I’ve been watching various reactions to this piece float by on my Facebook feed over the past week or so. The reactions are mostly from clergy in agreement with the author, collectively appalled at those who would dare ask them to preside outside of their sanctuaries, frustrated by those who ask them to officiate at weddings even though the couples themselves “don’t care” about the language, the sacrament, the Word, the blessings that we as church bring.
I’m sitting in a hotel room while my spouse attends Cartoon School. (Hear more about that later.) And so this is my week to dive in and start the old blog – which is really a new blog. Knowing that I would be leaving everything and everyone else behind, I set this week aside TO WRITE. I’m not home and so there are no chores to do, no dogs to walk, no cats to stroll across my keyboard and demand a lap. I am not at work and so my days are all mine FOR WRITING. This week I HAVE TIME.
As all REAL WRITERS TODAY are taught to do, I’ve been working hard to “define my niche.” I have looked for that place that is only-mine-that-no-other-human-being-has-ever-spoken-from-written-about-or-preached-on before. And so I’ve gone down a few of the paths that in their own particular and partial ways “are me.” I’ve meandered down a few to see if at the end of them there is a writing desk. By a fireplace. With a coffee maker. And a window. A window overlooking a meadow with lovely trees and a mountain in the background with the sun rising behind it. With the sun always rising behind it and gentle music playing, but not too loudly because that would block the absolutely smooth flow of my writing. And there I would sit with a steady flow of inspiration and insight to offer the world from MY NICHE.