The book, subtitled Administration of the Sacraments and Other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church, is a magnificent achievement, encapsulating the doctrines, sacraments, and observations of “the Church.” It’s old – its third revision was published in 1559 to recognize the accession to the throne of England by Elizabeth I – and has occasionally been in eclipse, as during the reign of Elizabeth’s Roman Catholic predecessor, Mary, and later during the Puritan Revolution of 1645. But it’s endured through several more revisions (my father, a fairly conservative Episcopal priest, wouldn’t recognize the 1979 update, sticking instead with the 1928 till his death). Any Episcopalian, anywhere in the world, can recognize it by the simple cross on its (usually red) cover. In Arctic Nunavut, the fading Anglican mission churches include prayers, I couldn’t help but notice, for the Queen and the royal family.

One thing in particular about it, though, has stuck with me through all my years of waxing and waning orthodoxy. It’s alleged that Queen Bess, when she was presented with the latest (1559) version, said the Elizabethan version of, “Y’all can believe whatever you please, but this is what we’re going to say.” I find that especially comforting, and often channel Huckleberry Finn, who, when two elderly grifters hitched rides on his and Jim’s raft and insisted on being waited on and addressed by their true royal and ducal titles, I think, “Well, that was all easy, so we done it.” And so I have.

Still, there are occasions upon which a certain dissonance creeps in. The book which gave so much comfort to my wife, and the prayers we recite weekly during church services, seem so divorced from the realities I perceive around me, as well as so far short of any possibility of achieving their aims, that I can’t help but wonder if everyone gathered around me feels the same way I do. The first two prayers in the “Prayers of the People” are perfect examples. First: “Grant...that all who confess your Name may be united in your truth, live together in your love, and reveal your glory in the world.” I look around me at the folks who every week prepare free meals for the poor, help them financially with their everyday problems, take food to shut-ins, and volunteer at the warming shelter, and try to gauge the extent to which they reflect the faithful of, say, Joel Osteen’s megachurch or Vice-President Pence’s exclusionary faith.’

Second: “Guide the people of this land and of all the nations, in the ways of justice and peace; that we may honor one another and serve the common good.” Think for a moment of all the ghosts that haunt that prayer – Erdogan, Putin, Yemen, Mohammed bin Salman, the Uighurs and Tibetans, Rodney King, the Taliban – and the mind boggles at a dissonance so great it’s hard to imagine what might overcome it.

Our so-called Founding Fathers are often referred to as “Christian,” as well as is our nation. Both nominations are far from the true mark. Edmund Burke once wrote of us colonists that we were “Protestants, and of that kind which is the most adverse to all implicit subjection of mind and opinion.” John Adams left his church when disagreements over a newly appointed pastor’s preaching devolved into bitter division. “I perceived very clearly...that the study of theology. and the pursuit of it as a profession, would involve me in endless altercations, and make my life miserable, without any prospect of doing any good to my fellowmen.” It’s not hard to believe that Mark Twain had John Adams in mind when he described Miss Watson’s attempts at making Heaven sound like a wonderful place: “Well, I couldn’t see no advantage in going where she was going, so I made up my mind I wouldn’t try for it. But I never said so, because it would only make trouble and wouldn’t do no good.”

Later, he reflects on the purported power of prayer (something we invoke to this day every time there’s another mass shooting). He wonders why the deacon can’t get back the money he lost on pork; why the Widow can’t get back her stolen silver snuff box; why Miss Watson can’t fat up.

So Huck gives up the attempt to learn; but by the end of the book he’s revealed to be a mensch, the only one in the story. As for me and my house, as Joshua once said, we will serve the Lord; and every Sunday I’m in town you’ll find us – me and Kiki – right in the front pew, pondering the imponderable.