Love your enemies

The words in Matthew 5:44 from Jesus are pretty straight-forward.

But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you

Not to mention Proverbs 25:21

If your enemy is hungry, give him food to eat; if he is thirsty, give him water to drink.

And then there's the stretch of Luke that just beats you on the head with the "love your enemies" stuff.

But to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also. If someone takes your coat, do not withhold your shirt from them. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you.

If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners do that. And if you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, expecting to be repaid in full. But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

I would be lying if I said that i follow these verses every moment of my life. It's almost impossible isn't it? The reason people would be classified as an enemy, or at least a royal pain in the behind, is that whether intentionally or not, they are making your life unpleasant. Who wants that? If the cause of  my unhappiness is clearly identifiable, it's a natural reaction to get angry at that cause.

And what of the verse of Matthew 5:39

But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also

On the face of it, this one seems to invite you to be a masochist. "Thank you sir, may i have another" whack just does not sound attractive.

Well, turning the other cheek does not necessarily mean taking pain endlessly. These passages to me are more about how we react, how we respond. Surely we have to protect ourselves and defend against violence and violation.

No, to me these passages are about responding in a surprising, unexpected way full of grace and love. Rather than returning assault and insult to assault and insult, we pray for those who offend, love them, offer ways to help and heal them. If forgiveness is central to healing and love, then we can't get to that healing and love without forgiving those who harm us.

These verses were all over my mind this week as I watched the situation in Kentucky where elected county clerk Kim Davis refused to grant marriage licenses to anyone. This she did despite directives from the District Court and from failing on appeal all the way up to the Supreme Court.

My reaction to the avowed "Christian persecution" stance is probably predictable. I'm a Christian and I don't feel persecuted by the change in law. I would feel persecuted in that county, however, if the elected official refused to perform their duties to uphold the Constitution and laws of our country. And a good number of people around the country, as Facebook and Twitter seem to show, were offended by this position.

On the opposite side of the coin, presidential candidates on the right were quick to fall over themselves to support the clerk's right to freedom of religion. The politicization and rhetoric hit the fan in ways where everyone was getting dirty.

And people got dirty. There were many photos of the clerk in the unflattering fluorescent light, as if even Beyonce or George Clooney could look good in county office lighting. People used derogatory, inflammatory, and misogynistic barbs out of their anger at this person. They aired her personal dirty laundry that, admittedly, showed signs of hypocrisy. They made mean-spirited memes that were completely unrelated to what was happening.

And, in their anger, they persecuted and returned hate and venom.

I didn't laugh at any of those remarks. I saw where they came from. They arose out of anger and a feeling of continued persecution. But they attacked a person rather than the elected official. They attacked looks rather than actions. They didn't turn the other cheek.

OK I'll admit freely that I got a great laugh out of the many tweets from a Twitter user @nexttokimdavis who pretended to be a co-worker complaining about sitting in the office next to the clerk. But what I laughed at was not the personal stuff. I enjoyed the common griping that comes when you're trying to do your job and someone else at the office makes things unnecessarily dramatic, the crassness of the media, and the hysteria of the many protesters from both sides. Thankfully, there were only sparing jokes about personal issues.

Is laughing at your enemy loving? I love to laugh. I love to find humor in sad situations. I use humor to sustain me as an optimist. But i think that personal attacks may bring a snicker or laugh and yet in the end leave you without any cathartic satisfaction. I laugh at the circumstance, at our folly, at the system that tricks people into unjust actions because it's more motivating than crying. I try to not laugh at someone's personal expense. I do, but it flies in the face of things that matter to me.

Like loving those who persecute us.

May we all learn how to be loving with each other. We may never agree on certain issues, but the sun rises for all of us, the rain falls on us all, and the rainbow glitters in all of our eyes.

We Wanderers, Given to the Wind, Are Scattered

Frightened and yet soon at peace while in the sky.
Cappadocia Turkey on our Honeymoon - June 2014

"We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way, begin no day where we have ended another day; and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us. Even while the earth sleeps we travel. We are the seeds of the tenacious plant, and it is in our ripeness and our fullness of heart that we are given to the wind and are scattered." Kahlil Gibran - The Prophet

I don't think we're intentionally seeking the lonelier way. To me, it happens unexpectedly, naturally. What I seek, what I yearn for, is a closer relationship to Creation, a relationship that's both distant and deeply ingrained inside of me. It's that contradiction that makes it so hard sometimes to stay in touch with the divine. We teeter closer and then farther, ever nearer, ever further. By wandering, we need to leave our safe spaces and head towards areas that can be both exciting and unpredictable, and yet oddly expected. And that journey can feel inadvertently lonely.

The poem says that our wandering occurs even while the earth sleeps. Actually, it implies that our exploration occurs even while we sleep. I find this serenely true. I wake up at times with a peaceful "Aha". I never used to think of epiphanies as calm. But on this journey, I've started to wake up in more quiet states of awareness, of realization. Unlike the Archimedes "Eureka!" of excitement, these are the sort where you sit up and just nod your head in understanding.

So it seems that while the earth sleeps, while I sleep, we all indeed continue to travel. The scientist in me says, of course, we're traveling at a speed of 1,000 mph around the axis of the earth and 67,000 mph around the sun. That's a lot of space to cover and it'd be shame not to discover something after 8 hours of such speeds.

Most exciting to me about this poem is the final statement. We are seeds. When we are ripe, when we are ready, we go out, carried by the wind, held aloft to unknown destinations, and spread life.

Whether you are a young adult, whether you are a postulent, whether you are discovering life in Christ anew, you reach a new form of fullness. And in that fullness, we are released and sent out, by the wind, by the Holy Spirit, by the forces of the community around us, to be scattered.

The scattering is unpredictable.

The scattering can be frightening.

The scattering brings new life.

Preparing for the Camino de Santiago in 2016

Credentials from my 2014 Camino de Santiago pilgrimage

Once again, I'll be walking the Camino de Santiago, leaving Los Angeles on May 12, 2016.

Rather than starting in the traditional city of St Jean Pied-de-Port, France and following the Camino Frances, I will start in Lourdes, France. This small city sits at the foot of the French Pyrenees mountains. Starting there will add an additional 130 km (81 miles) or so, depending on the route I decide to take, on top of the typical 800 km (500 miles). Based on past experience, I will likely walk another 100 miles just wandering the villages sight-seeing churches and landmarks.

Why start in Lourdes?

My 2014 camino pilgrimage was pretty much about me. It was an opportunity to discover myself, to pursue some discernment about vocation, to explore my purpose. The pilgrimage was also an appropriate way for me personally to celebrate my 50th birthday year.

And as you may have read from my blog postings from the 2014 journey, I noticed that numerous people needed to be with other people, needed to share their lives and pains and joys, needed to find healing. It touched me that they would share this with me. I found it amazing that I could minister to their needs and offer an ear, a heart, a touch that could provide solace or healing. My 2014 blog postings are on the right side navigation: Preparing for the Camino de Santiago 2014 and my posts during and after at Camino de Santiago 2014.

So I'll start in Lourdes, France. Lourdes has been known for two centuries as a pilgrimage site of healing. Millions of people every year head to Lourdes to be blessed. By touching, tasting, and washing with the waters of that community, the pilgrims seek to move from a place of illness and hurt to one of reconciliation and well-being.

I will start out with my own efforts to find healing. As the phrase goes, "physician heal thyself". First, I want to have a couple days of reflection, self-care, and attention to physical and spiritual health. Then, taking some of the healing water with me in a container, I will carry the blessed waters from the Lourdes grotto and take it on the camino with me.

And all who wish to be anointed with the holy water, to be blessed in prayer, are welcome to that water. I will share the blessings with all who seek it, and pray that they be healed.

I've confided to some that my 2016 camino will be all about others. I amend and correct myself publicly now. One can never take a pilgrimage for others. One takes a pilgrimage for themselves. But, my camino will be a shared camino. In sharing the holy water, in sharing the healing, in allowing myself to be in communion with others, I will find myself fed and nourished, and share in the bountiful grace of God. That's my camino in 2016. That's why I will start in Lourdes.

---

I may be walking with friends from church along this trip. If schedules work out, I'll be meeting some at St. Jean-Pied-de-Port. Others might be joining us in other cities and villages. Because of this, I will walk on average 25 km (15 miles) each day instead of my normal 35-40 km (22-25 miles) . This is related to making my journey a part of others' lives and not about my own. My husband Stephen, after school lets out and he goes on his annual teaching vacation, will fly out and join me in Leon - a 300 km (200 mile) pilgrimage.

In the meantime, my camino walk continues. I'm rather surprised at my attraction to walking now. I used to walk around downtown Pasadena. Instead of driving to various places or to church, I would just walk. Now, I work from home. That actually began the month before my 2014 pilgrimage. And surprisingly, I walk everywhere now. I've walked to family gatherings in Glendora almost 40 km away.

It started gradually, with about 5-7 mile walks every other day. Now I find myself walking to downtown Pasadena from home, an almost 10 mile round trip, several times a week. Rather than driving to lunch, I just walk. As of this posting, I've walked 1360 miles since New Year's Day, about the distance from New York City past University of Nebraska in Lincoln. I don't even notice the physical part any more. It's part of my journey in mind, body, and spirit. I'm seeking more time away from busy interpersonal interactions to have time with myself, time to ponder and free associate, time to reflect and pray.

(Note: For 2015, I ended up walking 2100 miles. That's the distance from NY to Salt Lake City... Los Angeles to Pensecola Florida... Chicago to Mexico City... Manchester England to Istanbul Turkey...)

I hope you join me, online or even along the Camino Frances, walking beside me as I journey towards my journey of healing.

This Thin Place in Life

I walk through doors into seemingly empty spaces, lobbies, hallways in homes, hotels, businesses. Usually, I pass through without thinking about these transition areas. They're not meant for you to stay in them. These passages allow us to get out of the sun, wipe our shoes, or prepare to leave the building.

They're areas that connect a more important place to another more important place. Those places typically are more important than these transition spaces. They're given room numbers or names. Hallways don't usually get names.

My office at home is overflowing with books and paperwork. Surprising isn't it? Here I am, this tech person who has always preferred electronic documents and works in an industry that ostensibly reduces the need for paperwork, and yet I am inundated with physical words and numbers.

The family room is likewise loaded with symbols of relaxation: tv, sofas, games, tables, current books, memorabilia, remote controls. It's a pleasurable den to have quality time with my husband and to let go of external concerns.

And in between the two rooms is a hallway. It's a rather simple passage, a couple frames hanging, a dark wooden floor in the shadows of a space that needs little illumination.

Yet I traverse that hallway many times each day. I cannot get to the other rooms without passing the hall. It's a transition space between one aspect of my life and another. The hallway has no mirrors, as some do, so it doesn't show me what I look like when I am in this place.

But it's a liminal place, a ritualistic moment between what was and what will be next. Some have compared liminal places to a space between rooms. I use the hallway often, and yet it has occurred to me that it is akin to my place in life right now.

To anthropologists, liminality is that middle time during a series of rituals, when you're not what you were but not yet what you will be. It can be unsettling, being neither in nor out. We don't often think about these transition times and places because we would rather define ourselves as sitting being in one place or another.

And yet on a spiritual pilgrimage, on our individual Caminos, during our discernment, in our grieving, in our growing, we are always reminding others and ourselves that it's not the destination that is our goal. Our destination is a guidepost, a beacon to focus on so that we don't get lost. But it's in this transitional journey that we reorder ourselves psychologically, spiritually, emotionally.

What makes this transitional place so exciting and so scary is that it's often a thin place, where one senses the divine. I'm not saying that I see God whenever I walk through my dark hallway. But in the corridors of life, we sometimes go down ways that aren't as predictable and automatic as usual. That's where I'm walking right now. There are untested doors and I feel as though I'm somehow not alone.

When I first started to attend All Saints Pasadena regularly, I was like others drawn to the phrase "Wherever you are in your journey of faith, you are welcome at this table." It's an invitation to meet at the table of Christ, regardless of our station, status, or strength. The phrase acknowledges that many of us are on a spiritual journey. It even hints that we all are on one.

Perhaps that's what struck me inside. I was on a spiritual journey and was only then, slowly, unwittingly discovering it. My walk was and has been about realizing that in the thin space that is in Christ, I am in a liminal place, straddling the world and the divine.

I'm not in one place or another, but I'm not alone, and I feel excited to be alive. I wander towards the other rooms in wonder and awe.

I Only Know What's Not Here

Rumi, the great 13th Century poet, scholar, mystic from Persia wrote

I start out on this road, call it love or emptiness. I only know what's not here.  Resentment seeds, backscratching greed, worrying about outcome, fear of people. When a bird gets free, it does not go back for remnants left on the bottom of the cage. Close by, I'm rain. Far off, a cloud of fire. I seem restless, but I am deeply at ease. Branches tremble. The roots are still. I am a universe in a handful of dirt, whole when totally demolished. Talk about choices does not apply to me. While intelligence considers options, I am somewhere lost in the wind.

Most of us have experienced the feeling of purpose, of what calls us into being, of what drives us forward. In many cases, this is intimately tied to job searches or career objectives. To some of us, it leads to perhaps an existential crisis or an exploration of spirituality.

I might not have understood this poem a decade ago. Perhaps after I separated from a partner of almost two decades, I might have understood the feeling of being lost in the wind. But what strikes me about this poem is that it finds meaning in nothing, in what's not here.

Only when demolished am I whole.

It's a reversal of conventional wisdom. How can you be whole when you've been destroyed? But that's what my journey is currently showing me. In breaking apart the edifice that I've built up about myself for the past several decades, in destroying the mirage of seeming successes, I'm discovering within the void is the road to love. Or emptiness.

I've included a photo of my visit to Yosemite Valley earlier this month. It's a gorgeous vista that was once at ground level. A river did not excavate this valley. Instead an enormous glacier once covered the land. As the glacier withdrew, it carved out the sheer, vertical cliff of El Capitan, the striking Half Dome, and numerous meandering valleys of drama. And what makes Yosemite so interesting? It's the void, the emptiness left by the once omnipresent and destructive glacier. From that destruction and withdrawal, a beauty arose.

Love and emptiness, wholeness and demolition. I allow myself to be lifted in the wind, seemingly lost in nothingness but always held aloft in love.

Finding My Way - Walking the Camino of Discernment

I have begun a vocational discernment process. Vocational discernment to Episcopalians is the seeking, sharing, investigative journey into the mind and heart with members of your church to see if your vocation or calling leads to a path towards ordination. The process has been going on for some time, but it's now in motion with others.

Is this a surprise? Allow me to describe how I got here.

Like many young gays, I left the Church (Roman Catholic) because of it felt that though we weren't to be ostracized, we still were held apart and were also asked to live a life of celibacy. We weren't sinners if we didn't do or touch anything. We were basically told to go into a corner and not say a word. As a teen and young adult, I knew this wasn't feeding me - how could it - so I parted ways. Not fully leaving the Church, but just my home Roman Catholicism. And yet, I still snuck back to try and find God and peace, though to no avail.

Like many in the 1980s and 1990s, my life partner and I would go to parties and dinners on Saturday nights, sleep in on Sundays, and somehow miss that there were other things happening on the weekend that might have been fulfilling. It's a work hard, play hard mentality that I suppose I've always had and there was no room for organized religion.

But it also left little room for grace. For 6-7 years during the 1990s, on Christmas and Easter, we would visit my ex's Episcopal church in Bakersfield or All Saints Pasadena. And although I had received invitations to come and attend, I finally heard a tone that I suppose I never recognized because it seemed implausible: welcome.

So with that welcome, I came back to the Church in January 2000, this time as an Episcopalian (part of the worldwide Anglican church), and I was content to practice in a via media life that resembled my Roman Catholic upbringing. I joined the choir and happily listened to messages of love and justice. It nourished me during times of duress. Well, most times. My separation from my partner, after 18 years, despite 2 years of couple counseling, was devastating and I even took time off from choir. I felt that the Holy Spirit had forgotten who I was. I needed space when what I also needed was grace.

Slowly, though, with the prayer of Taize and contemplative time walking the labyrinth, I eventually healed and renewed. The tiny cracks of hope kept widening and the Holy Spirit took root once more in me. And, through the love and inspiration of friends at church, I was invited to join the labyrinth ministry. I'm not sure what they saw, but it made me realize that I had gifts to share with others, and it didn't have to be a work skill.

Things shifted into higher gear in 2009. I volunteered at the church booth at the Episcopal General Convention in Anaheim. I found the discussions amazing. I came to appreciate the depth of commitment that can be shared not only within one's church, but also with the diocese and the Church itself. And I made friends. One priest not only befriended me, he made sure I met Bishop Barbara Harris because I mentioned that I found inspiration in her historic role as the first female bishop in Anglican and Catholic history. I met non-Los Angeles folks from Integrity, the LGBT interest group for Episcopalians, for the first time.

Soon, I felt comfortable, even drawn, to helping and serving others in whatever ways were needed. Whether asked to tote that barge or lift that bale, it now seems right to serve others in the name of God. By 2012, when I helped out at the next General Convention in Indianapolis, I distinctly felt an urge or voice if you will to not just serve but also to lead.

I don't know if it's because of my natural affinity to leadership situations. I've been placed in such situations or put myself into those roles as far as I can remember. But I began to feel that I can serve, must serve, the Church with these skills I've been granted. And rather than just offering my hands and feet, I began to feel called to also offer my voice.

Like many who fear change, I did a something rather common: I ignored this voice. Well, that's really too passive. I pushed it away.

I'm a tech geek.

I'm running a business.

I'm speaking in public about technology, not God. God and technology don't mix, do they?

So I rejected these feelings and went about my way. The funny thing is, though, people kept asking me, in person and online, if I was on a journey to ordination. 

I would laugh and say heavens no. I was raised in a Roman Catholic tradition where you had 1 priest, 6 or 7 masses in 24 hours, for one or two thousand of people. If lay people were not involved, church wouldn't happen. The laity must serve if they want to be fed by the Church. My parents serve at their church 5 days a week, and my 76yo Mom and 80yo Dad would be baffled if asked to slow down. 

But such questions from others persisted and my feelings persisted. One of the primary reasons I went on my pilgrimage to the Camino de Santiago was to help understand these feelings and to find in my spiritual center, in my quiet place, an answer to what this all meant.

I didn't find the answer by looking inside. I didn't find the Holy Spirit under the brim of my hat. No, I kept to myself during the first many miles but eventually began to chat with others. And to my foolish amazement, I found the Holy Spirit calling to me from within the tired but passionate people I encountered.

The first person I talked to at length thought I was a minister. In fact, perhaps five people on the walk or at the dinner table eventually made comments as though they thought I was a minister. I was not quoting the Bible when this happened. I did what I feel has been my habit for the past few years: I listened, I asked, I shared stories, I tried to reach out. 

And I ended that journey living out the lessons. I mentioned on my post-Camino presentation and in this blog that on the long flight from Madrid to Dallas, I just wanted to sleep, rest, and read. And yet this young man in a suit beside me wanted to talk for much of that flight. Now, if you've flown enough miles, you know how it can feel to be trapped in a conversation on a plane. I tried at first to politely shift to my reading but he kept at it. So I thought about the many lessons I learned on my journey, and I gave in and listened. And talked. And shared. And he grew content. Finally, as we were deplaning, an older woman in a business suit, came across from her seat in Business class and asked him if he's ready for the next meeting. And then she said, "I'm sorry you had to spend your birthday on a crummy plane, but maybe you got some good rest."

I didn't know if I sensed his sadness or loneliness directly, but realized in a concrete fashion that he somehow needed me, that I was expected to help, and that my journey wasn't ending on this flight. I was to continue this pilgrimage, connecting with others in a healing way, every day.

So eventually I talked with our priests at All Saints Pasadena. And I've started the ball rolling to see if I really am called to ordination to be a priest or deacon.

For those who attend All Saints Pasadena, you may recall that on Sunday January 25, our Rector (head pastor) Rev. Ed Bacon gave a sermon about vocation, or calling. He described some important aspects of vocation, which a discernment process helps discover and confirm. If you wish to listen to that sermon on YouTube, as well as his comments on the late Marcus Borg, watch the video below.

How does this play out with work and home life? I don't fear school or work when my vocation at home is the greatest blessing and strength for me. After all, my marriage to Stephen is in itself a vocation. I couldn't do this without his support and love. And I've come to realize that much as I have a competency at work, it's not my calling. I was originally a pre-med student specializing in gerontology. Perhaps because it was too soon and too close to my grandmother's decline, I couldn't emotionally stay in medicine, as the tears flowed to freely for me. Now, decades later, I understand and manage these feelings more effectively.

So that's how I got here. 

As I begin this process with a committee at church, I will keep this prayer by Thomas Merton ("Thoughts in Solitude", 1956) in my heart:

My Lord God,I have no idea where I am going.I do not see the road ahead of me. Nor do I really know myself,And the fact that I think I am following Your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please You does in fact please You. And I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this,You will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust You always though, I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for You are ever with me, And You will never leave me to face my struggles alone. Amen.

I pray that you will walk and sit with me, sing and pray with me, hold my heart and my hands with me on this journey. I have always felt called to the table, but for reasons that I can't explain, I now feel that I am asked to set that table, maybe even prepare the nourishment for that table, and invite others to join. May we break bread.together at this table in the next few months, in grace and love.

Lead me, guide me along the way,
For if you lead me I cannot stray.
Lord let me walk each day with Thee.
Lead me, oh Lord lead me.

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.