St. Francis By The Sea

A beautiful morning over the ocean:  a narrow band of violet spread all along the horizon, while the sun struggled to tear through the shroud of clouds above.  The deck was alive with the sound of birds all around, enjoying the diminished wind and the warmer temperatures.

After church at First Methodist again, where we heard a wonderful sermon for the first Sunday in Lent from Pastor Powell, we stopped at the Ruddy Duck for a simple bowl of that clear Hatteras Clam chowder that we have come to appreciate.

Then, still a little hungry, we drove down the coast to Pine Knoll Shores and the beautiful St. Francis By the Sea Episcopal Church, where Martha had found another interesting event for us to enjoy.  Called "Openings:  Artistry in Small Bites," it was a tasting of 50 appetizers, which were featured in an upcoming cookbook to be published by the ladies of the church.  So we grazed on pickled shrimp, as many different kinds of dips as I have seen in a long time, bacon-wrapped dates, and other delicacies.  The room slowly filled up as the tasting began and I breathed a sigh of relief when the only other man arrived in a room of 30 women, then one or two more.  I had felt like a fish out of water.

You don't expect to see familiar faces when you are 500 miles from home, so we were surprised when a woman stopped in front of us and said, "I have been trying to remember you!  You're the ones who liked the brown rice salad with kiwi fruit!"  She was Pam, from Friendly Market.  She was a member of the St. Francis parish and had made some collard green dip for this event.  Then Martha recognized a woman over by the pickled shrimp.  I went up to her and said, "I believe you sat in front of us in church this morning."  It turned out she was also a member; she admitted that she had deserted to the Methodist church because it was Youth Sunday here, which she did not enjoy.  "And I love to hear Powell," she said.  And we also met Barbara, who was staying just down the road in "A Place by the Sea."  Barbara walks six or seven miles a day, and we began talking about running; we may have encouraged her to run her first 5-K on March 3! 

It is a beautiful building, a sanctuary upstairs in the round which reminded us of Trinity Presbyterian Church in Hendersonville.  In the ground, a brick-paved pathway passed under this arch, its columns encrusted with oyster shells, to a labyrinth.

Round and round I walked in this labyrinth, as many worshipers before me had walked, I imagined, lost in reflection and prayer.  It was an interesting kind of journey; at times the traveler feels as if he is approaching the center, but then he turns and is farther away than ever.  But gradually the center appears.

And I found myself finally in the very center, gazing down on a small arrangement of rocks and whelk-shells, and a little fish, reminding us of this Lenten season.

“At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.” - T. S. Eliot