{"id":63,"date":"2021-07-05T11:46:55","date_gmt":"2021-07-05T15:46:55","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.ryerson.ca\/thebookofsmall\/?post_type=chapter&p=63"},"modified":"2022-02-02T10:14:49","modified_gmt":"2022-02-02T15:14:49","slug":"the-blessing","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/chapter\/the-blessing\/","title":{"raw":"The Blessing","rendered":"The Blessing"},"content":{"raw":"Father\u2019s\u00a0religion was grim and stern, Mother\u2019s gentle. Father\u2019s operated through the Presbyterian, Mother\u2019s through the Anglican Church.\u00a0Our\u00a0religion was hybrid: on Sunday morning we were Presbyterian, Sunday evening we were Anglican.\r\n\r\nOur little Presbyterian legs ached from the long walk to church on Sunday morning. Our hearts got heavy and our eyes tired before the Presbyterian prayers and the long Presbyterian sermon were over. Even so, we felt a strong \u201crightness\u201d about Father\u2019s church which made it endurable. Through scorch of summer heat, through snow and rain, we all taggled along behind Father. Toothaches, headaches, stomach-aches\u2014nothing was strong enough to dodge or elude morning religion.\r\n\r\nMother\u2019s religion was a Sunday evening privilege. The Anglican church was much nearer our house than the Presbyterian, just a little walk down over Marvin\u2019s Hill to our own James\u2019 Bay mud flats. The little church sat on the dry rim just above the far side.\r\n\r\nEvening service was a treat that depended on whether big sister wanted to be bothered with us. Being out at night was very special too\u2014moon and stars so high, town lights and harbour lights low and twinkly when seen from the top of Marvin\u2019s Hill on our side of the mud flats. A river of meandering sludge loitered its way through the mud\u2014a huge silver snake that twisted among the sea-grass. On the opposite side of the little valley, on a rocky ridge, stood Christ Church Cathedral, black against the night-blue of the sky. Christ Church had chimes and played scales on them to walk her people to church. As we had no chimes, not even a bell on our church, we marched along on the spare noise of the Cathedral chimes.\r\n\r\nThe mud flats did not always smell nice although the bushes of sweet-briar on the edge of the high-water rim did their best, and the sea crept in between the calfless wooden legs of James\u2019 Bay Bridge, washed the muddied grass and stole out again.\r\n\r\nOur Church was mellow. It had a gentle, mild Bishop. He wore a long black gown with a long white surplice over it. His immense puffed sleeves were caught in at the wrists by black bands and fluted out again in little white frills round his wrists. There was a dimple on each knuckle of his hands. He was a wide man and looked wider in his surplice, especially from our pew which was close up under the pulpit. He looked very high above us and every time he caught his breath his beard hoisted and waved out.\r\n\r\nThe Bishop\u2019s voice was as gentle as if it came from the moon. Every one of his sentences was separated from the next by a wheezy little gasp. His face was round and circled by a mist of white hair. He kept the lids shut over his blue, blue eyes most of the time, as if he was afraid their blueness would fade. When you stood before him you felt it was the lids of his own eyes he saw, not you.\r\n\r\nThe Bishop\u2019s favourite word was \u201cAh!\u201d, not mournful or vexed \u201cahs\u201d, just slow contemplating \u201cahs\u201d. But it was the Bishop\u2019s Blessing! He blessed most splendidly! From the moment you went into church you waited for it. You could nap through most of the Presbyterian sermon, but, although the pews were most comfortable, red cushions, footstools and all, you dared not nap through the Bishop\u2019s for fear you\u2019d miss the blessing.\r\n\r\nOur Evangelical church was beautiful. There was lots of music. A lady in a little red velvet bonnet, with strings under the chin, played the organ.\r\n\r\nThere were four splendid chandeliers dangling high under the roof. They had round, wide reflectors made of very shiny, very crinkly tin. Every crinkle caught its own particular bit of light and tossed it round the church\u2014and up there ever so high the gas jets hissed and flickered. Music stole whispering from the organ and crept up among the chandeliers and the polished rafters to make echoes.\r\n\r\nOur choir was mixed and sang in every sort of clothes, not in surplices like the Cathedral choir on the hill.\r\n\r\nThe Bishop climbed into the pulpit. He laid the sheets of his sermon on the open Bible which sat on a red velvet cushion; then he shut his eyes and began to preach. Once in a while he would stop, open his eyes, put on his glasses and read back to be sure he had not skipped.\r\n\r\nWhen the last page was turned the Bishop said a gentle \u201cAmen\u201d and then he lifted his big round sleeves with his hands dangling out of the ends. We all stood up and drooped our heads. The church was full of stillness. The Bishop curved his palms out over us\u2014they looked pink against his white sleeves. He gave the blessing just as if he was taking it straight from God and giving it to us.\r\n\r\nThen the Bishop came down the pulpit stairs; the organ played and the choir sang him into the vestry; the verger nipped the side lights off in such a hurry that everyone fell over a footstool.\r\n\r\nBig doors rolled back into the wall on either side of the church door to let us out. As soon as we were all in the night the verger rolled shut the doors and blotted out the chandeliers.\r\n\r\nWe climbed Marvin\u2019s Hill, each of us carrying home a bit of the Bishop\u2019s blessing.","rendered":"

Father\u2019s\u00a0religion was grim and stern, Mother\u2019s gentle. Father\u2019s operated through the Presbyterian, Mother\u2019s through the Anglican Church.\u00a0Our\u00a0religion was hybrid: on Sunday morning we were Presbyterian, Sunday evening we were Anglican.<\/p>\n

Our little Presbyterian legs ached from the long walk to church on Sunday morning. Our hearts got heavy and our eyes tired before the Presbyterian prayers and the long Presbyterian sermon were over. Even so, we felt a strong \u201crightness\u201d about Father\u2019s church which made it endurable. Through scorch of summer heat, through snow and rain, we all taggled along behind Father. Toothaches, headaches, stomach-aches\u2014nothing was strong enough to dodge or elude morning religion.<\/p>\n

Mother\u2019s religion was a Sunday evening privilege. The Anglican church was much nearer our house than the Presbyterian, just a little walk down over Marvin\u2019s Hill to our own James\u2019 Bay mud flats. The little church sat on the dry rim just above the far side.<\/p>\n

Evening service was a treat that depended on whether big sister wanted to be bothered with us. Being out at night was very special too\u2014moon and stars so high, town lights and harbour lights low and twinkly when seen from the top of Marvin\u2019s Hill on our side of the mud flats. A river of meandering sludge loitered its way through the mud\u2014a huge silver snake that twisted among the sea-grass. On the opposite side of the little valley, on a rocky ridge, stood Christ Church Cathedral, black against the night-blue of the sky. Christ Church had chimes and played scales on them to walk her people to church. As we had no chimes, not even a bell on our church, we marched along on the spare noise of the Cathedral chimes.<\/p>\n

The mud flats did not always smell nice although the bushes of sweet-briar on the edge of the high-water rim did their best, and the sea crept in between the calfless wooden legs of James\u2019 Bay Bridge, washed the muddied grass and stole out again.<\/p>\n

Our Church was mellow. It had a gentle, mild Bishop. He wore a long black gown with a long white surplice over it. His immense puffed sleeves were caught in at the wrists by black bands and fluted out again in little white frills round his wrists. There was a dimple on each knuckle of his hands. He was a wide man and looked wider in his surplice, especially from our pew which was close up under the pulpit. He looked very high above us and every time he caught his breath his beard hoisted and waved out.<\/p>\n

The Bishop\u2019s voice was as gentle as if it came from the moon. Every one of his sentences was separated from the next by a wheezy little gasp. His face was round and circled by a mist of white hair. He kept the lids shut over his blue, blue eyes most of the time, as if he was afraid their blueness would fade. When you stood before him you felt it was the lids of his own eyes he saw, not you.<\/p>\n

The Bishop\u2019s favourite word was \u201cAh!\u201d, not mournful or vexed \u201cahs\u201d, just slow contemplating \u201cahs\u201d. But it was the Bishop\u2019s Blessing! He blessed most splendidly! From the moment you went into church you waited for it. You could nap through most of the Presbyterian sermon, but, although the pews were most comfortable, red cushions, footstools and all, you dared not nap through the Bishop\u2019s for fear you\u2019d miss the blessing.<\/p>\n

Our Evangelical church was beautiful. There was lots of music. A lady in a little red velvet bonnet, with strings under the chin, played the organ.<\/p>\n

There were four splendid chandeliers dangling high under the roof. They had round, wide reflectors made of very shiny, very crinkly tin. Every crinkle caught its own particular bit of light and tossed it round the church\u2014and up there ever so high the gas jets hissed and flickered. Music stole whispering from the organ and crept up among the chandeliers and the polished rafters to make echoes.<\/p>\n

Our choir was mixed and sang in every sort of clothes, not in surplices like the Cathedral choir on the hill.<\/p>\n

The Bishop climbed into the pulpit. He laid the sheets of his sermon on the open Bible which sat on a red velvet cushion; then he shut his eyes and began to preach. Once in a while he would stop, open his eyes, put on his glasses and read back to be sure he had not skipped.<\/p>\n

When the last page was turned the Bishop said a gentle \u201cAmen\u201d and then he lifted his big round sleeves with his hands dangling out of the ends. We all stood up and drooped our heads. The church was full of stillness. The Bishop curved his palms out over us\u2014they looked pink against his white sleeves. He gave the blessing just as if he was taking it straight from God and giving it to us.<\/p>\n

Then the Bishop came down the pulpit stairs; the organ played and the choir sang him into the vestry; the verger nipped the side lights off in such a hurry that everyone fell over a footstool.<\/p>\n

Big doors rolled back into the wall on either side of the church door to let us out. As soon as we were all in the night the verger rolled shut the doors and blotted out the chandeliers.<\/p>\n

We climbed Marvin\u2019s Hill, each of us carrying home a bit of the Bishop\u2019s blessing.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":299,"menu_order":4,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[48],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-63","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry","chapter-type-numberless"],"part":3,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/63","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/299"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/63\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":65,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/63\/revisions\/65"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/3"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/63\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=63"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=63"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=63"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=63"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}