Ice Day

I did not go to church yesterday.

The metro was under a travel advisory, due to an ice storm Friday and
Saturday. It was still sleeting Sunday morning.

Staying alive, or unwounded, is likely more important than going to church. And it may be argued I spent the bulk of the day in "spiritual" pursuits - reading the latest issue of Shambhala Sun, and arranging music for a Compline service.

However, there is an irony in my choosing to stay home yesterday.

First, I had driven halfway across the state - on equally icy roads - to
visit Elsie. A trip that normally takes about two hours took three hours one way and two and a half on the return trip. When I was halfway there, I realized how goofy this trip was. I realized I should have called and rescheduled our meeting. But I had made a commitment. And, being almost halfway there, I was kind of committed. And, as the negative inner voice noted, I should be committed.

Driving halfway across the state - no problem. Driving halfway across town? Not so much.

There's excuses and rationalizations. The highway is actually safer than city streets. After having driven on it, I knew how bad it was. Plus, five and a half hours on the road can be pretty tiring.

The second irony is that I was not feeling nearly so charitable Saturday evening. That's when the local stations were displaying the church closings. Many churches were cancelling their services, due to the ice.

I sat there thinking these people were wimps. After all, I had driven halfway across the state.

Why, I could remember the time when it snowed in the early '80s. The snow was two or three feet deep, with drifts a yard or more high. The only people at church that Sunday were the priest, me, and Mary Ellen, my future (former) wife. It was bad then, but by God we had service.

And you know what? All that flew out the window Sunday morning when I saw that my residential street was a solid sheet of ice. It went out the window when I realized how cold it was. I thought of very good reasons I should stay home - not the least of which was the persistent cough which has yet to move out.

The negative inner voice, though, it not willing to let me off so lightly. "If those people are wimps," it growls, "you're a wimp too. And the worst kind of hypocrite."

Never has there been a better example of the folk wisdom: "When one finger points out, three fingers point back."