God's Promises & Our Expectations

Luke 1:26-38

The Gospel appointed for the Fourth Sunday of Advent this year* (Lectionary Year B) was Luke's tale of the Annunciation, the Archangel Gabriel's visit to young Mary to announce that she will conceive a child by the Holy Spirit.

Last night I was talking to a friend who attends a different parish, which had their Christmas pageant this past Sunday. It was a hilarious story of confused children and general chaos; things definitely did not go as expected. "It was a complete zoo," he remarked, and then both of us suddenly remembered that Jesus was born in a barn in the middle of the night, and decided that probably hadn't been exactly what Mary had envisioned, either.

This set me to thinking about Gabriel's announcement. The angel tells Mary that her son "will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob for ever, and of his kingdom there will be no end."

What must Mary have imagined that would look like?

I'll bet, as she knelt and said, wonderfully, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord," that it never occurred to her that nine months later, after having endured a long, arduous journey in the last days of her pregnancy, she wouldn't even be able to give birth in a house, but out in the stable, surrounded by animals, and they'd have to sleep outside. Could she have imagined having to put her newborn into a trough for his first cradle? What must that have been like for her faith? Did she say to herself, as she reclined or squatted in the hay and the mud among the stalls, "Oh, who cares, I'm giving birth to the Savior!" or, perhaps, did she feel a sense of frustration and resentment? "The angel didn't say anything about this!"

Did it give her pause? I suppose the fact that she got pregnant while still a virgin gave her sufficient proof that God was at work in her life in a pretty spectacular way, but she must have wondered why God would want or even allow the future king of Israel to be born in such inconvenient and somewhat shameful circumstances; as St Ambrose wrote in his famous Advent hymn, "Marvel now, both Heaven and Earth, that the Lord chose such a birth." Did she perhaps think maybe she was entitled to a slightly easier time of it, having agreed to carry God's son in her womb for nine months? The Gospel of Matthew tells us that for a time Joseph considered divorcing her, and we can only imagine what the reaction from her family and friends might have been. Did they lie and say the child was Joseph's? Or did she say, "No, an angel visited me and told me I would become pregnant by the Holy Spirit, and, voila!" Would her friends and family have believed her? It was probably a very difficult time, and now, after putting up with all that, here she is in the mud, in the cold, no comfortable place to lie down, no place to wash up. Ugh.

"The Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob for ever."

How did Mary imagine herself, as mother of the king? Did she envision Israel free from its Roman occupiers, free from the corrupt, violent, illegitimate Herodian rulers? Did she see herself living in a palace -- in Jerusalem, or maybe on the coast? Did she imagine a future life of peace and prosperity, with her son reigning into his old age, the father of an unbroken dynasty of Davidic kings? In her darker, weaker, frustrated moments did she say to herself, "Someday, you'll be in the palace"?

Instead, she got a son who was, certainly, wonderful in many ways, but must also have been a source of worry and frustration. He just sort of wandered around, and while he was a great teacher and healer, he didn't seem to be getting himself ready for the promised kingship. As the years wore on it must have gotten harder and harder to imagine that Israel would ever be free from the Romans. Every popular revolt against them was mercilessly and bloodily crushed. How was her son who was maybe in Capernaum today, maybe in Samaria, maybe in Bethany, going to end up being chosen king? No one even knew who he was. Was he somehow going to figure out how to lead an army into Jerusalem? His friends certainly weren't going to be much help; a couple of fishermen, a former tax collector and others of uncertain backgrounds. Bunch of slackers, all of them -- heck, James and John actually left their father in the boat and went and followed Jesus around the countryside.

The one time he did come home to visit, he went into the synagogue and told the assembly that he was the fulfillment of Isaiah's prophecy; the villagers were so outraged they nearly pushed him off a cliff and chased him out of town. Mary and her other children went to go see Jesus where he was teaching, and when told that his mother, brothers and sisters were here, he could only say, "Who is my mother? Who are my brothers and sisters?"

"Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favour with God."

Well, he has a funny way of showing it.

And then came the end, suddenly, out of nowhere. One day you hear a rumor that he's headed for Jerusalem, and then a message -- maybe a friend or relative, maybe one of the apostles. "Jesus was arrested late last night and taken to Pilate."

That could only mean one thing.

There was no habeas corpus, no bill of rights. Commentators over the centuries have marveled, like Pilate himself, that Jesus didn't seem to want to say much in his defense. But truly, what could he have said that would matter? It was a show trial, a pretense of justice. No appeals. No right to a jury, no attorney. And by the next afternoon, he was dead.

And not just dead; arrested in the dark of night, dragged before the officials and an angry mob, summarily condemned and then beaten, viciously. Flogged. A crown of thorns mashed onto his head. Spit on, hit with reeds and poles. Forced to carry the instrument of his own execution through the city streets. His friends, terrified for their lives, had mostly abandoned him.

But there, on that gory hill, was John, Mary Magdalene, perhaps a couple of other women (the Gospels have different accounts), and his mother. There they watched him stripped and nailed - nailed! - to a cross, where he hung for a few hours among criminals, and then he died.

"He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob for ever, and of his kingdom there will be no end."



One of the most famous recurring images in religious art is the Pieta, depictions of a grieving Mary holding the body of her son after he has been taken down from the cross.

What must she have thought?

Had she misunderstood? This was not what she was promised. Had God been defeated? Had God deceived her? "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favour with God." How? How is this favor? He's dead! He's not king. Far from assuming the throne of David in a liberated Israel, he was brutally murdered by its occupiers and Jewish collaborators. He's dead. It's over.

"My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my savior." How empty and bitter the remembrance of those words must have seemed. "All generations will call me blessed." Ha.

But we, on the other side of Easter, know that Gabriel's announcement and God's promise were true. In this last week of Advent, we recite or chant or sing the Magnificat every day: "For he has remembered his promise of mercy, the promise he made to our fathers, to Abraham and his children for ever."

Many of the appointed lessons in the Advent season are apocalyptic in tone; as we prepare for the celebration of Christ's first coming into the world, we anticipate the second, and we imagine what the coming reign of glory will look like.

If Mary's experience is any guide, we haven't got a clue.

* Turns out it is also the Gospel appointed for today in the daily lectionary! Because the Sunday cycle is three years and the daily cycle is two years, it only happens once every six years that this passage will be appointed twice for the same week.

Proper 11, Thursday, Year 1

Mark 5:1-20

I have vague memories from Sunday school at the Lutheran Church where I was brought up of a video of the story of the demons that were cast into the herd of swine; I remember the image of pigs tumbling down an embankment into water, and I remember thinking that was pretty hilarious and strange.

Today, however, I find this story one of the most beautiful, moving, compassionate and terrifying segments in all of the Gospels.

So, last we talked about Jesus, he and the disciples were crossing the Sea of Galilee when a terrible storm arose and threatened to sink the boat and drown the passengers. Jesus calmed the winds and the waves, and the disciples were terrified.

Now they come at last to the far shore, and immediately they encounter a naked lunatic. This has to be one of the scariest images in the Bible, especially in the New Testament (outside of the Revelation): a naked man who lives in the hills among the tombs, howling incoherently, so violent and strong that he cannot even be chained down, for he rips the fetters apart, and he cuts himself with stones.

Do you believe in demonic possession?

For my part...yes, at least I think so. But there is also the reality of mental illness, and I think it's entirely possible that conditions which are diagnosable today would have been inscrutable in the first century and, not unreasonably, attributed to demons. Today I think maybe the opposite is true, that possession is often considered merely mental illness. I do not think they are the same thing, but they probably share many external characteristics.

My heart breaks reading about this man. For some reason, the image I have is of a young, strong adult who, if he weren't filthy and deranged, would be considered exceedingly attractive. He's bright, he's sensitive, and he's deeply troubled. He cuts himself with stones! And people are frightened by him.

I certainly get that. Having lived in Manhattan for many years, and now back in Portland which has a famously large street population, I've certainly beheld many people suffering from mental illness, and it can be very scary; it's that level of unpredictability and the knowledge/fear that you can't necessarily reason with them.

For me, the most terrifying part is when Jesus asks "the unclean spirit" what his name is, and the response comes, "My name is Legion; for we are many." It's the stuff of cheap horror movies, and yet I just...I can't quite articulate it. I really believe it. It raises the hair on my neck.

There is also a very deliberate political subversion happening here. A "legion," of course, was the basic unit of the Roman military; Rome was the violent occupier of Palestine and the empire that murdered the Christ. Scholars tend to think that the author of "Mark," whatever his (her?) name really was, was a follower of Peter (also murdered by Romans, in Rome), and the Gospel may even have been written in Rome. This is loaded and rich language, associating the demonic possession of a human with political and military occupation.

So, the demons negotiate a deal with Jesus to be cast into the swine, the herd of pigs leap into the sea and drown, and the man becomes his old self again.

Then what happens? Then people came to see what it was that had happened....and saw the demoniac sitting there, clothed and in his right mind, the very man who had had the legion; and they were afraid.

Once again, we are shown how people witness the healing and saving power of God in spectacular fashion, and their response is not joy or comfort, but fear.

Starting Again?

It's been over two years since I wrote anything for this blog; it's kind of amazing I even remembered the password!

So, why am I here? What brings me back?

I have gotten into a fairly regular discipline of keeping the "Daily Office," the practice of setting aside regular times for prayer and contemplation, using the liturgies and lectionary (a two-year cycle of daily Bible readings) of The Book of Common Prayer (BCP) of The Episcopal Church. It's a tradition that has its origins in the monastic life of the ancient church, also known as the "liturgy of the hours."

Of course, the monks said prayers about every three hours, beginning at midnight with matins, then at 3 a.m. with lauds, 6 a.m. for prime, 9 a.m. for terce, noon for sext, 3 p.m. for none, 6 p.m. for vespers and concluding at 9 p.m. for compline. Obviously this is not really practical in the context of a modern, secular life, but the BCP simplifies and consolidates it into Morning Prayer, Noontime Prayer (which is very brief), Evening Prayer and Compline.

Often, given the realities of daily life, I only manage to fit in one session, usually Evening Prayer, because that seems to be the time of day I feel at my most contemplative, and as I grow older I'm less and less of a "morning person." It is a rare day when I don't get around to it at all, and I make it a point to keep Morning and Evening Prayer and Compline (right before bedtime) during Advent and Lent.

Why do I do this?

There are many reasons, actually, and it's kind of hard to articulate some of them. For one thing, I have just fallen in love with liturgy; it appeals to my passion for structure, and I feel a deep resonance with the wisdom of the ancient church. I love that I open to the lectionary pages at the back and see, "Okay, here are the psalms appointed for this morning, and here are the lessons." I like that the lectionary forces me to read parts of the Bible I might otherwise ignore, and I like the way it is organized thematically by the seasons of the church year. I like that there's even a recommended schedule for canticles ("songs" or poems from scripture, especially Isaiah, Revelation and Luke) that are said or sung or chanted after the lessons. Thursday evening? Okay, the canticle after Old Testament lesson is the Surge illuminare. (And yeah, I like that canticles and psalms are still often identified by their Latin titles.) Sunday morning? The Benedictus Dominus...unless it's Lent, in which case it's the Kyrie Pantokrator, or Easter, when it's the Cantemus domino. I like these "rules" -- I like in such and such a season, you "must" do or say this, or in such and such a season, you "must" not.

I put "must" in quotes because I'm not under any illusion that God gives a flying one if we say "alleluia" during Lent. Still, I believe that the Holy Spirit has spoken powerfully to the church over the centuries, inspiring the development of these practices, and that following them carefully teaches us many important things that God wants us to know.

I've even created my own rules to complicate things further; at certain times I light candles and burn incense; at other times, I do not. Some days I use recordings I have collected of the psalms, canticles and ancient chants of the church; some days I do not. Most of the time I just read the Office, but sometimes I chant the whole thing, and sometimes I read it silently. Sometimes it's hard to concentrate (especially on those "silent" days), sometimes I don't feel like chanting, sometimes my mind wanders somewhere very far afield while listening to a hymn...and sometimes the experience is completely transcendent. The lectionary has this effect on me, too: some passages I read and think, "Oh, that's nice," and sometimes my honest reaction is, "What the fuck?" (You have to be honest with God, and frankly, putting the Bible down in exasperation and saying in a loud voice, "WHAT???!?!?" is a good discipline.) And still other times, I am amazed that the given passage for the day seems to speak directly to present matters; sometimes I am reassured and comforted, sometimes I am inspired, and sometimes severely chastised. This is what keeps me coming back, those hoped for but often unanticipated moments of wonder and illumination. In a way I am glad they only happen occasionally, because otherwise they might not be so special. One has to keep that in mind on the days when keeping the Office feels like a chore.

OK. So...why go back to the blog?

Well, the Office should be the means to an end (prayer), not the end itself. It should help you get started in this conversation with God. There are many beautiful prayers in the BCP: thumb through the collects or the list in the back and be reminded of all the many things we can and should be praying for, articulated in language that is more eloquent than most of us could hope to come up with. And yet, too often, I let the BCP speak for me. Too often I search the pages for a prayer that seems to encapsulate what I'm trying to say. Now, that's not all bad; in fact, that's what it's for. But at the same time, I feel a need to work harder to discern what I need to say to God and, thereby, open myself to what God has to say back.

I also want to go deeper into my contemplation of scripture. I want to force myself to address those "wtf" passages and see if I can't find something there; I want to explore the things that leap off the page and excite me.

What I am not here to do is "preach." This isn't a sermon blog, though perhaps it will sometimes read that way. My goal here is not to tell you what you should be praying for, or what a passage of scripture should mean for you. It won't help me much to be reading the Bible in the light of what I imagine you need to hear.

So why blog? Why not just keep a private journal?

Well, again: discipline. Writing for an "audience" will force me to be as concise and accurate in my meditations as possible, and will discourage intellectual laziness (I hope). I want to be open, also, to the opportunity for various readers, such as may exist, to share their own insights or offer suggestions for alternative understandings. And maybe I can form a sort of online "monastic community," where a few of us can share our meditations together, and pray for each other.

This will be a different way of blogging for me. I won't be posting much about things going on in my life, except from a spiritual perspective. I think Facebook takes care of that particular need now. I also will not be focusing on politics; I think our political culture today is positively toxic, and it is physically unhealthy for me to spend much energy there. However, I may be unable to resist the temptation to address certain political events or questions as they arise in the context of spiritual contemplation, especially in the case of political figures who play the Bible card to advance an un-Biblical argument.

I used to have a nice core of regular readers; I imagine they are all gone now. I've probably been deleted from their blogrolls and RSS feeds due to my inactivity, and that's okay. If any of you happen to still be around, say "Hi." : )

For the Record...

As much as I opposed Hillary Clinton's pursuit of the Oval Office, I am rather intrigued and excited by the notion of having her as Secretary of State. She makes Sarah Palin's "pitbull with lipstick" look like a poodle.

It's Over

Going out on a limb, but with MSNBC calling Ohio for Obama, it's over. According to my projections, Obama did not need Ohio to win. This clinches it.

The Straight Talk Express

A New Addition to the Family

Sorry I haven't blogged all week; I've just been incredibly busy. I've barely kept up with what's going on in the world.

However, I am pleased to report a significant upgrade to my lifestyle.

Socially responsible and sexy. (Just like me.)

The Changing Face of Gay Pride

In last week’s edition of Portland’s gay paper JustOut, friend and columnist SMB suggested that this year we demonstrate our pride by skipping the parade. He laments the crass commercialization of the event by mega-corporations hoping to cash in on our patronage. He recalls the cold, rainy night on which thousands of Oregonians (myself notably excluded, mea culpa) gathered downtown to protest the delay of the state’s brand-new domestic partnership law by a judge who agreed to hear a challenge from an out-of-state conservative activist group, and essentially asks of the marketers, drag-queens, glitter-smeared party boys and shirtless lesbians, “Where were you when it mattered?”

Good points, all.

However, I would propose that we take a step back and re-assess what the annual pride celebrations are all about these days.

Two years ago, I wrote a long, personal, provocative (and much commented-on) post about what pride meant to me, and while I think those points still resonate, I also think now we might be allowed to celebrate as well as protest.

Let’s take a look at where things stand in the present moment. John McCain may not be the LGBT community’s best friend, but just a few weeks ago he appeared on the Ellen DeGeneres Show and, while saying he believed marriage should be reserved for one man and one woman, expressed support for some limited forms of recognition for same-sex couples. Compare this to 2004, when Howard Dean was labeled a hopeless left-wing extremist because Vermont permitted civil unions. This is a massive shift in public attitudes, when what was radically progressive just four years ago has become the default stance of the Republican nominee. On the Libertarian ticket, nominee Bob Barr has declared that the odious 1996 Defense of Marriage Act should be repealed; and he wrote it!

While Barack Obama has publicly drawn the line at civil unions, he also supports the full repeal of DOMA and DADT. He and Senator Clinton actively courted the support of GLBT voters in their primary campaigns. We used to be ignored and invisible, and after that we were vilified and made scapegoats. Now we’re pandered to. I call that progress.

Portland’s Pride Festival is this Sunday; just two days after that, California – the nation’s most populous state and the fifth-largest economy in the world – will start issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples, following a protracted court battle that ended in the groundbreaking recognition that gay people are a suspect class. The Republican governor openly opposes amending the state constitution to repeal that right. The proposed amendment faces an uphill battle: recent polls now show a slim majority of Californians in favor of marriage equality, and the November ballot includes a Republican candidate who is unpopular with the family-values crowd and a Democratic candidate with fervent support among younger voters, who are overwhelmingly in favor of marriage equality (68% of 18-29 year-olds).

Back here in Oregon, today’s breaking news is that the petition effort to put the new domestic partnership laws on the November ballot has failed. Meanwhile, New York has determined that nothing in state law prevents them from recognizing same-sex marriages performed in Massachusetts, California or other jurisdictions where they are legal.

Obviously, there are still battles to be fought, and we’re not home-free yet, but when Republican presidential candidates sit down for cordial chats with out-lesbian talk-show hosts, we're in a completely different world.

We should think of the June pride celebrations as a commemoration of the Declaration of Independence that was thrown down by a bunch of drag queens at the Stonewall Riot 39 years ago this month. Just as the 4th of July is now a celebration born in struggle, I see no harm in partying on Pride. Yes, let’s still gather in the rain to protest injustice as it arises, but let’s acknowledge the amazing victories that have been won through our collective hard work over the last several decades.

So grab your cha-cha heels, dust yourself liberally with glitter, throw away your bra and let's march!

Turning Intentions to Action

So...erm, I guess I'm "coming out" in church today.

I mean, no, obviously, it's not like I'm "closeted" there, but there are those for whom sexuality seems to be somewhat opaque, and I've never made a big deal or "announced" my orientation publicly. That's about to change.

I have formed a small group, and for the first time in our parish history, our church will be represented in the Portland Gay Pride Parade this year. I did receive permission to do this, but was encouraged to keep our group discrete because of pastoral concerns about some church members who may not be totally comfortable with the idea. It was a compromise I was willing to accept, because I think even appearing in the parade at all is a big first step.

So, speaking privately to people I knew would be supportive, I set up a small network and was delighted that everyone I invited was interested. That was that, I thought, until a member of our clergy staff said, "Do you think you should announce it to the congregation?"

I said, "Hrmmm...well, I thought we were keeping this discrete?" But the priest had wondered if maybe there would be people who would feel upset if we didn't tell them and open it up to everyone; people who will be unhappy that we are going are going to be unhappy either way.

We decided to run it by the vestry, at which point one member reminded us that we recently voted to become a "welcoming and affirming" congregation, and pointed out that we would hardly be living up to that if we had to secretly march in the parade.

So here I am. I can hardly believe that all these years after quietly disappearing from church because I felt unworthy to attend as a gay person until I got "fixed," I'm going to stand up during a service and invite people to a gay pride parade.

The Gamble Pays Off

So, remember the job opportunity that didn't work out? They came back with a better offer. I start tomorrow.

[*happy dance*]

I had very specific goals in mind for my new job in Portland, whatever it was to be. Goal #1 was a 20 minute commute. I was tired of wasting two hours a day just getting where I needed to go. Goal #2 was a certain salary range. Goal #3 was to work for a progressive, ethical company with a demonstrated commitment to the local community. Goal #4 was a position that I could obtain with my present skills and experience but which would offer real responsibility and real opportunity for growth. Goal #5 -- my longshot, pipe-dream goal -- was a casual dress environment.

Check.

Check.

Check.

Check.

Check.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go to IKEA.