so yeah, the last post was an April Fool's joke. Apologies to those who missed the 'joke' part -- but know that I laughed at your expense. I'm a bad man.

This past Sunday was Palm Sunday of the Lord's Passion. Long name, I know. It begins with a procession -- waving palm branches as we remember the way that the crowd welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem -- and continues through an account of Jesus' death. As the crowd, we who acclaimed Jesus as Lord then shout for his death. Too true.

For your friendly neighborhood Vicar, this Sunday was supposed to be pretty straightforward. Some bits were different, but I was okay with that.

Was not planning on my supervising pastor having food poisoning -- or something -- in the morning.

The first part of the service went all right -- I could tell he was a bit under the weather, but I thought he'd hang in there. Then came communion. Shortly before he stood up for the dialogue, he turned and whispered to me "you're going to take care of it."

I can do this, I've led at the table before. Once the Words of Institution were spoken and the blessing said, my supervisor announced that I would be leading the meal and then he bolted. Right. Down. the. Aisle.

And folks, I mean bolted. Undstandable, considering that he would have to ungird himself of pectoral cross, chasuble, cinture, stole, and then alb before he could actually go to the bathroom. But it looked really funny. Since it's Lent the liturgical colour is purple, and he looked like nothing less than a giant grape fleeing for his life with the Welch's people hot on his heals.

There were a lot of people, too -- talking about 270-300, I think, so about halfway through communion he comes back and sits down. That made me happy; I was a little afraid he'd pass out if he hadn't sat down. So I kept glancing over to him, just in case he wanted to segue in at the end, but once when I looked up, he was gone. Totally gone. No idea where.

I didn't think much of it until the end of the service, when I saw him standing at the back of the Sanctuary, sans liturgical garb. We made eye contact, and he pointed at me. As in "hey, intern, guess what?! You get to bring the ship into port!"

So I did. Gathered and covered the communion elements; motioned the assisting minister over and asked the congregation to rise.

"Now may the body and blood of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ strengthen and keep you into life everlasting," is the bidding, and I didn't miss a beat. Not bad, for never, ever having said it before. Especially from memory. And the assisting minister said the post-communion prayer and I walked to the front, raised my arms and said "receive the benediction of the Lord,"

And nothing, but nothing, came out.

I have been leading worship regularly since I was 19. This is almost 10 years now, folks, and I've said the Aaronic benedication at just about every service I've ever led. I memorized it in Hebrew, Latin, and Greek on a lark.

And there I was, standing in front of 270-odd people, with my arms raised and mouth open like an ape stretched between two bananas. The benediction from the order of service is short -- like "Almighty God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit bless you now and forever," or something like that.

Could I remember that? No. Could I remember anything? No. After what seemed like an eternity standing with my arms up and open (though the co-Director assured me it was just a few seconds), finally the Hebrew words of the benediction filtered into my mind.

"That's all right," I thought, "though my supervisor will call me an arrogant prick. I can do this."

So I began to speak them. And what came out? English! What!!??

"May the Lord bless us, and keep us.
May the Lord make his face to shine upon us and be gracious unto us,
may the Lord look upon us with favour, and give us peace,
In the Name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit,
Amen."

well, 'amen' to the Spirit blowing where it chooses.

Next time, I'm practicing the whole darn service, just in case.