Stations of the Cross Photoessay - 4 - Jesus meets his mother

I doubt the Virgin Mary was this calm during the Passion. But I also feel that her love and devotion graced her with the light from the heavens. Whether she cried and felt weak or she stood strong beside Jesus in his final hours, we shall never know. But inside, I feel she wanted to be present for him in all her love.

Statue is of the Virgin Mary at St Eustache Church in Paris, taken on a trip in July 2009.

<< Return to the top of this photoessay 

        < Stations of the Cross - 3 - Jesus falls for the first time

           Stations of the Cross - 5 - Simon of Cyrene helps Jesus carry the cross >

Stations of the Cross Photoessay - 3 - Jesus falls for the first time

Statue is the head of the Pharaoh Ramses after it had fallen down at some point, in Abu Simbel, Egypt (January 2012). The photo was taken a week before the Eyptian revolution began. People were upset and in a mood for change. What nobody knew was that the entire Egyptian political system was about to collapse.

So we found that the pharoah head had fallen, just as Egypt's president (or head) was about to fall. And, as we progress from Palm Sunday to Good Friday, we see this head laid low. This statue's head, however, is made of stone and dust, and from this dust it shall return. Jesus fell for the first time, but his glory returns and continues. Like Jesus, we get surprised by sudden falls and changes, but the promise that Jesus brings to us endures.

<< Return to the top of this photoessay 

        < Stations of the Cross - 2 - Jesus carries his cross

                 Stations of the Cross 4 - Jesus meets his mother >

Stations of the Cross Photoessay - 2 - Jesus carries his cross

The photo was taken in the garden of the Rodin Museum in Paris on a 2000 trip. This figure is actually an extract and enlargement from the astonishing Gates of Hell piece. He is one of the three spirits looking down, but set apart, it looks like he carries that invisible burden. 

To me, that burden looks like an invisible cross. As I walk the stations, I think about the crosses we all bear. Some are apparent and quite noticeable. Others are obscured, hidden, almost undetectable. Almost. What cannot be seen still distorts and causes us to misshapen over in agony. Jesus carried the cross for us so that we don't have to endure the trials on our own. Jesus carried the cross for us so that our burden would be lighter.

<< Return to the top of this photoessay 

        < Stations of the Cross - 1 - Jesus is condemned to death

           Stations of the Cross - 3 - Jesus falls for the first time >

Stations of the Cross Photoessay - 1 - Jesus is condemned to death

The noble class, whether in the West or the East, had the power to decide life and death. The absolute power may be moderated in some ways today, but the warrior mentality of holding down those who offer rebellious political stances remains: repress and condemn. But power weilded is often power siezed.

I show a statue from Japan in October 2012 that I found frightening. The samurai warrior clearly could dispose of life if it preserved the status quo.

Jesus posed a threat and was disposed. His judge and jury and people sentenced him to his tortured death.

< Return to the top of this photoessay 

               Stations of the Cross - 2 - Jesus carries his cross >

Stations of the Cross - Photoessay using Sculptures

As part of my Lenten prayers, I've been pondering the Stations of the Cross. Instead of using traditional art forms of the Passion itself, however, I chose to apply some of the artistic works that I've seen through the years.

So this year, I'm using sculptures and statues to convey the way the Stations of the Cross resonate with me. I invite you to join me on this photoessay adventure. And, I hope, the metaphor and emotional connections I'm making will find some place in your mind and heart.

The Stations of the Cross (or Way of the Cross, or Via Crucis, or Via Dolorosa) refers to a devotional depiction of the final hours of Christ. Though the statues I photographed aren't specifically of Jesus, I hope that the Passion that Christ endured will become apparent.

Stations of the Cross Photoessay - 1 - Jesus is condemned to death >

All the Single Maybes (Put a Sting on It)

On Saturday, it will be exactly four weeks to our wedding day. After five decades where I was told, taught, and raised to think that marriage was meant for some but not all, I finally get to have my own partnership blessed in the church. Three amazing priests will be have to keep me from crying the entire hour as I stand, kneel, and walk in a daze.

It's not really a dream come true. A dream is when you imagine something possibly happening. I never had these dreams because I didn't think it was possible. That's how oppressive it felt to me. I was unimaginative and thought that God and society only worked in limited ways. That God wasn't all powerful and all loving because that God was boxed in by our definitions and legalisms. But, like some dreams, the creative mind hits you by surprise and suddenly you find yourself sweating at the all too real possibilities.

My theological and faith journeys have led me to know, just know, that if marriage equality came to my church, my state, my home, I would want to my partnership to be consecrated with the solemnity that such a union merits. I grew up watching priests bless homes, pets, rosaries, schools, plumbing, bibles, and even sewer pipes. Certainly something as important as a loving commitment to another person should receive an important blessing. Until the last few years, this was just not so, and I like others watched inanimate objects receive God's favors, while my love was left behind.

The changes have been all too wonderful for me. But it's not for some gay people.

I've met many couples and singles who aren't rushing to get married or who find the focus on marriage equality discomforting. Of these, there are couples who don't see the need to have a state sactioned marriage in their union. They've worked and functioned as a couple for a long enough time that they don't require the apparent trappings that marriage entails. Some of these couples are even church goers, and they feel satisfied by their current status.

And then of course there's all the single people dream of finding their love but watch as we celebrate gay couple after gay couple. I find it hard to imagine the longing it might bring to them when they attend all their friend's weddings. I know of a few who don't attend weddings simply because it hurts them so much. They feel the sting when we flaunt a ring. They are ignored by the today's media because there are no laws that they're trying to overturn.

Then there's the example from pop-music. Beyoncé's "All the Single Ladies" is sung from the perspective of a woman who wants commitment but doesn't get it from her partner. Furthermore, that partner has hypocritical anger when she goes out to have fun, despite his unwillingness to commit. It's a fun dance number but I always wonder about their conflict in terms of marriage equality. What if one partner wants marriage and the other, because of hurt and anger at society and church, won't marry under any circumstance? I've met a couple like this and they on the surface seem reconciled to their differences, but I do wonder what it means when your concept of unity differs.

I cherish my friends who intentionally or uninentionally remain unmarried. For those who choose to stay unmarried, I pray that they may continue to cultivate the emotional bonds that satisfy them each and every day. Maybe they'll marry some day, maybe they won't. It's the networked loving bonds of family and friends that they value most.

But for those who watch the marriage equality changes and yearn for their role in it, I feel that it's more important to be true to your intended self than simply to be married. The love that can sustain for a lifetime isn't one that magically appears overnight when you find yourself single. It's part looking, part not looking, part intention, part luck. Some think of it as a game that has to be played.

I for one prefer to think of it as a journey. We are all on our individual adventures on this planet. If our trek brings us into communion with God and with another person, then a celebration seems called for, seems appropriate. But the journey doesn't end. It continues.

We're using a unity candle at our wedding. We each will have our own candles and, during the actual wedding vows, we take our candles and light one candle in unison, merging our individual flames into one flame. Unlike other services that I've attended however, we're not going to extinguish the original candles. We're going to keep them lit. I want to think that the spark of life, the magic of the Holy Spirit, as more than a zero sum game. By merging our lives and fire together, we can create more, enlighten more, see more clearly. We spread the Word and the light by sharing our lives and creation both as individuals and as couples.

We merge and create, rather than merge and extinguish.

Singles and unmarried couples have a light to share and I hope my marriage won't mask their joys, their pains, and their journeys. I pray that we all appreciate each other's lives and that our journeys together are of wrapped in beauty, creation, and sustaining love.

Ironic Heart of Mary

While working in Salt Lake City this week, I came across a marvelous mural by Los Angeles artist Miles "Mac" McGregor. Like his other works, tt was a gripping piece, clasping onto the brick wall and illuminated by a reflecting sunset. To the east, a serene 19th century Methodist church stood strong on a street gentrifying from urban decline towards a hipster vibe. The building itself housed a New York style pizza hot spot.

The focal point of the mural was Our Lady, clasping her immaculate heart. Colorful ornamentation framed her loving body. She gazed peacefully at the scene below her, the sacred heart glowing with passion and love.

And down below her watchful eyes stood a gun shop.

The shop carried ammo, new and refurbished arms, machinery with automatic reloading equipment, and a convenient loan operation. Nostalgic posters glamorizing the lives of soldiers in times of war festooned the walls and windows. I watched men in fatigues entering the store and saw women perusing the sales aisles.

I'm not against personal gun ownership nor am I against the use of recreational firearms. I don't glamorize war, though, and I feel that the term "well-regulated" in fact means there can exist a list of regulations that meet the standard of "well-regulated". I'm a moderate that thinks some people aren't trained or capable of handling deadly force, though most people are. I also think that accidents happen and also that people just SNAP, losing all manner of judgment and morality.

So why am I blogging about this?

I was enroute to the Episcopal cathedral. St Marks as it turned out was closed, but I was looking forward to quiet contemplation after a long day's work. I didn't have a topic for my intended prayers, nor did I have a meditation plan. At best I was going to continue my prayers about the notion of doubt. But this mural was so beautiful and the ironic positioning so striking, I had to understand it.

What does Our Lady's icon represent? In Roman Catholicism and Eastern traditions, it represents Mary's life filled with joys and sorrows, her virtue, and her all-encompassing love. Like all who mortals who see pain and joy in their lives, Mary experienced all these things, but from her special place as the mother of Jesus.

I've seen many icons with swords, fire, or wounds on the heart. This emphasizes the sadness that Mary, as intercessor, hears from our prayers. This imagery was central to my upbringing as a Roman Catholic and played a significant role in many of our prayers at home.

Mary's empathy and love therefore strikes me as having greater depth and meaning when she's looking towards the gun shop. We in America certainly face an unsettling number of murder sprees. Moreover, an incredible number of accidental deaths involve firearms. Sadly, a disproportionate number of victims are children

The heart of Mary is on fire with these traumas. As we pray for the victims, for the wounded, even for the killers, we must also acknowledge that we are participants in this culture. We don't enforce safety laws and even worse are trying to dismantle many regulations. George is about to remove almost all of its gun regulations. We are culpable in every way for causing the pains that afflict us, if not directly then indirectly.

I pray that we are guided, consoled, and encouraged to work towards a safer, respectful, loving world where the Immaculate Heart no longer has a bullet lodged inside.

Is Anybody There?

One of my favorite musicals since I was in middle school is 1776, by Sherman Edwards. The tunes were good, but more importantly, the book was exceptional and made history musically engaging.

I was thinking of one of the key songs, as sung by John Adams, well before he was President.

Is anybody there?
Does anybody care?
Does anybody see what I see?
They want to me to quit; they say
John, give up the fight
Still to England I say
Good night, forever, good night!
For I have crossed the Rubicon
Let the bridge be burned behind me
Come what may, come what may
Commitment!
The croakers all say we'll rue the day
There'll be hell to pay in fiery purgatory
Through all the gloom, through all the gloom
I see the rays of ravishing light and glory!
Is anybody there? Does anybody care?
Does anybody see what I see?
I see fireworks! I see the pageant and
Pomp and parade
I hear the bells ringing out
I hear the cannons roar
I see Americans - all Americans
Free forever more
How quiet, how quiet the chamber is
How silent, how silent the chamber is
Is anybody there? Does anybody care?
Does anybody see what I see?

These are the words of an inspired leader. He clearly sees us in a new place, a separate place, not because he lusts for fireworks, pomp, and parade. He sees those as by-products of his dream that all Americans can be free of the political bondage and yoke of Britain.

But it doesn't come easy. And in the still quiet room, he ponders if anyone is listening. Or worse, is anybody even there.

Existential thoughts such as these come across my mind often during Lent. Are we seeking freedom from our mortal pains in futility? Why can't we solve our problems with poverty, homelessness, addiction, and so on? Is anybody there? Does anybody care?

I'm not so arrogant to think that I've got the only solutions, or that I'm the only one who cares. The character of John Adams in this play may seem so, but I think most people know others who do indeed care. But it all seems so intractable at times.

And it leads me to wonder how God can allow such pain to exist? Doesn't He care? Isn't She there?

I'm fairly certain that whether these questions can get answered isn't up to God. It's up to me. I think there might be three steps for moving past the psychic trauma caused by dwelling on these questions.

1. Trust God.

Questioning God is an easy past-time. It certainly is normal to doubt our leaders, parents, bosses, and other figures of authority. During Lent, when all these thoughts foam up in my head, I have to be able to say, "Despite it all, I trust God." It's comforting, relaxing us like possibly the atheistic opiates are thought to work. But it moves further than that to me. Even if God doesn't exist, my trust in something calms me and strengthens me to sally forth. One cannot trust and be strengthened in a non-being. So regardless of whether God exists or cares, I march trusting because it's without doubt better than the alternative to me.

2. Allow God into our lives

This is actually harder than it seems. Once you trust God, you have to hand over the keys and let God drive. Control freaks like me hate handing over the keys. It's my car/life and I can drive it better than anyone else can, even if they have better driver's training scores than I got. It happens all the time in our lives and yet we forget that by building barriers to God, we aren't really trusting God. We're lamenting at something that we're causing. Lent reminds me of this and allows me to focus on ways of creating space for God in my life.

3. Waiting for God

Lastly, in that control freak way that bugs me most, I need to remember to get past the question of God, I have to be willing to wait. Waiting isn't easy for most. I get nastiest, rudest, and meanest when I'm forced to wait. And it's in that failing that I am pushing away God further and further away. I pray hardest at Lent to have the patience in life and so as to give God time to work on me and those around me.


My challenge at Lent is to allow these questions and steps to flow through me, with me, and beyond me as I pray on my journey.

I Love to Forgive... But You Go First - Part 2

Continued from "I Love to Forgive... But You Go First - Part 1"


The key takeaway from the last blog seems to be the focal point. We cannot forgive until we stop focusing on the other person. When we think about the pain, we think of ourselves. When we think of the solution, we look to the other person to heal us. That's not possible. Even if they said "Sorry", you cannot internally be healed by such words. The healing is intrinsic to yourself.

Forgiveness is not so much about the other person as it is about what is happening within us. Do our hearts allow us to heal? Forgiveness is all about us through and through. If we truly want to heal, we have to exorcise the demon controlling us from within. Only with such an expulsion will we have enough room to heal. That monster stops us from letting the Holy Spirit in because we're too busy focusing on the other person.

The sad part about not forgiving is that you become your own prisoner. You poison the well not because you're trying to harm yourself, but because you're so focused on others, you don't realize that your well has gotten infested with disease. It's vital to let go of the anger and hurt. Leave it somewhere else. Do yoWe u practice meditative walks in a labyrinth? Leave the pain in the center. Do you walk in the countryside? Leave it in the woods. Some who attend church services on Ash Wednesday write down their pains and sins on a piece of paper and it's those papers that are burned into ashes. Mark your head with those ashes, reminding yourself that they came from you but have been sent to the fire.

This isn't easy and doesn't come overnight. You've got to wait, strengthen, and find nourishment to swell past the small space you left for your heart. But always remember, when patience is lacking, that God's grace forgives first and foremost. If Jesus asks that we be forgiven, then we ourselves must work towards that same forgiveness of others. Our rebirth comes from God forgiving us our sins. We can be set free, if only we allow and see that freedom.

Perhaps we need to consider forgiveness and pain in context with other contrasting reactions. The prayer normally attributed to St Francis is one of my favorite healing prayers, especially in times when forgiveness is challenging. It helps me because it contrasts pain and pardon with other difficult reconciliations. When I pray for the strength to forgive, I start here.

Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace;

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

Where there is injury, pardon;

Where there is error, truth;

Where there is doubt, faith;

Where there is despair, hope;

Where there is darkness, light;

And where there is sadness, joy.

Grant that I may not so much seek

To be consoled as to console;

To be understood as to understand;

To be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

I Love to Forgive... But You Go First - Part 1

The great political news of today and of my entire life seems to revolve around retaliation and mistrust. We have to account for past grievances and don't believe you're going to follow through. Every gets mad at countries for pursuing such tactics. We're always climbing into war, wasting resources, sacrificing our young men and women on the battlefield.

Yet this isn't something unique to countries or politics. It's within us. It's a human trait. And if we retaliate and mistrust, we're not going to be able to forgive.

We talk about forgiveness often in church. I mean, really, very often. But it's almost as though we can't help ourselves in blocking efforts to forgive. We automatically abandon or make impossible forgiveness when we place demands on the other person. We ask that they accept responsibility for their actions. I don't want to forgive but feel like I'm required to do so. Only the weak forgive.

People tend to put words in other people's mouths. We assume that they don't really want to move forward. We give them unpleasant personalities characteristics, thinking that they're careless at best, but like just unappreciative or mean. Our own personal accountability is negated because it's entirely the other person's fault. We say, "I'm willing to forgive, but you have to take the first step."

We can't move forward with such thinking. And during Lent, I think and pray hard on how to dispel these innate actions every human being seems to do. To forgive, we have to be stronger than this. This action, this default, genetic way of doing things, is actually the weaker position. It takes enormous strength to overcome our predispositions. For many it seems impossible. It may be, but I think as Christians we're urged and compelled to try.

Now, I'm not saying that forgiveness means the other person has no responsibility. That person may be 99% responsible for every action leading to the transgression. Actions lead to consequences and that cannot be circumvented. But the key to forgiveness is not to let the other person off the hook. It's to let YOU off the hook.

It's all about you after all!

Maybe time to change the words to Carly Simon's song. "You're in pain, you really should think this wrong is about you."

When we fail to forgive, we're hostage to the other person. They have control over us that we cannot escape. They're not even trying and they have you in their hands.

So how do we move forward?

I'll think about this some more... Stay tuned

Meander and Water Deep

One of my spiritual tools of choice is the labyrinth. Perhaps it's because sitting still has never come easy for me. No doubt, the nuns of my earliest years in elementary school would have agreed. I'm just too fidgety to be physically stationary. To this day, I doodle, tap my fingers, shake my leg, rock back and forth, and play background music in my head to whomever is speaking.

The labyrinth offers an opportunity to walk and pray at the same time. Like my prayer and meditation, I'm urged forward, accepting the twists and turns as I journey forth. Sometimes, I find myself surprised that I've finished my walk and go right back into the labyrinth. Prayer shouldn't have a timer on it, nor should it have an expected outcome. The labyrinth isn't about setting rules on what to think. It just offers in a way bumper guards so that you're guided while you walk, keeping you free to wander without worrying whether you'll fall off an abyss.

The labyrinth is liturgy in motion.

It's been a blessing that All Saints Pasadena has offered the labyrinth every weekday throughout Lent for the past several years. The community gets to walk and pray alone or together. You can even listen to the Taizé service, organ practice, or choir rehearsals while you take your inner journey. And you keep moving.

And while you move in space, you move in your mind. And while you move, you water deep the empty spaces that have been parched and thirsty. A lovely article "The Induced Meandering of the Lenten Season" describes how nature and well-designed landscaping can water gardens when rain comes infrequently. Since moving to Southern California several decades ago, I've learned that the ground here has practically no capacity to absorb water quickly. Despite this, the rain, when it appears, doesn't come down lightly here. It's sunny most of the year or it pours and creates mudslides.

Soil absorbs water because it has spaces in between rocks, dirt particles, roots, and other materials. These gaps can collect the water, if given enough time. Downpours don't allow that, nor do floods. But a river stream has many obstacles that slow water down: rocks, boulders, trees, twists, turns. Nature in a sense creates a way so that water can slow down enough to trickle into those spaces.

Like the labyrinth and prayer.

We slow down, pause, turn every few steps while walking the labyrinth. We breathe in, breathe out to a rhythm that isn't musically consistent, but forces us to accept the winding ways. In doing so, we have an opportunity to find those parched spaces inside and fill them with life-giving water, soothing the thirst, baptizing the recesses with a life made new. A Lent of slow meandering is a Lent of slowly filling.

Let all who are thirsty come. Let all who wish receive the water of life freely. Come.

Remember that you are dust

The phrase I used as I made a sooty cross on dozens of foreheads this morning was "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." It's the phrase I'm supposed to use, but I do wish I could change it. I'd rather just say "Remember that you are dust." Full stop. Period. No more.

No need to say "and to dust you shall return." We already are dust. We never left it. One can't return to a condition which they've never left. We still are dust.

But dust, dirt, clay is us through and through. Adam means "earth" or "ground". We come from that ground from the very first book of our Bible. Like clay, we can be molded and shaped in different ways, different forms. That's the diversity that we are assured. God from the first very people made sure we were not clones of each other. We are all different and thrive because of that diversity.

I find it surprising that many people find Lent "a downer". What chorister hasn't lamented "I miss the Alleluias at this time of year"? I admit, the preponderance of minor keys in Western music during Lent can be a maddening, but the season itself can be amazingly fresh.

Like the dirt we come from, Lent should be a fertile bed where we grow new ideas, become strong anew, and rise towards the sun with color. We should be taking the lessons that we learn during this time of
introspection and build a better life, a giving life, a shared bounty as we are charged in the Gospels.

It was the first time I actually placed dust on anyone's forehead in the sign of the cross. I knew it was messy, but had no idea how much dust was going to get splattered around. I even got some bonus ashes on some noses and low hanging bangs and felt awkwardness from the mess. It got on my vestments and I, for a moment, was embarrassed and self-conscious.

Thank goodness.

When I realized that I had become self-conscious during the service, it dawned on me that this was why I was here, on Ash Wednesday, serving at the Eucharist. We are dust and dust is messy. Life isn't meant to be easy and comfortable. We'll always be challenged as mortals to face a world that isn't under our control. Control, like cleanliness, is an illusion. We can't dive deep into Lent without understanding that we aren't in control.

I'll be walking around all day with a sign of this mess, this dust, that I am. And my journey to Easter, though just beginning, will certainly have other mistakes and errors. But from those times of dirt and mess, insights arise. Justice grows. And life abundant springs forth with joy and caring.

We are blessed because we are dust and it's something worth remembering.

Christmas break

I haven't taken down my tree or decorations. I certainly haven't put away the nativity scene. After all, the magi haven't even gotten to the manger yet; they're still sitting on the other end of the mantle working their way to babe.

No, Christmas still moves joyfully towards Epiphany on January 6. It's still Christmas break! I relish this season and don't want it to end. I love that the "Twelve Days of Christmas" is sung out at this time because it means the one day of joy isn't merely the commercialized behemoth defining Christmas. We celebrate the season liturgically because it's supposed to be remembered and celebrated.

When we were in Egypt three years ago, our Coptic tour guide in Cairo asked us what did we do before Christmas. We told him we shopped and had parties. He was frankly quite surprised. Coptic Christians fasted throughout Advent ending on the day they celebrate Christmas. That date happens to be January 6, which is our Epiphany. They are basically vegan throughout Advent and have nothing remotely similar to our abundant celebrations until Christmas itself.

Since that time, I thought of this often. I know my Advent has toned down dramatically since that trip. Fasting is a physical trial that affects your behavior and mind. People who fast before Christmas are obviously serious about waiting for the Christ child in reflection and repentance. And, when Christmas is celebrated, the feasting is a release, a joy, a sharing of abundance that marks any end of a fast.

So yes, I'm still celebrating Christmas. I had a wonderful weekly tour of the Creation by driving through California. We saw blowing beaches, sleeping elephant seals, floating kites, the extreme rich, soaring redwoods, the homeless, walkable villages, and squishy jellyfish. What a wonderful way to celebrate the babe Jesus! Creation celebrated by Christians focuses on human creation, but Jesus came to earth to walk on the earth, swim in its waters, pray on the streets.

We explored California to see nature in all of its glory. By celebrating the beauty of all Creation, it was much easier to pray on the beauty of Jesus brought to us as an infant.

So yes, the fast is over. Let us enjoy the Christmas break by breaking bread with each other and work towards a world where we recognize every day the incarnation of God's beauty all around us.

My New Year's Prayer

You smile as an infant grasps your finger tight
And you smile at the promise of her life
At the hope of a life fulfilled, a joy incarnate

May we discover that we all are God's children
Full of promise, of hope, of life, of joy
That we are loved with a nurturing smile

May we be the strength and shoulder
To those needing our care and loving hands
Opening their eyes to the joy inside

Grant us the courage to be washed of our old ways
Creating a life this year filled with confidence and strength
Fed and held by powerful hands that carry us on our journey

Because to start the year anew
Means accepting with childlike wonder and trust
The hand that offers unconditional love

Christmas Eve Reflections - Who's in and Who's out?

A family of humble origins. 

Not from around around here.

Don't think they're royalty. 

Doubt they're rich.

Some sort of non-traditional family.

Are they homeless? 

They don't belong here.

It's hard for me to read the Christmas passages without imagining a come-from-behind story. This isn't a winner sweep. There's no Triple Crown here. We're talking about an unlikely winner, a child and out-of-towners.

They didn't belong. They didn't fit in.

One focus of this Christmas is to examine in my heart if I am welcoming this family into my life. Do I reject them and their family? Do I separate them, like we do immigrants in this country?

Have I made mistakes in the past? Sure. Just a few days ago, I forgot who I wanted to be and remembered once more how much effort it takes to live out the life Christ demanded.

My mind was distracted by a Christmas shopping rush slamming against a busy work day. I had only a sliver of time to grab a meal before going on to my next meeting. I ran into a local eatery and grabbed a meal which I was wolfing it down.

A gentleman of seemingly modest means asked if I would mind buying him lunch. In my rush, I shook my head and grumbled that I was late and I had to get going. I might have even growled and rolled my eyes.

He disappeared, before I realized what I had done. I searched the restaurant, the parking lot, the nearby bus stop. He was gone. I chased him away with my cold, uncaring heart.

We were two blocks from Union Station Homeless Services, a place I lavish time and donations to support, and yet here, in my self-focus, my self-importance, my me-first attitude, here I sat, food in hand, heart like a stone in my stomach. I spend countless hours helping and trying to help, and yet with a couple painful words trample on the life I was trying to nurture.

I turned away a simple, honest request for mercy. I sent him away to his manger.

I ran to my car and wept.

If I could redo those precious moments once more, the story line would have been different. That man would have gotten a warm meal. I wouldn't have dismissed his presence with my rush. My anxiety and attention to my life would not blind me to the hunger in another. If only I could relive that moment.

Lord, grant me the breath and space to see cracks of light in the darkness of my blinders, that I might see the ones in need, that I might see the potential of greatness, that I might be the welcoming embodiment of warmth, spirit, and life.

Advent reflection - The 4th Candle and The Love That Twerks

We lit the fourth candle on the Advent wreath at All Saints Pasadena this weekend. It's the candle of love, and it had me pondering about "love" and what it means to me.

In tv, movies, and romance novels, it seems that love is about passion - raw, wild, intense. We at church seem to shake our heads when love is brought up in these terms. We tut-tut it because it's just so inappropriate and ought to be private and in the dark, under covers, and certainly not before you've finished school.

On the other hand, in church, we often talk about the love of God as a paternal or maternal uberforce, with a strength that moves mountains, that conquers evil, making valleys level. This is a love that can beat the tar out of death and and yet was first made tangible in the form of a helpless infant.

While watching the sunrise on the trails this morning, I'm resistant walking a path of a love mapped out in either of these directions. It just sounds so simplistic, superficial. It's doesn't feel adequate in either scenario, and it certainly doesn't feel sustainable.

I know what feels like love to me. Love feels like sitting on the sofa with my Mom Saturday, both of us too full of eating bad food but knowing we're celebrating the season together. Love feels like listening to the nieces play guitar and sing together as I watch as a spectator in the audience, and as a participant by listening to them share their joy. Love feels like when I watch Dad transform into a kid again while he watches his grandchildren open gifts.

It's also hanging with the inlaws, just catching up despite the distances traveled by some, without a schedule, without needing to be rushed. Love this past month at home meant sitting with my fiance, filling out Christmas cards, cleaning up the house, perhaps while he bakes and I cook, sitting together listening to music, watching football games.

This love isn't intense. It's stable. Solid. Boring even. Love made plain because it needs no ornamentation.

And yet... the path of love isn't only about walking a straight road.

For love is not about isolation or nesting. We as always help out at Union Station Homeless Services on Thanksgiving Day for the Dinner in the Park event. We helped organize the setup this year. On Christmas Day, our larger family is joining in. After the Christmas Eve services where I'm singing and serving as a lay minister, after the family breakfast and gift giving, the family will join us as we finish Christmas Day in the park and do tear down and cleanup.

Love in this case is about sharing our time with the friend dressed as a stranger. When younger, I used to fall for the cultural stereotype that the homeless are lazy bums just looking for a handout. But, as Pope Francis has described, who am I to judge? There are people on the streets who shouldn't be treated as second class human beings. And for the Christians out there, to paraphrase Episcopal Bishop Barbara Harris, there's no such thing as a second rate baptism.

Many of the homeless are children, the innocent, the babes barely out of the manger. Recently, a powerful article called Homeless for the Holidays: Ending a Nation's Cruel Indifference to Homeless Youth moved me to tears. I know that in my community, one out of five homeless are youth. Love on a daily basis for me might be simple and about sharing time, but when I come face to face with those who are cold, weary, and hungry, love means doing something. Love for all of God's creatures means taking action. I feel compelled to do something because I do love Creation. Leaning back against a well and watching fellow brothers and sisters struggle doesn't ring true. 

Love means moving away from the wall and getting down on the dance floor.

I've never twerked in my life, and I imagine I'll sooner bust a hip before I ever bust such a move. But that delirious almost Pentacostal wildness is what's needed when we try to help others. I might be content, sated even, with gentleness and candlelight at home, but we need strobe lights and a bouncing spirit to bring real help to those who need shelter and food. It's passion that's just as sweaty, intense, and gritty as any romance novel. 

Sometimes we groove to a slow dance. Sometimes we're moved to hip-grinding wildness. But, no matter how we're moved, let sway to the unrelenting rhythms of God's music.

As I walked down the trails to my home wondering what an Advent of love means to me, I did a little skip, a little hop, a tiny dance. Once home, I gently woke up my fiance home on his Christmas vacation. In my soul, I was getting ready to twerk for all of God's family.

Hello! My name is Marriage Equality

Two states in two days. I like the folks in New Mexico. Truly, I'm happy that they got marriage equality yesterday. But today's news that UTAH's marriage ban was ruled unconstitutional, well that's different.

It's personal.

Despite a history of compassion and integration among neighbors, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (the Mormons) spent considerable time, effort, and money in California to usher in Proposition 8. Prop 8 has for many of us living in California been nothing short of a disaster. It represented the ability of a plutocratic, demagogic majority to withdraw equality from a set of citizens. Prop 8 wasn't the same as the Japanese internment, but I got a keener understanding of what mass discrimination meant on a personal level.

Prop 8 wasn't foisted upon us Californians, as we voted it into place ourselves, but the LDS influence was considerable and notable. And I could not marry the person I loved in California because of Prop 8.

So I couldn't help but jump for joy, yelping when I saw the news. Today Utah, home of the LDS, had its own constitutional marriage ban ruled unconstitutional, just as California's was ruled unconstitutional by the Supreme Court in June 2013.

This isn't a matter of spite to me. It's not a matter of gloating for those who believe that they can define marriage for others who don't love the people they're expected to love.

Instead, I'm thrilled, thrilled because all the wonderful and caring gay people of Utah now have a way to be honest about their relationships, to let it be known that their love for each other is deep, God-given, and blessed by the Holy Spirit. If they lack a church, they can at least have that relationship acknowledged by the state as much as it is by the federal government. I'm thrilled because people don't have to "turn it off" and pretend that their love doesn't matter as much as the person's next door. I'm thrilled because the arc of history is long, and it really is bending towards justice.

I've cared deeply about some the wonderful people of Utah ever since I started doing business there two decades ago. And it hurt to see so many people having to push their families into the closet. And worse, it was painful to see so many people from Utah come into California and affect our own families.

The musical "Book of Mormon" has a lovely ballad called "Sal Tlay Ka Siti" (as in Salt Lake City, get it?), sung by a girl from an impoverished African village. She dreams of a Sal Tlay Ka Siti paradise so much better than her own land. Some lyrics include:

And I'll bet the people are open-minded and don't care who you've been
And all I hope is that when I find it, I'm able to fit in...
Will I fit in?  

I pray that the people of Utah will find it in their hearts to be open to the message of understanding and hope that today's news brings. It is the season of Advent after all, and for me, the love and joy that surpasses all understanding may be wandering into the mountainous west. Will we fit in? Maybe, just maybe, yes.

Advent Prayer for our Labyrinth Ministry

A little prayer for our Labyrinth Ministry gathering last night at All Saints Episcopal Church in Pasadena.



God of hope and light,
We journey with you,
   to a modest stable
   and a new-born Babe.

May our ears tune
   to the song of angels,
May our eyes open
   to the shining star for guidance,
May our feet dance
   to the rhythms of the Holy Spirit.

May we forge ahead on our shared journey
   Without distraction
   Without fear
   Without darkness.

May our hearts and minds be set on fire
   with the hope of Christmas
   and the promise of our Peace.

Advent 3 - The Candle of Joy. So be Joyful. Now!

The third candle of Advent was lit at church this weekend. It's the candle of joy. I'm all for joy. After all, we look forward to Christmas because we expect to be full of cheer, mirth, and happiness. We're exhorted to be joyful in the Bible, such as in Romans 12:12 - "Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer."

But it's awfully hard to be joyful all the time, much less an entire liturgical season. Thankfully, the candle is only for the last half of the Advent wreath. Nonetheless, at this time of year, the streets are filled with cars heading to malls, people stand in shopping queues that will last seemingly for hours, and the gift item you were looking for can't be found anywhere. I do almost all my gift shopping online precisely to avoid these problems.

And for this, I'm supposed to have some creepy smile of joy that doesn't often feel sincere?

Joy isn't even what we think it is. Joy is internal. All the back-slapping, laughing, carousing, and joking we think of joy is on the outside. It's the outward manifestation of something going on inside. Like all things on the surface, that external happiness can be spackled on with a trowel and made to brighten our facade. It can easily mask cracks and pains that we want to hide.

I admit, I'm usually the optimist. I'm not content to say the glass is always half full; I would rather drink what's in that glass and ask for another. But you can't make someone joyful or optimistic. Joy comes from within. And sometimes, you hit a granite slab and that well runs dry. Even the very act of smiling can be painful.

I was with the same person for eighteen years. For a long time, we were happy and gay. Not carefree, because the young have a lot of worries regarding money, but somehow it didn't seem so bad. When the relationship began to fray, I became confused and depressed. Oh yes, I put on a smile as was expected. But I wasn't happy, and I certainly wasn't content.

When it all came crashing down and the relationship ended, there was no faking it. I couldn't smile. I had no joy to tap into to bring those smiles out. I took a sabbatical from choir because literally every hymn made me cry. I didn't cry out of sadness for me or for others.

I cried because I had no joy welling inside of me, and music is, at its heart, powered by that joy. When asked, I would explain that I felt as though the Holy Spirit forgot who I was and left me a vacant sack of memories.

That season of Christmas and Easter was awful. I had no strength to fake a grin. Sure I'd laugh with others, but it made a hollow sound, a tinny chuckle heard as though laughing into an empty can. It took time - a slow, painful journey of personal reconciliation and reflection - to find that the love of God was inside me still. It was obscured by my pain, by my guilt, by my self-flagellation. I needed to wait out this game of hide and seek and let that love once again walk into the light.

There's no magic way to bring joy back into your dark spaces. I wasn't a Grinch with a heart ten sizes too small, waiting for the Whoos to sing around a wrecked tree. And when I see people today with sad, empty eyes, I don't try to cheer them up or force them to feel happy.

I just hug them. Or e-hug them. Or smile with them. And most of all, I listen to them.

And together, maybe, just maybe, we'll eventually hear a little sound of joy. Maybe, just maybe, we can light that third candle and let a little light shine out through the darkness of winter.

Advent: A Season of Renewing or a Season of Recalculating

Advent offers us a season of both hopeful waiting and penitential renewal. We shop, share, celebrate, and we also take stock of where we've been this past year and what we resolve to do during the next year.

Scholar, author, and theologian Marcus Borg has recently blogged about the unfortunate emphasis on that penitence, that we should instead be focusing on the coming joy over the enduring sin. It caused me to nod in some agreement, but I couldn't get totally comfortable with his suggestion. Part of the Advent season to me is about retrospection, with a review of the past year, with prayers of a better year. It's hard to hope for future joy, justice, and peace without grasping all that isn't joyful, just, and peaceful today.

Then, a recent sermon by All Saints Pasadena priest Reverend +Janine Schenone was posted on her blog. It gave me something to hang my hat on, a way to see Advent in a way that's more comfortable with both the current way of looking at it and Borg's proposed viewpoint.

For penitence to me -- Advent, Lent, or otherwise --  isn't so much about guilt and sin as an opportunity for renewal. I gave up guilt decades ago during one Lent and have generally been good at recognizing and ducking it ever since. Guilt is backwards-focused. Renewal is backwards-informed and future-focused.

Let me be the first person in the room to say that I actually don't find the word "renewal" satisfying. It's awfully tough to make something new once again. Have you ever bought a refurbished car or eBay item? Not exactly accurate if they were trying to make it "new" once more. A renewal subscription isn't entirely accurate either. I want them to "extend" my subscription, recognizing my commitment to the service or product - for good points and bad - worthy of sticking with it for more time. I want my faith, like my subscriptions, to be extended with commitment, not just renewed.

Maybe I'm picky about the term, maybe I'm just a word connoisseur. In any case, renewal leaves me unsatisfied when talking about penitential seasons.

So instead, to a techie like myself, it seems more fitting to think of Advent as a time to recalculate like a GPS or phone app giving directions. I know where I am, and it's not where I want to be; I know that I should be in a different place. Recalculate that GPS, and we find our journey making a little more sense. Recalculating rather than renewing guides me away from the problems and that I've found myself in and towards my desired destinations, the places I want to go.

Reverend Schenone views Advent as:

...an opportunity to examine our relationships with others and with God–a time to ask, “Can we start over?” Advent doesn't require us to bathe ourselves in guilt. It doesn't require us to eliminate all the sin or bad things in our lives. That just isn't possible. Even Jesus did not eliminate all the evil in the world or heal all of the sick during his years of ministry. But while we are waiting for the birth of this Prince of Peace, we can accept the responsibility to be peacemakers–to be sources of reconciliation, even if in very small ways, in our lives.

We also can accept responsibility for our relationship with God. A sense of awe and wonder and humility around the coming appearance of the Infant Jesus does not require us to fear the judgment of an angry God. In response to those who oppose the idea of Advent as a season of penitence, David Bartlett writes about Advent, “Perhaps the church can give up judgment, but we cannot give up responsibility."

This works for me. For example, in my previous post "Disposable Me - an Advent Reflection" about the older gentleman on the jet, I cannot correct all suffering and I shouldn't feel guilty about everything that I see around me. But I can accept responsibility for my initial thoughts and reactions, for actions and inactions, for focusing on my wants and needs reflexively, without consideration of others. I'm blessed with a fiance who is astonishingly gifted in seeing the world from other people's eyes. A season of penitence isn't merely renewing myself, then, so much as recalculating where I want to be and where I want to go. I want the freedom to be the person I was meant to be.

So our relationship with others and our relationship with God involves not making things new, at least to me. I want to learn from my mistakes and be guided by them. I don't want to repeat my errors. Instead, I want to recalculate and go from there. As Reverend Schenone said, "We can start over with God."

May the meditations of my heart, with the inspiration of the saints who guide me, grow ever more aligned with God this Advent season. I pray that our gracious God moves me to the place where I want to be, to blossom from the person that I was and am into the life-sharing spirit that I am intended to be.

Disposable Me - an Advent reflection

I posted an article on Facebook yesterday about an incident on a jet. It's a little story, but it has affected my Advent meditations.

It was my last flight of the year, which is meaningful since I travel 100,000-150,000 miles every year. This year was remarkably easy, as I only visited three continents, in contrast to six as I have in the past several years. Most of the travel is work, with some of it for growth and vacation.

I mentioned that on this flight, a very old man who didn't speak English was delaying that last flight of my year. He wouldn't sit down and the flight attendants could not lock the door with his wandering. He was dressed ethnically, looked confused and was likely mentally distant and confused. I had seen him taken in a wheelchair to the jet. I was in the third row of this American Airlines flight, so I saw all the interactions with the crew. His caregiver, possibly a friend or grandson, was trying to explain what he needed to do, but he was resistant and confused.

His behavior was angering people who were in a rush to make connecting flights. Quite a number were connecting in Los Angeles to continue to Hawaii for vacations. A few were band members who might have had a gig to attend. I saw soldiers who probably wanted to see their families. And I was tired, eager to enjoy the Advent season at home and my church, All Saints Pasadena.

Sadness overcame me because his dementia was palpable and people didn't seem to notice. He was in the way of our immediate wants. I felt guilty because until I saw his age and his condition, I just wanted him to sit down and listen to the flight attendants. But when I did see, a light sparked in me and I realized that what I wanted wasn't him to sit down.

What I wanted was travel mercies for all on the plane but, more especially, mercy on those like this man who lived a full life but needed just a little more time.

After about 15 minutes of delay, he just was escorted off the plane by his companion. He was disposable. My heart broke for him and the family. He looked dapper with a nice suit and hat, but his eyes were vacant and sad.

I knew the flight attendants had to be firm, but they were empathetic and uncomfortable. His companion was distressed. I felt bad they got off the flight instead of heading on to see family and friends. I prayed that it might be best thing to occur, given his present condition. We left after another 15 minutes delay, as the airline had to take his bags out of checked luggage as required for security.

Which brings to to my reflection on the challenges of so many families, especially during the dark times of winter, in the bleak winter, when songs of cheer often cause melancholy because the world feels broken and unforgiving.

I could not help but imagine that it was me with Mang (phonetically how my siblings and I called our paternal grandmother) struggling in her decline. That personal story is why my research at the University of Southern California was in Alzheimer's disease. It's also why I left the field because I get profoundly tearful by it from an existential level.

Life is full of sadness, challenges, and changes of directions. People who were once mighty and powerful in spirit, mind, and body can be laid low by the punishment of time. I find the difficulties of dementia to be very provocative: who are we really? What is our soul doing when our mind isn't playing kindly? Where's the Holy Spirit when we begin walking down these paths?

I wonder about this older gentleman, my new friend in spirit. Where is he now? Is he scared? Does he know he's loved?

Advent as a season of waiting and repentance is not about waiting for death or choosing something that will fix things for us. It's not about wondering if Santa will make things right with the perfect gift, if I pray just right to Jesus. 

This little story on the jet from Chicago is making me think that, during Advent, we are waiting hopefully for those who around us, for those we touch and influence, and not for ourselves. It's making me reflect on a penitence of living better and not living for the fleeting moment, of loving better and not loving for the temporary smile. We light the candle of hope to bring justice and mercy to all, even if we don't know them personally. I didn't know this man, but I knew a lot about his life. I pray that my Christmas will be all the richer from what he taught me.

Post-Modern, Meet Post-Marriage

We're hip and post-modern. The LGBTQ are getting married on the country's perimeters and progressive Midwest.

But, the struggle for equality in our relationships, namely in the ability to marry the person we love, is not over. Yes, shockingly and in such a short time, we suddenly find that almost 40% of the country has marriage available in the LGBTQ community. That still means over 60% of our brothers and sisters cannot marry in their home states or churches. They could marry elsewhere and derive federal benefits, but most states will not respect such marriages.

We're talking about disrespecting people. It's just not a caring, Christian stance to me.

Beyond marriage, however, we certainly have more to do. A recent article "7 LGBT Issues That Matter More Than Marriage" points to some larger ideas that might be of interest to the community of faithful. Sadly, the issues identified aren't surprises.

1. Youth and Trans* Homelessness
40% of the young homeless are LGBTQ, a tremendously high proportion.

2. Violence
Over 2000 incidences of violence against LGBTQ in the USA have been recorded since 2012. NYC has saw 7 attacks in May alone.

3. Racial Justice
A distressing 73% of LGBTQ homicides were people of color.

4. Immigrant Justice
The hurdles and harassment facing immigrants are that much more difficult in the LGBTQ community.

5. Health
Marriage may allow more LGBTQ access to health care, but if you're LGBTQ, you're still 10-20% more likely to be uninsured.

6. Economic Justice
Forget the images of rich, gay celebrities: you and your family are twice as likely to be living below the poverty line if you identify as LGBTQ.

7. Trans* Justice
Extreme poverty and rampant suicidal tendencies are just the tip of this iceberg.

It's time we go beyond post-modern. I pray that as we work towards meeting the needs of the 60% stranded by the marriage equality policies of their states, we begin the process of addressing these other serious issues. May the words of the prophets guide us into action on building a better, safer, fairer world.

Beware of the Leopard

One of my favorite exchanges in "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" by Douglas Adams has to do with the planned destruction of the house Arthur Dent, the main character. He hadn't heard of the demolition details for the new highway bypass, and bulldozers were poised at his door, ready to plow his home down. The foreman claimed that everyone knew the plans, well, except Arthur, who was lying in the mud to block the destruction. 

" ...You hadn't exactly gone out of your way to call attention to them had you? I mean like actually telling anyone or anything." 

"But the plans were on display..." 

"On display?! I eventually had to go down to the cellar to find them." 

"That's the display department." 

"With a torch." 

"Ah, well the lights had probably gone." 

"So had the stairs." 

"But look you found the notice didn't you?" 

"Yes," said Arthur, "yes I did. It was on display in the bottom of a locked filing cabinet stuck in a disused lavatory with a sign on the door saying 'Beware of The Leopard'."

In many ways, that's how I'm feeling about the current discussion of social justice in the Vice Presidential debate. (Yes, I'm a geek). We're hearing lots of talk about how the Paul Ryan budget is aimed to improve the efficiency of the economy, improve our finances, and ensure that the business will thrive. But like planners who thought a highway bypass would be a great way to move forward, it completely ignores those whose lives are destroyed, whose homes will be lost, who will be cast under the tractor in the name of progress.

Both candidates are Roman Catholic. I was raised Roman Catholic, though now I'm a practicing Episcopalian. In either denomination, the concept of social justice is fairly deep. It's part of our religious culture, our DNA. We take care of those who need assistance. Look around the country, and a vast number of larger hospitals, hospices, shelters, and food banks are run or were started by churches with a social justice tradition. 

Social justice is not a political position. It's a moral obligation. It's part of our covenant with God: love each other as God loves us. It has nothing to do with communism, socialism, or other such "Beware of the Leopard" demagoguery.

Without the details of what an economic plan involves, I have to agree with Sister Simone and the Nuns on the Bus. The social safety net is most assuredly going to be hacksawed in order to accomplish all the things that have been promised. If there were other reasonable offsets and plans (reduction of military budgets, elimination of capital gains tax preferences, etc) that addressed the revenue-expenditure imbalance directly, I would believe that the budget could do this without sacrificing the needy on the cross of economic realities. But I don't see it. The Romney-Ryan budget plans don't add up. 

I don't understand why it's too difficult to share the details, explaining how the numbers will actually work. To insist on hiding details is to demonstrate arrogance, paternalism, and elitism. We can handle the truth, as it shall set us free.

So, like Arthur Dent, I feel like I need to lie in the mud in front of my house, hoping I can thwart the implementation of a plan I feel I know nothing about, a plan that cares not a whit about those who lie in its path. And as Arthur eventually puts a towel over his eyes so that he cannot see things that might cause panic, so too are we being asked to ignore the bulldozer at our door.

Our Vice Presidential candidates may talk about their Roman Catholic faith, but I can certainly sense when one hasn't really been listening in his pew. I pray that we hear the details soon so that we can in fact make progress, without sacrificing the needy.

Squirrel vs Dog - Unleashing our drug laws

The title of the article might have been about the so called  surprising results from Portugal's decriminalization of drugs. I can't say I'm very surprised at all. In fact, it's about time we address the astonishing cost, both financially and in human lives, of our war on drugs.

Our country's relentless frontal attack on the problem reminds me of animal behavior classes I took years ago. A dog on a leash, seeing a treat, will tug on its chain to try to reach its goal, even if the chain is snagged on a pole. It might try to dig, claw, bark, but it never looks back to see that the chain is caught and never addresses the root cause of its problem.

A squirrel on the other hand will, if chained, look around, move backwards, climb, scramble, go backwards even to find a way to get to its treat. It will usually figure a way to correct the chain's problem and get to its treat.

Portugal looked at the drug problem, stepped back and found a compassionate AND cost-effective way to  address the issue. It reduced the number of people shackled by drug issues, and showed that relentlessness does not have to be the same as a direct frontal assault. Our countries spends billions on attacking drugs with full force head-on, without the same thoughtful, comprehensive approach. It's the club rather than the protractor approach, and it's clear that it isn't working.

As in the movie "Up", it's time we yell a collective "POINT" and help this dog of a drug policy around its blinders, and instead lead it towards a more compassionate, comprehensive, successful strategy. We need a real solution that respects the value of all the people caught in the chains of drug addiction.

Something old, something new

This week's news was again about celebrating a wedding, about bringing something old and something new. I mean, very new. Yes, this morning, Slate published an article on the first gay wedding on a US military base.

Here, we have an old institution, a bedrock of American society, standing firm since the very beginning of this country. Yet, it didn't know who its people truly were, what they wanted deep inside, and what it took to keep them firm in their commitments, faithfulness, truthfulness, honor.

But it became apparent through the years, that many were not being truthful or living in honesty. An institution grows decrepit when populated by such folks, and people grow to distrust the institution. So, this mainstay of American wanted to confirm its relevance and authority, not by redefining itself but by affirming what it truly envisioned itself to be. And it wanted to a beacon of justice, when its past had too many examples of otherwise.

Yes, the article was about the US military. I, though, am talking about the Episcopal Church.
When we ask people to commit themselves 100% to their mission, their passion, their love, we cannot treat them like second class citizens. We cannot say that their baptism was a mistake, because God already made holy their incorporation into the body of the church. They are our kin, even if we're just not that into them.

It pains me when I see the way these soldiers were ostracized by their churches. Yet God's expansive love found a way to them, and they are together in the eyes of the army and in the eyes of God. Just as we are commanded to feed the hungry, so must we nourish the souls of those who seek out the divine.

If the US army -- conservative, assured, protective, firm -- can meet the needs of its people, other institutions that we trust should as well. My church has taken continued its many new steps in this direction, and for that I am humbled and grateful. I pray that we continue to recognize all who work towards justice and bring the God's kingdom to all who desire.

-- Mel

Repost from my Walking With Integrity Blog - "Let All Who Are Thirsty Come"

Reposted Article, originally published on Integrity USA's Walking With Integrity 

"Breathe" I told myself. It's the Episcopal Church's triennial General Convention, you'll be surrounded by other faithful people, and you've worked at high tech conferences and convention halls for 25 years. But this was different.

I was volunteering to be the social media dude at Integrity USA.

The first orientation gathering didn't calm me down. The eager staff and volunteers meeting was packed with clergy, seminarians and the discerning. Who was I to be the mouthpiece or at least the e-megaphone for this amazing group of God lovers?

But after a couple of days, we settled down. I sat in committees, tweeted, posted, blogged, facebooked, photographed, webbed, texted, videotaped, video-blogged, sang, and prayed. I broke bread not just with Integrity but with a caring, larger community from a world-wide church. I learned much about the church in continental Europe as well as in our own backyards. I befriended Bishops, cried with transgender clergy, sang with ordinary canons and canons of the ordinary, and was told to go fishing by +Gene. 

We all worked so hard, got tired, then worked harder. And we hunkered down, afraid of the 107F swamp air outside the convention center. I listened and sang to Taizé songs in my room, for I needed to center myself against the flurry, so as to better share Integrity's message with others.

And the message of God's inclusive love wasn't getting sent out there. It already WAS there. I can't express my surprise at the difference between GC 2009 in Anaheim versus Indianapolis. People WANTED to make all mean ALL. And with that, I was humbled by the Holy Spirit as she lifted us higher.

Even more so, I connected more strongly with social media in a way that I hadn't expected. I became a fan of twitter three years ago after the last General Convention. The fact that the General Convention was one of the TOP TRENDING search topics (#GC77) shortly after the passage of A049 on same gender blessings blew me away. We were acting because of God's prodding, and the world was watching, sharing, retweeting. It was humbling.

And on top of all that, I even got to enjoy a few minutes of Bonnie-Ball (tweet or facebook me if you haven't seen the final score).

At a local watering hole on my last night, a waiter expressed surprise that we were having cocktails AND we were at General Convention. Clearly, he didn't know  the Episcopal Church, on several levels. We shared our message with him, and he seemed impressed, pleased, and most curiously, curious. It's that curiosity that I found most powerful, because in the seeking lies the seeds of new awareness, new life, and new followers.

Thank you Integrity, #GC77, and all who build bridges for those who were lost or locked out. I pray that your work evangelizes and helps the discouraged and distraught find justice and equality. 

Let all who are thirsty come, and let all who wish receive the water of life freely. Amen.

by Melvin Soriano

Geeky Volunteer/Choir member/Vestryperson from All Saints Pasadena

twitter.com/melsoriano & facebook.com/melsoriano

Check out all that we did on:

twitter.com/integrityusa

facebook.com/integrityusa

walkingwithintegrity.blogspot.com

youtube.com/integriTV

Let All Who Are Thirsty Come

Big mistake.

I let my thoughts wander and I fell away from my blogging. I apologize. I hadn't walked away from the church, from Christ or from thinking (as though those were mutually exclusive), but I did walk away from creating a journal that recounts my experiences.

And that's a mistake. One can't tell they've made a journey, trekked through the swamps and mountains, unless they've logged where they've been. Worse, they might circle back to the same dead-ends and road blocks that impede any journey.

As such, I've renamed and repurposed the blog. I'm going to be more focused on who and what I experience. I may not pen something immediately (the pen, by the way, is a writing utensil that does not require electricity), but I intend to put it down eventually.



And I'll hold myself accountable by tweeting about these thoughts.

So, I apologize to myself and to those who may have ever been interested in my thoughts. Simply saying that God knows what I am thinking isn't enough. I must be clear enough to myself to make sure that I know what I'm thinking.

The new name is "Let All Who Are Thirsty Come". I realized that my inward thoughts weren't helping me focus unless I understood why I prayed. I want to encourage others to feel God's expansive and relentless love. If they thirst and hunger for it, it's there for their nourishment. We may not be able to stare at God directly, but God's light shines and illuminates all that we are and see.


For those of you who have influenced my return here, directly or indirectly, thank you. I am grateful for your role as guardian angels of my spiritual life.

Paz y fe,
Amen.