Thoughts Under The DOMA

“Hey Cindy! We want to invite you guys over on Friday.  We’re having a group of people over and want to include you and Gayle.”

“Sounds great!  What can we bring?”

“Not a thing.  Just yourselves.  We just love you two!”

* * *

“Come on in! Glad you could make it.  Dinner is almost ready.  Ok, everyone, listen up. We don’t have enough china and steaks for everyone.  So, all the straight couples are going to eat in the dining room.  Cindy & Gayle – we have one other gay couple coming, and we thought you guys could eat in the kitchen at that table.  Help yourself to paper plates, and there are some hamburgers and chips on the counter. If you need cheese or other condiments, they should be in the fridge.  We are SO glad you could come – we just love you guys!”

* * *

Ridiculous isn’t it.  Imagine inviting your friends over and making some of them sit at “the kids’” table, or in the kitchen, serving them something less than what the other guests are eating because you just didn’t have enough for everyone. And expecting them to believe you when you tell them they are just as important to you as your other friends who get to sit at the same table as the hosts and have the full meal.

We have visited a couple of “welcoming and affirming” churches the past few weeks, and I begin to see more and more why this is such an important identifier for the LGBT community.  I have been blessed to be a part of some congregations who have been very welcoming and loving to me, but they have not been able, yet, to take that next step toward being openly affirming. It seems to say - Our straight members can have their unions celebrated and blessed by their church family, but not everyone would “understand” if we offered this to same sex couples in our family. It’s not legal in our state, anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.  

And why do I want to be “blessed” by a church that for centuries hasn’t seemed to want to recognize my existence? I  want to share this with my church family because I love these people, too; we share the same journey in seeking to know our Creator’s purpose for our lives; we share many of one another’s struggles; and I want to fully share one another’s life celebrations.  I prefer not to have to tip toe gingerly around some topics. Marriage has been the topic of the day thanks to the Supreme Court decision overturning DOMA.  But churches need to realize that marriages (or blessing unions) is not the only “affirming” issue on the table. If a gay couple adopts a child together, would you be willing to celebrate with them in a baptism/dedication of that child? (And if so, are you prepared to explain to the child as he or she grows in the church why you could not bless the union of his/her parents?). If one of the partners should die, are you willing to gather around them and acknowledge the partner’s loss that is left behind as you would any other member losing a spouse? DOMA is important, but it is just the tip of the iceberg.   

To be openly affirming, in my mind, means that I get to sit at the “adult” table.  The china and the steak and the wine are not withheld from me because I’m “too young” or just not “quite” a full-fledged member of the group.  It’s a bit like saying, “We love you guys! But please don’t ask for more than we are prepared to give. You’ve done without this long – let’s not rock the boat and risk offending anyone. YOU understand, right?”

Nightmarriage - by Chad Thomas Johnston - IMHO

Chad Thomas Johnston’s book Nightmarriage is anything BUT a tome describing marriage as a bad dream. If the book is to be pegged at all (and this may be a disservice), it is a comic celebration of finding one’s way through dimly lit first, and often unexpected, experiences in young marriage and child rearing. In a style reminiscent of David Sedaris, Chad allows us to join him on the journey of negotiating compromise and revelation in his marriage to Becki and the birth of their daughter.  His writing is clever and creative, but never caustic – and this is perhaps the true gem of his abilities as a storyteller.  I found myself smiling almost constantly as I read Nightmarriage – when I wasn’t laughing aloud – but never at anyone’s expense. And I was so immediately engaged, that I read the book in one sitting. There is a wide-eyed innocence in the way he weaves together this memoir, not unlike the tall tale of a precocious child. Johnston is clearly in touch with his inner precociousness, and the reader cannot help but be simultaneously amused and captivated. I eagerly await the future antics of the Johnston clan. 

Maternal Musings

This was my childhood, and perhaps the reason why my mother drove in the distracted, clutch burning way I (and all my friends) recall. I have no two-legged children of my own - I've always been mother to the four-legged, furry variety - but that hasn't kept me from exercising innate maternal instincts to serve, protect, and discipline my own students, niece and nephew, and other young children in my charge, as well as function as surrogate seatbelt as the need presented itself.

In the days and weeks leading to this Mother's Day 2013, I've had the opportunity to reflect on mothers and motherhood in a variety of ways. Age and circumstance does have a way of providing perspective, and Mother's Day is about more than just buying the token gift of appreciation. So, in no particular order, I offer the following musings of a non-mother, middle-aged woman.

Musing 1:  I'm at the age where I and most of my friends are learning to adapt to aging mothers - and sometimes experiencing a bit of role reversal. Once discussion of who is taking Lipitor and acid reflux meds and how much, concludes, the topic often turns to the enormous difficulty of maintaining respect for one's parents while feeling the need to take on a parental role with them. It often feels like a delicate balance between respect and neglect.

Musing 2: Several of my closest friends have lost their mothers recently (from as early as 6 weeks to 2 years ago). We all lost our fathers earlier. And I am faced with the very real prospect of joining them as a member of the middle-aged orphan's club in the not too distant future. It is sad to ponder, but for all of us, we have great memories, and our mothers lived (and in my case, continue to live) full and fulfilling lives. They miss their mothers, and I will miss mine, but our mothers were there for us through the tougher parts of life, and we are all better people for it. I saw a comment on Facebook this morning from an old college friend to another close friend that I found particular poignant - "In general I don't like Mother's Day. It is an unnecessary holiday if we love and value the relationship. But once our mom is gone it is a reminder to recollect and celebrate times past, much like observing saints days. Happy Doris and Daphne day to you." I really like this - thanks, Cheryl.

Musing 3: And then there are those who lose their moms way too soon. I see this with some of my students. Some fare better than others, with great step-moms or surrogate moms. Some find themselves toughing it out in foster care, or with relatives who aren't as supportive as one might hope. I don't always know the details of their stories, but everyday I see the results. I also see the detritus of kids with great, though imperfect, moms - who love them passionately, even if imperfectly at times. I worry about them, because they get angry with their mom's imperfections and lose precious and special moments with their moms during those angry times that they shut them out. Someday, when they are 52 and their mom is gone or aging to the point they aren't quite "the same," they will regret those lost moments and memories. Or worse, the unexpected will happen, and they will lose their mom way too soon, and they will find out too late that they can never get those lost minutes back. I was reminded of that when I read the Facebook posting of one of my strong, smart students on Wednesday: "I want my mom. I want her to come see me sing tomorrow night, and I want to give her flowers on Sunday, and I want her to see me pass junior year. I just want those simple moments. Nothing fancy, just the little things." She gets it. And I'm sad for the kids whose moms are still around who don't.

Musing 4:  My mom and I have never had one of those "warm, fuzzy" touchy-feely relationships. I suppose there have been times in my life where I wish we had.  But, we have always been close, and we have always had the ability to communicate - good or bad, happy or sad. There has never been any doubt in my mind that she loves, and has loved, me to the very best of her ability to love. We are both imperfect humans, and we have both disappointed each other at times, but I don't think either of us has ever doubted that we were there for one another. That's the love part, friends. Happy Nancy Day.

Looking Back, Living Forward - Part 2 (or Days of Wine and Sticker Roses)

As my previous post explained, the Frau and I made a move recently, and I have been "treasure hunting" as part of the downsizing process. I have been amazed at some of what I have uncovered - my old locker combination from high school - really? whatever for? Straight to the trash can. Then again, I have been lucky to uncover some real finds.

When I first moved back to the Kansas City area twelve years ago, I joined an Episcopal church. It was a bitter pill for my Baptist minister father to swallow, but he handled it with a great deal of grace. In the throes of becoming acquainted with my new religious affiliation, and persuaded by some of the women in the church choir, I did something that goes against everything I have ever believed.  Something that would shock anyone who knows me.  I look back on it now and still can't believe I did it.

I went to a weekend Women's Retreat.

There.  I said it. 

But after all, they were Episcopalian, so there was wine. And episodes of the Vicar of Dibley.  And I'd have my own room.  So . . . How bad could it be?  

It was actually not bad at all. I credit the wine and single room with much of that.

One of the activities we participated in was to reflect on a woman who had influenced our life - our spiritual life - in a most significant way.  Everyone got a colored index card with a cute little floral sticker shaped like a heart (the sticker almost ruined it for me) with instructions to write down their reflection and plan to share it later. We had some time to ourselves between writing and sharing, and I went back to my single room and started thinking through the women who had influenced me.  

I had completely forgotten about this until we started packing and moving. But I found my little blue index card, sticker still intact in the top left corner, in a drawer somewhere and reading it again twelve years later, I was glad that I went to the retreat, and that I saved the card. 

When I think of the women who have influenced my life in the most significant way, I am prompted to realize that God not only shapes us by our contact with spiritual giants, but also by our encounters with searching souls. One of the most influential women in my life was a high school English teacher. She was a fascinating and eclectic enigma - German born, she spoke beautiful English with a British accent, was well read, an avid tennis player, and loved music - from Debussy to Hindu chants to Neil Diamond. She introduced me to a world of books I had not hitherto encountered - from Norwegian esoterics to Egyptian and Sumerian mythology to classic science fiction, and everything in the gaps. She explained to me the concept of the Renaissance man, and modeled the Renaissance woman. The greatest gift she gave to me, however, was the opportunity to discuss my faith in true intellectual dialogue. She was searching - and we had many discussions about the dichotomy between my view of a loving, forgiving God - which she admired - as opposed to her perspective of a vengeful, wrathful God, which was the only one she had every known and couldn't quite release. She allowed this 16/17 year old to meet her on an equal plane in these dialogues - and sometimes trade roles and become the teacher. And being able to wrestle with WHY I felt the way I did about God so that I could dialogue with a mentor whose intellect I so respected, was truly one of the greatest spiritual growth experiences of my life.

Looking Back, Living Forward

In the time my blog has been idle since late February, you could say I've been busy. March and April are always busy months for a high school choir director - preparing and performing in various festivals/competitions/assessments and getting ready for end of year concerts and commencement. It's enough to keep any sane person's plate full. I, however, decided to turn March and April into a freaking buffet.  

March 8, the Frau and I picked up our periodic discussion of downsizing, the headaches of home maintenance - we own an older home with "character" and the character is starting to cost us - and the amount of drive time I have to work (about 45-50 minutes). Usually, the discussion drifts to exploring where we want to ultimately retire, with me looking for employment in those areas, and us making one final move to a warm climate and a maintenance free and downsized home. Different stars were in alignment on March 8, though, and we went into search mode.  The morning of March 9 we sat down in our respective recliners with our Mac Books and started searching for town homes and luxury apartments closer to my school.  We visited some of these that afternoon and the following day, and on the evening of March 10, signed a lease on a luxury apartment 15 minutes from my school.  We put the house on the market on March 11, took possession of the apartment on March 18 and spent my spring break moving, sold the house two weeks later, and close the sale a week from tomorrow. Throw in a garage sale and numerous car trips full of the dregs that just seem to grow when one is moving out, and you could say we had multiple "full plates" over the past few weeks.

Yes, things have been crazy, but we are about to finally settle into some sort of normalcy, love our new place, and both of us are looking forward to more time together, more time writing, and less windshield time for me. Which leads me to the focus of this, and possibly the next few postings. Moving and downsizing resulted in me looking back at lots of "treasures" - not all of which needed to be saved, but which certainly brought back many fond people memories - and lots of "I told you so" moments.

"I told you so" #1: I have always been a photo hound, and in the days of print film I spent hundreds of dollars on hundreds of pictures everywhere I traveled. My mother would always comment, "there are no people in this picture!" I scoffed at her and marveled at the artistry of my photos of major landmarks all over Europe. As I went through tubs of loose pictures and unopened photo albums, I discovered that the majority of the pictures I wanted to save had (yes, Mom, you were right again) people in them. Its the people that made those memories and landmarks special for me.

"I told you so" #2: The Frau has been telling me for years that I need to go through and sort all my old photos and I might find some of the ones I've been searching for through the years.  Two years ago, when my oldest friend, Robert, and I both turned 50, I wanted to put together a Shutterfly book of the experiences we have shared since we were in 4th grade, into junior high and high school, college, and a few European travel trips.  Our parents were good friends, as well, and I had no doubt I would come up with plenty of fodder for the book.  Robert's birthday came and went with no such book, because I simply couldn't find but  4-5 pictures of us. I could recall specific pictures, but I couldn't locate them. During the whirlwind that has been the past two months, Robert lost his mom. Only days before the funeral I had finally found the missing pictures (and more that I had forgotten I had) in the process of packing and moving. I was able to put the book together - two years late, but probably at a much more appreciated time. The book, you see, was framed by a picture of the birthday card we had been sending back and forth, with extra notes stapled inside, since 1974. We got the idea from his mom who had done something similar with a close friend of hers for many, many years. 

Regardless the chaos and frenetic nature of the past few weeks, the journey through forgotten photos has been a welcome calm of reflection, even while the rest of my life is moving forward in an exciting new direction.

Some Things Just Can't Be Explained

My ongoing dialogue about the existence of God continues with my oldest friend, and while I maintain that the more I know, the more I realize I don’t know, and while I enjoy any conversation that encourages me to think and question what I believe, I continue to rest assured about the existence of God. And here is just one reason why.  

In the past few weeks I’ve had the opportunity to be a part of several significant music making experiences. This is one of the perks of having chosen a profession that I love and that gives to me far more joy than frustration. As a result, I’ve been lucky enough to experience unexplainable welling of emotion in several instances in recent days. In some cases I was moved by text as enhanced by music, in others by the simple joy of watching young people actually capturing the meaning and joy of what they were singing—as they sang it.

While in New York with some of my students who were participating in the Honors Performance Series National Honor Choir, under the direction of Dr. Eph Ehly, I found myself brought very close to tears of joy during not one, but two different rehearsals of Dan Forrest’s gorgeous setting of  You Are the Music.  Amy Lowell’s poem, which grounds the work, is moving in its text, but gains its power from Forrest’s setting of the lyrics to music.  Were I to simply read the poem, I would no doubt be moved, but not to the heart-rending depths that occurred from hearing this text sung—and understood and experienced—by almost 300 talented high school students from all over the country.

‘Tis you that are the music, not your song.

The song is but a door which, op’ning wide,

Lets forth the pent-up melody inside,

Your spirit’s harmony, which clear and strong

Sings but of you.

Throughout your whole life long

Your songs, your thoughts, your doings, each divide,

This perfect beauty.

Waves within a tide, 

Or single notes amid a glorious throng.

The song of earth has many different chords; 

many moods and many tones,

Yet always ocean.

So is this one music,

with a thousand cadences.

– Listening by Amy Lowell

A couple of weeks later, I was back in Kansas listening to the Kansas All State Choir rehearse under the direction of Dr. Edith Copely. These talented kids were exploring the gamut of human emotion in the various selections they were preparing, and they were realizing some powerful musical and emotional moments. I shared one of those “in my gut” moments when I am moved and so glad I am a part of this profession as they sang How Can I Keep From Singing arranged by Taylor Davis, and Tides of Ocean by Matthew Orlovich. Because of near blizzard conditions in Wichita, these young singers had been fighting staggered arrivals of members of the choir, and the stress of getting there themselves.  Dr. Copely, however, managed what could have been an untenable situation, guiding them to some incredible musical moments to which they followed willingly and received their just reward.

I’m not a publicly emotional person as a rule.  Perhaps this is why music is an important part of my life, because it gives voice and expression to emotions that I am loathe to express openly in any other way. What is it about music that gives it the ability to reach to our very depths and extract the very feeling that has been suppressed and craves outward expression?  What is that overwhelming wave of feeling that conjures up goose bumps (or “chicken skin” or chills, depending on your geographic locale) almost to the point of weeping or laughter?  I can’t explain it, anymore than I can explain God’s existence.  But I can’t deny the power of it.  And how could something that powerfully moving not have some divine Creator as its author?

My life flows on in endless song;

Above earth’s lamentation,

I hear the sweet, tho’ far-off hymn

That hails a new creation;

Thro’ all the tumult and the strife

I hear the music ringing;

It finds an echo in my soul —

How can I keep from singing?

What tho’ my joys and comforts die?

The Lord my Saviour liveth;

What tho’ the darkness gather round?

Songs in the night he giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm

While to that refuge clinging;

Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth,

How can I keep from singing?

I lift my eyes; the cloud grows thin;

I see the blue above it;

And day by day this pathway smooths,

Since first I learned to love it;

The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,

A fountain ever springing;

All things are mine since I am his —

How can I keep from singing?

– Robert Lowry

Faith and Certitude

I went to a reading last night, by Kelly Barth, of her hilarious–tragic–inspiring–thought-provoking memoir, My Almost Certainly Real Imaginary Jesus (published by Arktoi press — see my previous review of the book here). As much as I enjoyed reading the book initially, it became more vividly real as I listened to the author read her own words in the sanctuary of a church that had been one of her previous faith communities. At times, it was like being a welcome guest at a family reunion as she laughed with audience members who had shared many of the memories of the birth of this congregation of which they were all an integral part. As she neared the end of the reading, she commented that the book had been a ten-year project, that she had morphed spiritually throughout its writing, with a huge spiritual morph just as she completed the book. But (and I hope I capture the essence of what she said even though I can't quote her precisely) the Christian faith in which she was raised is still deeply rooted in her marrow—she is still "genetically" Christian, even though her current faith practice has evolved into more of a contemporary cosmology.

Earlier this week I spent fifteen wonderful minutes listening to Rev. Adam Hamilton, Senior Pastor of Kansas City's Methodist Church of the Resurrection, give the sermon at the Inaugural Prayer Service (see it for yourself here). As he reflected on the Inaugural theme—Faith in America's Future—he summarized that "It is this faith that calls and compels us to humility, and compassion and concern for the nobodies. It is this faith that helps us to discover the kinds of visions that are worthy of our great nation and worthy of the sacrifices we can make. It is this faith that sustains us when we feel like giving up."

So, Cindy, this is all well and good, but what is your point exactly in sharing these two experiences? I do have one. Really.

In my previous post I raised some pretty pointed and serious questions by my dear friend, Robert. We have been having dialogues like this since we were in fifth grade, and it is one of the great gifts of my life that we continue to be dear friends and continue to challenge one another to think "deep thoughts." I still don't have answers for him, but I am so very glad that he has challenged me to continue to question "why."

Listening to both Adam and Kelly this week have at least sparked some "reasons"—if not clear cut answers—to some of those questions.

As Kelly pointed out, there is so much about the cosmos that we just don't know. That comforts me. People who combine faith and certitude frighten me. There are many things of which I cannot be certain, but my faith is so deeply intertwined in my DNA, that it does continue to sustain me, even if I can't ever explain why.

Adam retold the story of Martin Luther King in a moment of great despair, ready to give up and feeling wholly unable to continue on. Then King described "experiencing the presence of the Divine," and he found the strength to carry on. I have had similar moments in my own life—weeping in a dark attic apartment in the weeks and months after my youngest sister died, wondering why God sent angels to people in the Bible to comfort them in their despair, while I was left to wallow alone in my grief and depression. Then, like "knocking a hole in the darkness" the phone would ring and an old friend would say, "I just wanted to call and see how you were doing."  

There are many things I don't know. Many questions I can't answer. Many circumstances I can't explain. But I have experienced the presence of something Divine—and continue to—and hear the voice of something much greater than myself in the voice of others. Rejection is just not an option for me. And yes, the Church is full of human people who often get it wrong—really wrong and cause a lot of pain and scars. But with the faith that is an inherent part of me, I am compelled to do what I am able to "knock holes in the darkness" where I may, to wrestle, alongside others, who are brave enough to ask the tough questions, and to show compassion for the nobodies—whoever they might be. 

God help me. 

But if I ever become one of those certain, unquestioning Christians, 

God help me more.

God & Gays: Questions, Questions

One of my oldest and closest friends and I have an ongoing dialogue about God, the gay community, and we invariably find ourselves with far more questions than answers.  To be fair, my primo tends to raise most of the questions, while I blog about trying to find the answers :-) 

So for today, this historic Martin Luther King Day which also marks the 2nd inauguration of our first black President who is the first President to ever come close to acknowledging in an important public forum that gays might deserve the same rights as white men, I'm just going to post the questions and comments from my friend that raise more questions.  They deserve some time and thought.

"I'll remind you that I believe that man created god in his own image.  The men who created our brand of god were highly homophobic, so naturally they created the necessary god and sin to support their way of thinking. So, why do you want to believe in that god and want to form part of his church? This god that was invented by homophobic men has rejected you for over 5000 years."

"The same god whom LGBT Christians tout as being a god of love and compassion is the same god who sits around twiddling his thumbs while his congregation apparently misrepresents his intentions.  In the meantime, people like ****** died a tortured, agonizing death in solitude because their parents cannot find  the love and compassion to share his suffering with their friends."

". . . I wish every LGBT who is out now could have lived in any major city in the USA in the mid to late 80's as those of us who were out then did, watching all of our friends die (of AIDS) in a world of no support.  The Church had a unique moment in history to put its love and compassion into practice and chose not to.  F*** them and the god they believe in - I'll create my own god."

"I watched so many men die alone in hospital corridors.  I held hands with men who were too weak to even tell me what their names were - like it really mattered moments before death.  When someone clutches you and you hear the death rattle in their throat and they expire, well, you just have to wonder where God was in all of that."

"But where is God in all this?  His followers are human and therefore imperfect.  God, however, is God and supposedly perfect.  What perfect parent sits around for thousands of years watching his people become more and more oblivious to his message?  A parent seeing a child about to harm himself does something to prevent it at some point.  Oh, but wait, thankfully, we have a story in Genesis to explain all that - right. Tree of Knowledge, free will, okay, check, got it.  All clear now."

Lots of folks out there with these questions, and I don't think pat answers and "pretty phrases" are going cut it.  Time for some serious thinking.

Dreamers

God Love Wendell Berry - Intolerance and/OR Compassion

God love Wendell Berry and other heterosexuals who don't see gay marriage as a threat or an abomination - or, for that matter, as a "right" to be granted.  In a recent article put out by abpnews, Berry asserts that liberals and conservatives have invented "a politics of sexuality" that establishes marriage as a "right" to be granted or withheld by whichever side prevails.  He said both viewpoints contravene principles of democracy that rights are self-evident and inalienable and not determined and granted or withheld by the government.

I shared another article on Facebook from the Huffington Post the other day and found myself in an interesting dialogue/commentary with two former students - one on the far left, and one on the far right of the discussion. The HP article suggested that it is time for conservative Christians to "evolve" on the subject of LGBT equality.  My far right friend patently disagreed, quoting scripture and verse to support his stance. I pointed out that God is love, and Jesus was compassionate to the point of choosing not to observe Biblical and Pharasaic law and heal folks (usually presumed to be in need of healing because of some "sin") on the Sabbath (a law deemed punishable by death). Further "discussion" ensued, my far left friend adding his two cents in support of my assertions, with neither side giving much ground to the other - but kindly and civilly, of course.

And then, I politely stopped "discussing." There comes a point where one realizes there is no common ground to be had, and the dialogue becomes a volleying of monologues.  I have to admit I was saddened to have to accept that my former student was "compassionately" pointing out that he was intolerant of my "sin."

No matter how intolerant of me or the truth of Jesus our society becomes . . . I won't "evolve" into a mentality that equates sin with truth.  But that doesn't mean I am not compassionate, either.  Jesus dined with prostitutes and thieves, yet he was intolerant of sin.  I'm not a hate monger or bigot because I'm intolerant of the LGBT lifestyle: I just don't believe it is right by God's standard expressed in the Bible. Compassion does not mean tolerance of sin. . . .  Therefore, followers of Jesus cannot simply "evolve" to accept as truth a concept that would betray their faith.

My sadness came from wondering what he really knows about the "LGBT lifestyle" - and whether, as a part of his "compassion," he even wants to understand it.  Nor do I, as a follower of Jesus, find my "lifestyle" a betrayal of my faith.  My "lifestyle" is pretty normal and even boring by most people's standards - heterosexuals included.  In fact, the only thing that distinguishes my life from my heterosexual counterparts is who I choose to sleep with.  And, like most of my middle aged, straight friends, there is generally a lot more sleeping than "sinning" occurring. I'm frankly not sure that my "lifestyle" is worthy of the time and energy involved in being "intolerant."

I find myself saying this often, so forgive the broken record if you've heard this before, but . . . When homosexuals become a face and a family, rather than an abstraction and an arbitrary group, I think we all begin to wrestle with our understanding of how Jesus would interact with, and love, this person. We all have to come to a decision about whether the Bible should be interpreted in light of the cultural context, or if they are God's overarching literal intent for all eternity.

As my far left friend and I continued our discussion privately, he pointed out that Wendell Berry perhaps said it best in the following:

"Condemnation by category is the lowest form of hatred, for it is cold-hearted and abstract, lacking even the courage of a personal hatred," Berry said.  "Categorical condemnation is the hatred of the mob. It makes cowards brave. And there is nothing more fearful than a religious mob, a mob overflowing with righteousness - as at the crucifixion and before and since. This can happen only after we have made a categorical refusal to kindness: to heretics, foreigners, enemies or any other group different from ourselves."

May we all, myself included, avoid a betrayal of our faith through categorical condemnation. 

The Things We Do For Love

My friends, Dustin and Raymond, are in New York for a few days. They got their marriage license today and will be legally married (in the state of New York) tomorrow.  I am vicariously celebrating them and remembering my own wedding in July 2004.  This post is dedicated to them.

In 2004, Massachusetts was the only state where a gay couple could legally wed, and the "rules" had changed saying you had to be a resident of the state in order to be married there.  Oregon had briefly legalized it, and California had not yet come and gone.  Certainly, I celebrate the progress that has been made since 2004, and the number of states that now allow same sex couples to share in both the commitment and the legal benefits of being a married couple in the US.  In 2004, though, Canada seemed to be the most stable option, and I even opined that foreign marriages might be recognized in the states sooner, and more broadly, than those of other states.  So, we went that route.

Plans were soon underway to travel to Vancouver, BC, which is a beautiful and welcoming city, with absolutely lovely weather in the month of July (farewell midwest heat!).  Because of the distance, we didn't presume that any of our friends or family would be able to attend.  While we would have much preferred a small, local church affair, attended and witnessed by our friends and family, we resigned ourselves to a civil ceremony in a country where we are not citizens.

I alerted our hotel to our plans, asking if there was a small courtyard or public area where we could have our ceremony without being disruptive to other guests.  I also offered to provide a gratuity to any two of the hotel staff who might be willing to serve as witnesses.

The hotel was more than gracious, providing an upgraded room for "honeymooners" with a view of the harbor, leaving champagne and chocolate covered strawberries with a congratulatory note in our room, and reserving a courtyard balcony for our ceremony that also overlooked the harbor, in addition to two staff to witness the ceremony.

Our only on-site task still to be accomplished was to obtain our marriage license.  In Canada, these are typically procured at insurance agencies, and the one agency open on Saturday was in Chinatown - the Jack Chow Insurance Agency (across the street from the Sing Along Salon).  We managed to locate Jack Chow, secure the license, and return to the hotel in time to change clothes and meet the Marriage Commissioner who would perform the wedding and our new hotel staff friends.  The weather was beautiful, and the ceremony itself was meaningful, but would have been more so if we could have shared it with those in our close circle of family and friends.

Friends, marriage is a commitment.  And it is a public statement of a commitment two people have already made in their hearts to one another.  I don't think the ceremony "makes you married" any more than I think baptism "makes you a Christian." These are outward signs of a wonderful change that has already taken place in your heart. And the PUBLIC part of that is sharing the joy of it, putting it "out there" so that you will be accountable for that commitment.  It is the "Amen" stamped on the act.  An "Amen" that says between two people who love one another - "and I mean it!"  And the "Amen" by those who witness it to say "and we will support you!"  For my friends Dustin and Raymond, it also an "Amen" for the love they have for their son, Emmaus.  An "Amen" that says to him, you are loved and part of a secure and stable family - and we mean it!  Is there some reason why God would be against that?  Why only "one man and one woman" can enjoy this kind of commitment and support?

I am so happy for Dustin and Raymond - they will be celebrating with some friends and family, even if it isn't locally; they will be able to have their wedding in a church, which reinforces their commitment to God as an important part of their family and bond with one another. How nice it would have been, though, if all of this could have happened in their home town, in their home church, with all of their friends and family.

Following are some of the lines from my and the Frau's wedding ceremony.  Think how much more meaningful some of these words would have been for us if our witnesses had been our family and friends instead of hotel staff, and if our vows had been said before a minister in a church that reflected our faith and commitment to God. Our country is making progress, but we aren't there, yet.  Until then, same sex couples will have to do all kinds of crazy things to celebrate and confirm their love.

We are gathered here today to witness and to celebrate the coming together of two separate lives; to celebrate the joining of Gayle Reece and Cynthia Sheppard in marriage, to be alongside them, and to rejoice with them, as they make this important commitment to one another. . . .

The marriage commitment is one of faith.  Faith in one another is based on our commitment of loyalty and trust.  In marriage, mutual faith requires of both partners openness of expression and thought, freedom from doubt and suspicion and a commitment to speak the truth in love.

The marriage commitment is one of hope.  You must interpret each other's actions and words with understanding and compassion.  You have a vision of what you can become together.  Pursue that vision. Never let it die.

Finally, the marriage commitment is one of love in which both partners empty themselves of their own concerns and take upon themselves the concerns of each other.

It is into this high and serious estate that Gayle and Cindy desire to enter and be joined.

Cindy/Gayle, do you promise to unite your life with Gayle's/Cindy's life, to live together in the commitment of faith, hope and love; and do you promise to listen to her innermost thoughts, to be considerate and tender in your care of her, and stand by her faithfully, in sickness and in health, and leaving all others, to accept full responsibility for her every necessity until you are parted by death?

Gayle and Cindy, the vows through which you accept each other in marriage have no hidden power within themselves.  Only to the extent that they express in words your continuing intention and commitment do they have meaning.  In a world where the forces pushing people apart may often seem stronger than the forces drawing people together, your commitment to each other will need to be expressed and reconfirmed in many different ways in the coming days and years. The expression in today's vows is simply a visible milestone in your journey together.  

Thanks, Dustin and Rayms, for prompting me to revisit my own commitment and vows.  And I wish for you two, with Emmaus, a very happy journey to come.  Love wins!

When the World Does End - Making Sense of the Senseless

Well, here I am.  The world didn't end today.  Perhaps, if the Mayans were so smart, they might still be around to see the fallacy of their prediction . . .

Nevertheless, as I listened to 26 bells chime this morning in memory of the Sandy Hook shooting victims, it occurs to me that a bit of the world did end a week ago for the families and friends of these children and teachers.  And not just for those who knew them. We have been a nation obsessed with this tragedy for the past seven days. While we have experienced and mourned other equally senseless mass shootings over the past few years, I don't think we have reacted with this intensity to anything since the Oklahoma City bombing where, again, the senseless loss of lives was compounded because the innocent victims were children.

Then comes the onslaught of folks trying to make sense of the senseless.  

• Where was God?
• Why did we push God out of our schools?
• Too many guns
• Not enough guns
• Disarm the people
• Arm the teachers
• Help the mentally ill
• Lock up the mentally ill

Sorry, my friends.  You can't make sense of the senseless.  You can't force God onto people and into schools. You can't create non-violence through violence. As for the mentally ill, we can't sweep them under the rug, or force them to take their meds.

God has never left us, and no one has ever taken away my freedom, or yours, to pray in or out of school.  I'm just old enough (and started school in the Bible-belt South) to remember my teacher reading a short Bible story (with no commentary) at the start of the school day, and students taking turns saying a prayer for our food before we went to lunch.  I didn't find it particularly meaningful then, and I doubt that God was particularly "honored" by our efforts.  When it disappeared, I hardly noticed, yet I continued to communicate with God throughout my school day, shared my faith experiences, and felt God's presence with me.  By the time I was in high school, we had moved out of the Bible-belt, and some of my most significant spiritual experiences involved being able to have an open an honest discourse with my favorite teacher on matters of faith.  Because I took several English classes with this woman, some of my writing for her involved personal position papers and analysis of writing in which I was never forced to separate my faith from my intellectual inquiry.  Yep, God was in my school.  And I'm sure in many others.  And hanging copies of the Ten Commandments up in the school, or starting each day with a knee-jerk prayer, would have enhanced none of those experiences.

And while we are considering God's presence or lack thereof in our midst, let's recall Jesus - often referred to as one of the greatest teachers.  Imagine with me for a moment that Jesus was teaching at Sandy Hook.  Now, imagine Jesus being trained to carry an assault rifle or even smaller firearm to "protect" the children in his class in the event of a similar tragedy.  Can't quite picture it, can you? What I can picture is Jesus hiding those children in a bathroom and telling them to wait for "the good guys."  And I can picture Jesus throwing himself in front of a group of children to take the bullets intended for them.  And I can picture Jesus telling his students that he loved them. Hmm.  Guess Jesus was at Sandy Hook, after all.  But he sure wasn't protecting with a firearm.  Please don't ask me to do that, either.  

We assume that the killer was mentally ill, because we simply can't make sense of anyone in their right mind doing what he did.  It may be that he was just evil, impulsive, or otherwise damaged. Regardless, there will always be evil in the world.  There will always be impulsive and damaged individuals who hurt innocent people.  We can't "fix" that.  As fallible humans, all we can do is our best to protect our families, the innocent, the elderly, the physically and mentally ill, and then, do our best to pick up the pieces and comfort those who are hurting when evil momentarily wins.  If we do this, then evil may win a battle, but Love will win the war.  Love must always win.  Just ask the Mayans.

Anticipation

Ask me to identify my favorite season of the spiritual year, and I will answer Advent - that period of four Sundays prior to Christmas where we anticipate the coming of God in human form.  I have always found meaningful the symbolism of getting my spiritual house decorated and ready by representing that symbol through the decorating of my home for the holiday season.  

For the first time in my life, the first Sunday of Advent came and went.  My house and my heart were both unprepared for guests of any sort - holy or otherwise.  Chalk it up to unseasonably warm weather, an early Thanksgiving, wondering and wandering of late in a spiritual desert of my own making, or what have you.  My anticipation factor was not registering on anyone’s scale.

This past Wednesday, though, we took our freshmen choirs to Crown Center to sing, and the response of our largely senior citizen audience gave me a low grade buzz.  Friday brought a double whammy - first, my chamber choir dressed like characters from the Polar Express, rode a real train for 90 minutes with a 150 or so second graders, singing and entertaining them with the magic of the season, followed that evening with my upperclass advanced choirs singing for the Mayor’s Christmas Tree lighting.  Music has always been a crucial part of my Advent preparation. It was beginning to feel a little like Christmas.  

On Saturday, taking a few baby steps, we bought a tree and brought the decorations down from the attic.  No decorating, but a step in the right direction.  I began to think about gift giving, and that evening, thanks to a friend in the cast, we went to see “Christmas at Resurrection” at the United Methodist Church of the Resurrection.  I’m not usually one for church Christmas “pageants” or what I sometimes find as manipulative “productions,” but this was neither.  It was a production, but it was entertaining and tastefully done, and even the live burro behaved onstage.  More than a production, it was reminder of why I love Advent, and why my personal faith is expressed through the Christian spiritual tradition.  In spite of spiritual and theological questions with which I continue to wrestle, I was reminded why I anticipate God’s coming again in human form each year in the person of Jesus.  As Adam Hamilton, the COR pastor briefly “unpacked” the experience last night -  God gave us Jesus - God in human form - so that we might have an example of how to live in order to be fully human.

I don’t think I have anything wise to say that can top that.  

For the record, on this second Sunday of Advent, my home is decorated, and my spirit is anticipating. 

O come, o come, Emmanuel . . .