Rainbow Fish -- Get Out Of That Net!

This Sunday at church we had a double-Baptism: two very cute little children being welcomed into the community, accompanied and supported by parents, godparents and family. A great opportunity to show them what we're all about -- as the priest said at one point in his homily, to do our duty by leading people to Jesus.

Some great readings, too. In the Gospel, Jesus tells his disciples to leave behind their nets and become fishers of men. Exactly what we're called in Baptism to do -- to bring people to Jesus by using all our gifts to catch them up in a love-affair with the Gospel.

The homily began by asking if we have, in this day and age, the courage to follow the Faith of our Fathers. A Biblical Faith.

The homily was mostly about gays.

The words 'gay' and 'homosexual' were never actually used. But it was obvious what he was talking about. He said things like that the idea that we need to engage in 'moral expansions' is bad. That the idea it's okay to live this way or that way, any way we want, is wrong. That God is eternal and unchanging, and what He always hated He still hates.

The words 'repugnant' and 'abomination' were used.

It was terrifying. As bad as when that guest speaker from Jews for Jesus (or whoever) came to our church and told us to pray for the conversion of the Jews because all his Jewish friends and family who didn't believe in Jesus were going straight to hell.

I found myself thinking about those poor people who were there for the Baptism -- what must they be thinking and feeling? Were they thinking: your homophobic sermon is ruining my special day? Were they thinking: who are you people? Were they thinking: that's it, Christianity is definitely not for me? Or were they thinking: right on, brother!

Mostly I was thinking about me, and how I wanted to run away in terror. I worry about speaking up. This is odd for me, since at one point I went head-to-head in a radio interview with one of Canada's experts on why gay marriage is wrong. But now, I worry that if people in my church know how strongly I disagree with the things he said, I wouldn't be allowed to preach anymore. I'm supposed to preach next week.

If you want to call what I do a ministry, which I guess you could if you were desperate, it's a very fragile one. I read from the lectionary, set up a Morning Prayer for the church once a week, am on parish council. Sometimes I get to preach. I have no certification or licence from the diocese, so it all depends on the forbearance of my priest and the community. I have not forgotten, and cannot forget, what it means to live with secret convictions, to fear that what precious little I have could be taken away. And I fear that without honesty everything I say is meaningless anyway.

I had to remind myself that taking Eucharist is not a political act. Receiving Jesus' gift of Himself in no way implies that I agree with the message. Sacrament and sermon are not indelibly connected. But I still felt a little like a traitor.

The message I got from the sermon is that Jesus sends his disciples out to become fishers of men. And if you happen to catch a gay or lesbian fish, by God you have to throw it back in the water because God doesn't want to eat that kind of fish. That's our Baptismal mission.

But that isn't the faith I believe in. That isn't the kind of Christian I believe we're called to be. And that isn't the kind of God I could love.

The Price Of A Sparrow

Sometimes I really love McDonald's! - and yes, yes I know it's bad for me and I'll have a coronary by the age of thirty, but let's leave that aside, shall we?

Anyway, it was a dark and rainy and cold evening and my brain was hurting from looking at microfiche all afternoon. When I got to the train station, I had nine minutes to catch my train. In that time, I went all the way to the other end of the station, went through the Golden Arches, got dinner, and went back to the train with four minutes to spare. Awesome! Now I'll get home an hour earlier and have more time to waste on addictive Facebook games (you know who you are).

I sometimes wonder, though, if McDonald's and its various spin-offs are hurting my soul. I mean, doesn't it seem like, more and more, we're cut off from the process and only see the final product? I'm not advocating that we rise up and overthrow our capitalist overlords, comrades, but isn't it a bit sad to be cut off from the holistic experience of the entirety of a thing only to know a part of it? I mean, in a way it's backwards from what Marx was on about, because we do see the end, but it's just as fragmentary, just as divorced and segmented.

I sometimes wonder if maybe we want things a little too quickly, and that we take for granted all the things that have to go on in the background. Take my cheeseburger, for example. Somewhere out there, a cow died. And someone had to invent the process for making processed cheese. Not to mention the pickle. Also cooking the think and putting on the ketchup. Someday, they tell us, one too many cows will fart in one two many fields, and the resulting greenhouse gases will tip the global warming process past the point of no return, and all our ecosystems will collapse. While I think we all have the right to eat delicious, nutritious cows, I think maybe we shouldn't take it for granted, that there's something behind a burger that takes five minutes to make and even less to eat.

We want things a little too quickly, a little too glibly. You get mad when the line is too long, when things don't happen instantly, when things just don't seem to be getting done the way they should be (you know: when people just aren't reading your mind, goddamit!). Maybe all this emphasis on fastness is hurting us - or me - in ways I can't even begin to imagine. Maybe we aren't taking the time that we should.

Or maybe I'm just pissy because I haven't written in this blog for so long and because it rained.

So do not be afraid of them. There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known. What I tell you in the dark, speak in the daylight; what is whispered in your ear, proclaim from the roofs. Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. (Mt 10:26-31 NIV)

I suppose what this means is that to proclaim the Gospel means loving and praising God with your whole life, and not forgetting that creation is His even though you get to use it. So maybe don't rush things so much, or feel like it all revolves around you, or forget all that goes into it and that it all has a purpose. [and now I win the award for Most Sloppy Biblical Exegesis EVER!!]

But everyone's got to eat. And sometimes I really love McDonald's.

God Being My Helper

Two Sundays ago (I was meaning to write sooner, sorry), I was received into the Anglican communion at SJE as they celebrated the beginning of their Jubilee year. As usual, their liturgy was perfect, full of the things I love (and you can tell they're taking it seriously when there's a rehearsal). I am not indifferent to beautiful ritual.

Everything seemed to come together nicely for me: two years less a day after making my decision to leave the Roman Catholic Church, I was received at a parish whose rich liturgy I love, attended by some people from my home church, and was sponsored by someone I know from school and whom I greatly admire. In short, all the disparate elements of my faith journey coming together.

Many people have asked me why I chose to be received at all, since it makes no tangible difference. After all, they pointed out, I was already receiving Eucharist. I was a reader, on the Parish Council, helped at morning prayer, led a talk on Anglican liturgy, went to Bible study and had been allowed to preach several times. "As far as we're concerned," they said, "you're already Anglican."

I suppose there's no single answer. I wanted to be received because I came from a tradition that values it. Because I believe in the grace that accompanies sacramentals. Because I wanted to make a public declaration of my faith. Because I wanted to feel like I really belong to the Church instead of just being there. Because I love the Anglican Church and wanted to be a part of it in every possible way.

The ceremony itself was fairly simple. The candidates were introduced, then we knelt in front of the bishop. He took our hands and said this: "we recognize you as a member of the one holy Catholic and Apostolic Church and we receive you into the fellowship of this Communion. God, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, bless, preserve, and keep you. Amen." We had all renewed our baptismal vows. That we had to promise we believed the Creed before we were received really drives home the point about what the Anglican Church believes it is: a part of the one Church of Jesus Christ. It seems to me that, while we have a distinctive worship and some unique beliefs, what really defines us is our deeper unity with the whole of the Christian Church. It is only in and through oneness that we bind ourselves to this Communion; it is only as Christians catholic and apostolic that the Anglican Church as a way of living our faith embraces us as members.

I felt both happy and relieved. Happy because I'd been waiting for this a very long time. Relieved because I felt like I wasn't in a no-man's land of churchlessness anymore. The time between excommunication and reception was uncomfortable, to say the least!

I'm proud and happy to say I'm Anglican. To be a full member of this Church, to live the baptised life within this Communion.

"Will you endeavor to keep God's holy will and commandments and to walk in the same all the days of your life?"

--I will, God being my helper.