>> Hard to believe anyone is sitting in the pews of this ghastly, God-mocking sect on a Sunday morning.
There are very few lately. Actually when you get further away from the big cities (especially on the east coast), things get somewhat better.
My ex-church in the mountains west of Denver had about 220 communicants when the new dimwitted priestess (with a set of brass ovaries the size of a dumptruck) arrived 10 years ago. The few remaining vestry harpies and sacristy rats just put her on 3/4 time pay (after reducing her salary several times). The joint is about to revert to mission status.
O.K., I'm remembering that one.
Sixth-generation Episcopalian here (my gggg grandfather John Bale was baptised in 1795 in St. Giles Cripplegate, City of London) but we couldn't stand it any longer and swam the Tiber.
Couldn't be happier. Good reverent Mass, sound theology, and our choirmaster loves Byrd, Tallis, Farrant, Purcell, Howells, and Stanford . . . so we're not missing a thing.