Signs On The Road

The sacraments are outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual grace…
From “A Catechism,” The Book of Common Prayer 1979, p. 857


Dear Ones,

Let me begin by with a confession: I hate to fly. The English language does not possess words strong enough to describe how much I dislike the current mode of passenger air travel, which frankly has more in common with the sardine canning industry or factory cattle ranching than anything resembling a transaction between human beings.

Nevertheless, I recently found it necessary to engage the services of a commercial airline in order to get from here to there and back again quickly. After braving the traffic through midtown Newark (clogged even beyond its normal rush-hour gridlock by a complete shutdown of the McCarter Highway southbound) and passing through that most byzantine of modern communal experiences known as the security checkpoint, I was then subject to the last-minute indignity of being made to “gate check” my carry-on rolling bag. (Has anyone else thought that the phrase “gate check” puts one in mind of “body check” in hockey? I can think of some gates—and gate keepers—I would gladly “check” in just such a manner. But I digress…)

At length I found myself boarding the plane, in a truly foul humor. My happy place was far, far away at that moment. But as I walked onboard, through the first class cabin and back into the depths of the great Flying Toothpaste Tube, I noticed something very odd. People were glancing up and smiling at me. Even though I know I had a fierce scowl on my face (what one friend has shamefully referred to as my “wet poodle” look) I was provoking smiles and even an occasional chuckle from complete strangers.

What on earth?

Then I remembered. In an attempt to resist the general slobbery that passes for appropriate public dress nowadays, I had made a point of dressing up to travel. (Readers of this column will not be surprise to know that yes, I do watch the AMC series Mad Men for fashion advice.) Included among that day’s sartorial embellishments: a large, cheerfully bright yellow bow tie, sprinkled with a blue lozenge pattern. It was this—and definitely not my charming personal affect at the time—that was calling forth the amusement/enjoyment of my fellow travelers.

The people who know me in real time know that bows are my tie of choice, when professional responsibilities do not require the even more obvious neck adornment of my clerical collar—or, as I sometimes call it, the world’s tiniest movie screen. (You put it on and people immediately start projecting things on it—most of which have little or nothing to do with the wearer.) But all of this put me in mind of identifiers. How do our “outward and visible signs” speak to those who see us, telling them who we are?

On the second day of the trip, I checked into a new hotel in the mid-afternoon. The young woman behind the desk noticed the clerical collar I was now wearing, and asked about it. When I told her who I was and why I was visiting, she did a little happy hop and exclaimed “I’m an Episcopalian! I grew up at…” and named a local parish. “But I haven’t been going to church very much lately…” When she noticed my home address, she remarked “New Jersey? I didn’t know we had Episcopal churches up there—I thought it was a Southern thing.”

“Actually,” I said, repressing a giggle, “the Episcopal Church has branches all over the world. It’s called the Anglican Communion. “Oh yeah,” she said, “I’ve been hearing about that on the news a lot lately—what the heck is going on?” (This was days after the combined demotion of various Episcopal representatives to the Anglican ecumenical partnerships and the so-called “Mitregate” episode at Southwark Cathedral.) I explained as well as I could in the time available, what I believed was going on: that much of the uproar was about power (who’s in charge here) and control (who’s allowed to be part of the power structure) and that this really wasn’t anything new—only the most recent iteration of a long-running fight.

She got a thoughtful look on her face, and then said, “My best friend is a member of a very conservative church, and even though we’ve been friends all our lives, she’s always telling me that I’m going to Hell if I don’t believe everything she believes…but her brother is gay. And you know, when the people at that church found that out, they told him to get out and never come back. And he had grown up there—that was his home! I don’t think that was right.”

We talked more that day, and again the next day when I checked out of the hotel. And she told me “Maybe I’ll see you at St. Augustine's if you come here!” “I hope you do—and bring your friend and her brother with you!” I replied.

Sacraments: outward and visible signs of the inward and spiritual grace and gifts, which God offers to all people. God send us the opportunity to be bearers and signs of these gifts, and the good sense to recognize them when they appear!

See you on the porch!