Hear my voice, O God, in my complaint. (Psalm 64:1)
I
believe that in prior columns I have defended adequately the proposition that
August is the most splendid of all the months.
The reasons for that continue to accrue, even day by day as we move
through the month.
What
great feasts there are! The
Transfiguration of the Lord, one of my favorites (remember the cloud from the
Ascension?); Pope Saint Sixtus II, martyr to the great persecution of A.D.258;
Saint Dominic, founder of the Order of Preachers and all-around cool guy; and
Saint Theresa Benedicta of the Cross, also known as Edith Stein, one of the
great examples of intellect and courage in the truth in the face of the massive
disorder and dysfunction of the 20th century. Then there is Saint Lawrence, deacon and
martyr, another from ancient Rome, this one known not only for his fidelity and
fearlessness but also for his sense of humor.
And that is just this week!
You
also know that I even love summer weather here, which this year has
been…odd. Can you remember a summer that
has been as cool and wet? It makes the
trees and lawn out in front even more lush and peaceful, and is really showing
in the new growth on all the new trees I planted several years back. Of course, the Pastor in me takes delight in
the reduced energy spending that comes with every cool or gray day.
On
the other hand, all that rain has made the earlier peaches a little … moist,
and the flavor less concentrated. Let’s
hope the later ones receive enough sun to be more intense, all the better to
make pies with!
So it
seems that there is no way August can go wrong, at least in my eyes. So what could possibly be to make me complain
to the Lord? Well, I hope I am not the
first one to break it to you, but school starts in two weeks! Arggh! They are invading my August!
Routinely
for many years, school began on the day after Labor Day. What a happy, fresh Tuesday morning that is
for all the little ones to come back from their free-for-all and immerse
themselves in school and structure! But
a few years ago, when Labor Day was really late (like September 7th)
school started the Tuesday before. That
was reasonable; September 1st.
But then as the calendar shifted, but the plan didn’t, and the start got moved to
Monday. So this year the darlings don
their uniforms and grab their book bags on August 26th! This is heresy.
Compounding
that is that school also ended late this summer. Graduation was on the 8th of June
and the last day of classes the 19th, and the teachers did not get
out of here for almost another week after that.
Now the Archdiocesan Back-to-school Mass for them at the Basilica is
August 19th, so their summer is not even two months short. And mine is even shorter! I have already resumed meeting with the
principal (charming and capable as Mrs. Wood is, the meetings nonetheless bode
only a return to very un-summerlike considerations.)
So
the sun may yet shine, but clouds gather, and the distant drumbeat of autumn
and its labors is anything but distant. Who
stole my August? This splendor, this
languor cannot be wasted; I want to file a protest. Heaven knows it is futile to send it to the
Archdiocese, so again, I say, Hear my
voice, O God, in my complaint!
And
make sure that I do not only complain
I have a game for you: find my sister.
If you see someone at church this weekend who looks vaguely familiar but
you cannot recall ever meeting, perhaps you have found my sister Suzanne,
visiting from Arizona. You’ll know
you’ve found her if you wish her a Happy Birthday and she thanks you, because
she turns nn on Sunday.
Monsignor Smith
