Letters
from 7 to 14 March 2004
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The
Reverend Christopher Ryan, RIP
I WANT
TO RESPOND BRIEFLY to your coverage of the rather
sudden and unexpected death of the Reverend Christopher Ryan,
Dean of Chapel for King's College here at Cambridge.
Having
only just arrived at Cambridge this year, I only knew him briefly,
but I will always remember him as an extremely welcoming and
friendly person; one who would always say a brief word of greeting
to all that visited the chapel for services, even those of us
who were not members of King's. In particular, I recall that
he was usually the one who selected the prayers to be said at
the end of Evensong, and I always found something deep and meaningful
in his choices.
This
has been an extremely difficult time for everyone at King's,
and for Christopher's family, especially his children, and I
would ask that you keep them in your prayers through the coming
months.
Jamie
McMahon
Jesus College Chapel
Cambridge, ENGLAND
jrm65@cam.ac.uk
10 March 2004
'And
became Incarnate...'
UPON READING
ABOUT the concept
of a cyberparish, I basically figured
out that it certainly wouldn’t work for me, either. And this
from someone who has his hands in technology a lot; I’m the network
administrator at my workplace and both my wife and I are computer
professionals.
I also had to re-read your comment about attending corporate
worship as opposed to cyberchurch.
I
might add a few things that we’ll never find through
a cyberchurch. First and definitely foremost in this Anglo-Catholic’s
mind: the Body and Blood. There’s only one place you can get
It; can’t get It on the Internet, you just have to go to the
brick-and-mortar church. The Holy Spirit may be anywhere and
everywhere at once, but Christ’s Body and Blood is only found
at your local church, usually on Sunday. Without that, church
would have immensely less meaning for me. That’s why despite
all the turmoil of the past eigh months I’ve stayed within the
fold, and haven’t gone on to some other form of Protestant faith.
Since I have some serious issues with Rome (more like she with
me),
I can’t go there, either.
Also,
I am a chorister and musician and find that when my voice and
instruments praise God in a corporate environment, those voices,
added to others, add a depth to praising our Creator that one
could never find by staying at home in front of the computer.
I find that I like liturgy (the 'work of the people', so I’m
told), the actions of standing and bowing and kneeling, crossing
one’s
self at the appropriate place. It helps me to act out through
my motions (I am no dancer, and this is about as close as I can
come to liturgical dance) to reinforce the words of the liturgy.
I have been to a number of choir workshops, some of them lasting
over the course of a week. And to hear 140 trained voices raised
in unison singing 'We the Lord’s People' (tune: Decatur Place,
[ECUSA] Hymnal 1982) will give even someone basically not taken
by emotion (like me?) a chill up their spine not easily forgotten.
The gift
of music is certainly one way I can give back to God what He
has given me in my talent.
Being
able to share, face-to-face, alongside others in our community
is what makes all the difference in my faith. It was from that
community of good folks that I have been formed into the Christian
person I am still in process of becoming. I get a great amount
of information and camaraderie from, say, the Suzuki SV650 discussion
boards, a sense of commonality with others who own, ride, and
maintain that same motorcycle. But not a sense of community.
That requires face-to-face: meeting with others for a Saturday
morning ride and breakfast. I am loath to do my banking without
actually going in and transacting with a real teller who knows
my face and sees me week after week. Eventually, they don’t have
to ask for your ID, because they know you by sight. I am likely
to forget someone’s chat handle, but I rarely forget a face.
I can hope that God will remember my face when it comes time
to go and stay with Him. 'Ah yes, you are ... Mr. Frederick ...
I've seen you at church!'
Bob
Frederick
St Andrew's Episcopal Church
Panama City, Florida, USA
8 March 2004
Stumbling
on
ALT tags
YOU WROTE: 'The
magic in online communities comes from their ability
to be real communities, to bind people together in fellowship
and
humanity'. [Ed: that issue is here]
True
enough, but their promise is their ability to do that across
barriers that have long stood among us. Both barriers of space
and barriers of disability. And for web pages to be accessible
to persons with disabilities they have to be constructed following
certain rules (http://www.w3.org/TR/WCAG10/).
The final result looks the same on a graphical browser, but things
are very different 'under the hood'. The Diocese of Oxford's
i-church and Anglicans Online are both good examples of websites
constructed with disregard for web accessibility. Unfortunately,
they have good company; the church is way behind in this area
that we should be leading. And you can imagine what it means
to a person who is disabled that the church doesn't care enough
to learn how to make themselves accessible.
Charles
Scheid
St John's Church, Mount Washington
Baltimore, Maryland, USA
9 March 2004
Yes,
we need to do better. We'll work on this.
Passion
here, passion there
IT'S SO NICE
TO ENCOUNTER subtlety in public for a change!
Thanks for your, well, vegetarian approach to passion. How refreshing!
And it brings to mind a poem by (I think) John Donne, mentioning
vegetable passion (in a different context, of course.) I hope
more of us can bring a touch of humor to our shared discussions
and worship — it's certainly one of God's healing gifts.
The
Reverend Peggy Blanchard
Diocese of East Tennessee
Kingston, Tennessee, USA
revpeg@hotmail.com
9 March 2004
Actually,
it was Andrew Marvell who coined the memorable phrase 'vegetable
passion'. We thought it was Donne, too, till we checked.
Donne can claim 'Not faint Canaries, but ambrosial', an equally
sensuous
phrase from an equally passionate poem.
Earlier
letters
We launched our
'Letters to AO' section on 11 May 2003. All of our letters are
in our archives.
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