Cheap Marriage (Bonhoeffer wordplay intended)

Keep out (Newberry Springs, CA, March 2015)

After listening to the marriage arguments this week during the Supreme Court's debate of "gay marriage", I could not help but feel that the opponents of marriage equality were encouraging not an old, ancient version of marriage but something rather less joyful than what could exist today. Rather than viewing God's love as an explosive, expansive, incomprehensible eternity, we heard arguments about a sacrament with old limits, rules, and constraints.

If a sacrament is indeed the outward manifestation or symbol of God's grace, then the sacrament should be special and reflect God's love unfettered. Like God's love, anyone can receive grace if they accept the sacrament they are called to receive, with a penitent heart. Exercising one's free will to accept that sacrament is opening the door to God's blessings and grace.

But crossing my mind as this played out on Tuesday was that three weeks ago was the 70th anniversary of the death of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. One of his amazing works was "The Cost of Discipleship" (1937) and in it he describes a concept that he referred to as cheap grace.

Cheap grace means grace sold on the market like cheapjacks' wares. The sacraments, the forgiveness of sin, and the consolations of religion are thrown away at cut prices. Grace is represented as the Church's inexhaustible treasury, from which she showers blessings with generous hands, without asking questions or fixing limits. Grace without price; grace without cost! The essence of grace, we suppose, is that the account has been paid in advance; and, because it has been paid, everything can be had for nothing. Since the cost was infinite, the possibilities of using and spending it are infinite. What would grace be if it were not cheap?... 

Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, Communion without confession, absolution without personal confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate. 

Costly grace is the treasure hidden in the field; for the sake of it a man will go and sell all that he has. It is the pearl of great price to buy which the merchant will sell all his goods. It is the kingly rule of Christ, for whose sake a man will pluck out the eye which causes him to stumble; it is the call of Jesus Christ at which the disciple leaves his nets and follows him. 

Costly grace is the gospel which must be sought again and again, the gift which must be asked for, the door at which a man must knock. 

Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow, and it is grace because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ. It is costly because it costs a man his life, and it is grace because it gives a man the only true life. It is costly because it condemns sin, and grace because it justifies the sinner. Above all, it is costly because it cost God the life of his Son: "ye were bought at a price," and what has cost God much cannot be cheap for us. Above all, it is grace because God did not reckon his Son too dear a price to pay for our life, but delivered him up for us. Costly grace is the Incarnation of God.

So what does this have to do with the proceedings at the hearings?

Whether it was in the comments made by the counsel defending the state bans or, even more uncomfortably, the presumptuous questions made by Justices Scalia, Roberts, and even Kennedy, there was much to make me think:

Why do we debate how to restrict in a secular society something that is a manifestation of grace?

Or, perhaps in a different way:

Why do we debate something religious like a sacrament in a civil forum? 

The second question is undoubtedly the result of millennia (using the term offered by Justices Kennedy and Roberts) of state proscribed cohabitation rules. I lean towards disestablishmentarianism but this wasn't the key question so I didn't dwell on it much.

Instead I focused on how the justices were debating something that is a manifestation of grace and how best to implement it.

And it felt cheap.

It sounded demeaning.

It made me feel like marriage was once again something you negotiated, along with land, goats, and dowries.

But it wasn't the fault of the Supreme Court. It's really the entire argument against marriage equality and the supposed reasoned debate in secular spheres about what should or should not be allowed. It's all so cheap.

Did any of these three justices (and presumably Alito and Thomas) suffer personal sacrifice in finding someone to love and securing that love? Probably not. Most straight folks have it comparatively easy when you consider how much the LGBTQ have to contend with society, church, family, and employment. Did they do what I did? I went into the closet, came out of the closet, hid in the shadows of the closet again, inched out, slid back in, and finally stayed out. At times, my parents wouldn't talk with me just because I dared to be honest about how I was born.

So, for me, I struggled in the past, struggle today, and will continue to struggle tomorrow - struggle to find out how best to live out Christ's affirming love and expectations of His disciples. I don't see that struggle from what sounded to me like smug comfort in lavish leather chairs.

The discussion of the sacrament of marriage felt like, in a nutshell, nothing but cheap grace. And the struggles of those who want to marry someone who happens to be the same gender, the struggles of the teenager who is bombarded with taunts and jeers just because God made him or her differently, the struggles of a human being discovering and remedying the misidentification of their gender at birth, the struggles of all those transgender victims murdered or assaulted because of someone else's discomfort - all these struggles are the true cost of discipleship.

There's little cost to be in the privileged caste, economically or sexually.

That's pretty cheap. And the grace you pride yourself into hoarding, like NIMBY suburbanites advocating fracking unless it's in your backyard, that grace is cheap. It's cheap grace.

So those who push for continued marriage discrimination in the name of God, arrogant and proud as it may be, may indeed feel they speak from grace, but it feels exactly like what Bonhoeffer was describing.  They advocate cheap marriage.

I'm sure that many on the other side of this discussion think that we are cheapening grace, that by not repenting and becoming straight we wish to receive sacraments that we should not be entitled to receive. I might buy that Koolaid if we could indeed change ourselves into people we are not. But we weren't called to be another way. We were made thusly and God didn't make a mistake. If you accept that our wiring is not a choice, then there is nothing to repent against. We are merely accepting the cross handed to us at birth.

How is our desire to marry comparable to the base celebrity marriages in Vegas that often sometimes just a few months? How is our desire to marry comparable to reality tv show marriages? How is our desire to marry comparable to right wing commentators who marry half a dozen times and, pretty obviously according to the bible, keep repeating their adultery? Their marriages are cheap and the grace implied, this sanctity of marriage offered by the state, is the true abomination.

I don't fault those who never had to fight for receiving grace. If I did, I'd be just another person filled with envy at my returning itinerant brother. I celebrate their grace. But for them to get that grace and try to keep me from enjoying the outward sign of it in the form of marriage, well, that's unjust, arrogant, and demeaning. It cheapens the grace that they've received.

May we all remember that the cost of discipleship is fraught with peril, but it's in our courageous will to live out the expansive, wild love of Christ that we will find the truly redemptive resurrection to a life made new. Let all who are thirsty come.

Easter Reflections - Discoveries on a Journey

The Appalachian Trail, April 2015

Last week I found myself pondering Luke 24, specifically verses 13-32. It's in the lectionary cycle but for some reason it resonates with me this year. I suppose it's the idea of a journey -- the Camino de Santiago rears its knowing head once again.

Now that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem. They were talking with each other about everything that had happened. As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them; but they were kept from recognizing him.

He asked them, “What are you discussing together as you walk along?”
They stood still, their faces downcast. One of them, named Cleopas, asked him, “Are you the only one visiting Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?” 

“What things?” he asked. 

“About Jesus of Nazareth,” they replied. “He was a prophet, powerful in word and deed before God and all the people. The chief priests and our rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him; but we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel. And what is more, it is the third day since all this took place. In addition, some of our women amazed us. They went to the tomb early this morning but didn't find his body. They came and told us that they had seen a vision of angels, who said he was alive. Then some of our companions went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but they did not see Jesus.” 

He said to them, “How foolish you are, and how slow to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Did not the Messiah have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?” And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself. 

As they approached the village to which they were going, Jesus continued on as if he were going farther. But they urged him strongly, “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.” So he went in to stay with them. 

When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. 

Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him, and he disappeared from their sight. They asked each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?”

I think it has been working its way inside me because it reflects so much about some of the lessons I learned on the Camino pilgrimage.

Here, the disciples were confused and seeking answers. They already knew what to expect and had been told so. Repeatedly. Even Jesus reminds them of it right then and there, and yet they refused to believe. Cynicism can be a mighty beast that wins out over even your own eyes at times.

Maybe it was the tiring journey itself that obscured their senses. I'm not leaning towards that because there were repeated vignettes of disciples denying what they were observing. It was sticking with the assumed answer, the predispositions that outweighed hope. And in many ways, it's far easier to be puzzled and content than to deal with the disruptive energy of cognitive dissonance.

But at some point, they open their eyes. And once opened, there was no need for Jesus to be guiding them, because the physical Jesus was no longer needed. The spirit of Jesus was all they needed once awakened. In an odd twist of trust, once you've glimpsed the evidence, the evidence is no longer necessary.

Marriage is such a journey. It's been about a year since we married and I'm forever amazed. With every meal together, with every step we take, I realize ever more strongly that I'm in a vocation and path that was set for me by God. The evidence isn't needed any longer. I just experience the spirit moving around us.

My camino pilgrimage was in some ways like the journey these disciples took. I embarked on a walk to find out truth, to seek clarity, to walk with an open mind to learn about myself and my Creator. And as can be read in the blog posts preceding the pilgrimage, I was blindfolded by my own expectations and pre-conceived notions. I didn't see what I had been seeing, I didn't remember what I had been told.

Instead, it was in the breaking of bread, in sitting and sharing stories, in the gentle touch, in sharing time together with the stranger that we discover God in our midst. Verse 32 screams out to me: "Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road." This is precisely my feelings as I trudged with my fellow travelers. It wasn't when I was being all contemplative, inside my head, alone in my thoughts. It was when I was walking the journey with the stranger who was Jesus that my heart burned.

So I think about all the other blinders and visual obstructions and biases that keep me from making progress on my journey. As I consider them, I remind myself to be open to the stranger, to be sharing in spirit, to be unafraid of the confusion.  The resurrection of Easter can be with us every day we do so.

I pray all of our hearts can burn as well, as we invite the Creator to walk with us.

Easter reflection: Out of grief comes hope

A garden near my home has a gazebo where the posts are made of prickly cactus plants and the roof of thorny bougainvillea. It sits in a garden full of flowers. I call it the Easter garden because, despite the thorns and needles, bountiful, beautiful life surrounds you.

Grief stinks. It's a painful process that has been studied scientifically and yet, at its core, grief remains a traumatic human experience that we cannot elude. Many have learned or are taught that there are seven stages of grief.

- Shock or Disbelief
- Denial
- Anger
- Bargaining
- Guilt
- Depression
- Acceptance and Hope

Some folks consider shock and denial one combined stage, as well as bargaining and guilt. Irrespective of how you define these stages, most people consider the transition between these stages to be highly common and almost necessary to incorporate the concept of death in our lives. When we meet someone how cannot proceed, who seems stuck in a stage, we are stricken by a sad awareness that their grief process has been stalled, and we try to assist them if they're willing to be helped.

The Lenten journey towards Easter is a metaphor for this process. We are shocked on Ash Wednesday in the reminder that to ashes we return. We try to deny it, except it's impossible to ignore the mark of ashes on our foreheads. Our mutual mortality is destined and no amount of reality refusing will wash away such a reality as easily as soap can wash away those ashes.

Throughout this season, in moments of reflection and in the lectionary bible readings, we see examples of all sorts of the other grieving stages. All this culminates on a Good Friday laden with guilt and depression. It is bound to happen and we know the story well.

But Easter, blessed Easter, brings closure to this process. It is not a guarantee of happiness. A friend at church who is grappling with the tortured grief of the death of his young wife reminds me of this reality. It affirmed for me my grief for having lost a brother-in-law and a couple of friends this year: the end of grief isn't happiness, but integration and acceptance.

Easter can be joyful because of the hope it inspires. But it isn't really about joy at its core. We aren't promised a joy. We are promised to be reunited with our Creator. Given that sin is our perpetual distancing from God, such a reunification represents an eternity without sin and a beautiful perfection is in store for us.

It's a joyful event, but joy isn't the promise. Joy is an amazing by-product of the promise. Easter and all the wonderful things we do to celebrate it is about ensuring that we see the ground and ashes ahead, and know that can grow a new life, a new restored hope from such fertile dust.

And with that hope, we become truly alive once again.

Lenten Reflection: Letting Jesus Wash Our Feet on Our Journey to Love

All Saints Pasadena, April 1, 2015

This morning's gospel reading was most of John 13. I'll focus on John 13:34-35 specifically.

A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.

The commandment to love one another is astonishingly simple and also frightfully difficult. It just sounds so much easier to say that to actually do. Because of that, and because my posts this week are revolving around the drama around so called "Religious Freedom Restoration Acts", I'll consider the issues of love for some of the parties concerned.

Many feel that they aren't acting in a discriminatory fashion when they wish to deny services to others. When confronted with historical facts about race and gender discrimination, they often respond that those Christians were mistaken to discriminate against people who could not help the way they were born. In contrast, they feel that they can serve this ultimate command by Christ by pointing out that by serving those who choose to be immoral (those who elect to live in a gay lifestyle), they are in fact acting out of love. This benevolence manifests itself as a parent would direct a child to avoid danger and head in the right direction. It's done out of love and is not seen malicious.

I get that, possibly because I grew up in a devout, ethnic Roman Catholic family, even though I know that most LGBTQ do not feel it's a choice.

I also see that Christians want to support and love those who seem discriminated against simply because they are choosing to live out their faith in the manner that seems consistent with their reading of the bible. This truly is love to me, as many people who are beset upon by others may find themselves needing help and healing. The modern RFRAs, though I disagree with their wording, operate out of this desire.

Then also we have to see that government leaders may have reasons other than brutal political machinations when moving forward with these so called Religious Freedom Restoration Acts. They may sincerely believe that their love of Christ and their fellow like-minded believers commands them to ensure that the population is not put at a disadvantage culturally because of their faith. In other words, they are legislatively trying to stem the growing shame that a culture intent on secular diversity is creating around those of similar faith.

On the cultural side that I come from, it's difficult to accept that love can be expressed when it harms another person. I personally am amazed when the state of Ohio argues in court that marriage equality is not needed because LGBTQ have too much power to be considered a disadvantaged group. This flies in the face of the fact that minorities typically don't have more power than the majority, that LGBTQ mean income is less than cis-hetero mean income, that the significantly higher suicide and homelessness rates of LGBTQ is inconsistent with the idea that LGBTQ are in fact in positions of privilege, and that murder rates of transgender people are unacceptably higher than in the cis-hetero population.

I believe that love should not harm others. The concept of "tough love" may have its place. Sometimes it helps dislodge a co-dependent situation. But we aren't facing such co-dependency here. Tough love just makes life tough.

Ironically, to those who favor these RFRAs, when LGBTQ and their allies try to support each other in love, this is considered persecution and a leftist reflect action. I don't see a difference in mutual support between the first example above and this one. Yet most on both sides use this assistance as a stick to pummel those who disagree with them. Love is kind and disagreements mean that you have people trying to lovingly support those they agree with and frankly I don't see a problem.

The most shocking development of this week has been the frightening force that big business has had on the political process in Indiana, Arkansas, North Carolina, Louisiana, Georgia, and in the past Arizona. Those favoring LGBTQ equality have benefited when huge companies like Apple, Google, Starbucks, Walmart, and Salesforce come out of the closet in their favor. Smaller regional companies such as Angie's List and the various Chambers of Commerce have also been astonishingly pro-diversity. Traditionally conservative companies such as NASCAR, the NCAA, and sporting entities have also weighed in favoring diversity to the surprise of most of the country.

Is this out of love? Is this a reflection of the love that Christ asked during the Last Supper? Unfortunately, I must be cynical and feel that it's not likely so in the larger corporations. These companies recognize that the country as a whole now favors non-discriminatory policies. To go against this would be to put their future economic viability and stature at risk. Moreover, companies such as Walmart and NASCAR may be dominant in places that would prefer the modern RFRA laws, but their greatest growth in market share is clearly in urban, populated areas and in younger, pro-diversity segments. They risk stunting their growth opportunities in these large markets. So I think the cold, cruel calculations in those companies happen to fall on the side of diversity, but it's the sort of support that can be bought. It's not love as Jesus intended.

There are exceptions. I truly believe that the CEOs of Starbucks and Angie's List have consistently been on the side of diversity for a long time. It's in their leadership that even with Indiana's changes, Angie's List still will not expand in Indiana until a true non-discriminatory law is put into place.

We may love Christ, but the Gospel is exasperatingly challenging. I find it hard to love those who harm me. I might say "impossible" but I'm truly trying to allow for that love to exist. In light of yesterday's Gospel reading ("Lenten reflection: When Hugging Jesus Separates Us from God"), at least I'm not always acting in fear and moving away reflexively. I'm trying to move closer, trying to make that journey to walk in His way of love.

May all our feet be washed by Christ on our journey to love.

Amendments to Indiana's Religious Freedom Restoration Act Reverse the Damage. And...

The proposed amendments to Indiana's reactionary RFRA act say:

Sec 0.7. This chapter does not:
(1) authorize a provider to refuse to offer or provide services, facilities, use of public accommodations, goods, employment, or housing to any member or members of the general public on the basis of race, color, religion, ancestry, age, national origin, disability, sex, sexual orientation, gender identity, or United States military service;
(2) establish a defense to a civil action or criminal prosection for refusal by a provider to offer or provide services, facilities, use of public accommodations, goods, employment, or housing to any member or members of the general public on the basis of race, color, religion, ancestry, age, national origin, disability, sex, sexual orientation, gender identity, or United States military service; or
(3) negate any rights available under the Constitution of the State of Indiana 

Sec 0.7.5
As used in this chapter, "provider" means one (1) or more individuals, partnerships, associations, organizations, limited liability companies, corporations, and other organized  groups of persons. This term does not include:
(1) A church or other nonprofit religious organization or society, including an affiliated school, that is exempt from federal income taxation under 26 U.S.C.,501(a), as amended (excluding any activity that generates unrelated business taxable income (as defined in 26 U.S.C.512, as amended).
(2) A rabbi, priest, preacher, minister, pastor, or designee of a church or other nonprofit religious organization or society when the individual is engaged in a religious or affiliated educational function of the church or other nonprofit religious organization or society.

Clearly, the amendment if passed will remove the fangs off the so called Religious Freedom Restoration Act. It seems to put the new Indiana law on a basis more akin to what exists in 20 other states and subtracts the attempt to capitalize on the Hobby Lobby SCOTUS decision.

These are the main things found when reading this amendment.

a) The new law will no longer supersede state or local laws banning anti-gay discrimination
b) The new law now no longer takes advantage of the Hobby Lobby decision
c) The changes do not apply to religious groups
d) This amendment does not grant any new civil rights to LGBTQ in Indiana

So if passed, the worst damage will be averted.

And yet...

Like the fairy tale musical "Into the Woods" warns, be careful what you wish for, because in this modified act, we do see improvements on what could have been a highly discriminatory environment in public settings.

And yet, there still is no civil rights protection in Indiana for LGBTQ.

Your employer can still fire you for coming out of the closet or legally marrying the person you love.

The religious affiliated hospital which might be the only facility in your town can still refuse to offer you the proper treatment or give access to your same gender spouse.

A religious affiliated nursing home or hospice can deny access to your same gender spouse.

So yes, the wolf may be dispatched should this amendment be passed. But what we are reminded of is because there is no federal law, in 27 states in 2015, your livelihood and access to treatment and your spouse may just be a fairy tale. 

Lenten reflection: When Hugging Jesus Separates Us from God

Staying close. Avila Beach, November 2014

Isaiah 50:4-9 was our first reading today.

The Lord GOD has given me the tongue of a teacher, that I may know how to sustain the weary with a word. Morning by morning he wakens-- wakens my ear to listen as those who are taught. The Lord GOD has opened my ear, and I was not rebellious, I did not turn backward. I gave my back to those who struck me, and my cheeks to those who pulled out the beard; I did not hide my face from insult and spitting. The Lord GOD helps me; therefore I have not been disgraced; therefore I have set my face like flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame; he who vindicates me is near. Who will contend with me? Let us stand up together. Who are my adversaries? Let them confront me. It is the Lord GOD who helps me; who will declare me guilty?

The Gospel reading came from John. Here's one line, John 13:21

After saying this Jesus was troubled in spirit, and declared, "Very truly, I tell you, one of you will betray me."

I will keep this one simple. The mad step backwards in civil rights in Indiana, Arkansas, and other upcoming states can feel like a blow or spit upon the face. It's a veiled attempt to shame and denigrate, to make a second class person in a country where all are supposed to be treated equally.

But as is shown in social media, people are willing to stand up and not be shamed, and to not let their family and friends be shamed. The days of hiding are gone. We can stand together, speak together, work together, confront our aggressors together.

On top of all this is the passage in John which has often been used to paint Judas as a villain. What was Judas's sin before this? Nothing is mentioned in any detail. What we know is that Judas seems to distance himself from Jesus. He seems to be rejecting his teachings and turning him over to those who similarly disagree. He distanced himself from Christ. He happened to do it in a big way, but distancing oneself from God or Jesus is basically a definition of sin. Our lives are meant to move closer to God, not away from God.

Now, Peter himself denied Jesus three times that same night. His sin was no better. Peter distanced himself from Jesus, from goodness, from solidarity and love. He just happened to do it without turning Jesus over to authorities. But sin he did and he wept.

So as I watch the raging storm over legislation allowing businesses and people to discriminate in Indiana, as I watch people embrace the notion that they can push away God's children, I am reminded that we all can easily distance ourselves from our Creator all too easily. We can all deny Christ and reject our common birthright. We all sin when we separate ourselves from our brothers and sisters.

I don't any more hold Judas supremely guilty like the simplistic stories in movies have portrayed him. I see him as no more guilty than me. His sin was to embrace Jesus with false love, and in doing so sent Jesus to his fate. 

We can't legislate love, but we can legislate civil and fair treatment. If some choose to sin by pushing others away, by embracing Jesus with their own false love, by unwittingly separating themselves from God, we must pray that they some day recognize that their sin, like our own, can be hard to see. In their pushing away that which is love, we must stand together and confront them with what they are doing, so that all that distances us can wash away.

And we all, like Judas and Peter, can eventually see how we distance ourselves from God.

May we pray for the gentle Holy Spirit to come down upon our land, hold us ever closer to divine goodness, and nudge and narrow that wide space that separates us from God. 

Lenten Reflection: From the ashes, we bring new life

A century plant on Echo Mountain above Pasadena 2013

We read from John 12 this morning. Here's a couple of lines of John 12:24-26

Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me; and where I am, my servant also will be. My Father will honor the one who serves me.

There are many times I lament that we take two steps forward, one step back. Sometimes two or even three back. On so many days we feel like we're backsliding. The story unfolding in Indiana with its recent laws permitting discrimination seems just like this to me.

Sometimes, I weep as we lose friends and family. We at times can say goodbye, other times we're not given the opportunity to say goodbye in person. Loss always seems to much worse when it's something or someone you love dearly. The backsliding feeling can overwhelm us.

And yet, in so many ways, that loss is our own, something that reflects personal needs and desires. John 12 reminds us that what we see and feel masks the big picture. Sometimes we have to see things differently. It's hard to do that. As people, we need love and memories and laughter and joy. Lose a source of that joy and we sense an injustice has been done. We've been robbed of our happiness.

From this, we mourn. We rage. We despair.

But shaking our fist at the sky doesn't accomplish much. Moreover, we might not realize, like the apostles in John 12, that we're seeing things too closely, that we aren't seeing the big picture. Because it's not just a matter of scattering the seeds that we get many plants. We have let the seeds die and create a nurturing environment in the soil to get an even greater abundance of life. We have to let go of what we loved into the soil, then care for what we have buried.

And the God who is love is what gets the seeds to spread. In the soil, from which they came, the seeds eventually bring new life, more life. Yes, from the ashes, we bring the new. With help, the circle since Ash Wednesday becomes complete as we grope our way to Easter. But we have to be intentional about our care, our nurturing, our love. Jesus in John 12 teaches us to change our way of thinking if God is make life out of death. We have to play our part, to serve, to suffer, to bring healing. The seed will lie dormant without us and God.

I don't know if Easter is a celebration or a call to action. Maybe it's both. Easter is about life made new. How can we gain from that without first burying the seed AND watering it? May you bury your pains, heal with soil watered from your tears, and find life made new.

Lenten Reflection: Waiting For Godot... and Gary, Indiana.

Me waiting for Godot?
San Diego Coronado Beach. Feb 14, 2015

Monday's Holy Week readings included the following lines from Isaiah 42:3-4

A bruised reed He will not break And a dimly burning wick He will not extinguish; He will faithfully bring forth justice. He will not be disheartened or crushed Until He has established justice in the earth; And the coastlands will wait expectantly for His law.

The recent RFRA (so called Religious Freedom Restoration Act) law in Indiana, like other laws coming soon in Arkansas and Georgia, take advantage of last year's Hobby Lobby Supreme Court ruling and goes far beyond older RFRAs. Rather than preventing governments from putting burdens on people, these new laws are intended to prevent people from burdening people. And, to rub salt into the wound, Indiana reminds us in SB101 that corporations and businesses are people and can therefore have a faith.

This breaks my heart because it feels like such a step backward. It's one thing to willfully ignore the discrimination that we can see happening in Ferguson, Missouri and other places. It's another to enshrine such discrimination into law and actually claim that those discriminating are the real victims. Masquerading discrimination as religion, like a klansman hides behind his hood, does not make the bruises go away.

I read this morning's readings and found strength. As we together walk towards Easter this week, we must keep our wick alive and remember that justice will be served. In the meantime, I pray for those in states like Indiana so that those who feel put upon, whether by faith or by birth, will have their loads lifted and their cups be filled by justice.

I recall watching a Samuel Beckett play "Waiting for Godot" in Stanford and thinking, "I'm still waiting and waiting and waiting." Decades later, I sometimes wonder how long I have to wait (yes, that play still challenges me). And I'm thankful that I have others with whom I can share my wait, for in community, we can draw strength.

But it's still Monday. And the coastlands will wait expectantly for his law.

Lenten Reflection - Did I take that road?

Walking out of Melida, Spain on the Camino de Santiago

My very last reflection before leaving for Spain six months ago was called "The Road Not Taken (Preparing #12)". In it, I shared Robert Frost's famous poem and was considering some of my aspirations and wariness for the upcoming pilgrimage. Clearly, anticipation had built up tremendously and I was eager to take my first steps.

Now, in the midst of Lent, I reflect on whether I had in fact been able to ward off the judgment of others and my own self-judgment. I admit in reviewing my blog postings during the walk that I wrestled with these thoughts and found it frustratingly difficult.

First self-judgment. It didn't take long at all. Here I was on day four (see "Day 4 - Recap - Changing Plans" ) and you will see that I grappled with a decision to skip a five hour walk through an industrial area. Rather than trudge through that mess and then stop and sleep before Astorga, I wanted to take the bus past the industrial area and then get to Astorga early enough to explore the city and cathedral. My original plans were to stay in a village then get to Astorga  at 9am but then continue onwards after a couple hours. But to take the bus and skip the industrial area made me feel like I was changing my plans and "cheating" on the pilgrimage.

I'm glad I did. I'm thankful that I spoke with Stephen back at home via Skype about this. He's the one who reminded me about my desire to not judge anyone about what their pilgrimage looked like. And here I was judging myself! I had to let go of my self-judgment and plans and go with the road that felt right. Thank goodness I did. I was able to enjoy the marvelous small city, meet some interesting people, buy a pilgrimage scallop shell, picnic at a Gaudi building, and attend mass celebrated by the Bishop.

I just had to let go of my ego.

The other judgment was the one that rocked my walk (see "Preconceived Notions and Judgment") because I didn't even realize I was being judgmental. I was reflexively judging another peregrino simply based on his appearance. I assumed that he and I were going to be radically different in theology and politics and I evaded him.

How damning I was... and it was me who got damned.

When I finally faced him, I realized that I was judging him so unfairly. I was blocking my own personal growth. I was creating walls of separation instead of sharing, bonding, healing. In my despair that night, I wrestled through the night like Jacob and slept at most four hours. That's something when you're really tired from walking.

And now, six months later in the midst of Lent, here in the US we've had things happening that make me wonder about this judgment by reflex. It seems to me that Ferguson is a community-wide version of this reflex. It's judgment on steroids. Take every person doing the judgment that I was doing, magnify it, point it at the disenfranchised, and you get the sort of systematic discrimination that just won't go away.

I think I'm more self-aware of this reflex in me now. I'm working hard to detect my judging before or as it is happening, to meet my neighbor with the knowledge that we are all God's children. My prayer this morning after the latest horrible news from Ferguson is that we as a people, as a community, as a human family, can work together to understand this destructive force and return to a place of sharing, bonding, healing.

What road will we be taking this Lent?

               Two roads diverged in a wood,
               and I — I took the one less traveled by, 

               And that has made all the difference.

Looking forward from the Camino, 6 months later

This is a photo I took in Burgos Cathedral at the start of my Camino de Santiago pilgrimage in 2014. A young tourist or peregrino (pilgrim) is capturing the stunning stained glass at the end of a hallway near the courtyard.

This photo haunts me. To me, it raises so many questions. What are you seeing that you wish to capture? Does it capture the beauty you saw? Will you forget this beauty once you walk away, except if you take this photo? With whom will you share this photo and what will you tell them? What do think knowing that this window, like all windows, eventually returns to dust?

I share this photo because here we are in the middle of Lent, and lo and behold I realize: it's been exactly six months since I landed in Spain and began my Camino de Santiago pilgrimage.

What happened to me in that time? I walked the Camino de Santiago, discovered and rediscovered some timeless lessons about community and relationships, deepened my faith, and found myself  in a deeper journey of spirituality than I expected.

Yes, the Camino was an adventure. Indeed for some, the adventure of the Camino is a primary attraction. I admit that I was looking forward with only the slightest trepidation an opportunity to relive my backpacking and cycling days of youth through Europe.

But I went into it as a journey of the soul. I came out of it seeing the face of God ever more strongly as I shared and touched and connected with some amazing people. Every person is your closest friend, if ever so briefly on your journey. And one marches on, with a growing realization that more angels will come every day and show you your way.

I think of my Austrian "nephews" who began to walk with me towards the end, and made my trip so deeply satisfying. Isn't it amazing how the young always seem to energize us? I didn't think of it at the time, but they infused me with the same hope and love of the future as when I stayed with the Taize community in France. The love of our Creator knows no bounds and in our young, we see the same limitless hope.

And while Lent also strides onwards towards Easter, I immerse myself in reflection about the cross and the burdens of our mortality. We are on this planet for such a short time, yet we act as though some days can be wasted on trivial things. What does it take to remind ourselves that we must live life anew, fresh and as hopeful as children?

Is it in children?

Is it in Jesus?

Is it on a spiritual quest?

None of these offers a quick answer. Anybody who thinks so will find possibly simple satisfaction, but might find themselves also in an existential crisis when challenges of life come crashing down.

This is why I think my Camino pilgrimage continues. Lent is a season, but the introspection is needed every day. Children grow up, but the wonders in their eyes must reside in us always. Jesus inspires, but we need to carry His love throughout our day and not just in the pews. My spiritual quest hasn't ended but just cycles through yet another phase.

So as six months have passed by and I reflect on what I've learned from my Camino walk, I'll look at various aspects of my journey - before, during, and after my pilgrimage - for the remainder of this Lent. Not because I'm planning on returning, which I am next year, but because life's lessons, like life, must be renewed and restored.

May your spring bring forth a bloom of life and potential life anew, from the soil you've tilled before.

Walking for me, Walking for others

You may have heard that I walked the Camino de Santiago in 2014. If you read my blog series on that pilgrimage, you're well aware of what went through my head and heart. If not here are the two main links:
   Before the Camino
   During and after the Camino

It amazes me how much the Camino changed my perceptions. Perhaps that's not correct. I think inside I knew what should and could arise from this pilgrimage. No, what's amazing is that in spite of all that I knew and perceived, my focus was all around one being.

Me.

My journey in faith.

My spiritual direction.

My own Camino.

And what I discovered, especially as I re-read my blog postings, was that what was changing was not necessarily my perceptions, but my focus. By focusing so much on me, I so lost sight of many of the things that truly make for a grace-filled world. The low point and high point of the refocusing pivoted on one night, as I describe in the blog entry Preconceived Notions and Judgement . As I mentioned there, I was up half the night, shocked that my self-focused walk almost blocked the Holy Spirit from working both within me and within others. On my camino, I was twisting in my path.

So the lessons revolved around the focus, not on what I knew. I know that religion is about our inter-connectedness, our relationships, other love with others on this earth. My spiritual focus was on me, which obscured the eternal truths. So, this next walk will not focus on me. It will be on

Us.

Our journeys in faith.

Our spiritual directions.

Our own caminos.

Now, with All Saints Pasadena friends Matthew Rhodes and Michelle Johnston, I'm planning on returning to the Camino in 2016 May-June. And many, many more are coming, though they will start at different places. Matthew and MJ will start at Saint Jean Pied-de-Port on the French border, the typical starting spot for the 500 mile journey. Stephen will likely start in Astorga. Others in Burgos, where I started my journey in 2014. And I'll continue to Finisterre, on foot this time.

This time, in 2016, I won't be starting in Spain. I'll be starting in Lourdes, France.

The Virgin Mary made over a dozen appearances to the village starting in 1858. The Sanctuary of Our Lady of Lourdes is a place of mass pilgrimage. The spring water from the grotto is believed by some to possess healing properties. This pilgrimage site of healing receives millions of visitors every year.

I will begin my pilgrimage on the Camino here. I will seek healing in communion with others. Then, with oils and waters from this site, I will begin my Camino walk towards Saint Jean Pied-de-Port and onwards to Santiago de Compostella. Most importantly, I will share the water and oil with those who wish to share in a healing moment.

So it won't be about me this time. It will be about sitting with others and praying together for healing and love. I'll be praying with and for everyone I meet. I hope I stay in the moment and present with all I encounter. And, with a grace-filled heart, my focus won't need adjusting this time.

Who am I

I watch certain films during Lent. Chocolat. Les Miserables (1995 concert version).

This year, I was particularly moved by the song "Who am I". It comes after Inspector Javert feels he's captured the Jean Valjean, prisoner 24601, who abandoned the terms of his parole. Unwittingly, he tells the mayor, who in fact is Jean Valjean but under an assumed name. Jean Valjean must face whether he continues in his disguise, maintain his office, sustain his successful business, and escape prison, but causing an innocent man to go to jail. Or he could reveal his identity and lose his business and position.

From the lyrics to "Who am I" from the musical Les Miserables If I speak, I am condemned. If I stay silent, I am damned! I am the master of hundreds of workers. They all look to me. How can I abandon them? How would they live If I am not free? If I speak, they are condemned. If I stay silent, I am damned! Who am I? Can I condemn this man to slavery Pretend I do not feel his agony This innocent who bears my face Who goes to judgement in my place Who am I? Can I conceal myself for evermore? Pretend I'm not the man I was before? And must my name until I die Be no more than an alibi? Must I lie? How can I ever face my fellow men? How can I ever face myself again? My soul belongs to God, I know I made that bargain long ago He gave me hope when hope was gone He gave me strength to journey on Who am I? Who am I? I am Jean Valjean! And so Javert, you see it's true That man bears no more guilt than you! Who am I? 2 4 6 0 1

I normally love this song because it brings me to tears. This year, however, I found myself actually sobbing. 

The tears flowed not because I'm a former prisoner, but because the parallels feel so true right now. Was I a literal prisoner? No. Did I feel like a prisoner? Yes. When I was in the closet, I felt oppressed and unable to be myself. I got glimpses of a happier choice as a pre-med student who loved working in caring gerontology environments, helping the elderly, healing people in spirit. But I chose not to enter that profession because of the emotional nature of working with dying patients. I since then have worked for the sake of work.

Today, I lead a pleasant life with a wonderful husband who I adore. I enjoy a certain freedom in my business and get to travel. 

And yet, I daily face the question of "Who am I"? It's the same question I faced when I was a prisoner in the closet. It's the question I asked when I left the medical career. In some ways, my freedom from that world allowed me to flourish and be financially secure. I've also since returned to the Church and have a deep relationship with God.

So what has happened this year? Why am I facing a choice about me as I live versus me as my true self? Was it the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage? Perhaps. I undoubtedly feel as though I'm on a spiritual journey. In the end, I think it's this Lenten season, coming soon after a big pilgrimage.

Lent asks us to go deep into our search for God and our place on earth. We're asked to find God by being true to ourselves as we were created. Anything that distracts us from our true selves distracts us from God. Anything that distracts us from God is temptation. 

We usually say that temptation distracts us from God. But in many ways that allows us to wiggle out of our responsibilities because we don't have to define temptation. 

Anything that distracts us from God is temptation.

So this Lent, I face the temptations that surround us and find that almost everything that isn't about helping, caring, nourishing, welcoming, healing is a temptation. Because on my journey of faith, I find God in Creation and in people. If my relationship with people and creation are not central, then it's a distraction to God. Or, if it's not about relationships and creation, it's a distraction, a temptation, from God.

Fine, how do you make a living without the distraction of work? I'm not sure I know the answer. It's certainly not going to be an easy answer. One can depend on others for their livelihood but at some point, somebody has to help create a sustainable place to live and and find food to eat.

As such, like most, I lead a balanced life, lifting up when possible the aspirational goals but held down in the ashes from which we came because we're expected to live life a certain way.

So who am I? 

"My soul belongs to God, I know. I made that bargain long ago. He gave me hope when hope was gone. He gave me strength to journey on. Who am I? Who am I?"

That's the question that will follow me throughout this Lenten pilgrimage.

Slouching Towards Lent

As the season of Lent approaches, my Roman Catholic upbringing comes racing up the ramp reminding me to give up something. I haven't really thought of it as a giving up since returning to the Church. I prefer to think of Lenten practices in a newer way, to provide deeper mystical insights.

Maybe, I am in fact slouching towards Lent  (apologies to poet W. B. Yeats for the inadequate comparison).

Instead of how I was raised,  I've tried to do a give and take. I give up something and take something up. The odd thing is, I've found that taking something up has been so fulfilling that it's gone past Lent. Really past Lent.

So yes, I every year give up meat for Lent. Admittedly, until about ten years ago, I didn't realize that fish and seafood weren't meat. I'm not cavalier about definitions, but suffice it to say that when you're taught to give up meat on Fridays and you eat seafood instead, well, those things are hard to drum out of your brain.

I also don't drive past the speed limit unless I'm putting myself or someone else in danger because everyone else is going exceptionally fast. It's an odd one to do, but I practice this because it reminds me that I am not more important than any one else, that my time isn't more valuable, and that I need to make space and time for myself so that I won't feel the need to rush while driving.

So what is the thing that I've taken up? Six years ago, Stephen joined me and together we began at Union Station Homeless Services as volunteers. It's the largest agency in Pasadena, or actually all of the San Gabriel Valley. We decided that in addition to giving something up, we'd offer something back to the community.

Our affection for helping at Union Station can not be minimized. On a personal level, this practice unleashed a life-giving force in me. We loved what we did and we became regulars. It's been six years and that Lenten discipline has never ceased.

As a journey of spiritual exploration, it opened my eyes not just to what we do, what we don't do, and what we can do, but it kept them open to all those things and more. Lent didn't end on Easter that year for me. Whenever I walk the labyrinth, whenever I help those in unfortunate life situations, whenever I try to help heal an open wound, I feel that my Lent, like my Camino, continues.

May your journey of faith this season bring you and take you to surprising new life.

Big Fat Greek Wedding - Gay Christian Network style

I attended the Gay Christian Network's (GCN) 11th conference in Portland, Oregon at the end of last week. There were 1300 registered attendees, perhaps 1500 people attending in total, from 46 states and 11 countries. I came to learn about their communication strategies, their pastoral work, and their education efforts, and to network in my role as Director of Communications and Board member of IntegrityUSA. Matt Haines, President of the Board of Directors for IntegrityUSA, attended with me. I also attended with my heart and mind opened by the Episcopal Church and by my heavy participation at All Saints Pasadena.

The conference began under Justin Lee to meet the needs of the evangelical community. When I say evangelical in this context, I am using the popular meaning. I consider myself a progressive evangelical which, to the media, would seem an oxymoron at best, a cognitively dissonant impossibility at worst. But that's what I consider myself to be, as many who attend All Saints Pasadena probably do as well.

The GCN attendance has expanded to attract mainline and Catholic attendees now. Though its prayers sessions have a Baptist or Pentacostal feel, the Sunday communion service was broad enough to offer grape juice as well as wine, and provided a Eucharist for those who prefer consubstantiation as well as transubstantiation.

And that's what made the conference so powerful to me. It was broad and inclusive and completely loving. Rachel Held Evans, a popular writer that I follow on Twitter, has tweeted "I don’t just look to #GCNConf for how to better engage LGBT issues. I look to #GCNConf for how to be a better Christian." This was exactly how many of us felt at the Portland Convention Center. We weren't learning and living and reconciling and sharing as LGBT-only people. We were the church community, all together, whether straight, gay, bi, trans, or questioning.

We were Christians first: Christians who were grappling to live out our calling and faith while living with the reality that we or people we loved are LGBT.

There were astonishingly profound speakers. We listened and wept at the amazing first plenary talk by Jeff Chu, author of "Does Jesus Really Love Me?: A Gay Christian's Pilgrimage in Search of God in America". We listened and wept as Danny Cortez, Pastor of La Mirada's New Heart Community Church, shared his journey from a Southern Baptist anti-LGBT congregation to LGBT affirming. And we listened and wept as musician and theologian Vicky Beeching described her journey, which continues to this day. 

It wasn't a sobfest. We laughed and nodded in understanding at their stories. Those attending seemed to relate at a deeply personal level at the struggles faced. And I got to break bread with many who shared these stories, whether by reconnecting with friends, like H Adam Ackley who I hadn't seen since my wedding, or meeting new ones such as other Episcopalians from throughout this great country.

As a marked contrast to the beauty of this faithful pastoral care for each other, we also were confronted with a well known Westboro protest group from Kansas, best known for picketing at funerals of victims and soldiers. Thankfully, a wall of love was erected by local churches. These churches, having heard of the sound-bite protesters, created by their presence a wall of safety so that attendees could pray in peace. This is love made manifest.

And above the protesters, God brought forth his promised reminder that we will always be loved and never destroyed: an enormous double rainbow that spanned across the whole sky. I won't post a photo of the protesters, as that just affirms and enables them. Instead, I just show the symbol of God's eternal love, a literal wink wink of irony at the scene played out below.

I am deeply happy and a fuller, more understanding Christian to have met so many loving people. The parents and family of LGBT who attended were a clear sign that the Holy Spirit was working her way through us. Near the end of the conference, GCN's Justin Lee unveiled a new amazing, loving program LiveLoveOut.com which will invite everyone and anyone, regardless of LGBT concerns, to help find ways to help the LGBT teen homelessness epidemic.

And the best part of it all was that we weren't a monolithic, group-think assembly of people. The diversity was astonishing, whether by ethnicity, age, Christian faith tradition, "outness", or income. I had people asking me about the Episcopal Church and how we handled LGBT. I spoke with people who asked me to pray so that they'll be granted the strength, wisdom, and courage to bring up LGBT issues to their churches. I prayed with those who knew that honesty about their sexuality might risk losing the ministry that they cherished and loved.

It's like that movie that came out in the 90s called My Big Fat Greek Wedding. The romantic comedy played up romance and the wedding of a quiet Anglo-American with a Greek-American from a large immigrant family. Normally, as a Filipino-American, I'm used to being the one who comes from the loud ethnic family and dating someone who comes from more reserved American background. At the GCN conference, however, the reserved Christianity that is often found in the Episcopal Church stood in sharp contrast to the hands-in-the-air families from other Protestant churches. On the face of it, it just seemed like it wouldn't work.

But it did work. And for Christians to live out their calling among LGBT realities, it has to work, every day, in every community. It worked because we were in that thin-space where love washes over every and all wounds.

We are all welcome to the table of love. We cannot choose to eject someone, for the Gospels say that we are all invited. In fact, the least of us are meant to be at the head of the table. The Christian love I found at this conference renewed and filled me in a way as deeply meaningful as my pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago.

May all those who walk this journey be strengthened by our Christian love and communities.

Being a Human Being vs a Human Doing

Christmas just ended and our six wise men (yes, six, because for some reason we just find more and more magi in the bottom of our Christmas decorations boxes than we thought we had) finally reached the baby Jesus. Happy Epiphany all!

It's wonderful, really, that Christians choose to remember the pilgrimage of magi who went out there, way out there, to find Jesus. They came from the East, which means anywhere from the Mediterranean all the way to the Pacific. I imagine that they came from somewhere in Jordan, Syria, Iraq, or Iran. I'm partial to Iran, because the word magi originally came from a Persian word referring to a priestly class.

Only the Gospel of Matthew mentions them and yet we've built up a great deal of tradition around the magi. Matthew didn't say they were kings, but we've extrapolated that they were royalty from the Psalms. Matthew didn't say there were three, but we've assumed as such because there were three gifts listed. They likely didn't even visit him in the manger because Matthew says that at some point they visited the house and only Mary was there. In fact, they were at first wandering a bit because they first went to Jerusalem and snitched on Jesus to Herod before continuing to Bethlehem. Or, maybe they weren't wandering though. Bethlehem is in fact only 4 miles away from Jerusalem. It would make sense to get your papers in order before visiting a country.

I mention all this because it seems like an awful long way to go to see a baby, even if the stars suggest that you do so. We've elaborated on this simple story to a great extent because somehow we want more from it. It seems to simple and we probably want explanations.

But that's what makes a journey so confusing. A journey is all about doing. It's all action. It's easy to see because we've all taken journeys and many of us feel as though we are on one now. You walk, you explore, you struggle, you listen, you ask, you watch.

That's a whole lot of doing.

And yet, the reason we take journeys is often less clear. It's not obvious why we yearn for something, why we seek, and how we gather the courage and energy to go out of our way to find something.

And whether that goal is Jesus, self-actualization, nirvana, love, heaven, or peace, it's actually sometimes confusing and difficult to blend a life of so much action with the actual goal we seek. How do we find these lofty goals when we're busy doing human things? The goals are anything but human in so many ways. It seems contradictory because it often is.

Doing sometimes seems easier than actually being. Yes, it's arduous and intense, but doing implies that you've got some compass or guiding star or Camino de Santiago scallops to show you the way. It's actually much harder to "be" and to maintain "being".

I feel as though my life is all about doing. I do a lot. People remind me always that I do a lot. I've always felt the need to do, to keep doing. And maybe it's time to recognize, as journeys often show us, that the journey itself might be masking our ability to be rather than do.

Surprisingly, the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage helped me to see this. It showed me much about the importance of being present and being in the moment rather than to always be doing. I'm keenly aware that in any given hour of wakefulness, I'm reading, writing, walking, texting, photographing, talking, watching, practicing, playing, hiking, planning, meeting, or shopping.

I don't have a new year's resolution to share. But perhaps I have a new life promise that I am starting to understand. And with understanding comes the willingness to share such a promise to myself, to my family and friends, to my community, to my Creator.

It might be time to embrace myself as a human Being more than just a human Doing. After all, isn't that what Jesus is all about? To be human.

Sometimes Love Sounds a Little Crazy

This painting by Tanner might be my favorite piece in the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It shows a perfectly typical girl somewhere from the Middle East. This Mary is not at all the fair-haired, blue eyed damsel found in typical Renaissance paintings.

The whole painting is so realistic to me. Mary herself in particular looks utterly true. She's darker, for one.

And scared.

And puzzled.

And maybe even sarcastic. As in, "You're joking, right?"

After all, what sane, sensible girl wouldn't be shocked by the visit of some apparition telling her that she will soon be carrying a special child.

What sane, sensible girl wouldn't be horrified by how her family will feel when they find out? And don't even go there when it comes to telling her boyfriend. If they had slang in those days, which every language does, I'm sure she'd be thinking something akin to "WTF"?

I know I would.

The colors, textures, and shadows of the painting intensify the feelings that she seems to be having. This isn't the happy, glowing Mary we usually think about when we hear about the coming of Jesus. We are told that the story of the coming of unfettered love and compassion. Advent leads to Christmas and throughout this season we are eagerly waiting for this amazing love.

But maybe that's just as mistaken an impression as those Renaissance paintings. I look around and I'd say that most every active Christian in America, especially those who are involved in churches, are frantically busy trying to do what others are doing -- shopping, celebrating, gathering, traveling -- and be active in their churches at the same time. It's frantic and busy and often times less than that picture of perfect love.

Our world today is equally frightened. The political situation in American much less in other parts of our often-times dangerous world offers challenges even to the most wide-eyed optimist.

Yet, love is there waiting to be discovered. We have so much potential to welcome love and grace into our lives, if we move beyond the fear.

I view Mary and Joseph not as awed adults as is portrayed in paintings and media, but as incredibly brave teenagers. Maybe they're a bit like most young adults I meet today: fearless to the point that they behave as though they are immortal. They face the challenge put to them by their visions head-on.

Because love demands it. Love isn't meant to be seen from sideways glances. It's the full embrace, the bear hug, the never-gonna-let-you-go squeeze that comforts. You can't get that by being coy. And you can't see it or even notice that it's there if you're afraid.

I'm in a discerning mood right now. I feel and hear things that call out to me that have frightened me. It didn't dissipate upon my marriage. It didn't disappear upon walking the Camino de Santiago. No, in fact, it got stronger and reinforced. I see this painting and I'm wondering if that's me cowering in the corner.

I look and pray to Mary and Joseph to show me what fearless love looks like. And I invite you to pray for the love that knows no limits into your lives, regardless of your fears. You and I weren't meant to fear the invitation to love. If we know love is there waiting, we must get past our darkest nights and see the light that is to come.

Bowl of Light and Stones at the Cruz de Ferro - An Advent meditation

A friend of mine in choir at All Saints Pasadena reminded us during her Advent meditation of a "story of the people".

Imagine an old bowl. It might look like a simple vessel, but for those who appreciate ancient wisdom from other cultures, it can mean much more. Here's a story from the Hawaiian people.

It is known that “each child born comes with a Bowl of Perfect Light.” And providing that the child is taught to carefully, mindfully tend to his or her light, the child grows in strength and is able to do all things - swim with the sharks in the deepest oceans, fly with the birds in the heavens, know and understand all things. If, however, the child becomes envious, jealous, judgmental he or she must drop a stone into their bowl of light, causing some of the light to go out, since light and stone cannot occupy the same space and time. And if one continues to fill the bowl with stones, the light will go out completely, and that person becomes a stone and like a stone, one no longer emits lights, grows, moves. One remains in this state of being. If at any time one tires of being a stone,  that person must realize that all he or she needs to do is turn the bowl upside down, letting all the stones fall out and making room in the bowl once again. Light can shine through and fill the bowl once more and grow even brighter than before. We must always remember that nothing is impossible, and a life in the darkness can be turned upside if we choose.

Though I had forgotten this story, it struck me how meaningful it would have been had I remembered it on my Camino de Santiago pilgrimage. The Cruz de Ferro is an extremely tall cross at the highest point on the walk across Spain. I had several blog postings about the Cruz de Fero which I share again here.

• Preparing for the Camino: Cruz de Ferro
• Cruz de Ferro visit
• Cruz de Ferro Video

The custom is to bring a stone with you from wherever you came from across the world. I brought mine from the 3200ft (1100m) mountain behind my house here in Southern California. The stone was carried across way, a reminder that you carry with you things that weigh you down, even on the most arduous of journeys. The pains and suffering we experience while taking the pilgrimage aren't helped by carrying that stone, just as the stones in our lives weigh us down and impede us on our life journey.

So we leave that stone at the cross, asking that our Christ, who carries our burdens and for us, to take that stone off us, relieving us of its weight, lightening our load. Some leave the stones plain, others like myself wrote on the stone the things that the stone represented. I left my stone at the cross and was overwhelmed at how much lighter I felt inside.

Advent comes in the middle of the darkest times of winter. And yet, in the stillness of the night, we still have hope that comes. We await and prepare for that hope. We turn over our bowls to make room for the light. We leave our stones behind at the cross. We remember that we can choose to walk away from the darkness and into the most humble and otherwise empty spaces to find the birth of a miraculous life and light.

Thank you Cynthia for reminding me in these times of winter's darkness that we, celebrating Advent, know that a light shall come and we can make room for that light in our bowls.

May all of us have the courage to turn our bowls upside down and may light perpetual shine on us.

May we help those too weak or poor to turn their bowls upside down and may light perpetual shine on them.

May we help those too powerful or rich to have the courage turn their bowls upside down and may light perpetual shine on them.

May we help those too frightened, confused, or lonely to turn their bowls upside and may light perpetual shine on them.

And may your stones be set down so that the light may arc into your bowl of life.

Advent Meditation: Soft vs Hard, Natural vs Man-made, Love vs Fear.

Cloud and Chichenitza pyramid, Mexico. Mel Soriano 2014-11-30

I've been contemplating why this photo struck me so strongly as I took it last week while I was traveling in Mexico. It's basically a corner of the main pyramid at Chichenitza and the cloud behind it. I took many photos that day, but I focused on this one in part because it highlighted an interesting contrast to me. At that time, it was just the difference between soft vs hard materials. But more than that, it meant something deeper, and I gazed at it in wonder. It attracted me more than I understood at that time.

This morning, a comment by one of my best high school friends on Facebook gave a clue as to why I liked it so much. Glenn pointed out that it was also a contrast between the natural and the man-made. Finally, it all started to make sense.

Juxtapositions like this happen all the time but do we really pay attention to the contrast as it happens before our eyes? What might seem simple and direct might actually be connecting at a deeper level, yet we sometimes move on before we have a chance to fully appreciate and understand what is before us. In this instance, the cloud and pyramid weren't just material textures that contrasted, but represented much more, especially during this troublesome Advent season.

The natural is floating so gently in this photo, with elusive, indefinite boundaries. The edges in fact change constantly: it's a cloud after all. The pyramid has striations laid out by man. Strong lines mark every step with heavy burgeoning stones. The soft versus strict lines are as disparate as, say, the concept of justice to Jean Valjean compared to Inspector Javert in Les Miserables. One is difficult to define, the other easily precise.

In addition to the lines, you also have a temporal contrast. Clouds are ephemeral, transient, elusive. They float by and change shapes while you stare at them. What might look like one thing can transform and suddenly you realize it looks like something else. The pyramid, however, is permanent and unchanging. It's ancient. Really ancient. It's so unchanging that the Chichenitza pyramid was lost and forgotten in the jungles for centuries before it was re-discovered. And of course, it hadn't changed during that time.

You also have a marked contrast in origin. The cloud is a gift from God, the source of life, a sign of nourishment, a spigot of life-giving water. It shades from the sun and recedes after it gives of its gift. The pyramid on the other hand is wholly man-made as a gift TO the gods. It's a way to reach towards the heavens, but not to inspire connectivity with gods. Instead, it perpetuates fear of the gods and was a way to make sacrifices to those angry gods. Rather than affirming life, the pyramid was the site where lives were taken to placate and appease. By dispensing with a few, the larger masses felt better, safer, shielded from wrath.

I already had my morning prayers today, but they were focused on the troubling state of affairs in our country in regards to police and ethnic minorities.  My prayers were also on the horrifying revelations found in the torture report regarding the CIA's "enhanced interrogation" techniques. In my name, I feel sin is committed every day. In my supposed security (unfounded as the report shows), people were tortured and minorities are killed without due process. As a way to appease the fearful, our government high priests have deemed it acceptable to maim, intimidate, threaten, terrorize. Where is the Holy Spirit when you need Her? How do you prepare for Christmas with this stain?

So thank you Glenn for digging out of the jungle of my mind the reason the photo struck me so strongly. I prayed, pray, and will pray for a day when we reach out to our God of love and no longer need to build temples of fear. I prayed, pray, and will pray for a day when we no longer need to sacrifice our own to appease the gods, as a cover for the fact that we are just appeasing our own human fears. And I prayed, pray, and will pray for a day when we can look at these monuments of injustice we see today as mere stepping stones to a heaven filled with grace.

May your Advent be lit by the candle of light and life.

Praying for the sacrificed at Chichenitza pyramid, Mexico.
Mel Soriano 2014-11-30

As Thanksgiving yields to Advent

The last wedding we attended was our own, six months ago. On the Saturday before Thanksgiving, we attended the holy matrimony of a dear couple, Jeff and Chris. .Weddings are an outward sign of love, community, charity, and self-assurance. Stephen and I hoped ours felt that way as much to our guests as to ourselves. We certainly saw that in Jeff and Chris's union. In offering and sharing a sign of love, weddings are the visible rainbow promised to us and where we, if we desire, can find a pot of grace granted.

As the old hymn goes, "Ubi caritas et amor deus ibi est". We used that hymn as did Jeff and Chris. It means more or less "Where charity and love exist, God is there." People can be in love and keep it to themselves. I'm sure politically, many would prefer this. But loving just yourselves is basically self-focused, with no outward benefit or creation. By sharing the love with others in the most charitable way, one creates. Creation can be in offering life, in supporting life, or in sustaining life. Some have children. I myself prefer feeding children and working towards their safety. Charity and love combined show us the face of God.

Thanksgiving itself was a marvelous affair for us this year. It started on Thursday with a morning of work at Union Station Homeless Services's Dinner in the Park. We love the set up tasks. Many prefer actually dishing up the food, but we prefer to work with the team that hauls out the tables, sets up the temporary structures, and decorates. It's very behind-the-scenes, but for us it's not important for the one hand to know what the other is doing. It's about sharing hospitality, abundance, and grace with those who are in need.

We then had a quiet and intimate dinner at my sister's apartment. It felt warm and joyful. The next day, we had a much larger, combined dinner with both sides of our family together at our place. Noise and food were plentiful as we shared stories and laughs late into the night.

And then I took off to Cancun, Mexico.

At the top of Coba pyramid in the Yucatan jungle.

Stephen had to be at school so he stayed home. I traveled and did some work from afar. I met up with a Camino peregrino - 19yo Jakob from Austria - who I befriended on my pilgrimage. He was one of the two cousins who walked not 800 km, but 3000 km as he started from his front door in Austria. Together, we celebrated, learned, shared dreams, and immersed ourselves in culture, history, peoples. Jakob is starting a 9 month journey that will take him from Mexico down all the way to Chile in South America. In that time, he'll work organic farms, find odd jobs, camp, swim, hitchhike, learn about the cultures, and improve his 5th language Spanish.

And that's what led me into thinking about Advent. Advent is about preparation and waiting. I found myself turning on a dime from a season of thanks by spending time with someone preparing for what is to come. His dreams and aspirations are so similar to what I carried with me at his age. I share with all who listen that I view my young Austrian friends from the Camino de Santiago as almost my nephews. I hope that I can share my stories with them, offer ideas not based on judgment, and encourage them. Jakob has so much going for him and his heart is as expansive as his mind.

Spending a week with Jakob allowed me to feel hopeful and alive. It was a move from the past -- where your mind must be in order to give thanks -- towards the future where your mind must be in order to have hope. Jakob takes the needed risks on this journey so that he can be ready for what is to come. He's willing to walk away from worldly conveniences and stable relationships in order to ensure that he's prepared.  I feel blessed that he helped make my Advent more meaningful and personal.

Y con eso, para mí, mi Advent ha comenzado (and with that, my Advent has begun)