Remember back here, in the comments, where I wrote:
I could do a good Anglo-Catholic parish. If St. James weren’t 50 miles away, I’d go there.
You know, after all those years as a magic-user, you’d think I’d know better than to put that out there. “Be careful what you ask for; you might get it.” and all.
So Tuesday last week, I got a call from Graham Schultz, kapellmeister at St. James: gee, I need a bass, would you consider coming back permanently? I didn’t say “Yes” right away; I wanted to ask my lady and my Lord. With the apparent blessings of both, and the clear sense that I’d just been yanked up by the rough and calloused Hand of God, I committed.
It’s a rougher ride than under Lou. Morning Prayer is now at 10, with the service starting at 10:30: rehearsal still at 9, but I’m getting home half an hour later. We have evening rehearsals, and this week is like Holy Week in February: rehearsal Thurs., Fri. is Evensong for St. Charles Stuart, Sunday, then Candlemas on Monday. I’ll be talking to Fr. Crume when all that calms down. There’s a bit more music, not harder music, but Graham cracks the whip on the chant (with reason — if it isn’t good, why do it?). He is a fantastically talented musician, which makes it all worthwhile. But the commute is still a bitch.
Sunday was intense, with a lot of emotions whipped up: “Great, I’m home…but WTF am I doing?”