Oct. 31st, 2004

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We traveled the route on the Number Five Bus as the law enforcement community, as it is called, were getting ready. Ah well, I was there last year -- finally.

After Liturgy we had served a solemn Pannychida for all our dead around the tomb of Protopresbyter Andrew in the crypt under St. Patricks Old Cathedral. Which is why I had to miss [livejournal.com profile] seraphimsigrist's heirarchal Liturgy uptown, nor did I make it to his Vespers last night, as I was recovering from that most distressing of occasions, a dry wedding concelebrated by seven or eight Mar Thoma priests of a denomination which is not only in communion with the Anglicans, but corrupted by Methodism as well, the priestly families no doubt so marking their Brahmanical superiority to the mass of Indian Christians who are more or less untouchable, including the bride's family, who are Catholic. No doubt the Transfiguration community would have remediated my alcohol deficit, but I had had enough religion for the day, and anticipated more on the morrow.

Perhaps I shall venture out for a pint a little later in hopes that the bartendress at the local is in costume. But probably not.

I should point out that we serve Pannychida the last Sunday of every month. The particular solemnity of October is due not to Hallowe'en, nor to Reformation Sunday, but to the anniversary of Father Andrew's repose. The Gospel of the Liturgy is always that of the Gadarene demoniac, which Father John never fails to relate to what is going on outside, though I wish he would refer to Luther at least once.

It is wonderfully warm, a fitting conclusion to Indian Summer, my favorite season of the year, and a day when we can be who and what we like. I toast you all in the cave of my solitude.

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