Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
America and its Moral Policies
I have a question for Marine General Peter Pace, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who told The Chicago Tribune that he believed "homosexual acts" are immoral. "I do not believe the United States is well served by a policy that says it is OK to be immoral in any way," he said.
So, General Pace, what are your views on:
So, General Pace, what are your views on:
- Launching an unprovoked war of aggression, including invasion and occupation, in order to force a country at gunpoint to convert to a representative democracy which apparently no one there wants
- Lying about the justifications for the invasion by misrepresenting and exaggerating intelligence
- Spending tens of thousands of lives only to fail at the objective through incompetence and heartlessness
- State-sponsored torture
- Illegal surveillance of American citizens
- Illegal detention of American citizens
- Kidnapping of innocent people from American soil and foreign countries in order to "render" them to other governments for interrogation under torture
- Detaining American citizens in solitary confinement without charging them with a crime and denying them access to legal representation
- Detaining hundreds of foreign citizens at a prison camp thousands of miles away from their homes and making them wait months and even years before even beginning to grant them access to anything resembling due process: a military tribunal at which, among other atrocities, the accused is not allowed to see the evidence that is presented against him
- Executing the mentally retarded
- Spending $2 trillion on an illegal, immoral war launched under false pretenses while 48 million Americans have no access to health insurance
- The medical care the tens of thousands of wounded Iraq veterans have -- or more precisely, have not -- received for the sacrifice they made because of President Bush's lies and delusions
Seems to me no one personally involved in President Bush's War for Terror has any standing to comment on what constitutes moral public policy.
Monday, March 12, 2007
An Evolutionary Explanation for Atheism
I've been giving more thought to the recent New York Times Magazine article "Darwin's God." It occurred to me that if we accept the scientific evidence that "children are born with a tendency to believe in omniscience, invisible minds, immaterial souls," then one possible explanation for the emergence of atheism would be when a person rejects the dogma they have been taught by their family and/or culture because it conflicts with what they innately know to be true about the nature of the Divine. In fact, that's one of the most basic arguments atheists make: "If there were a God, he'd..." Because they know better.
*****
Hello, time change. When the alarm clock went off in the pitch-black at 6:00 this morning, I have to say I wasn't especially enthusiastic about it. Nevertheless, I stumbled out of bed and did my usual Monday yoga routine. Normally the cats start trying to wake me up shortly before the alarm clock goes off so they can have their breakfast. Today I noticed, as I was unrolling the yoga mat, they had both gone back to sleep.
*****
Speaking of The New York Times, I was looking at a men's fashion slideshow (the model is beautiful) when I came across this caption: "Lanvin green-and gray knitted silk tank, $603."
*****
Hello, time change. When the alarm clock went off in the pitch-black at 6:00 this morning, I have to say I wasn't especially enthusiastic about it. Nevertheless, I stumbled out of bed and did my usual Monday yoga routine. Normally the cats start trying to wake me up shortly before the alarm clock goes off so they can have their breakfast. Today I noticed, as I was unrolling the yoga mat, they had both gone back to sleep.
*****
Speaking of The New York Times, I was looking at a men's fashion slideshow (the model is beautiful) when I came across this caption: "Lanvin green-and gray knitted silk tank, $603."
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Sunday Photo Blogging: Happy First Birthday, Rocky & Starbuck!
Today Rocky and Starbuck celebrate their first birthday. Okay, okay, fine, they actually have no idea. I'm celebrating it. They've certainly grown in the nine months since I got them for my birthday! These guys are so much fun; they have such great, distinct personalities and quirks. They are super affectionate and very talkative. Our six-day journey across the United States is going to be quite an adventure.
The promised video is not quite ready; keep checking back, and hopefully we'll have that up on YouTube soon!
They get along so well; they are often snuggling together on the bed or the sofa, or sitting next to each other like this on the window sill, meowing at the pigeons.
Starbuck can be a little moody.
My bud, Rocky.
The promised video is not quite ready; keep checking back, and hopefully we'll have that up on YouTube soon!
They get along so well; they are often snuggling together on the bed or the sofa, or sitting next to each other like this on the window sill, meowing at the pigeons.
Starbuck can be a little moody.
My bud, Rocky.
I think this is basically what goes on when I'm not home.
Below are shots of the kind of shenanigans you'll see in the video. We have this toy, generously given to the cats over Thanksgiving by their beloved Uncle JP, that they absolutely go crazy for. I don't normally advertise on my blog, but this thing is called "Da Bird." It's just feathers on a string at the end of something like a fishing pole, but they go nuts for it. If you have active cats and you're looking for a great toy, I highly recommend it.
No, I am not throwing my cats up in the air and taking pictures of them. They just go flying for this silly toy. Rocky likes to rocket straight up into the air -- he can get to about five feet off the ground.
It's a bird, it's a plane, it's Super Starbuck! Look at that form! I gave it a 10, but the judge back there on the sofa only gave it an 8.5.
Rocky, precariously balanced on the banister. It's one of his favorite spots. He likes to sit there and meow at me in the morning. Don't forget to check back soon for Rocky & Starbuck on YouTube!
Note: photos 2, 5, 6 & 7 courtesy of "Uncle JP," who is also our videographer -- a very special thank you to him!
Friday, March 09, 2007
The God of Evolution
Last Sunday, The New York Times Magazine’s cover article – which remained the #1 emailed Times piece for several days – was entitled “Darwin’s God,” and it focused on the efforts to explain the existence of religion as a product of evolution.
The author was careful to say the question is “not whether God exists, which is a matter for philosophers and theologians, but why the belief does.”
Evolutionary biologists have come up against a wall when it comes to the existence of religion; Darwinism teaches that in order for traits to survive, they must contribute either to survival or reproduction, and while the vast majority of the world’s inhabitants – both today and stretching back into the mists of prehistory – believe in the existence of the supernatural, religion seems “to use up physical and mental resources without an obvious benefit for survival.”
Many of the ideas discussed in this article are fascinating and plausible; I enthusiastically recommend it. But I could not help noticing that I did not recognize Christianity in their descriptions of religion. Scott Atran, an anthropologist, feels that “so many aspects of religious belief involve misattribution and misunderstanding of the real world,” and that “religious belief requires taking ‘what is materially false to be true’ and ‘what is materially true to be false.’”
Whoa. No wonder Mr. Atran finds religion inscrutable. I would challenge any of my skeptic/atheist/agnostic readers to identify any belief I profess that is “materially false." True, I hold some beliefs which are beyond the province of empirical scientific study, but by that very distinction they cannot be labeled, even by a noted anthropologist, as “materially false.” The author, Robin Marantz Henig, ponders, “what believer would want to subject his own devotion to rationalism’s cold, hard scrutiny?”
Umm…me? Unlike many of my fundamentalist counterparts, I am not afraid of scientific inquiry. I believe in God, and I believe God is ultimate truth, and therefore I believe any honest inquiry, even a scientific one, leads to God. And I find nothing in any of the theories offered here that gives me significant pause for thought over whether there really is a God. Moreover, I find the research that clearly indicates children are predisposed to “believe in omniscience, invisible minds [and] immaterial souls” is evidence in favor of the Divine. Whether those beliefs take the form of an organized theology has to do with the culture and environment in which the children grow up, but the tendency toward faith appears to be innate and universal, despite having no evolutionary benefit. It shatters the conventional secular wisdom that children are “brainwashed” into religion; it rather suggests that one must be trained into atheism, instead.
And even if there is an objective, purely scientific, evolutionary explanation for why people believe in the existence of God, so what? Scientist Justin Barrett asks, “Suppose science produces a convincing account for why I think my wife loves me – should I then stop believing that she does?”
At the risk of chauvinism, even though I believe all the spiritual traditions of the world contain wisdom and truth, the sophisticated theology of the major faiths deserve more credit than to be casually derided as superstition or easy comfort in a meaningless world. Christianity in particular, while clearly prone to perversion for personal or political purposes, is not simply a refuge for people who are afraid of death, as this article proposes.
The author was careful to say the question is “not whether God exists, which is a matter for philosophers and theologians, but why the belief does.”
Evolutionary biologists have come up against a wall when it comes to the existence of religion; Darwinism teaches that in order for traits to survive, they must contribute either to survival or reproduction, and while the vast majority of the world’s inhabitants – both today and stretching back into the mists of prehistory – believe in the existence of the supernatural, religion seems “to use up physical and mental resources without an obvious benefit for survival.”
Many of the ideas discussed in this article are fascinating and plausible; I enthusiastically recommend it. But I could not help noticing that I did not recognize Christianity in their descriptions of religion. Scott Atran, an anthropologist, feels that “so many aspects of religious belief involve misattribution and misunderstanding of the real world,” and that “religious belief requires taking ‘what is materially false to be true’ and ‘what is materially true to be false.’”
Whoa. No wonder Mr. Atran finds religion inscrutable. I would challenge any of my skeptic/atheist/agnostic readers to identify any belief I profess that is “materially false." True, I hold some beliefs which are beyond the province of empirical scientific study, but by that very distinction they cannot be labeled, even by a noted anthropologist, as “materially false.” The author, Robin Marantz Henig, ponders, “what believer would want to subject his own devotion to rationalism’s cold, hard scrutiny?”
Umm…me? Unlike many of my fundamentalist counterparts, I am not afraid of scientific inquiry. I believe in God, and I believe God is ultimate truth, and therefore I believe any honest inquiry, even a scientific one, leads to God. And I find nothing in any of the theories offered here that gives me significant pause for thought over whether there really is a God. Moreover, I find the research that clearly indicates children are predisposed to “believe in omniscience, invisible minds [and] immaterial souls” is evidence in favor of the Divine. Whether those beliefs take the form of an organized theology has to do with the culture and environment in which the children grow up, but the tendency toward faith appears to be innate and universal, despite having no evolutionary benefit. It shatters the conventional secular wisdom that children are “brainwashed” into religion; it rather suggests that one must be trained into atheism, instead.
And even if there is an objective, purely scientific, evolutionary explanation for why people believe in the existence of God, so what? Scientist Justin Barrett asks, “Suppose science produces a convincing account for why I think my wife loves me – should I then stop believing that she does?”
At the risk of chauvinism, even though I believe all the spiritual traditions of the world contain wisdom and truth, the sophisticated theology of the major faiths deserve more credit than to be casually derided as superstition or easy comfort in a meaningless world. Christianity in particular, while clearly prone to perversion for personal or political purposes, is not simply a refuge for people who are afraid of death, as this article proposes.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
SoHo, TriBeCa, DUMBO…WaHi?
This Sunday, The New York Times ran an interesting, if slightly bizarre, write-up of the neighborhood I’ve called home for the past thirteen years: Washington Heights.
Nestled snuggly in upper Manhattan between Inwood (the uppermost neighborhood) and Harlem, Washington Heights has long been the last island bastion of spacious, affordable apartments. That’s why I came up here in the first place, back in 1994: fellow students at Manhattan School of Music enthusiastically recommended the area. Here I could afford (with my parents’ generous help) a large (by New York standards, huge) 1 bedroom that in any neighborhood south of about 125th Street would have gone for at least three times what I paid for it.
It’s an interesting part of the world. I managed to get into a good building right at the central intersection of the “toniest” part of the neighborhood, on Fort Washington Avenue near West 187th Street. When I first moved in, the majority of my neighbors were elderly orthodox Jews – the lady in 3A used to bring me leftover rugelach after her Sunday mah jongg game; the other major groups were the Russians and a surprisingly large population of Serbians, plus a generous sampling of young, white struggling artistic types: musicians and actors, mostly. Get on any northbound A train at 42nd Street around 11:00 p.m. and you will undoubtedly end up with the entire chorus of any particular Broadway musical you choose on its way home to the Heights. Open your windows on a warm Saturday afternoon and there’s a soprano to the south tuning and perfecting her D-flats in “Sempre libera” and a tenor to the north smoothing out the runs from “Il mio tesoro,” or a tuba player across the alley playing “Ride of the Valkyries” ad nauseum.
And then there were, and are, the Dominicans, who are largely the focus of the Times write-up. There are hundreds of thousands of Dominicans in an area roughly one mile square; so many, in fact, that the current President of the Dominican Republic campaigned here – marched down the street in front of my apartment, no less. And little wonder: he grew up here.
The Times article centers on the effects of the gradual gentrification of the neighborhood, which are mostly adverse for the less-affluent Dominicans who have claimed this area for so long. When I first arrived, there really wasn’t much here. In fact, as recently as 2001, I remember a lunch-break conversation with a co-worker who happened to live across the street. “Did you see the new restaurant that’s opening on 187th?” “Yes, it has tables!”
Now there are three very nice, very good restaurants on 187th, plus a diner (meh) and a Chinese take-out (ew…avoid), and an Indian place around the corner. There are several new places down on 181st, with tables and menus and everything, including a Japanese restaurant and the fancy, high-priced (but worth it) Hispaniola, next door to what has to be the best liquor store in all of Manhattan. Seriously. We even have a Starbucks.
Washington Heights has much to commend it; I have always liked the fact that upon surfacing from the subway at 181st Street after a busy day in the craziness downtown, you find yourself in a different world, with (relatively) quiet, tree-lined streets. It’s a family-friendly, community-minded kind of place, liberal and politically active, a place where Jewish people stand outside the supermarket protesting Israel’s treatment of Palestinians. A place where free public yoga classes are taught in the park next to the community meditation garden, just over the monument commemorating the Battle of Fort Washington. At the end of the street is Fort Tryon Park, with its beautiful Heather Garden and panoramic views of the Hudson River, which has been the subject of so many of my photo posts here, and via a short walk, the famous Cloisters, a branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art specializing in medieval Christian artwork.
One can’t deny that the neighborhood is changing, however. As I have mentioned before, I walk ten minutes north each morning to the next uptown subway stop in order to get a seat for the hour-long ride to work, because the population of 9-5 professionals living here has positively exploded. According to the Times, 35% of the white households in the neighborhood earn between $75-200,000. (12% of the Dominican households manage that; the median Dominican household income for the neighborhood is $32,800.) My current 600 square-foot apartment was $750/month when I took it back in 1996; with rent-stabilized increases, it’s now $1,023, but after I leave it next month and the landlord renovates it, I’m guessing it will probably go for $1,500.
As Washington Heights becomes whiter and more affluent, there seems to be a desire to alter what the neighborhood is called, to shed the image of a heavily-latino, neglected, crime-ridden part of town (which you can still find if you just cross to the east side of Broadway). A few years ago, realtors were pushing my neighborhood as “Hudson Heights.” The Times says the new hipsters are calling it “WaHi.” (Which, I’m sorry, is lame, yo.) When I was in Los Angeles in September, I impressed new acquaintances by saying I live on the Upper North Side. The best alternative, giving a nod to the significant gay population, comes from drag superstar Hedda Lettuce, who calls it “Upper upper upper upper upper upper Chelsea.”
In my opinion, however, there’s nothing wrong with Washington Heights.
Nestled snuggly in upper Manhattan between Inwood (the uppermost neighborhood) and Harlem, Washington Heights has long been the last island bastion of spacious, affordable apartments. That’s why I came up here in the first place, back in 1994: fellow students at Manhattan School of Music enthusiastically recommended the area. Here I could afford (with my parents’ generous help) a large (by New York standards, huge) 1 bedroom that in any neighborhood south of about 125th Street would have gone for at least three times what I paid for it.
It’s an interesting part of the world. I managed to get into a good building right at the central intersection of the “toniest” part of the neighborhood, on Fort Washington Avenue near West 187th Street. When I first moved in, the majority of my neighbors were elderly orthodox Jews – the lady in 3A used to bring me leftover rugelach after her Sunday mah jongg game; the other major groups were the Russians and a surprisingly large population of Serbians, plus a generous sampling of young, white struggling artistic types: musicians and actors, mostly. Get on any northbound A train at 42nd Street around 11:00 p.m. and you will undoubtedly end up with the entire chorus of any particular Broadway musical you choose on its way home to the Heights. Open your windows on a warm Saturday afternoon and there’s a soprano to the south tuning and perfecting her D-flats in “Sempre libera” and a tenor to the north smoothing out the runs from “Il mio tesoro,” or a tuba player across the alley playing “Ride of the Valkyries” ad nauseum.And then there were, and are, the Dominicans, who are largely the focus of the Times write-up. There are hundreds of thousands of Dominicans in an area roughly one mile square; so many, in fact, that the current President of the Dominican Republic campaigned here – marched down the street in front of my apartment, no less. And little wonder: he grew up here.
The Times article centers on the effects of the gradual gentrification of the neighborhood, which are mostly adverse for the less-affluent Dominicans who have claimed this area for so long. When I first arrived, there really wasn’t much here. In fact, as recently as 2001, I remember a lunch-break conversation with a co-worker who happened to live across the street. “Did you see the new restaurant that’s opening on 187th?” “Yes, it has tables!”
Now there are three very nice, very good restaurants on 187th, plus a diner (meh) and a Chinese take-out (ew…avoid), and an Indian place around the corner. There are several new places down on 181st, with tables and menus and everything, including a Japanese restaurant and the fancy, high-priced (but worth it) Hispaniola, next door to what has to be the best liquor store in all of Manhattan. Seriously. We even have a Starbucks.
Washington Heights has much to commend it; I have always liked the fact that upon surfacing from the subway at 181st Street after a busy day in the craziness downtown, you find yourself in a different world, with (relatively) quiet, tree-lined streets. It’s a family-friendly, community-minded kind of place, liberal and politically active, a place where Jewish people stand outside the supermarket protesting Israel’s treatment of Palestinians. A place where free public yoga classes are taught in the park next to the community meditation garden, just over the monument commemorating the Battle of Fort Washington. At the end of the street is Fort Tryon Park, with its beautiful Heather Garden and panoramic views of the Hudson River, which has been the subject of so many of my photo posts here, and via a short walk, the famous Cloisters, a branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art specializing in medieval Christian artwork.
One can’t deny that the neighborhood is changing, however. As I have mentioned before, I walk ten minutes north each morning to the next uptown subway stop in order to get a seat for the hour-long ride to work, because the population of 9-5 professionals living here has positively exploded. According to the Times, 35% of the white households in the neighborhood earn between $75-200,000. (12% of the Dominican households manage that; the median Dominican household income for the neighborhood is $32,800.) My current 600 square-foot apartment was $750/month when I took it back in 1996; with rent-stabilized increases, it’s now $1,023, but after I leave it next month and the landlord renovates it, I’m guessing it will probably go for $1,500.
As Washington Heights becomes whiter and more affluent, there seems to be a desire to alter what the neighborhood is called, to shed the image of a heavily-latino, neglected, crime-ridden part of town (which you can still find if you just cross to the east side of Broadway). A few years ago, realtors were pushing my neighborhood as “Hudson Heights.” The Times says the new hipsters are calling it “WaHi.” (Which, I’m sorry, is lame, yo.) When I was in Los Angeles in September, I impressed new acquaintances by saying I live on the Upper North Side. The best alternative, giving a nod to the significant gay population, comes from drag superstar Hedda Lettuce, who calls it “Upper upper upper upper upper upper Chelsea.”In my opinion, however, there’s nothing wrong with Washington Heights.
Monday, March 05, 2007
But I Found What I Was Looking For
On the post below – oh, thanks, everyone, for your awesome suggestions – reader KR (and good friend for…let’s tactfully say a long time) proposed adding U2’s great song “But I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” to my Leaving New York Roadtrip Playlist. It got me thinking.
No, I can’t claim these last few years went according to plan. It would be wrong to suggest that there wasn’t a cloud of disappointment hanging over the horizon, the shadow of what might have been. But that’s probably true of everyone’s life.
I don’t want to give the impression that I’m leaving New York because I’m giving up, that I’m retreating to Oregon with my tail between my legs to lick my emotional wounds. New York has been great. I don’t regret coming here. I’m not angry, jaded, or disillusioned. I’ve just reached the point where it’s time to close this chapter and start a new one.
The story of how I got here is a long and complicated one with several bizarre twists of fate, but I can start with that day in the summer of 1993 when I had the opportunity to sing for Ellen Faull, former City Opera diva and professor emerita of the Juilliard School. Sure, I entertained the fantasy that she would love my singing and arrange for me to go study in New York. But when that actually happened, it was stunning.
I was scared. Me, in New York City? Me, at a conservatory? I didn’t feel ready for either of those things. (And remember, this was pre-Giuliani scary Times Square squeegee-guy New York.) But I said to myself, “Look, buster: if you don’t do this, if you don’t give this a try, you will regret it for the rest of your life.” If I didn’t like it, if it didn’t work out, I could always go home.
Okay, I’m not where I hoped I’d be. But I went places and did things I never dreamed I’d do. I had opportunities and experiences I’d be a fool not to still be amazed at and grateful for. But forget the career for the moment.
New York. There is no place in the world I would rather have spent my 20s than New York City. I went through adolescence in Portland, but I grew up in Manhattan. I am not the same person I was when I got here; I am profoundly changed for the better. The people I have encountered, the friendships I have made, and the wealth of experiences – from exhilarating to devastating – well, I wouldn’t trade them for anything.
Do I have any regrets? I wish I’d had more confidence when I was younger. I was cute; I wish I’d known that and put it to better use. I wish I had not taken my singing so seriously; I wish I would have allowed myself to take a few more risks and had more fun. Oh well.
So no, this is not surrender. This was amazing. I didn’t go as far as I hoped, but I exceeded all my expectations. I come away from this feeling blessed and lucky. I will treasure these past 13 years all the days of my life.
No, I can’t claim these last few years went according to plan. It would be wrong to suggest that there wasn’t a cloud of disappointment hanging over the horizon, the shadow of what might have been. But that’s probably true of everyone’s life.
I don’t want to give the impression that I’m leaving New York because I’m giving up, that I’m retreating to Oregon with my tail between my legs to lick my emotional wounds. New York has been great. I don’t regret coming here. I’m not angry, jaded, or disillusioned. I’ve just reached the point where it’s time to close this chapter and start a new one.
The story of how I got here is a long and complicated one with several bizarre twists of fate, but I can start with that day in the summer of 1993 when I had the opportunity to sing for Ellen Faull, former City Opera diva and professor emerita of the Juilliard School. Sure, I entertained the fantasy that she would love my singing and arrange for me to go study in New York. But when that actually happened, it was stunning.
I was scared. Me, in New York City? Me, at a conservatory? I didn’t feel ready for either of those things. (And remember, this was pre-Giuliani scary Times Square squeegee-guy New York.) But I said to myself, “Look, buster: if you don’t do this, if you don’t give this a try, you will regret it for the rest of your life.” If I didn’t like it, if it didn’t work out, I could always go home.
Okay, I’m not where I hoped I’d be. But I went places and did things I never dreamed I’d do. I had opportunities and experiences I’d be a fool not to still be amazed at and grateful for. But forget the career for the moment.
New York. There is no place in the world I would rather have spent my 20s than New York City. I went through adolescence in Portland, but I grew up in Manhattan. I am not the same person I was when I got here; I am profoundly changed for the better. The people I have encountered, the friendships I have made, and the wealth of experiences – from exhilarating to devastating – well, I wouldn’t trade them for anything.
Do I have any regrets? I wish I’d had more confidence when I was younger. I was cute; I wish I’d known that and put it to better use. I wish I had not taken my singing so seriously; I wish I would have allowed myself to take a few more risks and had more fun. Oh well.
So no, this is not surrender. This was amazing. I didn’t go as far as I hoped, but I exceeded all my expectations. I come away from this feeling blessed and lucky. I will treasure these past 13 years all the days of my life.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Next Week...
Sunday photoblogging returns, with a tribute to a couple of very special cats on the occasion of their first birthday, featuring Rocky & Starbuck's YouTube debut!
Thursday, March 01, 2007
And Every Day, Some Go Away
I'm working on my "Leaving New York/Road Trip" Playlist. Here's what I've got so far:
- "Go West," The Village People
- "Into the West," Annie Lenox (from The Return of the King)
- "Getting out of town," 42nd Street
- "Another Hundred People," Company
- "Don't Rain on my Parade," Funny Girl
- "Tennessee Homesick Blues," Dolly Parton
- "The Best is Yet to Come," Frank Sinatra
- "Roam," B-52's
- "Here I Go Again," Whitesnake
That will probably get me as far as Paramus. Any suggestions? Unfortunately, "Holiday Road" from National Lampoon's Vacation is not available on iTunes, nor is the soundtrack commercially available.
#6 might seem like an odd choice, especially since I'm not going anywhere near Tennessee, but consider the lyrics:
New York City ain't no kind of place
For a country girl suburban gay with a friendly face
If you smile people look at you funny
They take it wrong
The greenest state in the land of the free
And the home of the Grand Ole Opry Tillamook Cheese Factory
Is calling me back to my Smoky Cascade Mountain home
The lyrics from #9 kind of hit home, too.
I also need a name for this adventure. I'm thinking about calling it the Cats Across America Tour. Any other ideas?
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Review: Simon Boccanegra
What a masterful, majestic opera this is. As I was trying to explain the intricacies of the plot to my “date” last night, I realized that theatrically Boccanegra makes only slightly more sense than Puritani, but if you can find it in your heart to make some of the leaps of faith the story requires, the power of the music will carry you along. It may be Verdi’s subtlest, most refined score; Otello is appropriately unhinged, Don Carlo is grand and noble, and there are special wonders in each and every opera he wrote, but Boccanegra seems uniquely organic, delicate and inventive.
It was a wonderful performance. What an interesting artist Angela Gheorghiu has become! She exudes a grand, old-school confidence and stage presence. She’s one of the greatest singers in the world, and she knows it. The security of her singing, her musicianship and her polished, considered, earnest musicality allow her to go out on stage and just completely own what she does. The role of Amelia allows her to show off both her bright, strong top notes and her warm dramatic chest voice, as well as everything in between, with ample opportunities for forceful dramatic outbursts and softer, tender lyrical passages.
Marcello Giordani was in great voice, with none of the patchy, husky sound in the middle and tight top that sometimes mars his singing. Everything seemed completely aligned and rang heroically from top to bottom. Top notch.
Bass Ferruccio Furlanetto is getting on a bit, and no longer has quite the space and ease around his higher notes, but instead of getting dry and woofy, like some lower voices do, his voice remains bright and clear. He was dramatically invested in the role, and brought to it the requisite nobility, even in moments of rage.
Baritone Vassily Gerello as the villain Paolo was just not in the same league as the rest of the cast. His voice is thin, nasal and monotone, and he employs stodgy, generic “acting” gestures. I will pound the table now so you know I’m frustrated! Serviceable. Next.
Conductor Fabio Luisi did a marvelous job; the comparison is a cliché and wrong-headed in many ways, but there is a Wagnerian degree of sensitivity to both the stage action and the unspoken emotions in the orchestral writing that more than make up for the confusing mistaken identities and other weaknesses of the libretto. The divine and unusual prelude to Act I is like Parsifal or some of Debussy; the music shimmers, spins and floats, seemingly without tempo or rhythm. It just exists, marvelously. The council scene at the end of the first act was electrifying; it’s difficult to believe that the opera’s magnificent dramatic climax was not part of the original 1857 version. The pit was flawless.
Then there was Thomas Hampson in the title role. I never thought I’d say this about a performer who sometimes is criticized for being too arch, too refined: it was too blustery and blunt. Sure, Boccanegra has his blustery and blunt moments, and Hampson’s voice was muscular, warm, resonant and authoritative throughout. Still, I felt that Hampson’s sensitivity and lyrical capability could have brought a greater range, a more varied vocal palate, than he did. Admittedly, this is me being super-nitpicky. It is a superior performance.
I wanted to make special mention of Michael Scott’s costumes; the fabrics were gorgeous, and I can’t imagine anyone who’d look better in those gowns than Angela Gheorghiu. All in all, a grand night at the Metropolitan Opera.
*****
As it was probably my last night at the Met for a while, I wanted to especially savor the magical moment when the chandeliers rise and dim. Of course, I got distracted by late arrivals in our row and completely missed their ascent.
*****
In other news, I understand that the Met is planning a new production of Bellini’s Norma to be directed by Robert Wilson. Great. An opera that needs blood-and-guts passion in order to work is going to be directed by someone who won’t let his actors move or use facial expressions.
It was a wonderful performance. What an interesting artist Angela Gheorghiu has become! She exudes a grand, old-school confidence and stage presence. She’s one of the greatest singers in the world, and she knows it. The security of her singing, her musicianship and her polished, considered, earnest musicality allow her to go out on stage and just completely own what she does. The role of Amelia allows her to show off both her bright, strong top notes and her warm dramatic chest voice, as well as everything in between, with ample opportunities for forceful dramatic outbursts and softer, tender lyrical passages.
Marcello Giordani was in great voice, with none of the patchy, husky sound in the middle and tight top that sometimes mars his singing. Everything seemed completely aligned and rang heroically from top to bottom. Top notch.
Bass Ferruccio Furlanetto is getting on a bit, and no longer has quite the space and ease around his higher notes, but instead of getting dry and woofy, like some lower voices do, his voice remains bright and clear. He was dramatically invested in the role, and brought to it the requisite nobility, even in moments of rage.
Baritone Vassily Gerello as the villain Paolo was just not in the same league as the rest of the cast. His voice is thin, nasal and monotone, and he employs stodgy, generic “acting” gestures. I will pound the table now so you know I’m frustrated! Serviceable. Next.
Conductor Fabio Luisi did a marvelous job; the comparison is a cliché and wrong-headed in many ways, but there is a Wagnerian degree of sensitivity to both the stage action and the unspoken emotions in the orchestral writing that more than make up for the confusing mistaken identities and other weaknesses of the libretto. The divine and unusual prelude to Act I is like Parsifal or some of Debussy; the music shimmers, spins and floats, seemingly without tempo or rhythm. It just exists, marvelously. The council scene at the end of the first act was electrifying; it’s difficult to believe that the opera’s magnificent dramatic climax was not part of the original 1857 version. The pit was flawless.
Then there was Thomas Hampson in the title role. I never thought I’d say this about a performer who sometimes is criticized for being too arch, too refined: it was too blustery and blunt. Sure, Boccanegra has his blustery and blunt moments, and Hampson’s voice was muscular, warm, resonant and authoritative throughout. Still, I felt that Hampson’s sensitivity and lyrical capability could have brought a greater range, a more varied vocal palate, than he did. Admittedly, this is me being super-nitpicky. It is a superior performance.
I wanted to make special mention of Michael Scott’s costumes; the fabrics were gorgeous, and I can’t imagine anyone who’d look better in those gowns than Angela Gheorghiu. All in all, a grand night at the Metropolitan Opera.
*****
As it was probably my last night at the Met for a while, I wanted to especially savor the magical moment when the chandeliers rise and dim. Of course, I got distracted by late arrivals in our row and completely missed their ascent.
*****
In other news, I understand that the Met is planning a new production of Bellini’s Norma to be directed by Robert Wilson. Great. An opera that needs blood-and-guts passion in order to work is going to be directed by someone who won’t let his actors move or use facial expressions.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Andy & The Met
The first time I laid eyes on the Metropolitan Opera was in August of 1993, when I came to New York to audition for the undergraduate program at the Manhattan School of Music. I was given a private backstage tour by the retired Met stalwart baritone Theodor Uppman, who sang there for decades in a variety of roles, most notably as Sharpless in Madama Butterfly, Pelleas in Pelleas et Mélisande, Marcello in La Bohème, and Papageno in Die Zauberflöte.
Mr. Uppman – who created the title role in the world premiere of Benjamin Britten’s Billy Budd – was an old friend of the family; he lived next door to my mother when she was a little girl in North Hollywood, California, and my great-grandmother used to baby-sit his kids. I met him for the first time on that trip, and he was gracious enough to show me the cavernous auditorium, the vast stage and some of the rehearsal spaces during a quiet weekday in the off-season. He was a wonderful mentor to me during my years in conservatory; sadly, he passed away last year.
I “discovered” opera my senior year in high school; that year, and during my freshman year at Occidental College, I reserved every Saturday morning for the live Met radio broadcasts; I always followed along in a score from the library. The Met was this magical place on a magical island full of amazing, exciting people, which every night of the week boasted a top-class performance filled with in-demand singers from around the world. It seemed too wonderful to be real.
I arrived in New York on January 4, 1994. The very next night I was in the Family Circle at the Met, attending a performance of Il barbiere di Siviglia with Ruth Ann Swenson, Frank Lopardo, Mark Oswald, Enzo Dara and Jan-Hendrik Rootering. (It was supposed to be Thomas Hampson as Figaro, but he was ill; and no, I did not have to do any research to look up the cast, I remember every minute of it, even these 13 years later. I remember that Lopardo interpolated a gleaming high-C at the end of “Ecco ridente,” and noted that he hadn’t during the radio broadcast a week earlier.) I went back on the 8th, too, to see Les Troyens, but don’t remember nearly as much because it was fucking boring as hell. But I digress.
Since then, I have attended over 200 performances there. I used to keep a list, but I let it slide a while back and lost track. So many nights stand out in memory: three complete Ring Cycles, Dmitri Hvorostovsky’s debut, my idol Mirella Freni in Adriana Lecouvreur and Fedora (in which I later appeared with her in Zürich), Pavarotti in Tosca (twice), Andrea Chenier and Un Ballo in Maschera; Domingo in…oh, let’s see, Otello, Queen of Spades, Parsifal, Walküre, Carmen, Simon Boccanegra, La Forza del Destino, Idomeneo, and others. Kiri te Kanawa in Arabella and Nozze di Figaro; Hermann Prey in Fledermaus; Gwyneth Jones and Leonie Rysanek in Elektra…well, I could go on and on. While I was in school, I used to show up in standing room in the back of the Family Circle at least once a week.
Tonight I am heading back, for what promises to be the last time before I move out of New York. I am going with a close friend, someone I met during that first year at MSM all those long years ago. The opera is Verdi’s Simon Boccanegra, with Angela Gheorghiu (whom I’ve seen in Bohème, Turandot, Traviata, Carmen, L’Elisir d’Amore, and Faust), Marcello Giordani (who starred in the second live opera I ever saw, La Fille du Régiment in Portland, and whose Met debut I attended, though I forget whether it was Traviata or Bohème), Ferruccio Furlanetto (whom I’ve never heard live), and Thomas Hampson, who’d better show up.
Mr. Uppman – who created the title role in the world premiere of Benjamin Britten’s Billy Budd – was an old friend of the family; he lived next door to my mother when she was a little girl in North Hollywood, California, and my great-grandmother used to baby-sit his kids. I met him for the first time on that trip, and he was gracious enough to show me the cavernous auditorium, the vast stage and some of the rehearsal spaces during a quiet weekday in the off-season. He was a wonderful mentor to me during my years in conservatory; sadly, he passed away last year.
I “discovered” opera my senior year in high school; that year, and during my freshman year at Occidental College, I reserved every Saturday morning for the live Met radio broadcasts; I always followed along in a score from the library. The Met was this magical place on a magical island full of amazing, exciting people, which every night of the week boasted a top-class performance filled with in-demand singers from around the world. It seemed too wonderful to be real.
I arrived in New York on January 4, 1994. The very next night I was in the Family Circle at the Met, attending a performance of Il barbiere di Siviglia with Ruth Ann Swenson, Frank Lopardo, Mark Oswald, Enzo Dara and Jan-Hendrik Rootering. (It was supposed to be Thomas Hampson as Figaro, but he was ill; and no, I did not have to do any research to look up the cast, I remember every minute of it, even these 13 years later. I remember that Lopardo interpolated a gleaming high-C at the end of “Ecco ridente,” and noted that he hadn’t during the radio broadcast a week earlier.) I went back on the 8th, too, to see Les Troyens, but don’t remember nearly as much because it was fucking boring as hell. But I digress.
Since then, I have attended over 200 performances there. I used to keep a list, but I let it slide a while back and lost track. So many nights stand out in memory: three complete Ring Cycles, Dmitri Hvorostovsky’s debut, my idol Mirella Freni in Adriana Lecouvreur and Fedora (in which I later appeared with her in Zürich), Pavarotti in Tosca (twice), Andrea Chenier and Un Ballo in Maschera; Domingo in…oh, let’s see, Otello, Queen of Spades, Parsifal, Walküre, Carmen, Simon Boccanegra, La Forza del Destino, Idomeneo, and others. Kiri te Kanawa in Arabella and Nozze di Figaro; Hermann Prey in Fledermaus; Gwyneth Jones and Leonie Rysanek in Elektra…well, I could go on and on. While I was in school, I used to show up in standing room in the back of the Family Circle at least once a week.
Tonight I am heading back, for what promises to be the last time before I move out of New York. I am going with a close friend, someone I met during that first year at MSM all those long years ago. The opera is Verdi’s Simon Boccanegra, with Angela Gheorghiu (whom I’ve seen in Bohème, Turandot, Traviata, Carmen, L’Elisir d’Amore, and Faust), Marcello Giordani (who starred in the second live opera I ever saw, La Fille du Régiment in Portland, and whose Met debut I attended, though I forget whether it was Traviata or Bohème), Ferruccio Furlanetto (whom I’ve never heard live), and Thomas Hampson, who’d better show up.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
"Christian" Political Priorities
The New York Times reports on its front page today about a recent meeting of the innocuously and vaguely titled Council for National Policy. There is nothing innocuous or vague about the group’s agenda, however. Formed in 1981 by Timothy LaHaye (co-author of the Left Behind novels), the group met this month at a Ritz-Carlton resort in Florida to seek a Christian conservative front-runner for the 2008 presidential race. Members include James Dobson, Grover Norquist and Jerry Falwell.
They're worried; Paul Weyrich told the Times there is “great anxiety” because “there is no outstanding conservative.” They’re not fooled by McCain. They have “declared their hostility” to Giuliani “because of his liberal views on abortion and gay rights and his three marriages.” I guess they don’t know about the cross-dressing yet.
They don’t like Romney; “members have used the council as a conduit to distribute a dossier prepared by a Massachusetts conservative group about liberal elements of his record on abortion, stem cell research and gay rights.” (Unmentioned by the Times or any of the interviewees, but surely a factor in this demographic, would be opposition to the idea of a Catholic or Mormon president.)
So who’s left? Governor Mike Huckabee of Arkansas? No, he “faced resistance from the limited-government, antitax wing of their movement.” Defender of Marriage, Denier of Global Warming and Evolution Foe Sam Brownback of Kansas? No, “foes of illegal immigration objected to his support for a temporary guest worker program, and some faulted him for touching only briefly on the threat of Islamic terrorists.”
The agenda that these men (and, they are all men) would legislate for this nation in the name of the Bible bears no resemblance to Biblical priorities. Homosexuality? Jesus didn’t mention it. Immigration? Exodus says, “You shall not wrong or oppress a resident alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt.” (For emphasis, the verse reappears with a slight variation in the next chapter.) The most famous of all Jesus’ parables is the Good Samaritan. Taxes? See here and here. Yet Grover Norquist has given the candidates “a pledge not to raise income taxes.” (See what the Bible says about oaths.)
We should be seriously concerned about the focus on “Islamic fascism,” especially since there is no such thing. Yes, the terrorist threat from radical Muslims – and others; let us not forget Oklahoma City or the Unabomber or, this stuff – is real and serious. But if you understand the “theology” that drives this particular group, you will understand that they have no interest in solving the problems or even genuinely combating the threat. They want to provoke it. They want to edge us ever closer to World War III with Jerusalem as “ground zero” in order to trigger “the Rapture.”
These are the priorities of the religious conservative “kingmakers” – an apt political term these days if ever there was one. Each day, 30,000 people around the world, mostly children, die from starvation and curable disease. The United Nations has established a series of Millennium Development Goals to combat this and other related issues, which can be achieved if the governments of wealthy nations contribute just 0.7% of their GNP to the project. (The US has neither met this modest goal nor pledged to do so.) But while all of these candidates believe the government should be used to regulate what women do with their bodies or what consenting adults do in the privacy of their bedroom, none of the candidates received any praise (nor would they) for advocating the government use its power and resources to eradicate poverty. Given that Tim LaHaye believes that the Antichrist will manifest himself as Secretary General of the U.N., it’s not likely this group has any interest in cooperating.
Andrew Sullivan defines a “Christianist” as someone who holds “the view that religious faith is so important that it must also have a precise political agenda. It is the belief that religion dictates politics and that politics should dictate the laws for everyone, Christian and non-Christian alike.” If only the agenda advanced by the Council for National Policy reflected Biblical priorities, it might be an apt description. These guys are just frauds.
They're worried; Paul Weyrich told the Times there is “great anxiety” because “there is no outstanding conservative.” They’re not fooled by McCain. They have “declared their hostility” to Giuliani “because of his liberal views on abortion and gay rights and his three marriages.” I guess they don’t know about the cross-dressing yet.
They don’t like Romney; “members have used the council as a conduit to distribute a dossier prepared by a Massachusetts conservative group about liberal elements of his record on abortion, stem cell research and gay rights.” (Unmentioned by the Times or any of the interviewees, but surely a factor in this demographic, would be opposition to the idea of a Catholic or Mormon president.)
So who’s left? Governor Mike Huckabee of Arkansas? No, he “faced resistance from the limited-government, antitax wing of their movement.” Defender of Marriage, Denier of Global Warming and Evolution Foe Sam Brownback of Kansas? No, “foes of illegal immigration objected to his support for a temporary guest worker program, and some faulted him for touching only briefly on the threat of Islamic terrorists.”
The agenda that these men (and, they are all men) would legislate for this nation in the name of the Bible bears no resemblance to Biblical priorities. Homosexuality? Jesus didn’t mention it. Immigration? Exodus says, “You shall not wrong or oppress a resident alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt.” (For emphasis, the verse reappears with a slight variation in the next chapter.) The most famous of all Jesus’ parables is the Good Samaritan. Taxes? See here and here. Yet Grover Norquist has given the candidates “a pledge not to raise income taxes.” (See what the Bible says about oaths.)
We should be seriously concerned about the focus on “Islamic fascism,” especially since there is no such thing. Yes, the terrorist threat from radical Muslims – and others; let us not forget Oklahoma City or the Unabomber or, this stuff – is real and serious. But if you understand the “theology” that drives this particular group, you will understand that they have no interest in solving the problems or even genuinely combating the threat. They want to provoke it. They want to edge us ever closer to World War III with Jerusalem as “ground zero” in order to trigger “the Rapture.”
These are the priorities of the religious conservative “kingmakers” – an apt political term these days if ever there was one. Each day, 30,000 people around the world, mostly children, die from starvation and curable disease. The United Nations has established a series of Millennium Development Goals to combat this and other related issues, which can be achieved if the governments of wealthy nations contribute just 0.7% of their GNP to the project. (The US has neither met this modest goal nor pledged to do so.) But while all of these candidates believe the government should be used to regulate what women do with their bodies or what consenting adults do in the privacy of their bedroom, none of the candidates received any praise (nor would they) for advocating the government use its power and resources to eradicate poverty. Given that Tim LaHaye believes that the Antichrist will manifest himself as Secretary General of the U.N., it’s not likely this group has any interest in cooperating.
Andrew Sullivan defines a “Christianist” as someone who holds “the view that religious faith is so important that it must also have a precise political agenda. It is the belief that religion dictates politics and that politics should dictate the laws for everyone, Christian and non-Christian alike.” If only the agenda advanced by the Council for National Policy reflected Biblical priorities, it might be an apt description. These guys are just frauds.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Scripture vs. Reason & Reality
If you've been interested in the discussions below about reconciling and balancing what the Bible says with logic and reason and deferring to your own conscience and personal experience, especially as it relates to the topic of sexual orientation, then get thee hence to the always fantastic Slacktivist for some relevant insight.
*Disclaimer: I know the above is possibly the worst sentence I have ever written, but it's late and I'm tired and, hell, you know what I meant.
*Disclaimer: I know the above is possibly the worst sentence I have ever written, but it's late and I'm tired and, hell, you know what I meant.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Think Again
There's a woman I hear regularly who preaches at the Fulton Street subway station in lower Manhattan. Her loud, Caribbean-accented voice thunders through the corridors as she warns harried commuters rushing to their jobs about the perils of Hell. "You must repent!" she insists.
What does it mean, to "repent"?
It's related to the Latin pensare, which means "to think." It's the same root from which we derive "pensive." One possible understanding of "repent," then, is "re-think."
Think. Thinking. Thinking again.
We hear a lot from the Christian world's louder voices about "repenting," but we hear very little about thinking. We hear much less about re-thinking.
We hear so little about it that somehow faith has become the antonym of thinking. Don't question, don't challenge, don't argue. Just believe. There are those within the Christian community who fear the human mind's critical and analytical capabilities -- surely the single gift above all others which sets mankind apart -- and regard them with suspicion.
Ironically, this tends to be the same group that places such emphasis on the literal authority of the Bible; don't think, you don't have to think, the Bible spells it all out for you. Yet with all their focus on scripture, they manage more often than not to miss what it says.
A search of the Gospel texts finds Jesus asking, "What do you think?" fourteen times. Jesus doesn't just tell us what we need to know and leave it at that; he wants to know what we think. He wants to engage us. He wants to challenge what it is we think we know; specifically, he wants to challenge what we think we know about God. Look at all the places in the Gospels where the apostles question Jesus. Does Jesus say, "How dare you question me, the Almighty Son of the Living God! Off with you!" No. He says, "What do you think?"
If only more Christians would ask, "What do you think?"
Think. Think again.
Repent.
What does it mean, to "repent"?
It's related to the Latin pensare, which means "to think." It's the same root from which we derive "pensive." One possible understanding of "repent," then, is "re-think."
Think. Thinking. Thinking again.
We hear a lot from the Christian world's louder voices about "repenting," but we hear very little about thinking. We hear much less about re-thinking.
We hear so little about it that somehow faith has become the antonym of thinking. Don't question, don't challenge, don't argue. Just believe. There are those within the Christian community who fear the human mind's critical and analytical capabilities -- surely the single gift above all others which sets mankind apart -- and regard them with suspicion.
Ironically, this tends to be the same group that places such emphasis on the literal authority of the Bible; don't think, you don't have to think, the Bible spells it all out for you. Yet with all their focus on scripture, they manage more often than not to miss what it says.
A search of the Gospel texts finds Jesus asking, "What do you think?" fourteen times. Jesus doesn't just tell us what we need to know and leave it at that; he wants to know what we think. He wants to engage us. He wants to challenge what it is we think we know; specifically, he wants to challenge what we think we know about God. Look at all the places in the Gospels where the apostles question Jesus. Does Jesus say, "How dare you question me, the Almighty Son of the Living God! Off with you!" No. He says, "What do you think?"
If only more Christians would ask, "What do you think?"
Think. Think again.
Repent.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
What God Has Joined Together
Disappointing news from Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, where last week the primates of the Anglican Communion met to discuss the issues threatening to tear apart this global body of Christians: the bishops adopted a “communiqué” with a series of “recommendations” for the Episcopal Church, which is the American branch of Anglicanism.
To me a “recommendation” is a suggestion meant for serious consideration. However, the communiqué specifies that the Episcopal Church has seven months to comply with the “recommendations” or face a “reduced role” in the Communion. Recommendations don’t come with an “or else.” That’s an ultimatum.
The “recommendation” is that by September 2007, the Episcopal Church will agree to stop “authorizing” the blessing of same-sex unions and will no longer consecrate bishops who are not celibate outside of heterosexual marriage, i.e. gay bishops, even/especially those in committed relationships.
There are all manner of complicated issues in play here, regarding church structure and doctrine, as well as resistance by the more conservative bishops to our newly-elected presiding bishop, the first woman to hold that post. Father Jake opines that the fight isn’t really over issues of diversity; “That is the presenting issue; the canary in the coal mine. The foundational issue is about where the locus of authority will reside in the Anglicanism of the future. This proposal by the Primates is a direct challenge to our polity.”
Though it is an immensely complex issue, I wanted to offer a couple of thoughts on the “blessing” of unions, even as a step short of the full sacrament of marriage.
One of the passages we must consider regarding the compatibility of homosexuality with Christian life is Romans 1:24-28; many take this to be the final word on the subject. Paul writes of men and women who “exchanged natural intercourse for unnatural.” But Paul himself did not intend for us to take his letters unquestioningly at face value.
Twice (here and here) in 1 Corinthians, Paul exclaims “Judge for yourselves!” Significantly, the latter passage is one of Paul’s more controversial arguments. He says to us, “Judge for yourselves: is it proper for a woman to pray to God with her head unveiled? Does not nature itself teach you that if a man wears long hair, it is degrading to him, but if a woman has long hair, it is her glory?” Well…no, frankly. There aren’t many Christians today who worry over whether a woman must cover her head to pray; we took Paul at his word, judged this statement, and found it to be silly. (Jesus also asked “Why do you not judge for yourselves what is right?”)
This is the only proper response to those who claim that in order to justify homosexuality using the Bible, we have to “pick and choose” our verses and ignore other passages. But we don’t just “pick and choose,” it’s called discernment, and it’s what Paul himself invited us to do. All Christians do it (especially the ones who claim they don’t).
We question Paul’s statement about “natural intercourse,” since the overwhelming majority of scientific knowledge on the subject points to biological causes for sexual orientation. Would Paul have made the same claim knowing what we know today? We question Paul’s statement in light of the radical welcome preached by Jesus. Paul and Jesus encouraged us to look around and judge for ourselves: what we see are committed same-sex couples of faith wanting to bring their relationship inside the church and be a part of it.
To me a “recommendation” is a suggestion meant for serious consideration. However, the communiqué specifies that the Episcopal Church has seven months to comply with the “recommendations” or face a “reduced role” in the Communion. Recommendations don’t come with an “or else.” That’s an ultimatum.
The “recommendation” is that by September 2007, the Episcopal Church will agree to stop “authorizing” the blessing of same-sex unions and will no longer consecrate bishops who are not celibate outside of heterosexual marriage, i.e. gay bishops, even/especially those in committed relationships.
There are all manner of complicated issues in play here, regarding church structure and doctrine, as well as resistance by the more conservative bishops to our newly-elected presiding bishop, the first woman to hold that post. Father Jake opines that the fight isn’t really over issues of diversity; “That is the presenting issue; the canary in the coal mine. The foundational issue is about where the locus of authority will reside in the Anglicanism of the future. This proposal by the Primates is a direct challenge to our polity.”
Though it is an immensely complex issue, I wanted to offer a couple of thoughts on the “blessing” of unions, even as a step short of the full sacrament of marriage.
One of the passages we must consider regarding the compatibility of homosexuality with Christian life is Romans 1:24-28; many take this to be the final word on the subject. Paul writes of men and women who “exchanged natural intercourse for unnatural.” But Paul himself did not intend for us to take his letters unquestioningly at face value.
Twice (here and here) in 1 Corinthians, Paul exclaims “Judge for yourselves!” Significantly, the latter passage is one of Paul’s more controversial arguments. He says to us, “Judge for yourselves: is it proper for a woman to pray to God with her head unveiled? Does not nature itself teach you that if a man wears long hair, it is degrading to him, but if a woman has long hair, it is her glory?” Well…no, frankly. There aren’t many Christians today who worry over whether a woman must cover her head to pray; we took Paul at his word, judged this statement, and found it to be silly. (Jesus also asked “Why do you not judge for yourselves what is right?”)
This is the only proper response to those who claim that in order to justify homosexuality using the Bible, we have to “pick and choose” our verses and ignore other passages. But we don’t just “pick and choose,” it’s called discernment, and it’s what Paul himself invited us to do. All Christians do it (especially the ones who claim they don’t).
We question Paul’s statement about “natural intercourse,” since the overwhelming majority of scientific knowledge on the subject points to biological causes for sexual orientation. Would Paul have made the same claim knowing what we know today? We question Paul’s statement in light of the radical welcome preached by Jesus. Paul and Jesus encouraged us to look around and judge for ourselves: what we see are committed same-sex couples of faith wanting to bring their relationship inside the church and be a part of it.
Monday, February 19, 2007
With This Kid, I Thee Wed
Just what is the definition of marriage?
Conservatives have made a lot of hay over the so-called attempt to “re-define” marriage. Marriage between a man and a woman has always been the law of our country, they argue. (Then of course they discovered that wasn’t technically true, which is why 37 states had to pass same-sex marriage bans and why they want to amend the Constitution.) But when pressed to actually define marriage, conservatives ran into trouble.
In Washington State last year, the top court ruled that the state’s ban on same-sex marriage was constitutional because “the legislature was entitled to believe that providing that only opposite-sex couples may marry will encourage procreation and child-rearing in a “traditional” nuclear family where children tend to thrive.” They rejected lower court arguments that procreation was not the central, defining element of civil marriage, saying, “marriage is traditionally linked to procreation and survival of the human race.”
Now an enterprising group of Washingtonians, calling themselves the Defense of Marriage Alliance, are attempting to tar conservatives with their own stick by putting an initiative on the ballot to legislate the court’s rulings.
The initiative, which has been accepted by the Washington Secretary of State, would make “procreation a requirement for valid marriage” in the state. It would also “add the phrase, “who are capable of having children with one another” to the legal definition of marriage; require that couples married in Washington file proof of procreation within three years of the date of marriage or have their marriage automatically annulled; require that couples married out of state file proof of procreation within three years of the date of marriage or have their marriage classed as “unrecognized;” establish a process for filing proof of procreation; and make it a criminal act for people in an unrecognized marriage to receive marriage benefits.”
All of these requirements have been advanced either as reasons why same-sex couples are not entitled to marriage or as ways to disadvantage them. They can be found, verbatim, in laws and court rulings from one end of the country to the other. So far, however, they have only been used against same-sex couples, and no one has ever before attempted to hold heterosexuals to their own impossible standards. The hope is that, should the initiatives pass, the Washington court will have to review its own assumptions about what constitutes a civil marriage and strike down the law as unconstitutional. At the very least, the effort will provoke further discussion about what marriage means and create additional awareness of the hardships and indignities faced by committed same-sex couples.
Conservatives have made a lot of hay over the so-called attempt to “re-define” marriage. Marriage between a man and a woman has always been the law of our country, they argue. (Then of course they discovered that wasn’t technically true, which is why 37 states had to pass same-sex marriage bans and why they want to amend the Constitution.) But when pressed to actually define marriage, conservatives ran into trouble.
In Washington State last year, the top court ruled that the state’s ban on same-sex marriage was constitutional because “the legislature was entitled to believe that providing that only opposite-sex couples may marry will encourage procreation and child-rearing in a “traditional” nuclear family where children tend to thrive.” They rejected lower court arguments that procreation was not the central, defining element of civil marriage, saying, “marriage is traditionally linked to procreation and survival of the human race.”
Now an enterprising group of Washingtonians, calling themselves the Defense of Marriage Alliance, are attempting to tar conservatives with their own stick by putting an initiative on the ballot to legislate the court’s rulings.
The initiative, which has been accepted by the Washington Secretary of State, would make “procreation a requirement for valid marriage” in the state. It would also “add the phrase, “who are capable of having children with one another” to the legal definition of marriage; require that couples married in Washington file proof of procreation within three years of the date of marriage or have their marriage automatically annulled; require that couples married out of state file proof of procreation within three years of the date of marriage or have their marriage classed as “unrecognized;” establish a process for filing proof of procreation; and make it a criminal act for people in an unrecognized marriage to receive marriage benefits.”
All of these requirements have been advanced either as reasons why same-sex couples are not entitled to marriage or as ways to disadvantage them. They can be found, verbatim, in laws and court rulings from one end of the country to the other. So far, however, they have only been used against same-sex couples, and no one has ever before attempted to hold heterosexuals to their own impossible standards. The hope is that, should the initiatives pass, the Washington court will have to review its own assumptions about what constitutes a civil marriage and strike down the law as unconstitutional. At the very least, the effort will provoke further discussion about what marriage means and create additional awareness of the hardships and indignities faced by committed same-sex couples.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Sunday Photo Blogging: Winter in New York
New York can be very beautiful when it's snowing.
Unfortunately it doesn't take very long before it looks like this: the streets and sidewalks have been shoveled and plowed, forming icy mountains of frozen black slush covered with garbage and dog poop.
On a less negative note, I thought this was an interesting shot of 181st Street and the George Washington Bridge.
Unfortunately it doesn't take very long before it looks like this: the streets and sidewalks have been shoveled and plowed, forming icy mountains of frozen black slush covered with garbage and dog poop.
On a less negative note, I thought this was an interesting shot of 181st Street and the George Washington Bridge.
And of course, the obligatory cat photo.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
It Takes One to Know One
So this afternoon I was on the A train heading downtown, when an obviously mentally off-kilter man sat down across from me. You know when you just see someone who is clearly insane? Yeah, that was this guy. (Why are they always wearing '70s era tinted aviator bifocals?)
Anyway, I paid him very little heed because a crazy guy with tacky eyewear is not particularly unusual in New York, even if he is talking to himself out loud.
I had my iPod on shuffle so I couldn't hear what he was talking to himself about. I was listening to ABBA's "Fernando" and, well, I like this song, so maybe, yeah, I was kind of bobbing my head and grooving in my seat to this great tune.
I looked up and the crazy guy rolled his eyes at me as if to say, "What a looney."
Anyway, I paid him very little heed because a crazy guy with tacky eyewear is not particularly unusual in New York, even if he is talking to himself out loud.
I had my iPod on shuffle so I couldn't hear what he was talking to himself about. I was listening to ABBA's "Fernando" and, well, I like this song, so maybe, yeah, I was kind of bobbing my head and grooving in my seat to this great tune.
I looked up and the crazy guy rolled his eyes at me as if to say, "What a looney."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
