In defense of Chalice, if I may argue with myself, the book is really dealing with a sort of myth of sanctification. And I don't mean myth in the disillusioning sense; I mean it in the richest and most credible sense - which is, incidentally, pretty much the only way I use the word. In the last few days, there have been several moments when I have thought 'this needs sanctification,' and the image of Mirasol wandering over the four corners of her country desperately meting out her magic in drips of watered-down honey would come to mind. The book is full of these images. The bees, the honey, the fire - they are beautiful images because they have weight and depth and they call out directly to this need in us to have things of weight and depth lend us blessing. We need the words 'you are whole and healthy' to be spoken over us so that we can be whole and healthy. No wandering wordsmith will do. The one who reminds us of our healing is also the one who gives it to us with his own chalice, the cup of Christ, the body and blood of our Lord.
Kathryn, do NOT be jealous of me going to the opera. It was weird. They were wearing these bulky animal costumes and clonking boots which might have been okay except that their footsteps drowned out the sound of the orchestra (Oh look! A band!). The plot was supposed to be about the circle of life or something deep, but it really seemed to be more about animals getting it on. It was an opera, though, so plot really shouldn't matter as long as the music is good. It wasn't. I mean, it wasn't BAD - but most of the singing was monotonous, the orchestration was unremarkable, and I hope to heaven no one from the production reads this. It would be so disheartening! They were all skillful - I just wasn't interested in the piece itself. But then, I have only ever seen very classical sorts of pieces. The Marriage of Figaro. Samson and Delilah. And I was listening to Puccini before leaving the house! What do you do? But then again, I was distracted by my seating companion. Five so
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