Sunday, May 24, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
High Apple Pie In The Sky Hopes
I really do love Ascension Thursday. Jesus is King over all the earth, the Lord of all creation, seated at the right hand of the Father! How much better could it get than knowing our Lord is coming again in power? And the promise of the Holy Spirit…it’s emotional for me. A sad goodbye that isn’t really a going away (He is with us to the end of the age); the promise of a Comforter Who will give us strength and guidance as we strive to live Christ-centered lives. It is the promise of the Kingdom: if Jesus is always with us, and yet at the right hand of the Father, then the Kingdom is already appearing, already here, already an active force in our lives. God is with us as brother, ruler and friend. God is with us!
I decided to celebrate the holiday at a downtown high Anglican parish, mostly for its liturgical style but also because I didn’t know of any other Anglican church (or Roman Catholic, for that matter) observing it.
I wavered a bit about going – I should really go home and work on my papers, and there’s also that homeless guy who hit on me – but in the end I decided I’d rather pray than regret praying and spend the next several days ardently praying for forgiveness for my lapse in prayer.
I’m glad that I went. It was a beautiful service, with a beautiful procession and the ritual that I have always loved. I felt connected to God, lifted up, fully enveloped in the moment. It’s something like being in a bubble.
I was also glad to see a women deaconing; I knew this church was beginning to do that, but for some reason I didn’t think I’d ever get to see it. After the service, I got to speak to her: I know her from other social situations, and I like and admire her. It’s one of those admirations that leaves you not entirely certain of what to say or how to act, since there are multiple social layers to navigate and they don’t all match up…it can be hard to know what level of admiration to express and what to conceal for fear of looking like some kind of deranged stalker.
She said that she was hoping she’d see me there. That made me feel happy, for complicated reasons. For starters, it’s not a church I normally go to, so hoping to see me means anticipating that I’ll want to spend holy days at a strongly liturgically rooted church, which itself implies knowing me pretty well. It’s also just the feeling of having someone – anyone – actually wanting you to show up at church. And I don’t mean the kind of ‘happy to see you’ that follows any new-ish parish face, a kind of impersonal hope projected outward on anyone who might keep the parish going another generation, the impersonal hope that only ever occurs to you to feel once you notice the person is already there. Advance hope…I have not been privileged to experience that since leaving my Roman Catholic parish. Actually, on certain occasions, they do still look forward to seeing me, and are genuinely glad to see me when I come.
In a way, going to church on Sundays makes me feel a profound sense of loss. It really is true that I gave up my family to strike out and follow God, a wrenching and heartbreaking decision whose experience has not been easy to express. I miss belonging, really belonging, to a congregation. I miss having a home. I miss being able to go to the same place to celebrate everything. I miss the familiarity of the liturgy and the freedom of being able to let myself go in it instead of always trying to figure out what page of what book we’re on. I miss being able to serve Mass in languages I don’t understand because it’s the same everywhere.
I am longing for my Comforter to come. In a way, I’m living in Ascensiontide, the time between Ascension and Pentecost. I have known the joy of the risen Lord, and yet I feel a profound loss and emptiness, inhabit a time in between when I have not yet been given the power to carry out my Christian duties, my mission. I wait in hope, and also in fear, for the coming of the Spirit, in Whom I will find everything I need to keep working for the Kingdom of God. I am in between the comfortableness of knowing exactly where I am (beside the risen Jesus) and the exhilaration of feeling the Spirit moving discernibly in my life, revealing to me the shape of the Church in a way that I can feel like I belong in her, like I am at home in her, and even perhaps that I am contributing to her with my own special gifts.
But the time in between is like being holed up in a room, stifled, unable to breathe or think straight, unable to discern where I really am, afraid of being found out or evicted, afraid of the mob, of the unknown future. It is the difference between being a sojourner and a citizen, being a guest and family.
I decided to celebrate the holiday at a downtown high Anglican parish, mostly for its liturgical style but also because I didn’t know of any other Anglican church (or Roman Catholic, for that matter) observing it.
I wavered a bit about going – I should really go home and work on my papers, and there’s also that homeless guy who hit on me – but in the end I decided I’d rather pray than regret praying and spend the next several days ardently praying for forgiveness for my lapse in prayer.
I’m glad that I went. It was a beautiful service, with a beautiful procession and the ritual that I have always loved. I felt connected to God, lifted up, fully enveloped in the moment. It’s something like being in a bubble.
I was also glad to see a women deaconing; I knew this church was beginning to do that, but for some reason I didn’t think I’d ever get to see it. After the service, I got to speak to her: I know her from other social situations, and I like and admire her. It’s one of those admirations that leaves you not entirely certain of what to say or how to act, since there are multiple social layers to navigate and they don’t all match up…it can be hard to know what level of admiration to express and what to conceal for fear of looking like some kind of deranged stalker.
She said that she was hoping she’d see me there. That made me feel happy, for complicated reasons. For starters, it’s not a church I normally go to, so hoping to see me means anticipating that I’ll want to spend holy days at a strongly liturgically rooted church, which itself implies knowing me pretty well. It’s also just the feeling of having someone – anyone – actually wanting you to show up at church. And I don’t mean the kind of ‘happy to see you’ that follows any new-ish parish face, a kind of impersonal hope projected outward on anyone who might keep the parish going another generation, the impersonal hope that only ever occurs to you to feel once you notice the person is already there. Advance hope…I have not been privileged to experience that since leaving my Roman Catholic parish. Actually, on certain occasions, they do still look forward to seeing me, and are genuinely glad to see me when I come.
In a way, going to church on Sundays makes me feel a profound sense of loss. It really is true that I gave up my family to strike out and follow God, a wrenching and heartbreaking decision whose experience has not been easy to express. I miss belonging, really belonging, to a congregation. I miss having a home. I miss being able to go to the same place to celebrate everything. I miss the familiarity of the liturgy and the freedom of being able to let myself go in it instead of always trying to figure out what page of what book we’re on. I miss being able to serve Mass in languages I don’t understand because it’s the same everywhere.
I am longing for my Comforter to come. In a way, I’m living in Ascensiontide, the time between Ascension and Pentecost. I have known the joy of the risen Lord, and yet I feel a profound loss and emptiness, inhabit a time in between when I have not yet been given the power to carry out my Christian duties, my mission. I wait in hope, and also in fear, for the coming of the Spirit, in Whom I will find everything I need to keep working for the Kingdom of God. I am in between the comfortableness of knowing exactly where I am (beside the risen Jesus) and the exhilaration of feeling the Spirit moving discernibly in my life, revealing to me the shape of the Church in a way that I can feel like I belong in her, like I am at home in her, and even perhaps that I am contributing to her with my own special gifts.
But the time in between is like being holed up in a room, stifled, unable to breathe or think straight, unable to discern where I really am, afraid of being found out or evicted, afraid of the mob, of the unknown future. It is the difference between being a sojourner and a citizen, being a guest and family.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Body Language
What an interesting sermon for Mother’s Day.
For the most part, absolutely beautiful: the priest talked about how it’s the women of the parish who kept it going and make it what it is – a fact that, in my experience, is universally true. So yay women! He talked about how women are the ones who pass on the faith to their children, teaching them a love of God, how to spend their time and money, how to pray to God and give thanks to Him, how to live a Christian life in a variety of ways.
Ways like not letting their children get piercings through their nose or through their ears (read: lots of piercings) or tattoos, because Leviticus clearly says we’re not supposed to do that, and anyway our body is a temple to the Holy Spirit.
*horror and disbelief*
I’m pretty sure we’ve rejected most of the rules in Leviticus – like not trimming the corners of our beards or whatever – but the ones we keep sure are revealing about who we are.
I admit that this hit a nerve. For instance: I have 10 piercings, and I have had 2 others which are removed, one of which was a facial piercing. I have 6 tattoos, and am currently planning a 7th. So yes, this was a little bit of a...disconcerting twist for me.
Not that I haven’t asked the question myself at times. Obviously I don’t think that tattoos are ‘unlawful,’ mostly because I read Leviticus differently, with a generous helping of also believing that tattooing is not a form of self-harm or mutilation. However, even if all things are lawful, not all things build up. When I first embarked on my piercing-and-tattooing odyssey, I did ask God about it. (well, maybe not right away. I had at least one tattoo and a few piercings before I thought to question my actions) God never said anything about it as far as I can tell, which may not actually be that far.
What the experience and meaning of tattoos are to me personally in my life is completely unrelated to this and, since it’s irrelevant, I’ll leave it aside. If anyone is actually interested in this (which I doubt) drop me a line and I’ll carry on about it in my usual excessive digressional fashion.
The fact is, I’m not sure whether they build up or not. My belief that they just might could be an after-the-fact self-justification, and it certainly had no actual bearing on my decision(s). I did experience some interesting things in my life because of it. For one thing, I would tell people I am a Christian and they would say things like “But you don’t LOOK like a Christian.” What does a Christian look like, anyway? From people’s reactions I sometimes think Christians are supposed to look kind of like municipal librarians with a penchant for wearing beige and lots of cardigans. If this is the case, I don’t know many ‘Christians.’
I’ve had some interesting conversations with disaffected youth in my ex-parish, kids who thought that because they wanted to dress a certain way or listen to certain music this meant they were not supposed to be Christian, or that they weren’t Christian, or somehow defective. So kids hitting puberty for some reason were attracted by my quirkiness, and I am blessed to have been able to sponsor two of them for Confirmation. I think, sometimes, I might have been like a breath of fresh air just because I was young and energetic and unafraid of myself and my beliefs. I hope that me in my early twenties going to church dressed up (essentially) as a boy with my hair cut short like a boy and dyed blue was in some way helpful to others.
(Interestingly, no one ever said anything about my weird boy jeans and checkered punk pants and silver jewelry and psychedelic hair. But wear a mini skirt or a top with little straps and all hell breaks loose.)
Back on topic: I think in some ways it might have built up by allowing people to see that being Christian does not mean conforming to librarian standards or giving up drums. That you should never give up your faith because somehow you feel like you don’t belong. That the facets of your life, no matter how disparate or seemingly at odds, can all be integrated within God’s grace – a grace that allows you to love God and to embrace Him even while you’re wearing stiletto hooker boots and ranting about women’s reproductive rights while planning to go out to a death metal concert with your unconventional date.
On the other hand, the places where it might have built up the most seem to have been largely unaffected. This is the part not where outsiders say you don’t look like a Christian, or where you say it, or where you believe that you’re not a real or good Christian, but where the people in church say it to you. There is an opportunity here to realize that people who look different or live different kinds of lives are Christian just as much as you are, no more and no less. I think at my ex-parish I might have accomplished this somewhat, mostly because they’d known me for years and, even though I had weird hair, I was still the same person. But clearly the presence of ‘freaks’ like me in the larger society and its churches does not readily translate into tolerance, or even understanding. I see it when someone says, with no hesitation, doubt or nuance, that tattooing and piercing (or whatever else) is unequivocally wrong and not the Christian way.
This makes me sad. I feel like, as a church, our judgment with no attempt to understand pushes people away and makes them not want to become Christian or not to be Christian anymore. We do this on so many issues and from all sides. I am not immune. And as much as I want to say you shouldn’t switch churches and go find (or build) one that’s sympathetic to your expression of your humanity, and that you should never allow anyone to force you out of a community, the fact is that sometimes that is the only way to survive.
And then this ghettoizes the churches. The ‘conservative’ parishes full of people who think one way and are never confronted with the other, and the ‘liberal’ parishes full of people who think one way and are never confronted with the other. No one has to listen to anyone, and we can all go about our safe little comfortable lives believing that we’re right and they’re wrong and we’re the only ones expressing any kind of truth. We never have to squirm in our pews and acknowledge that someone with a completely opposite view is just as much a Christian as we are, and that we’re all speaking out of a love for God – or, at least, that we’re trying to.
But how can we call it loving God, Whom we have never seen, if we do not love our freakish or uptight brothers and sisters, whom we have?
For the most part, absolutely beautiful: the priest talked about how it’s the women of the parish who kept it going and make it what it is – a fact that, in my experience, is universally true. So yay women! He talked about how women are the ones who pass on the faith to their children, teaching them a love of God, how to spend their time and money, how to pray to God and give thanks to Him, how to live a Christian life in a variety of ways.
Ways like not letting their children get piercings through their nose or through their ears (read: lots of piercings) or tattoos, because Leviticus clearly says we’re not supposed to do that, and anyway our body is a temple to the Holy Spirit.
*horror and disbelief*
I’m pretty sure we’ve rejected most of the rules in Leviticus – like not trimming the corners of our beards or whatever – but the ones we keep sure are revealing about who we are.
I admit that this hit a nerve. For instance: I have 10 piercings, and I have had 2 others which are removed, one of which was a facial piercing. I have 6 tattoos, and am currently planning a 7th. So yes, this was a little bit of a...disconcerting twist for me.
Not that I haven’t asked the question myself at times. Obviously I don’t think that tattoos are ‘unlawful,’ mostly because I read Leviticus differently, with a generous helping of also believing that tattooing is not a form of self-harm or mutilation. However, even if all things are lawful, not all things build up. When I first embarked on my piercing-and-tattooing odyssey, I did ask God about it. (well, maybe not right away. I had at least one tattoo and a few piercings before I thought to question my actions) God never said anything about it as far as I can tell, which may not actually be that far.
What the experience and meaning of tattoos are to me personally in my life is completely unrelated to this and, since it’s irrelevant, I’ll leave it aside. If anyone is actually interested in this (which I doubt) drop me a line and I’ll carry on about it in my usual excessive digressional fashion.
The fact is, I’m not sure whether they build up or not. My belief that they just might could be an after-the-fact self-justification, and it certainly had no actual bearing on my decision(s). I did experience some interesting things in my life because of it. For one thing, I would tell people I am a Christian and they would say things like “But you don’t LOOK like a Christian.” What does a Christian look like, anyway? From people’s reactions I sometimes think Christians are supposed to look kind of like municipal librarians with a penchant for wearing beige and lots of cardigans. If this is the case, I don’t know many ‘Christians.’
I’ve had some interesting conversations with disaffected youth in my ex-parish, kids who thought that because they wanted to dress a certain way or listen to certain music this meant they were not supposed to be Christian, or that they weren’t Christian, or somehow defective. So kids hitting puberty for some reason were attracted by my quirkiness, and I am blessed to have been able to sponsor two of them for Confirmation. I think, sometimes, I might have been like a breath of fresh air just because I was young and energetic and unafraid of myself and my beliefs. I hope that me in my early twenties going to church dressed up (essentially) as a boy with my hair cut short like a boy and dyed blue was in some way helpful to others.
(Interestingly, no one ever said anything about my weird boy jeans and checkered punk pants and silver jewelry and psychedelic hair. But wear a mini skirt or a top with little straps and all hell breaks loose.)
Back on topic: I think in some ways it might have built up by allowing people to see that being Christian does not mean conforming to librarian standards or giving up drums. That you should never give up your faith because somehow you feel like you don’t belong. That the facets of your life, no matter how disparate or seemingly at odds, can all be integrated within God’s grace – a grace that allows you to love God and to embrace Him even while you’re wearing stiletto hooker boots and ranting about women’s reproductive rights while planning to go out to a death metal concert with your unconventional date.
On the other hand, the places where it might have built up the most seem to have been largely unaffected. This is the part not where outsiders say you don’t look like a Christian, or where you say it, or where you believe that you’re not a real or good Christian, but where the people in church say it to you. There is an opportunity here to realize that people who look different or live different kinds of lives are Christian just as much as you are, no more and no less. I think at my ex-parish I might have accomplished this somewhat, mostly because they’d known me for years and, even though I had weird hair, I was still the same person. But clearly the presence of ‘freaks’ like me in the larger society and its churches does not readily translate into tolerance, or even understanding. I see it when someone says, with no hesitation, doubt or nuance, that tattooing and piercing (or whatever else) is unequivocally wrong and not the Christian way.
This makes me sad. I feel like, as a church, our judgment with no attempt to understand pushes people away and makes them not want to become Christian or not to be Christian anymore. We do this on so many issues and from all sides. I am not immune. And as much as I want to say you shouldn’t switch churches and go find (or build) one that’s sympathetic to your expression of your humanity, and that you should never allow anyone to force you out of a community, the fact is that sometimes that is the only way to survive.
And then this ghettoizes the churches. The ‘conservative’ parishes full of people who think one way and are never confronted with the other, and the ‘liberal’ parishes full of people who think one way and are never confronted with the other. No one has to listen to anyone, and we can all go about our safe little comfortable lives believing that we’re right and they’re wrong and we’re the only ones expressing any kind of truth. We never have to squirm in our pews and acknowledge that someone with a completely opposite view is just as much a Christian as we are, and that we’re all speaking out of a love for God – or, at least, that we’re trying to.
But how can we call it loving God, Whom we have never seen, if we do not love our freakish or uptight brothers and sisters, whom we have?
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Off Into The Sunset
My fellow Bth-ers,
We have spent so much time together in classes, chapel, and chatting when I’m sure we should all have been doing coursework. I spent two years glued to some of you, and it was time most assuredly well spent and which I value greatly – though I admit that getting the adhesive off is about to get more painful. Pulling the glue off always is, I suppose.
Katherine: you are always so penetrating and you courageously tell us what you think, regardless of whether we agree with you or not. You’ve never hidden behind anything, and I envy you.
Barbara: you are such a warm person, and your life has been so touching. Thank you so much for sharing a part of it with me.
Bob: even though you could probably crush me like a bug, you’re really like a big teddy bear, with so much enthusiasm, and so much hard work even when it was difficult. I wants me my hugs! *threatening look*
Denise: such quiet calm strength! You always had a kind word for someone who needed to hear one, and you always took the time to really listen to other people’s stories.
Sybil: you’re so passionate about everything, and so vibrant, like a ray of sunshine.
David: so full of enthusiasm and new faith, you’ll be a great minister, and a brilliant scholar of you decide to go that route.
Marc and Mike: you guys speak for yourselves. Especially you, Marc.
Reza: I really wish I saw more of you. You too, Eric.
Some of us went ‘sideways’ this year to do other things. Jeff, I miss you so much! If you never come back I’ll hit you over the head with my computer. Nathan, you’re so funny and good humored; a breath of fresh air. You’re also brilliant: I’m sure being so friendly was all an act so that when you take over the world we won’t have seen it coming.
Some of us haven’t completed our tour of duty yet. Donna, even when you’re having a hard time you put a brave face on it, and you’re always sensitive to the needs and vulnerabilities of the people around you. Andrew, your R-rated humor always makes me feel better. You don’t give yourself nearly as much credit as you deserve.
Some of us were here for a while and then weren’t. Hauke: your faith is infectious. I completely blame you for giving my own history in the Charismatic movement a much needed wake-up call. Daniel, you’ve had so much hardship these last two years, but you didn’t let it stop you. Danielle, I’m so happy that we’re in school together, even though we don’t take any of the same classes. It’s great to be able to run into you and talk about stuff. To both of you, you’ll never know quite how glad I was not to be the only dissatisfied Roman Catholic kicking around in the program. Robin, you’re graduating this year, too. You made me question what it even means to be Catholic, to be sacramentally inclined, to belong to a tradition, and I loved every minute of our conversations. Your radio show is awesome!!! (plus, you have great guests) Emily...I miss you. I really, really miss you. You brought me to chapel with you, you are so open and happy and I really, really miss you. School is a much poorer place without you.
Well, some of us spent two really intense years together. Some of us only spent one. But, speaking from a totally self-involved perspective, you all made it a worthwhile and deeply rewarding experience. It was hard not seeing you all the time this year, but I looked forward to accosting you on those occasions when I did. I’m going to miss you all so very much. I feel deeply privileged to have known you and studied with you and, for those of you whom I’ll see on Thursday, honored to have seen you graduate. I hope your ministries are all as fun and meaningful as this time has been. But it’s you guys: how could they not be?
Now remember: I’ve mentioned you in my blog and that means we’re friends forever.
p.s. I might cry. Please look away and pretend you don’t notice.
We have spent so much time together in classes, chapel, and chatting when I’m sure we should all have been doing coursework. I spent two years glued to some of you, and it was time most assuredly well spent and which I value greatly – though I admit that getting the adhesive off is about to get more painful. Pulling the glue off always is, I suppose.
Katherine: you are always so penetrating and you courageously tell us what you think, regardless of whether we agree with you or not. You’ve never hidden behind anything, and I envy you.
Barbara: you are such a warm person, and your life has been so touching. Thank you so much for sharing a part of it with me.
Bob: even though you could probably crush me like a bug, you’re really like a big teddy bear, with so much enthusiasm, and so much hard work even when it was difficult. I wants me my hugs! *threatening look*
Denise: such quiet calm strength! You always had a kind word for someone who needed to hear one, and you always took the time to really listen to other people’s stories.
Sybil: you’re so passionate about everything, and so vibrant, like a ray of sunshine.
David: so full of enthusiasm and new faith, you’ll be a great minister, and a brilliant scholar of you decide to go that route.
Marc and Mike: you guys speak for yourselves. Especially you, Marc.
Reza: I really wish I saw more of you. You too, Eric.
Some of us went ‘sideways’ this year to do other things. Jeff, I miss you so much! If you never come back I’ll hit you over the head with my computer. Nathan, you’re so funny and good humored; a breath of fresh air. You’re also brilliant: I’m sure being so friendly was all an act so that when you take over the world we won’t have seen it coming.
Some of us haven’t completed our tour of duty yet. Donna, even when you’re having a hard time you put a brave face on it, and you’re always sensitive to the needs and vulnerabilities of the people around you. Andrew, your R-rated humor always makes me feel better. You don’t give yourself nearly as much credit as you deserve.
Some of us were here for a while and then weren’t. Hauke: your faith is infectious. I completely blame you for giving my own history in the Charismatic movement a much needed wake-up call. Daniel, you’ve had so much hardship these last two years, but you didn’t let it stop you. Danielle, I’m so happy that we’re in school together, even though we don’t take any of the same classes. It’s great to be able to run into you and talk about stuff. To both of you, you’ll never know quite how glad I was not to be the only dissatisfied Roman Catholic kicking around in the program. Robin, you’re graduating this year, too. You made me question what it even means to be Catholic, to be sacramentally inclined, to belong to a tradition, and I loved every minute of our conversations. Your radio show is awesome!!! (plus, you have great guests) Emily...I miss you. I really, really miss you. You brought me to chapel with you, you are so open and happy and I really, really miss you. School is a much poorer place without you.
Well, some of us spent two really intense years together. Some of us only spent one. But, speaking from a totally self-involved perspective, you all made it a worthwhile and deeply rewarding experience. It was hard not seeing you all the time this year, but I looked forward to accosting you on those occasions when I did. I’m going to miss you all so very much. I feel deeply privileged to have known you and studied with you and, for those of you whom I’ll see on Thursday, honored to have seen you graduate. I hope your ministries are all as fun and meaningful as this time has been. But it’s you guys: how could they not be?
Now remember: I’ve mentioned you in my blog and that means we’re friends forever.
p.s. I might cry. Please look away and pretend you don’t notice.
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