The Common Cup

Altarpiece at St. Mary’s Church in Wittenberg (Lucas Cranach the Elder, 1547)

This post has been germinating almost as long as we–human beings, Americans, North Carolinians, Christians, Episcopalians–have been altering the patterns of our lives and our relationships with one another and with God in response to the novel coronavirus. Other preoccupations, however, pushed it aside. Preparing online instruction for six classes and then conducting office hours and presenting lectures in cyberspace took up most of my time. When I came up (down?) for air long enough to make a post on my blog about the effects of COVID-19, the concern for lost freedom momentarily overtook the more pressing concern for lost faith, and I wrote instead about arbitrary lockdowns, malleable truths, and an eroding Constitution.  Continue reading

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“A Vendetta” by Guy de Maupassant: An Analysis with an Existentialist Twist

Below is a translation from French into English of my May 8 post:

Like other writers of the 19th century (e.g. Charles Dickens in England and Alexandre Dumas in France), Guy de Maupassant first published his story “A Vendetta” in a newspaper,  Le Gaulois, on October 14, 1883. The story takes place in Corsica in the lives of four characters: the widow Saverini, her son Antoine, her dog Semillante, and the murderer Nicolas Ravolati. Continue reading

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«Une vendetta» de Guy de Maupassant: Une analyse avec une touche existentialiste

Comme autres écrivains du 19e siècle (par ex. Charles Dickens en Angleterre et Alexandre Dumas en France), Guy de Maupassant a d’abord publié son histoire «Une vendetta» dans un journal, Le Gaulois le 14 octobre 1883. L’histoire se déroule en Corse dans la vie des quatre personnages : La veuve Saverini, son fils Antoine, la chienne Sémillante et le meurtrier Nicolas Ravolati. Continue reading

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The First Casualty?

The question mark in my title was well and thoroughly considered. I actually have no idea which was the first of the constantly rising number of casualties of the COVID-19 pandemic. But I am aware of many.

And no, my title does not refer to the death of the first anonymous but notorious person who died from exposure to the novel coronavirus in Wuhan, China, nor to an elderly man in Padua, Italy, nor even to a patient in a nursing home in King County, Washington. Nor does it refer to any among the constantly updated statistics of human victims around the world, enumerated so matter-of-factly and with such precision by worldometer: “32,164 people have died so far from the coronavirus COVID-19 outbreak as of March 29, 2020, 14:51 GMT.” I can’t possibly keep up, nor can worldometer–nor can the World Heath Organization nor the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Ay, there’s the rub. Continue reading

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Prime Time

Trying to figure out what I will do when I grow up, four days before my 67th birthday, at the Mud Girl Run, Jacksonville, Florida, February 15, 2020

Two years ago, in a post to commemorate my milestone of a 65th birthday, I wrote, “The numbers that would seem the most noteworthy are the primes, but we have opted to recognize the boring and uncreative numbers instead.” Today, I am writing to celebrate another birthday, when I have become one of those more interesting ages, the prime number 67. Well, actually, that noteworthy birthday occurred three days ago, but I had no time to write a blog post in recognition of the event. After teaching two classes, holding two office hours, and preparing an exam for my literature class, I rehearsed with the college chorus, drove an hour to the gym, did 30 minutes on the elliptical machine, and then swam 975 yards with my cardio swim class. It would have been the usual 1,000, but the teacher had prepared a sugar-free birthday cake for me, so we got out of the pool a few minutes early to celebrate. Continue reading

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Rest: Advent Word 21

On December 1, the first day of Advent 2019, I penned for all the world to see, “I have decided once again to participate in #AdventWord, the global online Advent calendar.” I managed to complete meditations for days 1, 2, 3, 5, and 7 before the end-of-semester scramble–or the insidious sin of acedia–caused me to slough off that commitment and neglect not only #AdventWord, but also my entire blog, until yesterday, when the actual end of the semester inspired me to take up my (virtual) pen once again. Continue reading

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Measuring Life in Semesters: I Am a Teacher

During what was probably the most important ten-plus years of my life, I was a member of a tiny parish in the Episcopal Church. Actually, it was so small that it was officially a mission, dependent upon the diocese for financial support and headed by a vicar. And during the heart of that decade, I selected and played the music for Sunday services (and weddings and funerals), published the quasi-monthly newsletter, served on the altar guild, sporadically taught adult Sunday school, and occasionally prepared the weekly service bulletin. That period began on the First Sunday of Advent in 1996 and ended on the First Sunday after the Epiphany in 2007. Continue reading

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Unity: Advent Word 7

Today we commemorate a day that has lived in infamy for 78 years–a day that also united our country as has no other event in history. I was not born for another 12 years, but as if from instant mutation of both X and Y chromosomes, my parents passed along that sense of reverence to my sister and me. It was never spoken. After all, one seldom discusses tongue-rolling or hand-clasping either, but they’re in our genes. Thus, for the generation with whom I came of age (yes, the infamous Boomers), the current divisiveness in our culture is unprecedented and uncomfortable and pernicious.

I have responded in the only way I know how–in the halls of academe. Perhaps my response is laughably feeble, but I have seen some encouraging results. For the last two years, I have been attempting to unite my little cadre of freshman-composition students in a project entitled “Coming Together in a Time of Discord.” I first regale them with my belief that ours is the most divisive period in memory (and yes, I lived through the Sixties). At first, they don’t believe me because it’s all they have ever known. Continue reading

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Raise: Advent Word 5

The end-of-semester avalanche–conferring with teary students, grading endless stacks of essays, registering advisees for next semester–has made me realize that I will not be able to keep up with the page of the Advent word-a-day project. But #5 on the list has inspired me to backtrack and offer a few passing thoughts that occurred to me as I drove home last night from my daily 1,000-yard swim.

Pondering whether I would have time to write a post after making a simple supper of oatmeal–a go-to favorite for cold post-workout evenings–I suddenly realized the aptness of raise as a word to characterize Advent. Specifically, I began to understand how important it is during Advent and always to raise our hopes.

This year has provided an especially bittersweet reminder of that lesson. In July, after four and a half cancer-free years post-transplant, my husband learned that his lymphoma has returned. With that news as a substrate, subsequent tests and scans have offered the best possible updates in the form of indolent cancer for which treatments are available when it becomes symptomatic. However, even five months later, Pavel is only slowly beginning to wrest himself from the torpor that dashed the hopes for the future that are his lifeblood. He stopped going to the gym, talking long walks on crisp fall evenings, even watching the art-house films he loves. Last week, though, I could see the ember of new hope flicker in his eyes when he ordered a bicycle for megrim an exclusive British company–and even more when as we sat around a campfire at the Great Dismal Swamp, slept in hammocks, and watched our aged dog frolicking in the fall leaves.

In my own life, that same ember has roared into a blaze lighting the past year with new goals and even dreams–those childish things I thought I had put away long ago. With diet and exercise, I have lost the equivalent of a person, attained a body-fat percentage of 16.7, and come to life on campus with faculty presentations and new class themes–and even participation in a 5K color run. Once again I am dreaming of that novel I should write, those Gothic cathedrals I should see, those calluses I should developing so I can play my mandolin again.

Simply raising our hopes can transform our lives. And at the present moment, through God’s infinite grace, we are enacting the greatest hope ever granted the human race.

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. (Ephesians 3:20-21 NIV). 

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Time: Advent Word 3

Today, I will borrow my contribution from”Burnt Norton,” first of the Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot, my acknowledged maestro in all things Anglican. Whenever I ponder the word time, it is this poem that informs my musings:

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
. . .
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.

Nor, considering the idea further, are these excerpts from that intricate and complicated poem entirely unrelated to the Advent of Our Lord Jesus Christ–the Incarnation in Bethlehem two millennia ago, the God who always with us, Emmanuel, and the coming again of the once and future King.

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