GeekForce

1867’s pretty old for a church in my town, or any town in this longitude.  A wealthy man named Richard Lockwood rode his cart, family in tow, to the church he built in Webster.  His farm, though, was considerably far of a commute (to church, anyway) in those days.  Prior to the first services being held, he’d milk his cows, tend the stable, and trot from what’s now McCausland Ave (Dogtown) where he owned at least (and probably more) 100 acres on to the west of the north/south lane that was already dotted with homes that surrounded his home (torn down in 1907) and fields (developed into homes and lots during the ‘04 StL Worlds’ Fair period).  He named his creation Emmanuel Episcopal church, the first of four built in Webster that year, and second overall to ‘The Baptist Church’ down in the Kirkham creek (between Rock Hill and Gore) where slaves and servants came down from the Douglass Manor (N.  Elm) to worship–THAT’s an old church, wooden frame long gone, but at nearly exact same spot, a ‘new’ one now sports ‘01 brick facade.  Few if any white folks here, even a generation ago, know a thing about this, but they’re not asking,  either.

Back to Emmanuel, though.  The church’s essential original footprint is embedded in all of her additions, the largest and most impactful occuring in the early-to-mid sixties, when a bunch of stuff was added to it. 

Skipping as much as I can, it’s now a ‘large’ (for the Midwestern US, anyway) gathering and worshiping house.  The membership is primarily of Webster folks (like me, until recently) but quite a few Kirkwood, Des Peres, and City of StL members, too.

As with many denominational churches, particularly old ones, membership growth exudes an impression of that which needs to be torn up and added to.  Seldom does such a campaign come at a fierce price; the hastened and intensified “pledge” drives rather change the tenor of things.  Of course, this church has a congregation with a very high median level of income, and not that which belongs to the older crowd (though they contribute mightily).  

It’s an intensely competitive microcosm of young people (less than 45), of whom are gaggles of doctors and quite a few attorneys.  These professions, in this society, anyway, pay the most tithes (one can only assume, anyway) and gain the greatest prestige. 

This ‘younger’ crowd, vibrant and connected, gather energy from the social component of the whole larger group.  They meet, they laugh, they laugh off all things not superficial, and have a gay old time.  They feed on the applause, see, and become more entrenched.

Watch out, though.  That superficiality is closely guarded by control mechanisms that I, as a loner (here only) and adventurer, test fearlessly.  It’s a great way to see what emerges from out under a rock, power-wise.  The fact that I’m reasonably attuned to the politics of our Biship, who offices and holds court down on 12th and Locust, StL (Cathedral is latin for ‘Cathedra’, or ‘throne’, as in power).  He reports to the National Bishop, who’s office is in Washington DC.  She used to be Nevada’s bishop of the >80,000 Episcopal worshipers out there.  If you ask me, and nobody does, I’d say that this is smaller even than New Hampshire’s flock, where our gay bishop keeps his throne.

I remiss again–so here’s where the clincher lies:  most doctors and lawyers (read: all) don’t fathom real ‘power’ in the real (and only) sense, ie, the business worlds’ paridigm.   No, we’ll never crack the salary of a “partner” (cough cough) or a pediatrician who weaves to and from examination rooms racking up a couple-three hundred every fiteen minutes in revenue.  Nor does the lawyer–both pay somebody to sort out the payrolls, taxes, overheads, and other words they likely don’t fathom too much, given the complete absence of undergrad/grad work they ever have to complete in it/them.  

I speak of the business paradigm, centuries old, where one simply ‘goes up the ladder’ when something bad happens and the immediate superior’s probably in on it and can’t be relied on or trusted to care an iota about whatever travesty happens along.  Following the following incident, I wrote the Bishop of MO (lo, his e-mail addy on his site was bogus; his loss), then HIS boss, then HER boss, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the kahuna of the whole damn World Episcopal/Anglican (US, Britian, South Africa, remaining national dioceses–21 in all, not mentioned here).  I pressed for adjustment of what has been considered relavant programing, and it’s all a long story, but I’m hoping that somebody here (remember, this is a story about a Webster church) took notice.

So…don’t take me wrong–I’m not bashing doctors and lawyers or smaller-church priests or anybody else, but I AM bashing autocratic men/women of the cloth.  Autocracies are as stifling now as they ever were, and excrutiatingly annoying when every “subject” kisses the autocrats ass.

This is why God made me (you’ll pardon the pun) so I can stand up and sling arrows at the (rather rigid) house of cards.

My (63-yr-old) friend told me “hey, choose your battles.  Now I just disappear for awhile until the bad elements get called onward”.  

I explained that eventually, provided I live long enough, that I’d lay back also, but for now, I’d attack, just for the form and sport.  Absence of fear is a formidable weapon, but comes at a rather nasty price.

Something terrible happened, and that’s all there is to it.  My last word (one) was to annunciate, quite loudly, the word “SHIT!” to a deacon, lowest ranking clergy on staff (and treated that way-she doesn’t realize this yet) who was a posted guard dog for when I got to take the podium for 6 min, 15 sec, the very FIRST time since my high school days that I ever was granted the privilege.  I was making announcements about my kids and informing them what I, as a member there since my ‘62 baptism, knew, and what THEY should know, about the church (and Richard J. Lockwood). 

The most dangerous figure was a member of the ‘(non) ruling council (the Vestry) seated at a table in front, and he directed the onslaught and called in the air strike.  A prejudiced (black) Arkansas ‘dipping’ former MO priest, now retired bishop, grinned from the side.  I’ll leave the deacon and vestry member  alone, if the Arkansas imposter is sillyl enough to trod a foot on the grounds at this church again, I’ll appear like a misty vapor a foot away from his body, pick it up, and deposit it (rather roughly and head down (like Peter on the cross) into the dumpster, and slam the lids tightly until his muffled whimperings bore me. What he told me in the kitchen prior to the program rang in my ears for days; the lids slamming over his jumbled spririt and body temple will ring in his for far longer than that.

For now, though, I’ll content myself to learning my new faith (I wrote about it already a couple of weeks ago, to my daughter’s kind acclimation) and staying well clear of the construction at the church that the sheep will wander to.   I won’t laugh at the resulting (much) dwindled parish size, but will nod imperviously to the clammor of outrage of duped parish members — howls of injustice, if you will,  that I’ll be able to hear all the way to my part of town.

Richard J. Lockwood will forgive me, I reckon, for my vindictiveness.  Paybacks are, as they say, a bitch.

“Evil is the likeness of the people who reject  our communications and are unjust” Surah VII, v. 177, Elevated Places, The Koran.

(PS - it’d be utterly hilarious if this and my old church’s name coincide in search engines.  That this post would come up in a search for it’s name, well, would be hilarious! I am giddy and simply can’t resist!  < www.emmanuelepiscopal.org >  )