Eucharist in the Anaheim Convention Center is conducted on an industrial scale. The choir is big. The presiders, readers, and preachers sit on a raised platform above the crowd. Twenty eight of us volunteered to be ushers. There was a whole flotilla of servers deputized to distribute bread and wine at Communion at various stations throughout the hall. Rather than the normal line of people waiting (which I often find is a good time to meditate, watch people, or daydream) everyone moves through the administration of Body and Blood pretty rapidly. It's impressive to watch the streams of people.
In the photo above, members of the National Altar Guild are preparing the bread and wine before the service. Normally, one of those loaves would be plenty for a medium-to-large sized congregation.
Everything feels a little larger than life, or perhaps it's just more concentrated. I didn't get a shot of the picketers who are protesting the Convention, calling Bishop Robinson nasty names, calling us Pharisees, asking why we hate God. I also didn't take a photo of the volunteers' area, where we sit at the beginning of our work shift in our yellow aprons waiting to be called; the atmosphere is a strange mix of bus station and summer camp.
The consolation and desolation data points are more pronounced as well. Yesterday another Gringa missionary and I had breakfast with the presiding bishop of Brazil, his wife, and the secretary general. We ate our $15 pancakes and spinach omlettes and reminisced about good times, traded stories, and
gave out the latest bulletins on friends and family. The bishop thanked us and made a point of inviting me back next year, and it was an opportunity to mention some projects on behalf of Brazilian friends who don't get to spend a week's pay on eggs at the Anaheim Hilton. I was feelin' pretty good about myself until the wheel turned.
Later that evening, after a day of exchanging business cards and talking about Relief and Development, Mission Funding, Lifelong Education, and Women's Issues, I was feeling myself to be quite the missionary entrepreneur. After a conference on Peace and Justice I happened to share some of my elation with a friend who questioned me in detail about my plans and motives. At the end of twenty minutes, I felt like a wimpy, directionless 16-year-old. My friend told me that I was stuck in a vortex of good intentions and shouldn't pay attention to any praise I had received. It did occur to me to breathe and remember that praise and blame are both illusions, so I breathed that in for awhile. But at the end of the evening I felt beaten up and kind of peeved. And yet, these are the times we are closest to reality: at the edge of Disneyland, after eating frozen yogurt, as we try to make our way home through the dark.
Thanks for this view inside of the big event. Very interesting.
Loved that last sentence too... at the edge of Disneyland indeed.
Posted by: Roy | July 13, 2009 at 07:30 AM