Watch, if can bear it, the installation of Mary Glasspool, the first lesbian bishop in the Episcopal Church, in a multi-culti extravaganza. Note the ghastly surrounds, a dismal convention center. Note the row upon row of empty seats. Note the preponderance of grey heads among those who did attend, how atrociously dressed people are, the drab depressing dowdiness of it all.
Note also, as I did with particular pain, the wretched music. Not the myriad ethnic numbers (I am clueless about that stuff), rather the few traditional works--tossed in, I suppose, to suggest continuity with the Episcopal Church's glorious Anglican heritage. Up until now, the Episcopal Church has kept its performance practices up to a high standard; whatever other nonsense might take place during a state occasion, you could always count on a few, well-performed traditional anthems or hymns that would thrill you to the marrow. Not any more. The choirs here are dreadful: obviously amateurs, mostly old women with wobbly voices, the ensemble and pitch horrendous. Even the brass choir, which I assume is professional, makes countless clams.
The less said about the liturgy and ritual, of course, the better. What we are witnessing here is an institution in its death throes; what is sadder still is except for those who have or had a connection to it, nobody cares. Requiescat in pace.
(Thanks to Banished Child of Eve and StandFirm)