Lesser Feasts

One of my better covers Blessed John Duns Scotus, OFM, died (according to tradition) on 8 November 1308, so today is his feast day, for anyone inclined to celebrate. I actually started writing about Scotus entirely because someone else suggested the idea to me. That's not a particularly respectable reason to start working on a historical figure (my reason for working on Anselm is even less respectable; I'll get to that at some point), but the interest quickly became quite sincere, and Scotus has taken over my life and then relinquished it in waves ever since. I currently owe OUP the definitive (ha!) book on Scotus's ethics. Yeah, well, I owe lots of people lots of things. ***** I spent last weekend at home in Tampa. It was not a successful visit, since I spent the whole time suffering, and then recovering, from a stomach bug. I did lose 3.5 pounds over the weekend, but not, I suspect, in the way my trainer was encouraging. Our dog, Tess, is not particularly cuddly. She like...

  Orientation begins on Wednesday at 8 am, so I have no excuse not to be at Morning Prayer at 7:30. The rector officiates. He is Scottish. I worry that when we have lunch in a couple of weeks, I will alarm him by my enthusiasm for all things Scottish. For now, though, I'm just delighted to have been invited to celebrate at the occasional midweek Eucharist and participate in their very robust adult formation program. ***** The first speaker at orientation is the Vice President for Mission and Ministry, a Jesuit. He talks about Jesuit values, about Ignatian spirituality, and it's all very lovely. It will become clear to me over these two days that the university really does take its Jesuit identity seriously. ***** That's my first we're-not-in-Kansas-anymore moment. My second is when the provost speaks to us. My former provost was noteworthy for his ability to speak at indefinite length while conveying no information of any kind. My new provost is the opposite: clear, str...

The view for Morning Prayer (Antiphon for the Venite : "Worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness") After Morning Prayer I headed down to Manchester, where my sister is building a house. It was great to spend some time with her and my younger niece, who turned 18 last month and is heading off to college at Western Kentucky University next month. The house is really lovely, and thanks to my sister's handling of the finances, they're coming in well under budget. It's all quite impressive. Then back up the mountain for registration. How wonderful to see so many familiar faces (masked though they were) after a three-year hiatus! I caught up with our chaplain, the inimitable Barbara Crafton, who for health reasons is handing over the officiating and presiding to me, though she will continue to do all the preaching, thanks be to God. I'm always happy to preside, though chanting the liturgy at a conference of church musicians brings a certain amount of pressure with...

  Sir William Gillies, Wet Weather  (1961) Since returning from the conference I've had hardly a moment to collect my thoughts. There's been so much to do that I have felt overwhelmed at times, though in fact everything's gone pretty well. In the twenty minutes or so that I have before I leave for the meeting of the bishop search committee, I want to think back on -- really, just inventory -- what's gone on in the last couple of weeks. I bought the painting that I used as the image in my previous post. It's hanging in Edinburgh until the exhibition closes in three weeks, and then it will be shipped here. I am truly excited about this. I reviewed applications, and then reviewed them some more. I did four classes on Berkeley, each weirder and wilder than the one before, and got fantastic questions from students. I celebrated the Eucharist and preached on the High Priesthood of Christ. I confronted a student about some egregious plagiarism and became so genuinely worri...

This was a productive week, though of the unspectacular sort of productivity that involves writing replies to referee reports, writings one's own referee reports, correcting copyedited manuscript, and finally acceding to the relentless insistence of the Stanford Encyclopedia   of Philosophy  that one's article be updated every five minutes. Still, productive, so that I dropped my plan to head in to the office today and instead decided to take a proper day off. There must be nice walks somewhere within easy day-trip range, I thought, and a quick visit to my new favorite website  turned up Linlithgow, an easy twenty-minute train ride away, with a ruined palace and a loch and the whole shebang. When I arrived in Linlithgow it was raining pretty hard. Not an auspicious start, but maybe I can wait it out. I need to get lunch anyway. But it's noon, and since the pubs and restaurants are all closed, the few cafés that are open are either booked solid or packed. I end up at ...

Twenty-four hours to go. The essence -- the essence , I'm telling you -- of living in Edinburgh is walking several miles in the course of a day, just doing normal things, experiencing the ever-changing light, the quiet beauty of the buildings, marveling at the impeccably behaved Scottish dogs. Obviously I knew what I was getting myself into when I came here. Two weeks of isolation for the sake of two or three months of Edinburgh seemed, and was, a sensible bargain. But I will be very glad indeed when life gets back to normal, or, rather, to that super-charged beyond-normal that characterizes life in my favorite city. My first full day will be Michaelmas: Morning Prayer and Eucharist at the Cathedral, then getting set up in my office in Hope Park Square. But the fourteen days will expire, by my reckoning, tomorrow evening. I have a reservation for dinner at Cafe St Honore , and I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to it. After two weeks of microwaving ready meals br...