I received two e-mails from my diocese, both sounding rather breathless to me, announcing that all of our bishops would be visiting the site of our state's atrocity. One of my parishioners rolled her eyes and said, "Whatever that's worth."
Actually, I kind of agreed. In a post-Christian age, three ecclesial bureaucrats wandering around exercising rusty parish-level pastoral skills while swathed in the apparel of authority would seem dwarfed by the circumstances they were attempting to address. I appreciate their good intentions, though; it's just two things occur to me.
One, it's interesting that we've reached a time when the most of the laity are indifferent to the presence of bishops [the last official parish visit by a bishop produced the worst May attendance I've had since becoming rector of my current parish; and that was for a Confirmation liturgy, too] and two, diocesan officials still seem to think that kind of gesture is important to us.
Thus the gulf between a diocesan house and a parish house is seen in relief. I know that everyone is trying to come up with some pastoral address that works, but outside of simple prayer, much of what the church does seems, well, a little empty and perhaps even a little self-serving.
The morning after the atrocity I attended an ordination. It was a grand occasion, as these things usually are and should be. To me, though, and only to me, it seemed like we were all dressing up and putting on a play. Maybe it's because the day before I had caught a glimpse of a room full of dead children; maybe it's because of some other things that happened recently in my parish, but I'm beginning to think that there are better avenues for the spiritual address of our culture's troubling issues than to spend one's days struggling to keep a small parish open and full.
I don't think I'm going to be able to play "dress-up" for very much longer.