Cake and Death
According to Eddie Izzard, the Church of England isn’t cut out for Inquisitions of the Spanish variety. You walk into an Anglican church, you find people with no muscles in their arms who sort of flop around goodnaturedly and say “Hiiii.” You make a confession to your vicar: “Vicar, I have done many bad things.” He makes a your-point-is?-face, says, “Well, so have I. Drink five Bloody Marys and you won’t remember anymore.”
According to Eddie, if the Church of England did an Inquisition, it would be along the lines of: “You must have tea and cake with the vicar, or you die!!”
INQUISITIONER: YOU! Cake or death?
SOME GUY: Uhh, cake please.
INQUISITIONER: Very well. Give him cake. YOU! Cake or death?
…And so on…
ANOTHER GUY: Cake please.
INQUISITIONER: Well, we’re OUT of cake!
GUY: …So my choice is, ‘or death’?...Very well, then I’ll have the chicken.
So anyway, I got confirmed in the Episcopal Church this past weekend, and despite all the mumblings and grumblings over Gene Robinson’s installation as Bishop of New Hampshire on the same day I was confirmed, it’s still a part of the Anglican Communion. Which means I now have a direct link to the Church of England.
The church was packed for All Saints’ Day and, not incidentally, the Bishop’s visit. We were all crowded into our pews; it was a good thing they were still running the air conditioning in the sanctuary. The Bishop’s sermon was simple and solid; he spoke in praise of saints recognized and unrecognized, and encouraged everyone to understand themselves as growing saints.
There were a lot of confirmations, most of them young people, with a scattering of adults like myself. The Bishop sat at the head of the steps up to the chancel, each confirmand came forward with his or her supporters to kneel before the Bishop’s chair, and with the supporters’ hands on them, the Bishop laid his hands on the confirmand’s head and spoke a prayer over them. Afterward we were all given a certificate and a Prayer Book.
It all happened very fast.
I didn’t expect there to be some halo of epiphany surround my head when the Bishop laid hands on me, which was just as well, because a great many things seemed to be happening at once. I just held on to my namecard and the embroidered bookmark Virginia had given me for dear life. I used my new Prayer Book for the rest of the service, and shepherded Jessica’s parents through Communion, which they’d never done in a high-church setting before (I had taken care to warn them before the service that the wine was real wine and not grape juice). They seemed to make it through okay; at least, they said they liked the experience.
After the service there was a potluck lunch with a big sheet cake proclaiming welcome to Bishop Howe and congratulations to the confirmands. As we were eating the cake Jessica turned to me and said, “So: cake or death?”
I said, “Both. I got cake, and I got the chicken.”
I guess I’m really Church of England now.
According to Eddie Izzard, the Church of England isn’t cut out for Inquisitions of the Spanish variety. You walk into an Anglican church, you find people with no muscles in their arms who sort of flop around goodnaturedly and say “Hiiii.” You make a confession to your vicar: “Vicar, I have done many bad things.” He makes a your-point-is?-face, says, “Well, so have I. Drink five Bloody Marys and you won’t remember anymore.”
According to Eddie, if the Church of England did an Inquisition, it would be along the lines of: “You must have tea and cake with the vicar, or you die!!”
INQUISITIONER: YOU! Cake or death?
SOME GUY: Uhh, cake please.
INQUISITIONER: Very well. Give him cake. YOU! Cake or death?
…And so on…
ANOTHER GUY: Cake please.
INQUISITIONER: Well, we’re OUT of cake!
GUY: …So my choice is, ‘or death’?...Very well, then I’ll have the chicken.
So anyway, I got confirmed in the Episcopal Church this past weekend, and despite all the mumblings and grumblings over Gene Robinson’s installation as Bishop of New Hampshire on the same day I was confirmed, it’s still a part of the Anglican Communion. Which means I now have a direct link to the Church of England.
The church was packed for All Saints’ Day and, not incidentally, the Bishop’s visit. We were all crowded into our pews; it was a good thing they were still running the air conditioning in the sanctuary. The Bishop’s sermon was simple and solid; he spoke in praise of saints recognized and unrecognized, and encouraged everyone to understand themselves as growing saints.
There were a lot of confirmations, most of them young people, with a scattering of adults like myself. The Bishop sat at the head of the steps up to the chancel, each confirmand came forward with his or her supporters to kneel before the Bishop’s chair, and with the supporters’ hands on them, the Bishop laid his hands on the confirmand’s head and spoke a prayer over them. Afterward we were all given a certificate and a Prayer Book.
It all happened very fast.
I didn’t expect there to be some halo of epiphany surround my head when the Bishop laid hands on me, which was just as well, because a great many things seemed to be happening at once. I just held on to my namecard and the embroidered bookmark Virginia had given me for dear life. I used my new Prayer Book for the rest of the service, and shepherded Jessica’s parents through Communion, which they’d never done in a high-church setting before (I had taken care to warn them before the service that the wine was real wine and not grape juice). They seemed to make it through okay; at least, they said they liked the experience.
After the service there was a potluck lunch with a big sheet cake proclaiming welcome to Bishop Howe and congratulations to the confirmands. As we were eating the cake Jessica turned to me and said, “So: cake or death?”
I said, “Both. I got cake, and I got the chicken.”
I guess I’m really Church of England now.
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