sure – absolutely certain - I don’t have an adequate or complete or exhaustive sense of the magnitude of what’s going on – who does, despite what we might think. And I certainly don’t mean to trivialize the fact that you, along with the rest of the church, stand at an unprecedented and profound crossroads in the history of Anglicanism (now there’s an understatement). You yourself are truly at the crossroads, standing with those you love all around you…. those who are simpatico with you… those who are to the right… to the left… surrounded by relationships formed in the liturgy of the Word and the liturgy of the Eucharist and even a sort of e-liturgy. No matter if history holds or history is ‘made’…. the old cloth and new paint will join: the new creation yet to show whether it leans towards the red or the yellow.
So…I’m sitting here, in our dining room, drinking too much sake (did you know – it makes all things clear?) and wishing that the whole of Anglicanism would somehow join me at our dining room table… which has seen silk threads AND ‘cinco de mayo’… and have a last – and first – meal together.
As I do with our own children, I pray – and visualize – the generous-beyond-all-comprehension anointing of the oil of the Trinity on the bowed heads of all in attendance, the wisdom of the ages…and the breath of the Holy Spirit…And above all the arms of the Son whose blood wraps all into one…
Love, B
