"Crisis in the Catholic Church"

I'm not the only one who thinks this. "The Pope's Contradictions", per Hans Küng, in Der Spiegel. The Vatican withdrew Küng's church authority to teach in 1979 "as a result of his critical inquiries on the papacy....Küng, 75, is still a priest and, until his retirement in 1995, taught ecumenical theology at the University of Tübingen":

Outwardly Pope John Paul II, who has been actively involved in battling war and suppression, is a beacon of hope for those who long for freedom. Internally, however, his anti-reformist tenure has plunged the Roman Catholic church into an epochal credibility crisis.

The Catholic church is in dire straits. The pope is deathly ill and deserves every bit of sympathy he can get. But the church must live on, and in light of the selection of a new pope, it will need a diagnosis, an unadorned insider analysis. The therapy will be discussed later.

Many marvel at the staying power of this highly fragile, partially paralyzed head of the Roman Catholic church, a man who, despite all medications, is barely able to speak. He is treated with a sort of reverence that would never be extended to an American president or a German chancellor in a similar state. Others feel put off by a man they see as an obstinate office bearer who, instead of accepting the Christian path to his own eternity, is using all means at his disposal to hold on to power in a largely undemocratic system.

Even for many Catholics, this pope at the end of his physical strength, refusing to relinquish his power, is the symbol of a fraudulent church that has calcified and become senile behind its glittering façade.

The festive mood that prevailed during the Second Vatican Council (1962 to 1965), or Vatican II, has disappeared. Vatican II's outlook of renewal, ecumenical understanding and a general opening of the world now seems overcast and the future gloomy. Many have resigned themselves or even turned away out of frustration from this self-absorbed hierarchy. As a result, many people are confronted with an impossible set of alternatives: "play the game or leave the church." New hope will only begin to take root when church officials in Rome and in the episcopacy reorient themselves toward the compass of the Gospel.

A very interesting article. The caption under the photo reads, "Don't be fooled by the crowds: Millions have left the Catholic Church under Pope John Paul II's leadership." The Vatican is, of course, one of the epicenters of today's "orthodoxy" that we keep getting bashed over the head with in the Episcopal Church.

Obviously it's a difficult time to publish this or talk about it as the Pope's health fails, as Küng notes. But, as he also says, the church will go on - and certainly the Pope is not the sole anti-reformist.

Which way will it go, is the question?

Evensong Online

From BBC radio, a weekly broadcast from one of the Cathedrals in the U.K.

Choral Evensong was first broadcast on Thursday 7 October 1926 live from Westminster Abbey and has been broadcast weekly on BBC Radio ever since.

It's broadcast live on Wednesdays from 16:00 - 17:00 (that's 11:00 in the morning, EST, so kinda really not "Evensong" on this side of the pond). But the latest broadcast is available, recorded, right on this page, and it's very nice streaming even on dial-up. So, play it in the even, wherever you happen to be.

Derek, I've hit the mother lode

katapi.org, here. Quote from the "About" page:

This website makes available a number of notable works of reference which are no longer in print.

I think he's just taken all kinds of older references that are no longer under copyright, and/or are out of print, and has created an entire site with them. Amazing. A lot of times, these kinds of books are out of print because they contain "unfashionable" ideas, but otherwise are just chock full of stuff we need and want to know. Or, I guess, they could just be lousy literature - but I don't think that's it.

Here's the Booklist page. The links include "13 centuries of English Church Music"; "katapi music links", essentially a page full of mp3s and midis of all sorts; and my favorite, The Handbook to the Christian Liturgy, and wait till you get a load of what's on this page! There's also a lengthy section called "Introduction to the Creeds."

This is a frames site, and some of those links above are broken out of the frames, so don't be surprised if the site does something different when you get there.

It will take lots and lots of time to go through this. Isn't it wonderful? ;-)

(I did start a little blog, BTW: Chantblog. It's a bit threadbare so far, as you can see. I've been put to shame by the above, I'm afraid....)

Let Evening Come

From the site jpe linked to, The Matthew's House Project, in an article about the poet Jane Kenyon. How beautiful is this poem, anyway? Serene and deeply religious. The intro paragraph is a quote from John Timmerman:

Maybe her own favorite poem is “Let Evening Come.” It’s a very short poem and one well worth reading because it is so often used in funeral services. She never intended that from what her husband says, but it does have that feeling. The world in “Let Evening Come” is darkening, and 12 times we have a prayer or a supplication “let evening come.” We don’t know whether that supplication is resignation or indeed giving into with strong faith until we get to the last two lines.

Let Evening Come

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don't
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

(The Matthew's House Project version had some errors in the text of the poem, so I copied this correct version from here. And here's the Jane Kenyon main page on Poets.org. She died of leukemia at only 48 years of age - way, way too young. She's a beaut, and well worth checking out further.)

ADDENDUM: I've said almost nothing about Terri Schiavo on this blog. I published this post early this morning; since then, we know that evening came for her, and then night. Let me then make this a dedication to one poor human being who we pray will be received into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the company of the saints in light. God, we know, does not leave us comfortless.

"Africa's Pol Pot"

Disaster in Zimbabwe:

BULAWAYO, Zimbabwe -- As Zimbabweans prepare to go to the polls on Thursday and Zimbabwe receives global attention, if only for a few hours, it is important that the desperate HIV situation there is acknowledged -- if for no other reason than it is beginning to harm regional AIDS control programs funded by the US Government and the private sector.

'"If I had enough to eat I could take the adult dose", claims Lucy who is one of the "lucky" Zimbabweans receiving treatment for HIV. Fragile, just able to lift her arm, I was apparently seeing her at her best in her small shabby house she shares with too many others in the unbearably poor outskirts of Zimbabwe's second city, Bulawayo.

Everything is falling to pieces in Bulawayo and especially the health care system. But while the regional African Presidents see refugees pushing up their burden of malaria and HIV, they shy from breaking ranks with a fellow African leader and refuse to condemn Zimbabwe's patent contempt for democracy. It's time to ask whether aid to the region should be stopped until these spineless leaders decide to act on the only leader Zimbabwe has ever known -- his excellency, comrade President Robert Mugabe.

Zimbabwe's rapidly escalating and politically-induced humanitarian disaster, which has manifested itself in chronic shortages of food, medicine, fuel, electricity and hard cash, has driven over three million Zimbabweans into South Africa, Botswana and other neighboring states. In a chilling echo of what the Khmer Rouge did in Cambodia in the 1970s, Didymus Mutasa, Secretary of President Mugabe's Zanu-PF government, said: "We would be better off with only six million people". Prior to the crisis, Zimbabwe's population estimate was 12 million; today 60 to 70 percent of the country's productive population is now living elsewhere. Since the World Food Programme (WFP) was thrown out of the country in December, what food remains is allocated along political lines, leaving over 5 million malnourished: Secretary Mutasa may get his wish.

More:

According to Amnesty International many refugees are assaulted or raped on arrival and destitute young women frequently end up as prostitutes. The refugees know it's going to be very hard, but leaving is still preferable to staying.

Twenty years ago, life expectancy in Zimbabwe was 58; in 2002 it was 33 and dropping. The official HIV/AIDS rate in 2002 was about 25 percent (the highest in the world for any sizeable country), but the real rate is probably much higher. With no hope for treatment, and little for long term survival, behavior rapidly worsens. According to one survey, over a third of Zimbabwean men who are aware they are HIV positive do not tell their partners they have the disease. And astonishingly 79% of women surveyed said they would not tell their partner if they had HIV. As one put it to me - "life is too short here to worry about HIV."

Dr. Mark Dixon from Mpilo Hospital in Bulawayo says that 70 percent of the patients he treats for any reason carry the HIV virus. A possible explanation for this extraordinary number is the high incidence of unprotected sex (usually rape) in Mugabe's youth camps, where sexual power is used to suppress dissent against the ruling party.

God in heaven. I'm just posting this because I think the world needs to be aware of it. I wasn't. The article's author proposes a solution: the ouster of Robert Mugabe.

Despite the impact on the region, few non-Zimbabweans, especially political leaders, will openly criticize Mugabe. This leaves a vacuum the international community is loathe to fill. Tom Woods of the State Department told me that the "US would not hold the region hostage over Zimbabwe." But he agrees that an African solution is required, such as occurred recently in Togo, and only South African president Thabo Mbeki has the clout to provide it.

While Mbeki continues with his strategy of "quiet diplomacy", the corpses of those who die of AIDS related diseases and kwashiorkor -- caused by acute malnutrition -- continue to pile up in Zimbabwe's mortuaries. Also piling up are the bodies of murder victims since there are no longer any qualified personnel left in the country to conduct forensic post mortem examinations. Until the pathology tests are done, relatives of the victims cannot bury their dead.

With Western help, an exit strategy for Mugabe could be devised and the rule of law returned to Zimbabwe. But to achieve this aim the international community must speak with one voice.

Carole Bellamy, head of UNICEF, last week asked for more aid for Zimbabwe. This is the wrong signal to be sending regional leaders who will use any sign of Northern weakness to vacillate over Mugabe. Bellamy must know that the aid will not be used to save lives of the poor but will be used politically. Mugabe only knows about power and protecting it, aid and soft words have not worked, tough talk from the Sate Department, backed up by action from the region, is what is required. Lucy's life and that of millions of fellow Africans hinges on political will to push change in this outpost of tyranny.

One more music post, if you can stand it

Monsieur C, proprietor of The Standing Room blog out of San Francisco, and low bass, posts about Emmanuel Episcopal Church in Boston:

Just emerged from the Palm Sunday service at Emmanuel Church, famous for doing complete Bach cantatas with period instruments as part of the liturgy every Sunday morning since 1970. I make a point of coming here each time I visit Boston, just for the music. Today's services had one of Schütz's Kleine Geistliche Konzerte (SWV 289, soprano duet) for the psalm and, because it's Palm Sunday, Schütz's Seven Last Words of Christ in place of the cantata. How depressing that we have nothing even remotely comparable to this in San Francisco, and I'm stuck singing crappy hymns in unison out of an OCP missalette when I could be singing Schütz. I love those Konzerte, and apparently Schütz loved low basses. Surely he must have been sleeping with someone, because who else would write a trio for low basses? (Of course, if anyone does know for real why so many of his bass parts lie in a perfect range for me, leave a comment below...)

See what I mean about the Episcopalian love of music? People come just for that, sometimes. 'Course, Monsieur C. and I are sympatico, too, because we altos and basses sing in the same range, just an octave apart. We're always singing really horrid musical lines together, in fact, against those snooty stars, the sopranos and the tenors, who get all the best parts and all the good solos.

Life. Eet's a beetch. I'm happy, though, no kidding. It's fab to be singing great music no matter what....

Faith and culture

JPE linked to The Matthew's House Project on his blog L'esprit d'escalier; its tagline is: "Seeking to develop a place in which the intersections of faith and culture can be explored." I haven't explored in depth, but does look interesting, and this topic is close to my heart, so I'm just passing the link on. There's a page on Jane Kenyon, including a couple of her poems, so already things are looking up. I heard her husband, Donald Hall, read last year at the Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival, and liked him a lot.

Anyway: thanks, jpe.

(Disclaimer: I did do the "homosexuality" sweep before posting this. i.e., I used the search tool to see what was what on the topic in the site. Only three references - and wow! already that's a big plus! - and nothing really obnoxious that I could see.

It's quite amazing that we're reduced to this sort of thing at this point, isn't it? Oh, well. That's life in the 'oughts, I suppose....)

When in doubt....

So it seems to be true that Rufus Wainwright actually simply made up the lyrics for his recording of "Vainement, ma bien-aimee," by listening to an Italian tenor singing it on an old recording. Not only that: he wrote out the made-up version of the words so that other people could sing along.

I just love that guy.

Here's the real stuff, apparently:

French lyrics

Puisqu'on ne peut flechir ces jalouses gardiennes,
Ah! laissez-moi conter mes peines
Et mon emoi !

Vainement, ma bien-aimee,
On croit me desesperer :
Pres de ta porte fermee.
Je veux encor demeurer !

Les soleils pourront s'eteindre,
Les nuits remplacer les jours,
Sans t'accuser at sans me plaindre,

La je resterai toujours !

Je le sais, ton ame est douce,
Et l'heure bientot viendra,
Ou la main qui me repousse.
Vers la mienne se tendra!
Ne sois pas trop tardive
A te laisser attendrir !
Si Rozenn bientot n'arrive,
Je vais, helas ! mourir !

And here's the English translation:

Since these jealous retainers will not be
softened, ah, let me tell you of my suffering
and my emotion!

In vain, my beloved,
do they think they can put me off:
close by your shut door
I am determined to stay!

The stars may fade,
nights replace days,
without blaming you and without
complaining,
I shall stay here for ever!

I know what a sweet soul you are,
and the hour will soon come
when the hand which now pushes me away
will reach out towards mine!

Do not take too long
to allow yourself to melt;
If Rozenn does not appear soon soon,
Alas, I shall die!

Later, I'll translate the Rufus version for purposes of compare and contrast. Of course, a lot of it has no meaning at all, so it won't be that easy....

A recommended breakfast

Sweet soy milk, heated on the stove, and a nice big greasy Chinese crueller to dunk in it. The crueller's artery-clogging effect is perfectly neutralized by the soy dipping. Or so one hopes and prays.

But: this is comfort food par excellence. Get thee to thy local Chinese market.

The Great Vigil of Easter

Alleluia, alleluia! (This link will open in a new window. To listen to this piece, scroll down to the Samples and click #6; sorry, couldn't link this directly. It's worth the side trip, believe me.)

This joyful Easter-tide,
Away with sin and sorrow!
My Love, the Crucified,
Hath sprung to life this morrow.
Had Christ, that once was slain,
Ne’er burst His three day prison,
Our faith had been in vain;
But now hath Christ arisen,
Arisen, arisen, arisen!

Death’s flood hath lost his chill,
Since Jesus crossed the river:
Lover of souls, from ill
My passing soul deliver.
Had Christ, that once was slain,
Ne’er burst His three day prison,
Our faith had been in vain;
But now hath Christ arisen,
Arisen, arisen, arisen!

My flesh in hope shall rest,
And for a season slumber;
Till trump from east to west,
Shall wake the dead in number.
Had Christ, that once was slain,
Ne’er burst His three day prison,
Our faith had been in vain;
But now hath Christ arisen,
Arisen, arisen, arisen!

Or, if you prefer - although I can't see how you could - here's the Cyberhymnal midi version. But don't, really. Don't do it to yourself. Go listen to the Cambridge Singers instead.

Well, no matter. Alleluia, alleluia!

The Night Before

Maundy Thursday's service was one of the most beautiful I've ever attended. At the start, the chapel was all in white: white chrysanthemums on the altar, white linens, white candles, white sheer cloth draped over the cross and over the statuary, white clouds of incense in the air. And then all of the usual rituals - foot-washing and eucharist and consecration for Good Friday, and eventually the stripping of the altar - until everything at the end was empty and dark, and all of us kneeling and reading Psalm 22. Black cloth draped over the cross and statuary. Mourning cloth.

But during the consecration, the priest sang the most incredibly beautiful eucharistic prayer, Prayer D I think, and no Proper Preface that I remember. Long, beautiful runs of notes climbing to new heights with every phrase; lovely beyond words, and the most complex chant I've heard yet.

Derek, if you're reading this post, can you tell me about this? Is Maundy Thursday the most spectacular day of the year, when it comes to singing the prayers? Obviously the day is the institution of the most major of Christian sacraments, and Christ's last day on earth. So maybe that's why; whatever the reason, it was simply amazing. I guess the Easter Vigil, with the Exsultet, has the most dramatic chant, but this was more beautiful and more tuneful than that.

Caught the very end of another service across town, too, a bit later: the choir sitting in the back of the balcony, in the dark, chanting Psalm 22, which echoed through the dark and somber church as the congregants knelt, listening, waiting.

Then the vigil....

Good Friday

LutheranChik notes at her blog that at her parish's Maundy Thursday service last night:

...our pastor read Jesus' High Priestly Prayer from the Gospel of John, where he prays for his friends -- for all of us, at all times and in all places:

I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me. Father, I desire that those also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory, which you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world. Righteous Father, the world does not know you, but I know you; and these know that you have sent me. I made your name known to them, and I will make it known, so that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them.

Now the irony of the evening: The Jesus who prays this prayer for all of us, who has moved us all, for all our various reasons, to come together in our little parish week after week in his name, to care about him and what he has to say, and to care for others on his behalf, comes to the point in his life where the caring seems to disappear -- where his anguished prayers to be spared are not answered; where his friends won't stay awake with him in his distress; where they all run away, and leave him to his fate.

I think it's even worse than that. I just got back from Good Friday services, where we sang:

Who was the guilty?
Who brought this upon thee?
Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone thee!
'Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee;
I crucified thee.

It's true that this sort of thing is a handy tool for inducing guilt and commanding obedience in the faithful, and that society's "movers and shakers" (i.e., the rich and powerful) have a history of desiring such control and using such methods. This is, of course, what gave rise to modern psychobabble, and in particular the self-esteem movement. But I'm afraid that in actual fact, it's all too, too obvious and too true: if Christ returned today, we'd crucify Him all over again. So the irony is compounded: humanity cannot save itself; we need the help of a Savior to do it. And how do we welcome that Savior? Why, we have him arrested, flog him and execute him, of course. Which is exactly why we need Him in the first place.

This is the most terrifying religion.

And won't this cycle continue forever, feeding back into itself? Perhaps, then, salvation is a day-at-a-time affair; perhaps this is all human beings can handle....

"Past the buffet; hang a left at phenomenology"

Check this out. JPE, at his blog L'esprit d'escalier, is referring to criticism of "cafeteria Christianity" (i.e., the "you-can't-pick-and-choose" argument), and works out something quite spectacular from a very simple and straightforward idea. And then he slams us with the conclusion right at the end, in a short paragraph: the Big Idea that's IMO at the base of every argument we're having these days - the idea that no one can articulate but that still sits there hanging over everything, the elephant in the living room (and I added the bolding):

The key idea underlying this objection-from-the-buffet is that religion ought to be, in some meaningful sense, transformative. A religion that just neatly conforms to all of our pre-existing ideas would appear to be sterile and dead. Why adopt a religion if it merely reproduces all of the ideas that one already has? Wouldn't that be just a lifeless religion, or a crutch for one's ideology?

That seems to me to be the truth at the heart of the argument-from-the-buffet: religion is a fundamentally transformative enterprise, and to the extent it simply props up already-existent theories, it is just an alibi or excuse for behavior.

So, then, let's take the case of a socially conservative altruist; she already believes that abortion and homosexuality are wrong, and also goes out of her way to help others. Her ethics perfectly track those of right-wing Christians. Ethically, then, the possibility of transformation is foreclosed: her ethics already perfectly track those of a Christian. Still, we'd expect to see a transformation, wouldn't we?

And there should be. While none of her ethical beliefs should change (what would they change to?), and none of her motivations should change (we shouldn't do good acts just to get to heaven, right?), something changes. All of her acts, all of her experience, is radically reoriented toward Jesus Christ. Suddenly, the world presents itself as that-which-is-to-be-experienced through Christ. That which-is-to-be is pure negativity; that which is as-yet is necessarily not-yet. As in the famous passage from Sartre's Being and Nothingness, the world is presented as a series of gaps and lacunae (nothingness, for those of you with a 5th grade vocabulary). What is critical, then, is that there is always more we can do; the world is always lacking God. Fuck, Christ himself said so (cf: “Father, why have you forsaken me?”). [ed - as noted by Matt & bls, this last bit comes from nowhere. I've been trying to work out a negative theology, and forgot that others can't read my mind and don't know that. It'll be expanded on soon, hopefully*]

So there is a transformation; contra the Christian Right (aka “True Christians”), the necessary and sufficient transformation is phenomenological, not ethical. The world qua world is transformed, and us via that.

As I said over at jpe's site, I do believe that Christianity has an ethical component - I haven't been able to imagine it without - but I can't quite place where it lies within the whole. Nevertheless, I agree with his point here completely: ethics is not the primary focus of what we're doing. Transformation is; reorientation to the world is. This obviously contains ethics in some way, but the two things are by no means equivalent. Christianity is by this definition larger than ethics, and we are missing out on a whole dimension by limiting it.

But it seems that many people today see Christianity almost entirely in terms of ethics - and worse, God forbid, in terms of politics. My argument is, no. No. This is not what we're about. This is what the institutional Church is about; but we are not institutions. We are human beings, and this is the thing we're missing today: "the necessary and sufficient transformation is phenomenological, not ethical."

Gloria

For the first time in months, we said the Gloria this morning. In the Psalm (78:25), we remember that in the desert, "mortals ate the bread of angels." (This lovely phrase is sung every day at the convent at Vespers, during Benediction. And then follows John 6:51: "I am the living bread that came down from heaven; whoever eats this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world.")

I had a big sandwich this morning, and a big glass of juice: a luxurious breakfast, now that the fast for Lent is over. There is only one more day to keep the fast for this season: tomorrow, Good Friday.

John of the Cross, in Dark Night of the Soul, likens the "manna from heaven" incident in Exodus to the "night of sense," as the soul first approaches (and resists) contemplative union with God, saying that:

Those whom God begins to lead into the solitude of the desert are like the children of Israel. God gave them manna from heaven to eat, which contained within itself all flavors and turned into the taste each of them most hungered for. Still, all they could feel was their craving for the meats and onions they ate in Egypt. This is what they were used to, and this is what they preferred over the delicate sweetness of angelic manna.

And here is the reading from the Hebrew Bible for today, whichs describes another meal:

Exodus 12:1-14a

The LORD said to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt: This month shall mark for you the beginning of months; it shall be the first month of the year for you. Tell the whole congregation of Israel that on the tenth of this month they are to take a lamb for each family, a lamb for each household. If a household is too small for a whole lamb, it shall join its closest neighbor in obtaining one; the lamb shall be divided in proportion to the number of people who eat of it. Your lamb shall be without blemish, a year-old male; you may take it from the sheep or from the goats. You shall keep it until the fourteenth day of this month; then the whole assembled congregation of Israel shall slaughter it at twilight. They shall take some of the blood and put it on the two doorposts and the lintel of the houses in which they eat it. They shall eat the lamb that same night; they shall eat it roasted over the fire with unleavened bread and bitter herbs. Do not eat any of it raw or boiled in water, but roasted over the fire, with its head, legs, and inner organs. You shall let none of it remain until the morning; anything that remains until the morning you shall burn. This is how you shall eat it: your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and you shall eat it hurriedly. It is the passover of the LORD. For I will pass through the land of Egypt that night, and I will strike down every firstborn in the land of Egypt, both human beings and animals; on all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgments: I am the LORD. The blood shall be a sign for you on the houses where you live: when I see the blood, I will pass over you, and no plague shall destroy you when I strike the land of Egypt. This day shall be a day of remembrance for you.

Deliverance - and a meal eaten with loins girded, sandals on feet, staff in hand, and hurriedly. We are going someplace, apparently.

Ho Hum

Forgot to mention in the Music Update post: I saw "Samson et Dalila" at the Met a couple of weeks ago. It was the first time I've ever left that building unimpressed; not an interesting opera, much. The set was alternately awful and dull. And I don't like Denyce Graves a lot. She's beautiful, all right, and elegant. That's the problem, really: she's too elegant. She's always lounging around the stage, showing off her long legs, clutching some guy's chest, and sighing about lost love. Or whatever.

Me, I like a down-and-dirty diva. A gal who screeches and pulls her hair out.

Oh, well.

(Sieglinde doesn't like Denyce Graves because she sang at Bush's Inaugural, and won't even review her. Now that's what I mean about a down-and-dirty diva.)

Well, next month it'll be Julie Taymor's "Magic Flute"; should be a great finale to the year. I'm dying to see either Don Giovanni or Nozze de Figaro, too, but maybe will wait till next year.

I'm almost through the major repertoire now....

No more apologies!

Good on ya, Rt. Rev. Stacy F. Sauls! (and bolding by me):

The Rt. Rev. Stacy F. Sauls, Bishop of Lexington, sought to get matters back on track with an address to the diocesan convention that brought clergy and lay deputies to their feet in applause. Convention was held Feb. 17-18 at Christ Church Cathedral in Lexington.

“I am tired of apologizing for the General Convention of 2003. You will not hear me do it again,” Bishop Sauls said. “I will acknowledge that it is possible that we did the wrong thing. What I know for a fact is that, to the extent anyone made a mistake, no one did so with any intent other than being a faithful follower of Christ, and I do not believe that even God asks more than that.”

Acknowledging that controversy over homosexuality had occupied a considerable part of his time recently, Bishops Sauls told convention that he was not forcing anyone to agree with his position, but rather asking everyone to make room for those who disagree.

“I am making a simple proposal,” Bishop Sauls said. “Dearest people of God, we have work to do. Let us get on with it. Keep talking to each other. Keep arguing with each other. That is what Anglicans do. But stop trying to hurt each other. That is not what Christians do.”

Bishop Sauls proposed a new mission strategy based on the parable that Jesus told regarding the dinner guests who spurned their invitation. He informed the convention that the former home of the Church of the Apostles has been used continually for an Episcopal Church Eucharist and then introduced a new congregation, All Saints’ Church of Lexington. Currently meeting at the location of the former parish, All Saints’ is a congregation of young adults with elected leadership ranging in age from early 20s to early 30s.

Let's move on, already. We have things to do. Evangelism, for one. Let's get going on that; the "unchurched" who want it should have a church home. Let's make that the priority now. Let's open the doors wide, as we were instructed to, and bring people in who might not go anyplace else - or have anyplace else to go. Let's bring a beautiful new Christianity into the West. Here's a quote, once again, from AskthePriest.org, from a commenter on the "Down with God" post:

Yes. The Episcopalian church IS drawing those on the fringes.

I am one of those marginalized people that you speak of. I've done a lot of "faith-hopping" - everything from Baptist to Wicca. Finally, I just gave up. The core belief that we are ALL God's children and deserve one another's respect could not be denied. I just didn't fit in anywhere.

The thing that brought me to the Episcopal Church was news of the ordination of Gene Robinson. As a whole, the Episcopalians that I've met honor one another's differences and differences of opinion. I cherish that.

Let's throw a party, every Sunday. A big, extravagant, wonderful celebration of Our Risen Lord, with everybody invited - everybody.

Musical Interlude: Mozart Update and Etc.

I know the Requiem by heart now. Except for one little group of sixteenth notes in the middle of the Kyrie (and in the Lux Aeterna, since they are the same thing), and this truly hideous musical line in the alto section of the first Osanna. God, I hate that part; I guess I'm on strike and won't be singing it, since I can't seem to get myself to learn it.

Aside from that, though: how great is that music, anyway? Mozart was dying when he wrote the piece; he wrote the Introitus alone, and the Kyrie (both of which are repeated in the Lux Aeterna), and most of the rest he obviously had a hand in - you can tell from the luxe and beauty of the music itself - but all the other sections had to be finished up by his student, Franz Xavier Süssmayr. (Süssmayr wrote the Sanctus, the Benedictus, and the Agnus Dei by himself. Not bad, but not quite Mozart.) It is apparently true that Mozart knew he was dying and that he was essentially writing his own Requiem Mass. It is thus a supremely beautiful and spooky piece of music; the Lacrymosa and the Rex Tremendae are my favorites, I think, and the Lux Aeterna right behind. A true privilege to be able to sing it.

The Gounod and Randall Thompson things are coming along, too.

Today, though, I was listening to the John Rutter Requiem, which is one of my favorite pieces of music in the world. I've run into a lot of people who can't stand Rutter, but this piece is just gorgeous and I can't understand why anybody would dislike it. It's not thick and textured like the Mozart at all; it's not complex in any way. It's very simple, in fact - but it's perfect. It says and does everything it means to do, and it is just so tuneful, so poignant, so piercing to the heart. I've sung it before, too, and would like to again; it recalls to me very powerfully the awakening of my own religious feelings last year at this time - it was a part of that awakening, in fact - so it's a strong sense memory for me, like incense. The moment I hear it, all those powerful emotions come crashing instantly back over me as if they were new; that's a wonderful feeling. Another privilege.

Finally, here's Rufus Wainwright's own website. He's a beautiful, winsome, fey gay boy (a man, really, I guess, by now), a wonderful songwriting talent, and an eccentric of the first order; definitely my kind of fellow. Check out the photo in the header of this page, if you don't believe me.

A man and a plan

This is the story of Venantius Fortunatus, a 6th-Century priest of the Church and writer of elegies, poetry, and hymns - among them the hymn I heard at Palm Sunday, "The royal banners forward go," and also "Hail Thee, Festival Day," among others:

Born to a pagan family, he converted to Christianity when still quite young. Grew up in Aquileia, Italy. Studied grammar, rhetoric, and law at Ravenna, Italy. While a student he became nearly blind, but recovered his sight by anointing his eyes with oil from a lamp that burned before the altar of Saint Martin of Tours. In gratitude to Saint Martin, he made a pilgrimage to Tours via the area of modern Germany, taking two years to make the journey from about 565 to 567. In Tours he became a close friend of the bishop. Lived in the Loire Valley for while, then settled near Poitiers. During his travels he often paid for his supper by reciting poetry, singing, or making up rhymes on the spot. From 567 to 587 he counseled a local community of nuns on matters spiritual and financial. Priest. Advisor and secretary of Queen Radegund, wife of King Clotaire I. Bishop of Poitiers c.600.

A wanderer up to then, when Venantius became a bishop he became a model of temperance and stability, and was known for his love of food and friends and joy. He wrote hymns, essays, funeral elegies, homilies, and metrical lives of the saints including Saint Martin of Tours (which runs to 2,243 hexameter lines), Saint Hilary of Poitiers, Saint Germanus of Paris, Saint Albinus of Angers, Saint Paternus of Avranches, Saint Marcellus of Paris, and Saint Radegund. His poetry and songs often concerned daily life and work and people and politics, and have become a valuable resoure for historians of the era. He is considered the last of the Gallic Latin poets, and one of the first Christian poets to write works devoted to Mary.

See, now this is the idea. How did we get from there to here and James Dobson and Jerry Falwell?

I have an idea. Why don't we think of Church as a place to gather for a beautiful and enlightening experience? Why don't we use banners, and colorful robes, and lots of incense? Why don't we include the singing of beautiful songs, and the playing of exotic instruments, and the telling of fabulous stories? Why don't we make it an event - something that people would come for just for its beauty? Preachers, rather than telling everybody how to act or what sorts of things they should be for or against, could talk in a large way about human life on earth. They could discuss history, and art, and poetry, and God, and the drama of life, and human nature, and speculate on God's relationship to us, and generally discuss everything that fascinates people. They could take questions and comments from the congregation. There could be wild debates, even, at designated times, perhaps - but perhaps later after the service, which would absolutely center on getting people in touch with God. It would be a cultural event as well as a religious one - colorful and dramatic and splendid. We could go on pilgrimages, too.

It wouldn't be the first time, quite obviously; look! Look at the life of Venantius Fortunatus! How did religion get all dried up, and strict, the way it is today? The huge, dramatic, exhausting service at St. Mary's on Sunday made me realize what a spectacular communal thing we could have here. People shouldn't have to believe anything in particular when they walk through the doors, or ever, for that matter; they should come because it's a great place to be. They should come to listen to a great story, and all the great stories that have come from the telling of that story. They should come to listen to a dramatic depiction of the human condition, and/or a big debate about everything, not a list of tired old rules laid down by a tired old Curia (whether it's called that or not).

The Christian story tells (and sells, and I mean that in a good way) itself - it doesn't need a bunch of "true believers" beating people over the head to make them act a certain way. You fall in love with the whole thing; you don't need all these obsessives screaming at you about what to think and how to act. It's a beautiful thing we've got here, and we're totally ruining it.

Let's have a big, wild party every Sunday instead - it's a regular feast day on the calendar, after all - and let's be sure to invite everybody.

And something delicious to go with it

Chowhound.com. Everyplace great to eat in your city, and every other.

(I guess I'm just really, really hungry by now....)

Something nice

From the Bad Girls at Trrill: the distinctive voice of the wonderfully eccentric Rufus Wainwright, as he sings 'Vainement, ma bien-aimée' (a tenor aria transposed for his baritone) from Édouard Lalo's rarity, Le Roi d'Ys." (That's an mp3 file that will open in a new window.)

Sweet and romantic.

Says Rufus, apparently: "I dont know what the words are, I got this off an old record with an Italian singer, and its a French aria so its in 'Fretalian.'":

Puisque la pêche tchise jalouse guardienne
Ah laisse-moi compeiner peine ah laisse-moi

Vainement ma bien aimée
En proie moi désespéré
Près de ta porte fermée je veux encombrer mon rêve

Soleil va s'étendre
La nuit raccelle le jour

Le capitaine bientôt arrive
Là, je resterai toujours, toujours

Je ne sais qui me repousse
Ah la belle bientôt viendra

Je ne sais qui me repousse
Ah la belle la belle tendre en

Soleil va s'étendre
La nuit raccelle le jour

Le capitaine bientôt arrive
Là, je resterai toujours, toujours

You can't do that

Remove the feeding tube, I mean. You just can't do it, no matter what the courts say. "Legal" and "moral" are not the same thing. You can't starve a living person to death, a person that isn't being kept alive by "extraordinary means."

Yes, it's quite likely that if you could ask her, she wouldn't want to live this way. But you can't do that, so you just can't do that.

More about the royal banners

From New Advent, in re: Vexilla Regis Prodeunt - "the royal banners forward go," the hymn from yesterday's Palm Sunday service:

"Vexilla" has been interpreted symbolically to represent baptism, the Eucharist, and the other sacraments. Clichtoveus explains that as vexilla are the military standards of kings and princes, so the vexille of Christ are the cross, the scourge, the lance, and the other instruments of the Passion "with which He fought against the old enemy and cast forth the prince of this world". Kayser (p. 397) dissents from both, and shows that the vexillum is the cross which (instead of the eagle) surmounted, under Constantine, the old Roman cavalry standard. This standard became in Christian hands a square piece of cloth hanging from a bar placed across a gilt pole, and having embroidered on it Christian symbols instead of the old Roman devices. The splendour and triumph suggested by the first stanza can be appreciated fully only by recalling the occasion when the hymn was first sung--the triumphant procession from the walls of Poitiers to the monastery with bishops and princes in attendance and with all the pomp and pageantry of a great ecclesiastical function. "And still, after thirteen centuries, how great is our emotion as these imperishable accents come to our ears!" (Pimont). Gounod took a very plain melody based on the chant as the subject of his "March to Calvary" in the "Redemption", in which the chorus sings the text at first very slowly and then, after an interval, fortissimo. There are about forty translations into English verse.

I'd say it makes quite a difference whether the "royal banners" signify "the cross, the scourge, the lance, and the other instruments of the Passion 'with which He fought against the old enemy and cast forth the prince of this world'," or whether they represent "the triumphant procession from the walls of Poitiers to the monastery with bishops and princes in attendance and with all the pomp and pageantry of a great ecclesiastical function."

This is the very dichotomy in the Church that we are talking about currently, IMO: whether Christianity is about the earthly triumph of the Church, or about the total subversion of the worldly order. Whether Christianity is meant to be conventional or instead meant to be utterly revolutionary.

How in the world did this split even occur? And when? Was it during the "Constantinian Captivity," or has Christianity always contained these two opposite elements? Is this the yin and yang of the Christian faith, or is one of these ideas simply wrong? Looking at Christian history and at the Church's tendency to be oppressive and dictatorial, one might think the latter. But looking further back, at persecution of Christians, one might think the former.

This is the basic issue, IMO - not "gay bishops" or anything else. What is Christianity? Is it conventional? Is it a moral rulemaker for society? Or is it a path to mysticism and a rejection of all earthly authority, including itself?

My Excellent Episcopal Adventure

Palm Sunday services at St. Mary the Virgin, that is. (I am going to services all week this week; even when I was totally out of the Church, Holy Week always held me in a sort of low-level awe. I realize now that I've never stopped observing this week, even during all those years.)

Two-and-a-half hours - an almost Orthodox experience. (I gather, at any rate; never actually been to an Orthodox service; it's always seemed somewhat pointless to go to a service where Communion is closed to me. Would like to go sometime, though, just to see.) Usually the congregation processes through Times Square after the reading of the Gospel appointed for the day, and after the Blessing of the Branches and the singing of Psalm 24:



Yesterday was rainy and cold, though, and the Rector declared it a "Sabbath Year." We stayed inside. So that was two-and-a-half hours without the Times Square procession.

I'd describe everything, but I'm sure most parishes did similar things yesterday. St. Mary's, though, is distinctive in several ways - and one is certainly the incense. They don't call it "Smoky Mary's" for nothing; this parish is exhuberant with incense; extravagant with it. It's used in every part of the service, and throughout the entire church; great clouds of it cover everything, and rise from everywhere towards that endlessly high vaulted ceiling. It's a great treat for me, because most of the services I attend don't use it; incense is just a wonderful sensory experience. The odor (and I can smell it now even as I'm describing this) is hugely evocative of Church - it's just not found anywhere else - and bits of music and the liturgy and the processions and the prayers come along with the memories of the smell. That's by design, I think.

The music for the day was wonderful: the glorious opening hymn "All glory, laud, and honor to thee Redeemer King." The chanting of Psalm 22 - the foretelling of the passion itself. And the choir sang a beautiful, dissonant mass setting by Persichetti - a fairly recent piece that sounds both modern and somehow also ancient.

The central part of the service, of course, is the chanting of "The Passion According to Saint Matthew, set to the traditional passion tone." A long, slow chanting of the story, with everyone involved - cantor, soloists, congregation, choir. A beautiful and solemn recitation; you move with Jesus through the prayers in the Garden, the betraying kiss, the arrest, the trials before the priests and Pilate, the crown of thorns, the carrying of the cross. Then all stand as Jesus arrives at Golgotha; all kneel in silence after he cries out and yields up His spirit. The tune is pretty much the same all the way through - until, strangely and beautifully, just after "Mary Magdelene and the other Mary were there, sitting opposite the sepulchre," when the music changes completely. At that point the scene shifts for just a moment to a confab between the priests and Pilate, where they worry about Jesus' rising again. Pilate orders a guard of soldiers to make the tomb secure. The tune here rises into a higher register, and there are now long runs of notes in the chant that weren't there before, up and down the scale. It's exciting, and I think anticipatory of the third morning and the Resurrection - but then the story just stops, as it has to on Palm Sunday. So we're left with this strange mixture of terror and unbelieving sorrow for the death of the Beloved, and an emotional excitement in the music, one that gets cut off to leave us at a higher pitch. That's how Holy Week starts, and it's very apropos, IMO.

Communion is deep, emotional, and rich today. It is truly communion.

The last hymn is the lovely "The royal banners forward go," a chant tune from the 6th Century, words by Venantius Fortunatus - words that contains all the original theology:

The royal banners forward go,
the cross shines forth in mystic glow;
where he in flesh, our flesh who made,
our sentence bore, our ransom paid.

Where deep for us the spear was dyed,
life's torrent rushing from his side,
to wash us in that precious flood,
where mingled water flowed, and blood.

Fulfilled is all that David told
in true prophetic song of old,
amidst the nations, God, saith he,
hath reigned and triumphed from the tree.

O tree of beauty, tree of light!
O tree with royal purple dight!
Elect on whose triumphal breast
those holy limbs should find their rest.

Blest tree, whose chosen branches bore
the wealth that did the world restore,
the price of humankind to pay,
and spoil the spoiler of his prey.

Upon its arms, like balance true,
he weighed the price for sinners due,
the price which none but he could pay,
and spoiled the spoiler of his prey.

O cross, our one reliance, hail!
Still may thy power with us avail
to give new virtue to the saint,
and pardon to the penitent.

To thee, eternal Three in One,
let homage meet by all be done:
whom by the cross thou dost restore,
preserve and govern evermore.

After the recessional, there is silence. A profound and moving silence, instead of the usual organ voluntary. Congregants - including myself, very moved and stricken - kneel again to pray before leaving. There is still incense in the air and there are palm branches strewn everywhere, all over the floor of the nave and the sanctuary.

All of these sensory things - the music, the incence, the colors of the vestments (a beautiful deep red), the palms, the chanting of the Passion - are meant to move us, to connect our bodies and minds and to hit us at a gut-level. And they do. They evoke all that Palm Sunday is: a strange in-between time between life and death - between joy and sorrow, hope and despair, darkness and light. A day whose tone I'd always taken as celebratory and jublilant - but which I now see as the prelude to, and the embodiment of, things much darker. "Hosanna!" means, I think, "Come save!" You realize what Jerusalem was like in those days: occupied by a foreign invader; the people expect a deliverer from this earthly conquest. But Jesus fulfills the Scriptures by riding into Jerusalem on an ass (and on a colt, according to Matthew - a misreading, I'm told, of Isaiah's foretelling of this event!) - and the Scriptures also fortell the rest: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

This is the most emotionally hard-to-handle week of the year; the cognitive dissonance is profound - and that's a good thing, but still very difficult. I looked around the Church during the service and felt again, as I often do, the utter and complete strangeness - and in fact the absolute terror - of Christianity, and especially of this week that leads to the Crucifixion: it's a terror centered in the thought of the God of All Power and Glory - the Creator of the Universe - come to earth in the human form of a gentle healer, one who became poor and humble. God with us to live as the poorest and least lived, and to die as they died. To suffer - to be scourged and mocked, to be spit upon and to be left with nothing; to have nails driven through his hands and feet, and his poor naked limbs exposed to the elements: God come to earth to be nailed to the cross to die. I looked at the crucifixes on the wall yesterday and shivered, for the thousandth time.

A new thing

A great post at AskThePriest.org, referring to an article by an Episcopalian in the "fierce, funny, and proud to be female" women's magazine Bust. This excerpt from that article was included:

"I see how quickly some people shut down upon hearing that I am a person of faith. People who don't immediately leave to go find another drink either want to tell me their faith history so that I will understand why they have rejected organized religion, get in my face about the crusades (current or historical). make a lame pedophile priest joke, or get defensive because they think I'm judging them. I would much prefer being asked, "Why the f*** would you want to do that?" rather than having to answer for every example of bad behavior by people who have claimed to be acting under orders from Jesus."

"The church I belong to, the Episcopal Church, is a collection of people with radically divergent views. Although the press seems to be obsessed with the sex lives of our bishops, most people I know aren't concerned about that. I've never wanted to think about any of our bishops having sex, including the one who is gay. That big pointy hat they wear just isn't a turn-on.

My church opposes legal restrictions on reproductive choice, my church-sponsored health plan pays for birth control, and women are ordained as deacons, priests, and bishops. The word "obey" has not been in our marriage vows for a very long time, but we've still kept in "love," "honor," and "cherish." It's a good place to be a woman."

"In the end, the main reason I go to church regularly is because experience shows that I am f***** if I don't. If I'm floating around free of the grounding that I get from my community, bad things happen. I get more anxious, more tunnel-visiony, more crazy. I don't know how all the other baggage got attached to Christianity, but for me it's all about being with my people and trying to figure out what God needs us to do next. "

The post's author, David+, writes:

I am wondering if this is something we are going to see more of - people who don't "fit the mold." More Pierced, tattooed people who use the word f***? Are we starting to appeal to the marginalized? Those who wouldn't normally give the church a second look? I am certainly seeing people in my church that were not even interested in Christianity two years ago.

A phrase has stuck with me since watching a PLSE video a few months ago. The phrase is from Isaiah 43:19 (loosely), "God is doing a new thing, do you not perceive it?" I think I AM beginning to perceive it. We are being broken out of our mold of being the All-American church of bow ties and blue Altar Guild pinafores and being challenged to do what Jesus did - minister to those on the fringes. At a Via Media training event in Winston/Salem a few months ago, we asked an audience of 50 or so how many were cradle Episcopalians. Only about five raised their hands.

I'm sure this is what many long-term members think is wrong with the Episcopal Church these days. As one parishioner at another church said a few years ago when we went to a full-text bulletin, "If they don't know how to use the Book of Common Prayer, they don't need to be here." The Episcopal Church has changed A LOT in a generation, and that may be difficult for many long-term members to come to terms with. We are no longer simply Anglophile liturgical protestants.

But I think the changes are in line with Classical Anglicanism. Look at any secular article on Anglicanism, the Episcopal Church or the Elizabethan Settlement, and you will find words like openness and flexibility used. This is how the outside world perceives us, and the great writers of Anglicanism certainly reflect that ethos.

And then this, too, confirming Ozzy's comment in another thread on this blog:

But the Gospel does not call us to a comfortable place. There is little comfortable about a rabbi who constantly leaves his disciples (who think he should be spending more time with them) and is always dragging them into houses of sinners. There is little comfortable about Good Friday or Easter day, each with their own brand of terror.

I think this, too. I think the Episcopal Church is and has been changing from what it used to be (or at least has been perceived to be) - a wealthy Church for American bluebloods - to something quite different. In the parishes I've attended, many members have been anything but those things. They have been gay people, welcome almost noplace else (and our family members and friends come along, too - loving us and hating what the rest of the Church does to us); recovering alcoholics and addicts; immigrants; working-class families; writers and artists and intellectuals who can't find a spiritual home elsewhere; etc. Some of the bluebloods are still there, too - but most of the ones I've met are welcoming, and are happy to see the rest of us coming.

I think, too, that God is doing a new thing with this Church - and this new thing is transforming the Church and everybody who comes into contact with it.

Please God let it be so.

St. M. the V.

For anyone in the N.Y. Metro Area who's in the city during the week - and for anyone who loves sung Offices as I do - the parish of St. Mary the Virgin in Times Square is singing Morning and Evening prayer all next week. Here's the schedule of services at St. Mary's for the Triduum:

The first liturgy of the Triduum is called “The Evening Mass of the Lord’s Supper.” We celebrate this liturgy beginning at 6:00 PM on Maundy Thursday (the general name in use among English-speaking Christians for Thursday in Holy Week – it’s a nickname from the Latin “mandatum,” that is, “command”).

The Maundy Thursday Gospel is from John’s account of Jesus’ supper with the disciples. Jesus washes the feet of all of them, including Judas. Peter does not want Jesus to wash his feet. Jesus is unmoved by his protestation. After washing their feet he tells them, “If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you” (John 13:14-15). At Saint Mary’s everyone is invited to sit to have his or her feet washed and then to wash the feet of another.

The entire money offering at this Mass is for the poor. Please be sacrificial in your gift. Our offerings are collected while the congregation sings the ancient offertory song appointed for this Mass, “Where true charity and love dwell, God himself is there.”

During the Great Thanksgiving sufficient bread and wine are consecrated for the Communion of the Church during this Mass and at the liturgy of Good Friday. After the ministration of Communion, the Sacrament for Good Friday is carried in solemn procession to another altar. At Saint Mary’s this “altar of repose” is the Mercy Chapel altar. The church will be open all night for prayer in response to our Lord’s question to his disciples, “Could you not watch one hour?” (Mark 13:37b). [Only the West 46th Street door closest to the Mercy Chapel remains open all night. A guard will be on duty.]

On Good Friday Morning Prayer is sung at 8:30 AM. At Saint Mary’s the Good Friday liturgy is celebrated twice, at 12:30 PM and at 6:00 PM. The services are identical except that the preacher at the 12:30 PM liturgy will be the Right Reverend Richard F. Grein, XIV Bishop of New York. I will preach at the evening service.

On Saturday morning, Easter Eve, Morning Prayer is sung at 8:30 AM. Then the work begins! The church and the altars (and Saint Joseph’s Hall!) will be prepared for the celebration of the Great Vigil of Easter. This is the principal Mass of the year. Bishop Grein is celebrant and preacher. We begin at 7:00 PM. A reception follows in Saint Joseph’s Hall.

On Easter Day, Morning Prayer is sung at 8:30 AM. Father Beddingfield is celebrant and preacher for the 9:00 AM Said Mass with Hymns. I am celebrant and preacher for the 10:00 AM Sung Mass and the 11:00 AM Solemn Mass. At 4:30 PM associate organist Robert McDermitt will play a recital. The full parish choir will sing at Solemn Paschal Evensong & Benediction at 5:00 PM. The Reverend Louis Weil, James F. Hodges Professor of Liturgics at the Church Divinity School of the Pacific, will preach at this special form of Evening Prayer for Easter Day.

These are the services I think everyone should attend if at all possible: Maundy Thursday 6:00 PM, Good Friday 12:30 PM or 6:00 PM, the Great Vigil of Easter, Easter Eve 7:00 PM, and Solemn Paschal Evensong, Easter Day 5:00 PM. I will be at all of the others too! By long Christian tradition you may come to the Easter Vigil and to one of the Masses on Easter Day (and again receive Easter Communion). I think Saint Mary’s is the only ordinary parish church in the country that sings Morning and Evening Prayer throughout Holy Week. But the services I have listed as the ones to attend if at all possible are the core liturgies of Easter Triduum.

But then there are people like this....

Ozzy, that is (scroll down to find his comments), who identifies himself as "a lay minister of the neo-conservative Anglican wing / anti-gay church etc.," and who has "seen much intolerance and bigotry within the church, with or without nice words accompanied." [NOTE: I should have made clear that the reference to "people like this" in the header was meant in a good way, which I see I neglected to do, really. Yes. That's what I mean. It's a good thing that there are people like Ozzy in the world.]

He takes the post's author to task for writing that "The given place for sexual expression at its fullest is within a lifelong marriage partnership between a man and a woman" (to which another poster rightly responded, "We have many in conservative churches who are saying the same thing the Mark is saying here, absent the excellent prose and compassionate attitude perhaps, and yet these same people are villified as homophobes and bigots....").

Here's what Ozzy says:

But still - where does this leave the question of "is homosexuality a biblical sin?'

I will go so far to say that when Christians try and dress up and debate AROUND the very clear and unequivocal question, we merely give to the media, non-Christians and the GLBT population , ammunition and the justifiable inpression that Christians are deceivers with words.

The first part of what you say is so clear, yet the second part becomes so much greyer - unless of course, you are saying that homosexuality is a biblical sin. I know you are saying (effectively) that homosexuality is outside the boundaries of the fullest expression of sexuality........now, aren't you saying in so many calculated words that: yes, it is a biblical sin?

For what is worth, let me state my position, in black-and-white, and with no-dressing-up: I believe the Bible's words are taken out-of-context on the question of homosexuality. Certainly, Paul's words are hugely out of context today. If they are not out-of-context, then they are simply wrong - period.

"The given place for sexual expression at its fullest is within a lifelong marriage partnership between a man and a woman" - no, I say - the given place for sexual expression at its fullest is within a fully loving relationship. The boundary is that of love. Jesus taught us that love is over-rides everything, so how can you say to a gay couple in a fulfilling and loving relationship that their love is outside the boundaries (when you say your boundaries are set for your sexuality, aren't you REALLY and HONESTLY saying that " you are in the straight group" and gays are not?")

Jesus set the boundary as love.

Did you get that, Mssrs. Duncan and Akinola? Jesus set the boundary as love.

O, Thank You, Canada!

At last! Somebody finally gives Akinola et al. the business:

The motion shown below was passed unanimously by the Faith, Worship and Ministry Committee (a Standing Committee of the Anglican Church of Canada) at its recent meeting. It goes now as a recommendation to the governing body of the Canadian church - the Council of General Synod - that will meet in May to determine Canada’s response to the Primates’ communique.

That, while acknowledging the sincere concern of Anglicans throughout the world for the unity of the Communion and recognizing the pain of Anglicans of all persuasions caused by recent events, this Faith, Worship and Ministry Committee reluctantly but firmly recommends to the Council of General Synod the following resolution:

1. That the Council of General Synod confirm the membership of the Anglican Church of Canada in the Anglican Consultative Council with the expectation that the duly elected members attend and participate in the June 2005 meeting of the Council in the UK.

2. That the Council of General Synod welcome the invitation to explain at the June 2005 meeting of the Anglican Consultative Council the current situation, the steps that were taken by Dioceses of the Anglican Church of Canada and the General Synod and the underlying theological and biblical rationale with respect to the decision to bless committed same sex unions.

3. That the Council of General Synod, in response to the second part of Paragraph 14 of the Primates’ Statement of February 24 2005, commend the Windsor Report to the Anglican Church of Canada for study.

Scotland, too:

The Scottish Episcopal Church has never regarded the fact that someone was in a close relationship with a member of the same sex as in itself constituting a bar to the exercise of an ordained ministry. Indeed, the Windsor Report itself in suggesting that a moratorium be placed on such persons being consecrated bishops, itself acknowledges the existence of many such relationships within the Church.

The Scottish Episcopal Church has, even before the 1998 Lambeth Conference, sought to be welcoming and open to persons of homosexual orientation in our congregations, and to listen to their experiences. This has on occasion led clergy to respond to requests to give a blessing to persons who were struggling with elements in their relationship, and who asked for such a prayer. We were glad to note that the concern of the Windsor Report and the Primates’ Communiqué was not with such informal pastoral responses to individual situations, and was about the official authorisation of a liturgical text for the blessing of such unions.

It's way, way past time somebody talked back to the bigotry of Akinola and Venables and the rest of them. And stopped blaming us for our own victimization at the hands of the Christian Church. Thanks be to God - at least for the moment.

So, then, ECUSA? How about making it a trifecta? And how about making this the considered and permanent response to those insufferable homophobic Anglican pointy-hats from the "Global South" (and elsewhere), and to the rest of the Christian Church, for that matter, too?

How Inquisitors appear 400 years later

For instance, those who persecuted St. Teresa of Avila. I added the bolding below:

While the visions are today the most famous part of her spiritual experience, she considered them inferior to the quiet sense of union with God that she was to achieve later in life. The visions were disorienting and an embarrassment, although she did her best to hide them from her sisters. They were also dangerous. It was not unusual for visionaries to wind up at the stake. Teresa's autobiography was already being examined by the Inquisition for signs of heresy; and as a woman and the descendant of Jews, she was especially suspect. Increasingly, those around Teresa tried to disassociate themselves from her. At the same time, Teresa felt drawn to a more strict life of poverty and self-denial.

And, for instance, those who persecuted her friend and co-reformist, St. John of the Cross:

He was a member of Teresa of Avila's Discalced Carmelite Order--the Barefoot Carmelites--and Teresa's beloved, passionate friend. His finest and most famous poem, "Songs of the Soul," combines the best of each of his vocations. He and Teresa were committed to the reform of the Carmelites, and both of them were caught in the chaos of the Inquisition in Spain.

At 25, John was captured and imprisoned in a closet in a monastery by a community of monks who upheld a Vatican faction's dim view of Teresa's reforms. He was starved and flogged. After nine months of captivity, he escaped by lowering himself out of his cell with a rope made of strips of cloth. He got himself to a Discalced convent and wept as he heard the nuns reciting the Angelus. He wrote "Songs of the Soul" in a state of gratitude and ecstasy.

An interesting and ironic parallel

Let's see. Doubtless, American Anglican conservatives will support this thesis, in an article under the heading "Will the Mideast Bloom?":

Listen to the conversations in the cafes on the edge of the creek that runs through this Persian Gulf city, and it is hard to believe that the George W. Bush being praised by Arab diners is the same George W. Bush who has been widely excoriated in these parts ever since he took office.

Yet the balmy breeze blowing along the creek carries murmurs of approval for the devoutly Christian U.S. president, whose persistent calls for democracy in the Middle East are looking less like preaching and more like timely encouragement.

Nowadays, intellectuals, businessmen and working-class people alike can be caught lauding Bush's hard-edged posture on democracy and cheering his handling of Arab rulers who are U.S. allies. Many also admire Bush's unvarnished threats against Syria should it fail to pull its soldiers and spies out of Lebanon before the elections there next month -- a warning the United Nations reinforced last week with immediate effects. For Bush, it is not quite a lovefest but a celebration nonetheless.

"His talk about democracy is good," an Egyptian-born woman was telling companions at the Fatafeet (or "Crumbs") restaurant the other night, exuberant enough for her voice to carry to neighboring tables. "He keeps hitting this nail. That's good, by God, isn't it?" At another table, a Lebanese man was waxing enthusiastic over Bush's blunt and irreverent manner toward Arab autocrats. "It is good to light a fire under their feet," he said.

From Casablanca to Kuwait City, the writings of newspaper columnists and the chatter of pundits on Arabic language satellite television suggest a change in climate for advocates of human rights, constitutional reforms, business transparency, women's rights and limits on power. And while developments differ vastly from country to country, their common feature is a lifting -- albeit a tentative one -- of the fear that has for decades constricted the Arab mind.

Regardless of Bush's intentions -- which many Arabs and Muslims still view with suspicion -- the U.S. president and his neoconservative crowd are helping to spawn a spirit of reform and a new vigor to confront dynastic dictatorships and other assorted ills. It's enough for someone like me, who has felt that Bush's attitude toward the Mideast has been all wrong, to wonder whether his idea of setting the Muslim house in order is right.

How hugely ironic. ECUSA, and the ACC, have been doing exactly the same thing, in their pro-gay-inclusive, pro-women's-ordination, pro-transparency-in-polity positions, by trying "to spawn a spirit of reform and a new vigor to confront dynastic dictatorships" in the Christian Chruch, and to "light a fire under their feet."

But of course, the conservative Christian Church won't see it that way. It can't acknowledge that it is autocratic, oppressive, dictatorial, self-satisfied, self-important, and utterly dedicated to wrapping its arms ever tighter around state power. It will support Bush and oppose ECUSA and the ACC.

At least I'm consistent. I supported, and support, Bush for his attempts to crack the foundations of oppressive autocracies, and for trying to breathe new life into region smothered by a tired and dictatorial system that crushes human freedom and hopes, and attempts to perpetuate itself forever - although it obviously has very little to offer. I support ECUSA for exactly the same reason.

So, once again: it would be impossible to accurately state how completely and utterly sick I am of this kind of hypocrisy. The hallowed Anglican (we-won't-take) "Communion" (with-you) can go stuff itself.

When the Windsor Report gets amended to include a demand for "repentence" on the part of the Christian Church for the horrific damage it's done to gay people over the centuries, then we'll talk.

Is this the Anglican Communion you mean?

From Bruce Bawer's 2003 article, Mendacity and the Magisterium. This is a PDF file which will open in a new window - and I recommend reading the entire article:

At one point in Breaking Faith, Cornwell observes in passing that Catholic progressives outnumber traditionalists. This is indeed true in the U.S. and Europe, the parts of the world on which he focuses. Yet the future of Catholicism, and of Christianity generally, lies south of the equator, where traditionalism is way ahead numerically. This is the topic of The Next Christendom by Philip Jenkins.

Back in 1996, Jenkins published Pedophiles and Priests: Anatomy of a Contemporary Crisis, in which he suggested that clerical sexual abuse had been sensationalized, and its extent exaggerated, by the media. He was spectacularly wrong there, of course, but this time, I fear, he’s absolutely right. His thesis is that, owing to the widespread secularization of society and liberalization of Christianity in the U.S. and Europe, many people fail to recognize that Christianity is not receding but growing as a worldwide force, that its center of gravity is no longer in the West but in the "global South," and that its dominant theology is decidedly illiberal.

It’s striking, by the way, how modernism, that Number One enemy of nineteenth-century popes, remains the bugaboo of their spiritual successors - the chief difference being that it’s now personified for them not by Jews but by women and open homosexuals.

Liberal Westerners have also paid insufficient attention to population trends. Europe is shrinking; the Third World is booming. In 2050, the only Western nations among the world’s twenty-five most populous will be the U.S. (#3), Russia (#14), and Germany (#23); by 2015, the list of the world’s ten largest urban conurbations will include not a single Western city. Before long, then, the inhabitants of the rich, secular, liberal West will find themselves heavily outnumbered by the overwhelmingly poor Third World masses, most of them highly conservative Catholics, Protestants, Anglicans, or Muslims. (Jenkins makes the additional observation that Europe itself may not remain secular and liberal for long, thanks to the influx of Muslim and conservative Christian immigrants.)

Some, to be sure, have already seen the writing on the wall. The wake-up call for my own denomination, the Episcopal Church, came at the Lambeth Conference in 1998, when the bishops of the Anglican Communion - an overwhelmingly African and Asian institution of which the Episcopal Church forms a measly 3 percent - resoundingly approved an antigay resolution. Publicly, some African bishops voiced support for Zimbabwean tyrant Robert Mugabe, whose thugs had imprisoned and beaten homosexuals. Liberal U.S. bishops - who were accustomed to being in the majority in the Episcopal House of Bishops and to being esteemed by their sub-Saharan colleagues, whose dioceses depended heavily on their largesse - were shocked at this revelation of the true nature of their communion, and of their own ultimate insignificance within it.

Catholicism is in similar straits. Liberal Catholics in the U.S. and Europe fault John Paul II for being out of touch with his Church; but they’re the ones, alas, who are out of touch. Their Church’s future, whether they like it or not, is in the hands of their Third World co-religionists, who share the current Pope’s lack of affection for democracy, pluralism, and church-state separation. And the Pope knows this - as do the like-minded cronies with whom he’s packed the College of Cardinals, and who will choose his successor.

“In the traditionalist view,” explains Jenkins, “adapting to become relevant or sensitive to the needs of Western elites would be suicidal for the long-term prospects of the Church. It is the so-called traditionalists, rather than the liberals, who are playing the political game of the new century.” This is why there will almost certainly be no Vatican III, no international lay congress; it’s why urgent, noble books like Constantine’s Sword seem destined to be not blueprints for the future but sad relics of the faded hopes of the past. Yet the changes ahead may not all be to the traditionalists’ liking. While Catholic clergy in Africa, for example, love the idea of an all-male hierarchy, celibacy holds little appeal for them. (Jenkins reports that rapes by African priests are commonplace.) Furthermore, Third World Christians (whether Protestant or Catholic) tend to be syncretists, mixing Christian beliefs and practices with elements derived from ancient native religions — ancestor worship, animal sacrifices, spiritual healing, polygamy. “The newer churches,” observes Jenkins, “can read the Bible in a way that makes [Third World] Christianity look like a wholly different religion from the faith of prosperous advanced societies of Europe or North America.” So wildly unorthodox is their theological thinking, indeed, that they may inadvertently end up succeeding in the task that liberal American and European Catholics have failed at: namely, breaking the back of the Church’s dogmatic rigidity. A century from now, then, Catholicism may be a more formidable force than ever—but it may also differ from today’s religion in ways no one can now imagine or predict.

The incredible hypocrisy of the Christian Church

From U.S. Catholic:

It's high time we admit reality: no amount of railing or threatening from popes or bishops seems to affect people's decisions on the use of birth control made in good conscience. On this issue, people have learned to trust their own intuitions, faith understanding, and life experience. On other issues, they may let the church tell them what to do, but on this one they stand firm. Let's applaud their maturity instead of berating them for a supposed "defection."

Indeed, "defection" is the wrong word to use for such a rare and clear consensus, such a powerful demonstration of the sensus fidelium, the "sense of the faithful." Thirty years ago when Pope Paul VI issued the encyclical Humanae vitae, which condemned the use of any means of birth control other than the rhythm method, over 600 theologians signed dissenting statements. And ever since, the polls have consistently shown that the vast majority of the Catholic laity disagree with their church's official position and practice birth control in good conscience. To cite just two examples: A 1992 Gallup poll showed that 80 percent of U.S. Catholics disagreed with the statement "Using artificial means of birth control is wrong." And a 1996 study conducted by Father Thomas Sweetser for the Parish Evaluation Project found only 9 percent of Catholics who consider birth control to be wrong.

These polls, gauging the minds of the faithful, also point up an irony. Paul VI upheld the teaching of previous popes in order to protect papal authority. But, instead, his action had the exact opposite effect. As Father Philip Kaufman, O.S.B. writes in How You Can Disagree and Remain a Faithful Catholic (Crossroad, 1995): "Before the encyclical, how many Catholics would have thought that they could disagree with the pope on birth control...and still consider themselves good Catholics?" Now, a clear majority do.

The same results are found in many other parts of the world:

The Vatican's conservative policies on birth control have received a blow from one of the Roman Catholic Church's most loyal regions after opinion polls showed overwhelming support in Latin America for measures of contraception.

The move also represents an assault on US policies which, under George Bush, have blocked aid to organisations supporting abortion.

The polls, released at an inter-governmental health conference in Puerto Rico, show at least three quarters of those questioned in Mexico, Colombia and Bolivia supporting contraception being made available to adolescents and even higher majorities in favour of the use of condoms to prevent HIV/Aids.

The surveys, carried out by separate polling organisations late last year, questioned at least 1,500 respondents in each country with surprisingly similar results.

This issue is exactly the same one that affects gay people: Catholic doctrine insists that birth control, and homosexuality, are "evil" for the same reason: because each and every sex act must be reproductive. Homosexuality is "intrinsically evil," of course; I guess use of birth control is just a "sin" of which one can repent.

But imagine being gay, for just a second. Imagine told that your best feelings - your love for and your care about another human being - are "evil." And by (often permanently single and celibate) people who claim to represent God in the matter. Imagine being told this from the time you're a child, often when you already know that you're gay. And, while we're at it, imagine having the unbelievable arrogance to tell gay people this, casually and without a thought! I cannot adequately express my disgust at this.

Why the deafening silence about birth control, and the laserlike focus on homosexuality? Again, it's all in the numbers; it's not about "principles." Gay people are 3-5% of the Catholic population; birth-control supporters are 80% of the Catholic population.

The Christian Church uses gay people to "make a stand for the faith." It crushes us and our spiritual longings and hopes - and, as Desmond Tutu notes, it "negates the consequences of our baptisms" - simply because it's too lazy to look at its own theology and revise it.

And in this case, the Church cannot acknowledge its own fallibility. This is the real issue; bigoted Bishops in the "Global South" can apparently still get "the faithful" to kiss their rings on the issue of homosexuality - but not on this precisely identical (from the standpoint of doctrine) issue. How? By whipping up anti-gay hysteria among their "majority," of course - same as here in the United States.

Western Arrogance?

And here we are: yet another Scripturally-"justified" excuse for bigotry, courtesy of Gregory Venables of the "Southern Cone" - bigotry espoused under the heading Suddenly, an end to Western arrogance.

THE ASSUMPTIONS of the natural evolution of society towards liberalism in the West have proceeded for decades relatively unchecked. From the rise of the Enlightenment, when values and beliefs began to be viewed with more scepticism, there have been few challenges to the slide.

The strengths of enlightenment went awry, and were lost, as momentum gathered and influential social and religious philosophers assumed they knew better than previous generations. The result has been moral chaos, and a large portion of the Church that has nothing to offer.

By contrast, the gospel runs counter to the culture. It always has, but something more resonant with the values and assumptions of society has made its way into the halls of influence in Western Churches. The foundational Christian message - "This is a true saying, and worthy of all men to be believed, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners" - has been replaced by other messages of unchallenging acceptance and uncritical licence to pursue any lifestyle.

Living (yet historic) faith has been on a collision course with the unbounded message of liberalism for more than a century. Wonderfully, Evangelical and Catholic Christians in the Western industrial nations have been energised by the commitment, zeal and sacrifice of those from the Two-Thirds World, who come from cultures in which evangelism and mission are current passions rather than just historic ones.

"Western arrogance" the man decries - along with the rest of his all-male club. I see.

Note, too, how he simply writes off the "liberal" West. Doesn't care at all, apparently, whether we become, or remain, Christian; it's not even a wisp of a concern to him, it seems. He's got the "majority" behind him, after all.

And then there's this:

Any thought that the passage of time will soften the resolve of the majority is unfounded. To do so would be a rejection of our core values. It would be a rejection of the gospel itself, and a denial of the price that Jesus paid on our behalf.

IOW: our minds are made up, and no matter what evidence may come to light (although we're not going to bother to look, anyway, of course), it's really nothing to us. We just don't care. (This, my dears, is the foundational definition of "bigotry," so please: no denials about it anymore.)

And BTW, don't forget: Jesus died for heterosexuality. The Creeds? That stuff has nothing to do with anything.

Q: Who wants to be an Anglican now?

A: Not me. If this is what "Anglicanism" means now, that is.

I do still love the Episcopal Church and am grateful for it. I will likely still support it financially; I will still go to mass when I can't stay away anymore. But I can't think of myself as a member of the Christian Church anymore; I am in self-imposed exile. This is my feeble protest against the Christian Church's continuing abysmal treatment of gay people, and against its total unwillingness to listen. It's my protest against the oh, so easy scapegoating of homosexual people by conservative Christianity - particularly by its lazy, careless, and politically-motivated clergy - which is just too uninterested to read the Bible for what it actually says, and for what it doesn't say. Which simply can't be bothered to have to look at what the Church's "philosophy" and actions do to real people, and maybe do a little revision on that account. I am totally and completely sick of it.

This is also one of the few ways for me to stay sane. I certainly will not acquiesce to "unity" with people who care nothing for me, and more than that: who really want me disappeared. No thank you very much. If this is "Anglicanism," count me out.

From today's U.K. Church Times

AS THE DUST settles on the Primates' Meeting, its significance is becoming clear. The communiqué, with its assurance that the Primates met "with Christian charity and abundant goodwill", already looks fanciful. In the past week, the Primates of Uganda and Rwanda have made statements to the effect that no new debate is needed on the subject of homosexuality. The Primate of the Southern Cone flew straight to a rally of dissenting parishes in New Westminster, Canada. Another Primate reported that conservative colleagues had been boasting of their ability to make Dr Williams do as they wanted.

What continues to shock churchpeople most, however, is the account of how the Primates from the global South were unwilling to attend eucharistic celebrations with the North Americans. Their stance was consistent with having announced themselves out of communion with the US and Canadian provinces after the consecration of an openly gay bishop and the blessing of same-sex unions. Nevertheless, their decision calls into question the very use of the term "Communion" for the Anglican Churches.

Eucharistic hospitality is at the core of Anglicanism. The Thirty-Nine Articles tell us not to be perturbed by the unworthiness of the ministers. If, as the Primates seem to have done, we start to calculate the unworthiness of our fellow communicants, altar rails around the world would be empty (unless, of course, we also calculate our own unworthiness). When we consider the Primates' representative function, and their task of uniting the Church, the implications seem graver still.

All this has had a profoundly depressing effect on those committed to the Anglican enterprise. Liberals are naturally dismayed that sympathy for a broader interpretation of scripture is no longer being expressed openly. Many conservatives, supposedly reassured by the outcome in Newry, have concerns over too many other matters, such as women's ordination, to feel secure with what they term the "revisionist" hierarchy. Those who disagree with such labels are simply alarmed that Anglican leaders seem to have lost the ability to live in charity with those who hold different theological views.

We detect signs that weariness is descending over the battlefield. It takes more effort to live in dialogue with others than it does to settle into a club of the like-minded. This is why the ecumenical movement has perennially called for more energy than the Churches are able to give it. Energy comes from the vision of a united, missionary Church, confident in the grace of Christ, and drawing to it those who are impressed by the way in which he redeems human relationships. That provides more than enough matter for prayer and repentance this Lent.

Eureka!

I've got it! I am free now, since I am not part of the Church anymore. I still have things to say, I realize, things that make me angry about what's going on - and what is a blog for, if not for that? I have thoughts and ideas to explore and express; if I want to talk about schism, I'm going to talk about schism. I'm going to talk about my resentment of, and anger at, Christianity.

And if you read this blog, you're going to listen, because here, I will continue to do that. Anybody can post anything they like in response (and if they're nasty, I'll just delete them - who cares?); the point is that I have things to say and I am going to say them. I don't have to hold back anymore.

On my other blog, I will speak only of God, and of my love. It will be a place for peace and rest.

You can't have both together in the same place, I see now. You go crazy. So I'm compartmentalizing - at least until I feel differently.

I'm very, very angry right now, and I still have many things to say about why.

Over here

I don't know what I'm going to do about this blog - whether I'm going to shut it down completely and start over again or try to pick up again later without all the angst, if that's even possible. I don't have the strength right now to fight and argue anymore, although the fighting and arguing still needs to be done, I suppose. But we've said it all 10 million times; the problem is that each time we encounter someone new, it's as if none of it had ever been said. Nobody's been listening, for all these years; it's even possible that things have gone backwards in this respect. Anyway, if it hasn't gotten across yet, I just don't know anymore how to make that happen. This is why I don't want to deal with the Anglican Communion any longer; I envision 20, 30, and 40 more years of this same fight, over and over again. Groundhog Day. And at the end, I'm still not sure there would be resolution, given everything we've seen. This is why I want to move off in a new direction now - or, rather, I want to reset the course in the original, Episcopalian "liberal Catholic" direction.

Of course, there are gay people in the Global South, too, and somebody needs to fight for them. And of course to continue to try to find a place for gay people in Christianity here also. See this story for why. (Hat tip to Father Jake.) But if we had a new vision, a new direction, we could immediately gather these people in without having to worry about the Bishop of Nigeria or anybody else.

Perhaps politics is the better place to fight for gay people in Africa. But gay people need spiritual sustenance, too. And, perhaps, especially.

Well, in the meantime, come on over here to my other blog. I'd started it originally to kind of post about the intersection of religion and science and culture; I'd wanted to convince skeptics that religion has good things, empirical benefits for human life. But I'd kind of let that get away in the midst of the "big argument."

Now, I want to make it a place to talk about God and about searching for God. That's all - no drama and no politics. I want to talk about refreshment and beauty and The Living Flame of Love.

1.
O living flame of love
that tenderly wounds my soul
in its deepest center! Since
now you are not oppressive,
now consummate! if it be your will:
tear through the veil of this sweet encounter!

2.
O sweet cautery,
O delightful wound!
O gentle hand! O delicate touch
that tastes of eternal life
and pays every debt!
In killing you changed death to life.

3.
O lamps of fire!
in whose splendors
the deep caverns of feeling,
once obscure and blind,
now give forth, so rarely, so exquisitely,
both warmth and light to their Beloved.

4.
How gently and lovingly
you wake in my heart,
where in secret you dwell alone;
and in your sweet breathing,
filled with good and glory,
how tenderly you swell my heart with love.

This blog out of service

Since all I've been talking about here for the past 6 months is the insane drama in the idiotic Anglican Communion, and since even the mention of that name makes me feel physically ill at this point, I've decided to close this blog down and perhaps start a new one at some other time.

The Christian Church is not a healthy place for me, I've finally realized - and in particular the Anglican Communion. There won't be any "sailing into the new millennium," ever; it's simply going to be the same old thing for the rest of time, over and over and over again. [NOTE: this paragraph edited so as not to leave a bad impression. Things said in anger, etc., and even though I didn't really swear or anything, but left one of those bunches of symbols - you know, like "$@&*" or "@&!*%" - it looks bad and I wanted to bow out gracefully, even though this whole post is a bit ungraceful, but oh, well, I don't really want to rewrite the whole thing or delete it, because the comments are so great. Actually, I'm even aware that it won't be "the same old thing for the rest of time," too, but it's just really bad right now and will be for the foreseeable future as far as I can tell, and it's making me totally crazy. I have to step back. I need to give my head and my heart some peace.]

So: Buddhism or bust. Or maybe I'll just be a solitary or something. I can't stand the whole thing anymore and I don't care what happens. I've just come to the end of my energy and my patience.

Thanks for posting.

"A signpost to the future"

From "Thinking Anglicans", where I added the bold:

So while I have been musing on this, the Anglican primates meeting in Ireland have been dealing with their own intercultural issues. They have had to confront the reality of a western liberal culture coming under attack, and in an elaborate ritual of trying to sit down somewhere more or less on top of the fence have, predictably, failed to be comfortable in this posture. Nobody could, with any confidence, try to predict what the Anglican family of the year 2050 will look like, based on this evidence from the prelates. But there are few signs that anyone is trying to construct a forward-looking vision of an intercultural Christian world.

My own instinct is to say that western liberalism — at least where it stresses the dignity of human lifestyles which do not hurt or oppress — is by now very well rooted in these soils, and will survive the new cultural mix, and possibly even thrive in it. Our new world is about releasing innovative energy, and not about trying to shoehorn all life and culture into a narrow selection of time capsules.

The church may turn out to be relevant to this, or it may turn out to be just a ghost. The time has come for us to assert the right of Christianity to be a signpost to the future, and not just a grim reminder of some of the less pleasant aspects of our past. We must celebrate diversity and renewal, not be frightened by it. It’s time to realise that the place for Christians is not on the fence.

The Anglican Communion

The Anglican Communion was born of British Imperialism and Colonialism. Its bonds were historically those of "affection" - a euphemism for the relationship between the British royal and business hierarchy at home, and British colonial masters abroad, together engaged, in the Third World, at any rate, in exploitation of the natural resources and human beings under their rule (a.k.a. "the white man's burden"):

For the majority of the 19th century and the first half of the 20th century the Anglican Communion (as it existed) was dominated by Western Churches, chief among them the Church of England and the Episcopal Church in the U.S. From the 1850s to the 1960s mission was inextricably linked to Western colonialism and imperialism, for wherever the Crown went so too did the Chapel. Looking at a map of today's Anglican Communion reveals the undeniable fact that the majority of the churches of the Anglican Communion lie in areas of the world that at one time or another were territories of either England or the U.S.

All of this began to change, however, in the 1960s. In the wake of political independence for colonies in Africa, Asia and Latin America, the missions of the Church of England or the Episcopal Church, USA struggled to "grow up" into autonomous churches of the Anglican Communion. Although many of the countries where newly independent Anglican Churches have come into being still suffer at the hands of economic colonialism (witness the sin of international debt), the growth of the church in the Southern Hemisphere has occurred since the close of the colonial era. Whether we in the West are prepared to accept it or not, the Anglican Communion today has begun to move from a colonial to a post-colonial reality. As a result, the political and economic structures of power associated with colonial dominance have begun to lose their efficacy in the new Anglican Communion.

Now, apparently, the "bonds of affections" have been loosened considerably. And why shouldn't they have? Why shouldn't African Bishops rebel against Americans and Europeans (not that there are many Europeans left in religion against which to rebel)? Why shouldn't they attempt to establish their own religious traditions and their own theologies?

At the same time, why should Americans conform to these things? Why should Episcopalians be required to read Scripture the way Africans do? And why would Episocpalians want to continue to be part of the Anglican Communion - again, born in Imperialism, in a world that looked nothing like it does today? What is the attraction in being associated with the ecclesiastical representative of a long-dead system of oppression?

Why not start a new Communion based on the present and on the future, rather than on historical travesties? Why not face the future instead of the past, looking towards what's needed now, instead of what worked in another time and place? Why not form a Communion based on freedom - a Communion that individuals will join freely and with their whole hearts, and not as a result of coercion by a ruling power - rather than continue one that was formed in slavery and oppression?

We have a liturgy, one that was rewritten in both 1928 and 1979 to more accurately reflect early Christian theology, and to discard some of things that were false. Before that, the Oxford Movement revitalized Anglicanism by reclaiming rites and liturgies from before the Reformation.

In other words, this sort of thing has been done before; it's not a new idea. In fact, it seems to be a regular habit in the Ecclesia Anglicana. We take what we need, and leave the rest. We go forward, often by going backward.

We have a connection to the past through the Anglican Church. And we have a future that stretches out in front of us, too - one that doesn't have to include endless arguments, fights, and power games, and one that could be very, very interesting.

Time to go

It's time for ECUSA to move on. It's time to split the American Church, let the conservatives align with the present Anglican Communion, and form our own Communion and move on.

I believe that there may be whole groups of other people who'd join us: ex-Roman Catholics, as they always have; disaffected Methodists who are having some of the same problems; former fundamentalists of all varieties; etc. And let us not forget that according to recent surveys, the fastest-growing group is the "unchurched": folks who might find a home in the "liberal Catholicism" that ECUSA represents. We'd need to do more evangelism in the future for this to happen; it could be a really, really exciting time. We could develop new theologies, and expand upon the old (which we shouldn't throw out). We could go into the cities - the future of the world - and evangelize there, using Christian culture: music, art, literature, philosophy. We could offer a beautiful alternative to this rigid, brittle thing we're seeing everywhere now and begin again.

Europeans might be persuaded to come back to Church eventually, too. Why isn't this a goal worth working towards? African religion is booming already; they don't need us, except for our aid money, which we can certainly continue to give. In any case, they are telling us outright that they don't want us "interfering" in their religious lives. Fine.

In my area, some quite interesting things are happening. For one, they are starting to become more liturgical in some Protestant churches; one local Methodist Church had the usual multiple Ash Wednesday services, including imposition of ashes - in the Methodist church! This was unheard of 20 years ago. I think there's a sort of revival going on around here, liturgically and ceremonially, in the ECUSA parishes also: you now find stations of the cross in many parishes, bells during the consecration, even without smells, more frequent Evensong services, etc. Also, more people - not just Episcopalians - are taking advantage of programs and retreats at the local monastic communities.

The weirdness of the drive towards this bizarre form of "orthodoxy" in America, and towards "whatever that is" in Nigeria and Uganda, might send people screaming away at some point. The children of fundamentalists and the faux orthodox will need someplace to recover. We'll have to do more work to get more people in. But that will be interesting, and a good thing, too.

Perhaps there really is a consolidation going on, but not in the way we've been thinking; perhaps we can be that part of the Christian world that moves backwards liturgically and theologically, and forwards culturally. The first four centuries of Christendom were less rigid, less brittle, and more mystical than those that came after. I'm reading about Christian mystics these days, and there were some great ones in the early period: Origen and Clement of Alexandria, to name two. Both, ironically, Africans. Also the Desert Fathers - the first monastics - about whom I know little so far. (I do plan to write more about this later.) There were huge debates and disagreements in those days, over scripture, over theology, over philosophy; the very kinds of debate that are now being stifled everywhere in Christendom. The Bible was viwed as myth, allegory, divine revelation through image and story. Origen was one of the great exponents of allegorical interpretation, searching Scripture for the "secret and hidden things of God." NOT a dead, literalistic proof-texting. Once again, the issue of homosexuality is just the symptom that points out this problem and others.

Mysticism is the future as well as the past; this is where the breakdown is and has been for 1600 years. It's time to push off from these worn-out shores and go out into the world again. Let's make Christianity new and brilliant once more. Let's argue, let's fight, let's push the envelope, not with rationalism alone - that was the big mistake, and it's still going on today, on both right and left - but with allegory, metaphor, mysticism. Let's find and support our Christian Rumis, and our present-day Julians and Hildegards and St. Johns, and discover a way to make Christianity beautiful again.

Let's go adventuring.