And did those feet in ancient times...

One of the functions of an Episcopal Parish is to be the ethnic home for a certain minority group, one that is often overlooked in modern American life.

This afternoon, we conducted the Burial Office for a daughter of the Church of England. She has lived most of her long adult life in a small Midwestern farming town with no Episcopal Parish in town, or in any of the neighboring towns. She made it clear to her children that when the time came, she wanted to be buried with the ceremonies proper to the Episcopal Church, and the Book of Common Prayer.

So, she was. The family, none of them Episcopalians, came to us and asked if we might do the service; of course we agreed. This being a holiday and neither of our regular clergy being available, one of our retired associate priests was Officiant.

About forty people gathered; children, grandchildren, friends, most of them still living in that Midwestern farming town. The liturgy was the Burial Office, Rite One; we sang “Abide with me” and “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound.” As requested, I played the tune Jerusalem (“And did those feet in ancient times”), on full organ, before the Commendation. The children had noted that she and her husband (dead these seventeen years) ensured that they knew all the British songs, and sang them regularly at home. She thrilled to the events of the Royal Family, most recently the birth and christening of Prince George; she adored the Queen (as do I).

And every afternoon, without fail, she and her husband would have Tea. They were doubtless the only family in the town, perhaps the county, to observe this custom.

At the end, after most of the people had gone out, I played one last song for this Daughter of England: “God save the Queen,” on eight foot flutes. All of the children came back in to listen, tears in their eyes.

Your Majesty, you will never know it (not, at least, in this life), but you have lost a loyal subject. You have many others, some of them in the most unlikely places.