I will always miss the beautiful language of the 1928 BCP.  I get really bored having the Eucharist at every single service.  I miss the joyful canticles of Morning Prayer.  I remember when the only women who were permitted within the chancel railing were the altar guild members in blue smocks and head doilies, carefully selected for their sanctity. (I was one of them!)  All  acolytes were clean-cut boys whose polished black leather dress shoes were all that showed out from under their red cassocks and spotless cottas.

LIttle girls were invited to help polish the brass on Saturday mornings.  As the mother of three little girls, I drew the line on that.

Today, Heather, our curate, who is more-appropriately called “associate rector,” was the preacher and celebrant.  Our lay eucharistic ministers were Jeanne, Holly, Hazel, and Sandra.  Our acolytes were Marah and Emma.  During the Gospel procession, Marah and Emma were standing right next to my pew holding their torches.  I happened to glance down as Heather read.  Emma had on silver glitter flats. Marah had on sandals and bright red polished toes.  I couldn’t stop smiling.  Things change.

“O be joyful in the Lord all ye lands.  Serve the Lord with gladness and come before his presence with a song”  because God doesn’t care a bit if you’re a girl or what you wear.