This leaves me at home, supervising the pets. Cuthbert is asleep in my lap, having decided to be a good kitty tonight, apparently. Honestly, sometimes I think he's awful cute, and something I think he's just awful. Right now, sound asleep, you'd never think he would ever misbehave.
I had lunch with Beth Ann today. She is rejoicing, having made it through the awful process we have erected on the way to ordination. She will be ordained elder at Annual Conference in June.
As a conservative/evanglical clergywoman, she is embarrassed by the feminist crazoids who crowd our profession. This being the 50th Anniversary of full ordination for women in Methodism, we are going to be treated to feminist overkill at Annual Conference this year. Good thing I'm planning on being in Tanzania; if that trip falls through and I have to go to Conference, you can be sure I'll be holding forth at the Irish Lion or someplace, rather than taking part in the spectacle.
Among the theologically orthodox ordinands who made it through, there are two whose stories I'm familiar with. They demonstrate the huge range of eccelsiological affinities in Methodism (and we're only talking about the sane and responsible side of the house). Beth Ann calls Chris a "Metholic." He signed up to be an oblate with the Benedictines of St. Meinrad. Beth Ann, on the other hand, calls herself a "Methocostal." She figures as long as the Holy Spirit shows up, whatever is going down is official.
Both Chris and Beth Ann are representative of their generation, I think (the Thirteeners). I, as a Boomer, seem merely quaint to them. Our Church is run by aging protestors who mourn the passing of the good old days. I am just as much a Boomer as those guys, but that was never my thing. Me, I'm just a refugee from the Tenth Century, sitting here at my computer with a cat on my lap.