Lesser Feasts

  Sir David Young Cameron, Lorne I love D. Y. Cameron. His landscapes show a wide range of color palettes, but the work is always recognizably his, and I'm strangely drawn to the darker, more muted paintings. I know this landscape. I've hiked in this landscape. I've fallen into bogs in this landscape. What a joy to have this week of giving thanks and slowing down. I've been reading an actual novel -- for pleasure! -- Patrick Gale's A Perfectly Good Man . I've recorded eight more episodes of the Noonday Prayer podcast . I have offered the holy sacrifice of the Mass (and/or commemorated the Lord's Supper, according to your preference). And yeah, I've acquired a Scottish landscape painting I quite love. Almighty God, Father of all mercies  . . .

Sir William George Gillies, Galloway Landscape  (1953) I'm not entirely sure how the last three weeks became so busy, chaotic, and stressful. I felt completely overwhelmed. Yet I have a light teaching load and none of the responsibilities that many academics have (caring for children or elderly parents, for example); it should all have been a cakewalk, and I am a bit mystified about what happened. Well, fine, I overcommitted myself, and I took on time-consuming unpaid labor for no good reason other than "It would be nice for this to be done, and if I don't do it, no one else will." (Which in fact is not a good reason.) I did meet some urgent deadlines, though not always in the most graceful or impressive way. But I also neglected some important conversations and dear friends. It was not a great time. But at 9:30 pm on Saturday the last of my tasks was completed, and I didn't entirely embarrass myself, and I felt such immense and immediate peace. Sunday worship was...

  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...

James McIntosh Patrick, The Striped Scarf  (1932) The image is, obviously, a painting of me just before my first conference session. The Society for Medieval and Renaissance Philosophy held its first-ever stand-alone conference this week. I am actually not much of a conference-goer, and I didn't have anything on the program myself, but this was a chance to see lots of people I haven't seen in a while. Plus, it was held at Notre Dame, where I did my graduate work, so there was a nice opportunity for some nostalgia as well. Dinner the first night was at an Irish pub with a couple of old friends. There was a larger gathering at an upscale bar two blocks away, and I protested feebly (and not altogether sincerely) that I really should get back to the hotel and get some sleep. OK, fine, I'll go for half an hour. "Are you Thomas Williams? Can I give you a hug?" That from a scholar I've interacted with in print and on email but never met before. Lots of lively convers...

John McIntosh Patrick, Arching Boughs, Flocklones  (1955) I missed my chance yesterday to write about Saint Jerome, patron of translators, scourge of unscholarly doofuses like Saint Augustine. Today I'm stuck with Remigius of Rheims, who baptized Clovis, King of the Franks. It is said that when Remigius was asked to baptize a dying pagan, he found that there was no Oil of the Catechumens or Sacred Chrism to do the job properly, so he placed two vials on the altar, prayed over them, and found them filled with the holy oils. My own provision for sacred things involves an email to my favorite liturgical artist, commissioning a festal stole and a red stole. I suppose I could just pray for them to materialize, but I'm not sure my prayer would be powerful and effective--I am arguably not as righteous as Elijah--and I really do want to have something beautiful to wear when my new bishop is consecrated. 

  John Houston, Sunset over Cornfields Right on the heels of being called up to the bishop coadjutor search committee, I got asked to chair a faculty search committee in my department. I really, really didn't want to. Faculty searches are a lot of work; they are heavily regulated and subject to all kinds of irksome restraints. (For example, if two committee members see each other in the hallway and one says to the other, "Candidate X looks really promising." they have just violated the state's open meetings law.) But I've had plenty to say over the years about senior faculty who shirk important service, and I didn't want to fall under my own justifiable condemnation; plus, given that I'm teaching only one course this semester and have met all my pressing research deadlines, it really would have been selfish to say no. Not to mention that I'm eligible for a sabbatical next year. Better get that application completed soon. My hope is to spend some substa...

John Maclauchlan Milne, Iona Shore (As is so often the case on this blog, the painting has nothing to do with the post. It's just a piece of Scottish art that I love.) I have a fairly easy gig right now in my day job. Because I'm teaching a 300-student lecture, I am just teaching one course this semester. That means only 100 minutes of classroom time a week. Now obviously there's preparation, supervising teaching assistants, wrestling with USF's reliably unreliable IT, and so forth, but still, it's an easy gig. And I just sent off a ton of research around the beginning of the month, so I can take a breather in that aspect of the job as well. (There are only so many times you can copyedit your own translation of Anselm's On the Procession of the Holy Spirit  before you feel like giving up on the whole enterprise and turning Unitarian.) So the Church's timing in claiming more of my attention is excellent. I am now on the Diocese of Southwest Florida's bish...