Dis-orientation

Today I felt like a freshman entering high school in a new town. Everyone, except for a few other freshman, knows where to go and what to do, and we are pushed through lines picking up pieces of paper, getting name tags, trying to find a place to sit although there are not enough chairs, and finally sitting on the floor, only to be told we must get over the UN quickly because the lines get so long for registration.

Once in line, we wait for the UN to open and I talk to a woman, Jolly, from Uganda. I asked her if she had heard of Compassion International, and that I worked for the organization for nine years. She often is asked to assist with Compassion's training projects. And here we are sitting in New York connected through our work.

She speaks with passion about the Anglican church and the divisions that are happening in it. Since the primate gathering in Tanzania just happened, I was wondering how or if it would affect this gathering of Anglican women. She tells the story of Jesus asleep in the boat when the storm comes up and frightens the disciples. With much more spirit than I am expressing here, she says it is time to wake Jesus up and tell him we are afraid our boat is sinking from the storm. And I wonder if we will all be coming together again next year.

We had a break in the afternoon, and my new roommate, Virgnia Berry form Massachussets decide to take in a museum or two. We hop on the subway and spend a little over an hour in the Frick. I was impressed with a large painting of St. Francis by Giovanni and El Greco's protrait of St. Jerome. The French Rococo was hilarious, and George Stubbs was even more interesting when I discovered he was self-taught. But, Hans Holbein the Younger's protrait of Sir Thomas Moore, really stood out to me. I think it was the lighting and the perfection of detail without visible brush lines. It was beautiful.

We had a Eucharistic service at the Epsicopal Church Center, just up a block from our hotel. The Presiding Bishop Katherine Jefferts-Schori, looking tired and drawn from the meeting in Tanzania, gave a very well-done sermon on the healing of Christ, and how the bleeding woman took initiative to reach out to Christ and was healed--believing even before it happened in his healing touch. And Jairus' daughter was told to "Wake up!" a command to rise from the dead, and she did and began to serve them.

Are we, as Anglican women from around the world, in need of waking up from the dead ourselves? And how do we begin to serve one another? Can the Anglican women bring peace and unity to its sinking ship?