Canonized

Well, enough of politics for a while, right?

Let's turn our attention back to something positive and happy.

  Many of you have been with part of this community for a long time, since the days of  Fr Jake's blog, and  you followed us over here when Fr Jake stepped back from blogging.   You have attended the journey of your friendly atheist (me) and her wife BP, as I worked for years to convince BP to re-orient from cradle Roman Catholicism to a better home for her faith. And after the viciousness of the Prop 8 fight here in California, BP finally put her toes into the Thames.

You were all warm and supportive when we married, and have accompanied our journey as we joined  (each in our own way) the Episcopal church. Both certifiable church geeks, we keep an Almy catalog as coffee table reading.  😄  BP found her calling in liturgy: acolyte, thurifer, verger, Head Verger.

And in the latest culmination of this journey, at Evensong on Sunday next , BP will be installed as Canon Verger of St Paul's Cathedral, San Diego.  Canons of a Cathedral are those who have a formal or honorary affiliation voted on by the chapter and approved by the Bishop. They can be clergy, or lay people.  In BP's case, this recognizes the responsibility and experience she has displayed as head verger for the last 4 years.

Should you want to join in, the service will be live-streamed here.  (5pm PDT)

As I've said before, the greatest of thanks to the Rev Terry Martin, for Fr Jake started us on this journey.  My dear BP has truly found home.

Okay, you can tell all the "loose canon" jokes in the comments now!

(Yes, that's one of my photographs)

St Paul's Episcopal Cathedral, San Diego

Welcoming non-believers to church

An Episcopal priest writing in the HuffPo catches on that there are people in the pews who are not believers. He is struck by

the astonishing notion that non-believers can actually enjoy and appreciate being part of a congregation. That they can take pleasure in participating in a family of faith, even without the faith.

I guess he's not read the discussion here at FoJ, where I have nattered on at length on being a "secular Christian" and a church-going atheist.   I was even quoted by Andrew Sullivan.  There are a lot of us who identify as culturally Christian but of course not all of us find a place where we are welcomed.

He goes on,

I believe there is something about experiencing the ancient liturgy that can take us to another part of our being, deep into our spiritual selves -- whether one can recite the Nicene Creed in good conscience or not. Participating in the taking, breaking, blessing, and giving of the bread and wine of the Eucharist can move us into an invigorating place in the spiritual stream of human history from the early church on.

Yesssss.... the rhythm of the liturgy is an important part of it, so deeply ingrained by my Catholic childhood that it is almost atavistic. Although for myself, I don't recite the Creed, and I do not partake of Communion.  Since I am not a believer, that (to me) would be disrespectful of those who are, those for whom there is true meaning (even substance!) in the host.  Although I'm technically "legal" having been baptised and confirmed in the Roman Catholic church.  (I've argued before that my example makes a good case for open table--why should I, a non-believer, be welcomed to partake of something that means nothing to me, when a newcomer for whom it feels life-giving may be denied?)

There's also this:

Worship services provide a place not only to experience sublime peace, but to be challenged to serve. Getting involved in an active community of faith, even without faith, can help us build mutually beneficial relationships, and can also offer opportunities to meet the needs around us --to get out of ourselves and our own concerns, see the hurting world around us, and do something constructive and meaningful about it together.

YES! A big part of the attraction to me is the community. It helps enormously that the community is educated, thoughtful, and active.  Since moving to the Episcopal Church, my wife BP and I have realized that nearly all our friends are fellow Episcopalians.

But the concept of church-going atheists is clearly new to the writer.

This is a phenomenon I'm not sure many church leaders and members are even aware is happening, or can happen. Perhaps we should find a way to open our doors wider to welcome more of these folks who may be "religious but not spiritual" -- the "Friendly Non-theists" -- without seeking to convince or coerce or convert them into belief. That is a matter between them and God, after all, whether the God they don't believe in exists or not.

Well, actually, you already are. We're here.   Because, as the saying goes, you don't have to check your brain at the red door.  We get this:

The Episcopal Church is among those denominations considered to be more open to doubt, questioning, and unsettledness regarding aspects of faith than some other traditions. That sort of faith seems stronger and more authentic to me than an unquestioning, doubt-free faith. It requires work and thought and struggle and prayer. Work that I and many others find pays off in deep meaning and purpose in life. 

So there is room in the church for doubters. Is there room in the church for non-believers?

Depends on the church.  Certainly I'm "out" as an atheist, and in our very educated community, it's not a problem.  I am technically a member, even though I don't identify as Christian:  I was baptised.  I give time and treasure to the church.  I serve in various capacities. I attend services regularly.   Indeed, I'm married to a verger, comment on church politics, maintain an extensive collection of classical polyphony  recordings, and almost certainly qualify as a "church geek".

The Episcopal church welcomes me.  How radical is that?

Update:
Some of my previous musings on the subject:
Living with Church
Secular Christians
Secular Christians:  who is welcome? 

Social Media Sunday: coming out as Episcopalian

Yesterday was Social MEdia Sunday, in which Episcopal communities across the country were encouraged to engage Social Media using the hashtags #SMSunday and #Episcopal.

For a time, both those tags were leading trends on twitter.  Quite an accomplishment!

People posted selfies and notes from their churches.  At St Paul's Cathedral, San Diego, the Dean first invited us to try some Real Life social networking, by having a 1-min conversation with the person next to us in the pew, and then, after an excellent sermon (she generally knocks 'em out of the park), gave us a few minutes to text or facebook or tweet our takeaway message, with the added hashtags #stpaulcathedral.

Whose voice are you really hearing?

What am I called to sacrifice for my relationship with God? 

Where is the cup of cold water for the abandoned children?

We all held up our cell phones while she held up her tablet to take a snapshot.

Gimmicky?  Sure, in one way.  But in another way, it was very powerful.  All over the country, people Came Out as Epsicopalians, and shared something about the communities they care about.  And the photos were fun, full of smiles and laughter.

I tweeted on both my twitter accounts, and I'm sure that some of my followers were Very Surprised that I was in church.  It will be interesting to see if I get any responses.

You can see a neat sampling here of tweets and photos.  It goes on and on!

Now, over on FB, I did see one snarky comment on someone's thread, complaining that there was nothing new in the photos.  Same old church, and it doesn't work, was the commenter's complaint.  But of course, she missed the point.  For many people, church DOES work. There are growing, vibrant communities with a lot to offer. There is an audience outside for what goes on inside.

And on Social Media Sunday, the doors were thrown open to the outside world to say, Hey!   This is who we are.  

Well done, church!

THe Annual Argument over Ashes to Go.

Well, it's Ash Wednesday so right on schedule the blogosphere has broken out discussing Ashes to Go.  Opinions are strong on both sides.  Same arguments every year. 

 I'm very pro.  I really don't have much to add over what I said in 2011 about what I think about it:

First, it's a powerful outreach. To those fallen away, it is a call back to the signs and rhythms of the liturgy. To those who may be questioning, it is a step towards belonging. Basically, for people who are not going to church, and who aren't going to go in "cold", it's an invitation and a welcome. Maybe it will call them to want to learn more. 

Second, it's a statement of faith in the public square. While I have a passionate sense that the state should not sanction religion..., I have no problem with the free expression of religion. You Episcopalians are the nicest group of Christians that no one knows about, and too often hide yourselves in the walls of your churches. Why not make a statement of who you are where people can hear it?

Except for  this:

One of our friends was a member of one of the Ashes to Go teams that our community sent out around downtown San Diego today.  She said of her experience, "one man stood for a while after receiving ashes and then said - "I thought God had abandoned me, but I guess he hasn't.""

Worth the price of admission?

Quick note: St Paul's San DIego has a new Dean

Hot off the presses!   Welcome to the Rev Penelope Bridges  (currently rector of St Francis Episcopal Church in Great Falls VA), who was named today to be the 4th Dean of St Paul's Cathedral, San Diego.

Musings of the friendly atheist: it's the community

People of late seem to find me interesting, how I can be an avowed non-believer and yet be a willing participant in the life of the church.

My mother doesn’t get it. “You’ll be announcing any day now that you are officially Episcopalian,” she accuses. (Mom is probably at best vaguely deist at this point, having grown up Episcopalian, converting to Roman Catholic when she married, and drifting away from any church ever since. She definitely is not an organized religion person.) I point out that I’ve always liked classical polyphony even in my most angry-atheist phase; and what student of art or music could fail to notice that religion inspired many of the most significant pieces in history? And the level of performance of both music and liturgy at a Cathedral is certainly appealing to a theatrical buff like me. She “gets” that intellectual component, much more than my sense of community being fulfilled.

Friends don’t get it. “I just don’t understand why YOU go to church,” said a new neighbor, who is trying to wrap her head around it. “When they start talking Jesus this and Jesus that….” I explain that with a degree in literature, I’m perfectly comfortable dealing with metaphor and similar devices. Mythos, you might say. And the rhythm of the liturgy has an odd comfort to it, because those words were ingrained in me as a child growing up Roman Catholic.

Would I be going to church without my wife? No, I wouldn’t. But the woman I married has a deep and abiding faith; it’s a very important part of who she is, and a major job as a spouse is to support my wife. People ask how we can be so compatible when our beliefs are 180° opposite. It's because we respect the difference while always loving one another. Let’s remember that she’s an Episcopalian now because I laid siege to her for years, and once she officially swam across the Thames, what could I do but travel with her?

But let’s also not forget that I do get something out of it, and I don't just mean the music. I get that community of thoughtful, engaged people who are smart, and funny, and warm. And this is a community that we met together and joined together; not my friends, or her friends, but truly our friends. That also makes it special.

Five years at FoJ, and another personal milestone...

Some of you have known me, internet-wise, for close to 10 years.  We first started meeting on the Via Media site and at Father Jake's, discussing Bp Gene Robinson, the problems in Dio San Joaquin, and the conservative sabre-rattling.

We moved over here to FoJ in July 2008, where mine has been the main voice, all of us noting the irony of me being the tame atheist of the liberal Episco-blogosphere, busy proselytizing my wife on your behalf.  And here I've been ever since, opining on The Episcopal Church's business, discussing politics, and equality.

Meanwhile, the proselytizing worked!  My wife BP started swimming the Thames in 2009, finally pulled herself ashore in 2010, and  followed a new-found calling into a ministry of service at St Paul's Cathedral, San Diego: Acolyte.  Thurifer.  Verger.

And on Sunday, she was installed by the Dean as Head Verger of the Cathedral.

I am so very proud of her!  And proud to know you people, who have supported us both along the way.

Welcoming the man in the seat by the aisle

Last Sunday, I was sitting in the side section on the right side of the church (as the congregation sees it).  I normally don't sit on the side pews, but I am a sometime church photographer and there was an Event I was asked to capture during the announcements.  But before that, I just watched, with my observer's eye.

In our church, as in many, the Gospel reading is from the center aisle.  There are two torches and a thurifer, and a verger, as well as the Gospeller.  Over 350 people turned to face the Book.

The Gospel was Luke 3:7-18:  John the Baptist and the vipers."Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.’ Even tax-collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, ‘Teacher, what should we do?’ He said to them, ‘Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.’ Soldiers also asked him, ‘And we, what should we do?’ He said to them, ‘Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.’

Where I was, on the side,  I noticed a man who was on the opposite side of the side aisle, a row or two behind me.  He was a bit shabby, but not ragged, and I didn't recognize him. He was  intensely moved by the line "I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals".  He sank to his seat and put his face in his hands and his shoulders heaved for a moment, but in a moment he was back on his feet.  The people around him didn't notice, as they were facing the Gospel party in the center aisle, and had their backs to the man.

As I told BP, if I were a real photographer, I'd have shot that image of the seated, sobbing man against the background of standing folk, turned away.  But I couldn't intrude on him that way.

At the  Peace, as is typical, folks shake hands nearby, and then go search for people they know.  The person standing next to the man I'd seen weeping shook his hand, and then looked elsewhere.  I saw others on my side of the aisle look for friends.  I made a point of walking to the man, touching his shoulder, and shaking his hand.

"Peace be with you," I said. 

But I feel bad. I should have asked him to be sure to stay, that he was welcome.  Because later  I realized that he had left the church before Communion. I'm not sure he heard the sub-Dean's words of welcome at the announcements.... "There is no such thing as a visitor to St Paul's;  if you are here, you are a member of this holy family at this holy time."

 I suspect that many people are relieved that "difficult" people don't stay:  the poor, the emotional, those in pain, the demanding, the disturbed, the ill.  It's easy to write a check, to be remote.  It's harder to shake hands, and to listen, and take that risk of being sucked in, that responsibility, when all you want is something safely anonymous that assuages your guilt so you can go do the weekend chores, unencumbered.

My challenge, then, is for each of us to step out of our comfort zone with the strangers who will come to church this season, especially folks who "scare" us. 

Peace be with you.  You are welcome here.

Secular Christians, 2: who is welcome?

The Lead picked up my essay on secular or cultural Christians, which generated some comments.

The poignant ones were from people who are cultural Episocpalians who would like to be in a community like mine, where people like me are welcome.  To which I say, such places DO exist, not just virtually (like this space) but for real.  

Some of the other ones are a bit snarky.

First, there's the "well, that just proves the Episocpal church is godless!" kind of comment.  This is the same mind-set that says "if gays marry, it's the end of the human race", that is, assuming that the result is that everyone will be gay.   Of course, the fact that there is a tiny fraction of people in the Episcopal church who do not have, shall we say, a "traditional" concept of faith, does not in any way change the fact that the majority of Episcopalians say their Nicene creed and mean it.  They may mean it non-literally, but they mean it.   Using my existence to "prove" anything about the Episcopal Church is nonsense.  

Then there was a snarky comment suggesting that people like me don't belong in the Episcopal church and should be UU or something. 

Which leads me to think that this commenter does not believe in the frequently spoken words "Whoever you are, and wherever you are on the journey of faith, you are welcome here."  What I got from this comment is that to her mind, the Episcopal church should NOT welcome me.  That I don't "belong".

So who DOES belong?  Is someone only welcome if they ALREADY believe as you do?  That's hardly evangelism and that's certainly not welcome "wherever you are on the journey of faith."  It's requiring an exam and a check-up at the red door. "Only approved Episcopalians need apply." 

And what does that exclusion cost?  If you don't let people like me in, you also prevent the possibility of conversion, denying someone a road-to-Damascus moment in which the gift of faith might be bestowed. Do you want to claim that responsibility?  

Nor does welcoming me mean you are compromising what you or the Church believes.  And let me be clear, I'm not asking you to.  I'm not asking you to change your beliefs or their expression in any way--rather, it's I who is accommodating to fit you.

Of course, for me, I consider that it's very unlikely I will ever receive the gift of faith (I just haven't got that gene, as I've told you before, despite our friend JCF's best efforts.  Of course, JCF believes that with God, all things are possible.  ;-)

But whether I think of myself as a gratheist or a Christian atheist or a cultural Christian, I'm actually a great defender of your faith.  I'm an ally. And I'm also one of your best recruiters and evangelizers (for example, here and here).  I figure if someone has got faith and a taste for liturgy, the Episcopal Church is where they should be.  How's that for irony?  Think of the church-going atheist as a translator, or a bridge between worlds.

So really, look into your heart.  If the person next to you in the pew admitted they don't believe in God, would you show them the door?  Or would you say, truthfully,  "you are welcome here"?

Secular Christians

There's a new book called "Faitheist" that argues for non-believers and people of faith to work together.  The Professional Atheists are up in arms about it because they feel it shields or defends religion, which they view as an enemy.  This is why I don't like the term "atheist" to describe myself.   Because I'm not interested in attacking religion, and I'm not just advocating getting along, like the author of the book.  No,  I'm actually part of it.  

We've talked before about "gratheists" like me (here and here, for starters, and on a more personal level, here.)  

Here's a new entry to the discussion, from an atheist's blog on Patheos, that actively advocates for a secular Christian identity that would mirror that of the secular Jewish community (Judaism is particularly welcoming of its nonbelievers).

Consider what this might be like. A secular Christian—I could be a candidate, for example—might go to church for the beautiful or traditional or inspiring music. The church building might be a draw, whether it were awe-inspiring or quaint. Sermons about finding the right path or avoiding the shallow temptations in life or even Bible stories might be edifying. Services could mark the important events in life such as births, marriages, and deaths. Whether the secular Christian went weekly or only a few times a year, the community of good people, eager to help others, would be welcoming. It might give focus to good works, providing opportunities for volunteering and direction for charitable giving. 

But—and here’s the interesting bit—secular Christians would reject the supernatural origin of Christianity, would be open about their atheism, and would be accepted within the church community. The Christian church has millions of members who are secular Christians except for the last bit. They’ve lost their faith in the supernatural claims, they’ve admitted this to themselves, but they can’t come out to their church community. The concept of a secular Christian would allow these people to keep their community, charitable, and even family connections. 

The Christian church isn’t pleased with these ex-Christians simply leaving the church, and this broadening of the church community, as is done in many Jewish communities, could provide a soft landing for many mainstream churches hurting for members. Conservatives will insist that a no-compromise position be taken, but the church is determined to evolve, and this direction seems to be a win-win. 

I've described this as being "culturally Christian" but "secular Christian" works just as well.

So, it's an interesting question.  What defines a relationship with the Church?  Is it shared faith, or shared community?

Originally, I attended church with my wife as an expression of support during her long swim from Rome to Canterbury.  But now, I go not just for her, but for me too.   I'm a non-believing member of an Episcopal Parish.  Indeed, I'm technically "legal" as a member:  As a child, I was baptised and confirmed Roman Catholic.  I had a good religious education (Catholic school through 8th grade).  Now, as an adult, I  not only attend services but donate time and treasure to the Episcopal Church.

Probably the main difference between me and other people who might fit this description is that I'm not in the closet about my lack of belief  (although I admit I'm hesitant about telling people I don't know well, in case they take it the wrong way or think I'm being disrespectful, which I am at pains to avoid). I don't take Communion, and while I enjoy the service, generally I don't say the words or sing the hymns.

And many of our community know, and accept me for who I am.  I'm not trying to convert them, and they are not trying to convert me.  It's mutual respect.  And, I've learned I'm not the only one in the community who has a.... shall we say, non-traditional relationship with faith.

So, is there an explicit place for the culturally Christian that allows the Church to reclaim them (me) as part of the family?

Update:  A followup to this essay is here.

The Newest Verger

Those of you who have been around for a while have followed the journey of my wife BP to the Episcopal church from her Roman Catholic roots.  She has truly come home...and in the process discovered a real knack for  altar service. 

As I've reported here before, after a brief stint as acolyte, she next joined the elite corps of Cathedral thurifers, and then  was invited to become a sub-verger (verger in training).  The culmination was tonight at Evensong, when she was formally commissioned as a Verger of St Paul's Cathedral, San Diego!  Many of the other vergers were there (a "convergence" of vergers?) as she was vested in the Cathedral's purple cassock.  I took a picture of her virge against one of the windows. 

Congratulations, beloved! I am so proud of you and so happy you have found your home!

Friday High Church Humor

As I've told you, my wife BP is one of the thurifers at the Cathedral in San Diego, leading me to make comments like "are you thurifing this weekend?"  and "I must remember, you swing the thurible and I swing the thurifer!"

Recently, she was invited to begin training as a verger.  At the choral Eucharist on Sundays, there are generally two vergers PLUS the Canon Verger, who house-manage the service, wrangle the readers, acolytes, choir,  and children, and can step into any other server role as needed.  It's a Cathedral, so they do a big service.   BP is doing great;  altar service is a wonderful ministry for her, and suits her talents well.

However, she still loves to swing smoke.  Yesterday she told me that in addition to serving twice a month at the Eucharist, in whatever capacity is needed, she's going to do a regular once-a-month gig as a thurifer at Evensong as well.

My comment?

"Just don't burn out."

Ba-da-BUM.  Happy Friday!

(As an aside related to the conversation on the Lead, by offering a traditional choral liturgy, great music, excellent preaching, and inclusive welcome, coupled with an active voice for social justice in the community, the Cathedral congregation is growing, and I see increasing numbers of young people.)

The importance of the clergy in the fight for equality

From the New York Times:  (my emphases)

The conventional — and erroneous — perception of the gay-marriage issue is that it pits secular forces against religious ones. From New York to California, wherever and whenever the battle has flared, news coverage has focused almost entirely on the religious groups who uniformly denounce it: Mormons, Roman Catholics, evangelical Christians and many Hispanic Pentecostals and African-American Protestants.

Yet the passage of same-sex marriage in New York last month, just two years after its defeat here, attests to the concerted, sustained efforts by liberal Christian and Jewish clergy to advocate for it in the language of faith, to counter the language of morality voiced by foes. In so doing, they provided a kind of political and theological cover to the moderate and conservative state senators who cast the vital swing votes for a 33-to-29 margin.

....

“If religious support is fractured, and supporters of the legislation can point to clergy who are on their side,” [history professor Julian E. Zelizer] wrote in an e-mail, “then it’s easier to counteract the claim of religious conservatives who say there is only one answer to this question. As in previous examples, politicians draw on clergy to give themselves moral authority when taking on these kinds of social and cultural issues. We know more about how the right has done it, but liberals can do the same.”

Yesterday, in San Diego's gay pride parade, St Paul's Cathedral marched: clergy and parishioners, gay and straight, young and old, to raucous cheers from the crowd, and the occasional spectator running over to grab the hand of one of the clergy to thank them, or asking where the church is.

As the Dean's sermon today concluded, quoting the words of theologian Walter Brueggemann: "Martin Luther King, Jr., famously said that the arc of history is bent toward justice. And the parallel statement that I want to make is that the arc of the Gospel is bent toward inclusiveness."

Let those with ears, hear!

Holy Smoke

A year ago at this time, my wife was preparing to be received into The Episcopal Church, having spent her whole life up till then as a Roman Catholic.

Part of that process included coursework, and an "instructed Eucharist" where the candidates for confirmation/ reception/ reaffirmation took on all the roles of the Mass (that a lay person can do). They were asked for 3 choices of roles to play. BP chose 1-thurifer, 2-thurifer, and 3-thurifer. The Cathedral uses incense every week for Mass (except during Lent), as well as Sunday Evensong. Along with the high choral service, incense is something both of us enjoy, and BP was pleased by the possibility of swinging the thurible. Following that, she finished the class and was received at Easter.

This last year, BP began serving as an acolyte and as a thurifer-in-training, generally boating for the regular thurifer as she shadowed him or her. (For those who don't know smoke-speak, the boat is the little container of extra incense for refueling the thurible, and if it isn't carried by the thurifer, the one who carries it is called Boat.)

BP and I both grew up RC in an era when girls had no formal role in church, and it has been wonderful watching her grow into this new role of service. As she approaches the first anniversary of her reception, appropriately enough she is almost fully fledged with the Smoke.

At Sunday Evensong, BP had her first real thurifer solo. Evensong is shorter than Sunday Eucharist and is where the thurifers do their final polishing. She's on the list to do the procession at Palm Sunday. I think it is marvelous that her first full service as thurifer is likely to be Easter.

Welcome home, honey.

Whose blessing to claim?

We got to the church a little early in order to arrange some decorations in the hall where we were having the simple reception afterwards. We put photos from our wedding on the tables, scattered some colored glass, and set candles. We both wore simple skirts and blouses, so there was no need for elaborate wardrobe preparations.

The Church campus is all so familiar now, so we didn't think twice about going down the back stairway, along the narrow corridor past the thurifer's closet and up the two steps to the sacristy to talk to our friend the verger, and find our photographer, and speak to the organist.

We walked up the aisle in the simple procession holding hands, surrounded by friends: the verger, the thurifer, the crucifer, two acolytes, three priests. We only had a small number of guests, fewer than 50. So instead of letting them be swallowed up by the large nave, everyone sat together in the warm space of the chancel, only a few steps apart.

There was a simple Liturgy of the Word, and then the Dean stood for his homily, which he addressed directly to the two of us. He began by invoking those who were not with us in person, which brought a few tears from both of us, and then talked about what it meant to be who we were, where we were, and how people had fought to get church to this place. And then he reflected on the readings we had chosen, and the lessons they gave us two about living generously, and living up to the values of the community. Sent straight and true into the heart, as always, and everyone commented afterwards how moving it was.

Then the ritual, as we reaffirmed our vows, and held out our hands for the blessing of our rings, and then knelt so that the Dean and the SubDean could bless us. An enthusiastic Peace followed, and we carried the bread and wine a few steps to the altar as our friend C. sang the wedding hymn * from Handel's opera Ptolemy. We stood behind the altar watching as the Subdean celebrated a sung Eucharist in her lovely clear voice, and Communion was served, before the organist sent us down the aisle with a joyous noise.

My family was not there, due to illness and the aftermath of my Dad's death , and I missed them. We had a few close friends and some of BP's family. But most of the guests were Cathedral friends, who have been close parts of our journey into the community. And it occurred to both of us that this was family too.

Like families everywhere, we gathered around a table. Isn't that where the family always sorts things out? In some way, we are like prodigals. BP is the lesbian daughter, who at one time was not fully accepted, but is now warmly welcomed to the family table, along with her wife. We are now part of the shared joys, sorrows, and responsibilities of community life.

And while we were asking our family for their blessing, claiming it, if you will, I realized that our marriage was in turn being claimed, being owned by this community. It wasn't just about the gift they were giving us, but making us and our marriage a gift to them.

When I wrote about our wedding in 2008, I commented that one of the things that struck us was the sense that marriage made us a thread in the tapestry of civil community, and added to its strength. Prop8 tried to cut that thread loose.

But this community, this family, yesterday deliberately took that thread, wove it in tighter, and moreover made it an integral part of the design.

And that's not only amazing, but very humbling.



*The recording, alas, is not of C. Thanks to our friend H. for the photos.

Thanks to Elizabeth Kaeton for including us in her moving reflection
Thanks to Grandmere Mimi for words of blessing 

Today, we're claiming the Blessing

Today, our marriage will be formally blessed in St Paul's Cathedral, by the Community that has welcomed us so warmly. I know that many friends here will join our real-life friends in celebrating our union. Marriage matters, and having it recognized in this way is very meaningful to both BP and me, each in our own way.

As I've said before, it's all Father Jake's fault. :-)

The Acolyte Widow

My wife and I both grew up Roman Catholic. When we were children, girls were not allowed to be altar servers. This disappointed BP, who always wanted to serve.

Well, the RC church has modernized a little, but BP has modernized beyond that. She's now Episcopalian. And, being a parishioner of St Paul's Cathedral, San Diego, she has the opportunity to be an acolyte.

But not just an acolyte. BP has a fascination with Holy Smoke: she wants to be a thurifer.

Last weekend, she had her first experience as an acolyte (may I say that she looks very sweet in an alb). Today, she had her formal "classwork". Now, she will start training in earnest, including what they call Brass and Silver teams, Boat, and ultimately Thurifer. We're a Cathedral so serving is a big deal; the processional has three vergers as well, to keep them all in line!

In the pew last Sunday, a nice couple with whom we are friendly noted BP was not with me. They were concerned till i pointed her out on the altar. "Ah," said one, with a smile, "you're an acolyte widow!" I am indeed.

BP found her first experience "up front" to be surprisingly moving. It wasn't all worrying about what to do next; she was enthralled with being that close to what was going on, the Mystery if you will. This is going to be a great ministry for her. I'm very proud.

Besides, as I said, she looks adorable in an alb. .

She really has come home. :-)

Same Sex Blessings to begin in San Diego

This past weekend was San Diego's Gay Pride parade. The Episcopal Cathedral of St Paul's won this year's Stonewall Service Award for its long support of equality. As usual, the Cathedral also fielded the largest contingent of marchers in the parade, with around 130 purple-clad parishioners, friends, family, kids and clergy walking with rainbow streamers, flags, and the big purple banners that say "Love to each of you". Lots of cheers from the crowd of 100,000 onlookers, some of whom ran out to hug the marchers.

But the pinnacle of the weekend was an announcement during the Rev. Canon Allisyn Thomas's sermon on Sunday. She informed us that Bishop James Mathes has given St Paul's permission to offer same sex blessings. There were many tears of joy in the congregation, as long-time couples realized that they, at last, can fully belong. (BP was singing in the summer choir, so I had to wait for the Peace to be able to sneak into the choir to hug her tight!) The details of the process are to be worked out, but the expectation is that gay and lesbian couples will be required to adhere to the same rules, policies and procedures as straight couples as far as possible. Which is as it should be.

San Diego is a large, very diverse diocese, encompassing a fairly conservative part of the state. Needless to say, it is not of one mind. The Bishop requires any parishes considering blessings to embark on a self study patterned on the Diocese-wide document on Holiness in Relationships, and then the clergy must ask his permission. I am absolutely certain that there will be parishes whose priests do not choose to participate, and for whom this decision will be met with some dismay.

On the other hand, I know several straight couples with new babies who joined St Paul's specifically because of its inclusiveness. And as I waited in the queue after Mass so I could hug Allisyn, an older gentleman in front of me turned around and said, "That was a heck of a sermon. And I'm right of center. But at the end of the day, we don't have to agree on everything as long as we can come together here as family."


Pics from St Paul's blog

Listening to Bishop Gene Robinson: (1) the church in the world: preaching or meddling?

I promised to tell you about the lectures that Bishop Gene Robinson presented at his recent visit to St Paul's Cathedral, San Diego. He spoke twice, once on Saturday night, and once on Sunday morning during the weekly "Forum" prior to preaching (I already discussed his sermon). We went to both talks, which I'll tell you about separately.

His first lecture was Saturday night, addressing the role of the church in the public square. Appropriately this was held in the church, where he began by observing "we could stick to religious issues if it weren't for Jesus." He's not a big man, but he's mobile and lively. He has a quick wit, clearly very intelligent and a thinker, but also a man very much "of the people", not hiding behind cautious, elaborate constructions but speaking with a directness and a wry sense of self-deprecating humor. This is not a man who is a calculating politician, but a passionate preacher.

Bp Gene began by considering what he called "isms" and defined as the combination of prejudice with power: racism, sexism, and heterosexism (which he considers a more accurate term than homophobia for those opposed to GLBT equality). He pointed out that there were "isms"--that is, prejudice against people buttressed by majority power--in Christ's time as well: think of the lepers, the Samaritans, and the awful treatment of widows. He said, not for the first time,

"It's not enough to pull drowning people from the river. We have to go upstream to stop them from being thrown in."

It wasn't just GLBT people he identified as in the water, but immigrants, the disabled, the elderly, the ill, and of course, the poor.

So, how do you stop the fall into the water? Bp Gene noted that in a world suspicious of religion and institutions, liberal Christians must show a different way. But he admitted there is lot of bad press to overcome. He distinguished his sort of activism from the religious right, for whom "their way is THE way", and instead recommended that his listeners personalize the argument, and explain how their beliefs lead to their conclusion, rather than forcing their conclusion on everyone. Begin with

"My faith tells me....."

Too often the Christian right's influence is used as an excuse for Christians not to BE Christians in public life, he said.

He also noted the tension between two views of creation: either people are sinners in the hands of a loving God, for whom religion calls them to "liberation, hope, and the best of themselves", or religion is about holding it together to death (what he called "white knuckling it") with new things and discovery being dangerous and frightening. A redemptive view, as opposed to a punitive view. To him, God is at the door asking to be let in, and the "living God" is the message to share.

"The church exists to facilitate a relationship with God", he said. Too much time and effort are spent on property and sex, and it's time to get back into the business of spirituality. The Bible should be a guide, not an idol. "I'm not interested in a God who was 'done' after the Bible was 'complete,'" he said. And during the questions, he added,

"this idea that the Church is a peaceful happy place with no conflict....when was THAT?"

And he finished with the idea that if you aren't in trouble, is it the Gospel you are preaching?

It was a stimulating talk, advocating an involvement in the world but at the same time doing so with humility and respect. And very much driven by inclusion, and bringing all people of all stations and beliefs together in a common humanity. The audience replied with lusty applause.

But there was a measure of pain, too. In the questions, a young man we couldn't see asked in a taut, hurt voice, "What will it take to bring the Catholic church to your view?" (I leaned over to BP and muttered, "about 400 years.") Bp Gene answered gently, pointing out the difference in a church polity that has to have one rule for all cultures, and the Anglican way, where different churches can move at different rates for their cultures. He talked about meeting with gay Roman Catholic priests, and concluded by stating his admiration for people who stay within and fight for inclusion. He was adamant that "inclusion" had to begin with women, drawing explicitly the connection between bias against women and against gays. "But", he cautioned the young man, "If by staying, you find you can no longer believe that you are a precious child of God as you are, being gay, then perhaps you need to find a healthier place for now."

We went to a reception afterwards. A lot of people bought Bp Gene's book and asked him to sign it, and there were many pictures (yes, BP and I got our picture taken with him). The next morning, we went to his next talk, which I'll tell you about shortly.

Oh, for a muse of fire....reflections on our Triduum

When they lit the brazier at the back of the darkened Cathedral on Saturday night to begin the Vigil, Shakespeare's opening line to Henry V came to mind. (No doubt in part because of the atavistic, elemental nature of the image--fire, darkness, ancient robes and rhythms). How paltry my own words are to describe our experience this week! To me, it felt like an episodic drama, in which we were ourselves both players and audience in an inexorable narrative. Due to work responsibilities, we were unable to attend Wednesday's Tenebrae, so we began with the solemnities of Maundy Thursday.

This installment of course is full of shadows and foreboding, yet with the warmth of a most intimate service between people. At the Cathedral, the footwashing is mutual; everyone came up to have their feet washed, and in turn, to wash the feet of the person next in line. There was great tenderness and kindness there, and deep reflection.

Knowing I am a bit of a shutterbug, one of our Cathedral friends asked me to be one of the photographers, so I got to play a role that suits me well: the backstage observer, crouched under a rail, able to be of service even while not fully part of the event. The faces were amazing: some people looking fixedly at the person bathing their feet, others with a distant expression, some at peace, some fierce with expectation. My poor camera was challenged by the low light though I managed a few wonderful images. BP found it deeply moving, particularly in the give-and-get of playing both parts (a few days later, seeing her footwasher, she greeted him with a great hug). As the service concluded, the clergy stripped the altar to leave it bare for the next day.

For the Good Friday service, the spare emptiness was accentuated. On the altar, the clergy wore their deep purple cathedral cassocks--no white surplices, no white albs. The voices singing the Passion were spectacular, their beauty contrasting with the grimness of their tale. And when the Dean, who is a big man, carried the cross up the aisle, I think no one breathed. When he dropped it into its holder with a sharp crack, there was a shudder. And then, in ones and twos, a few people came up to kneel in front, some holding their hands tightly clasped, others reaching out to touch it with their fingertips. (Again, I was asked to play photographer; it was kind to give me something useful to do).

Then came the Vigil. We went out to dinner ahead of time with the kids and were seated in our assigned pew well ahead of time. BP's classmates who were to be confirmed, received, or reaffirmed (about 25 of them, plus a few baptisms) had that undercurrent of excitement of graduation. The stage management was masterful, beginning with that brazier of fire, and then the huge vast space of the Cathedral lit by individual candles (though I did have a moment considering the risks of immolation! :-) When the "class" went up to the altar, in the flickering candlelight, I was so proud of BP!

Now, both BP and I were confirmed Roman Catholic in the 8th grade. Our kids were confirmed in the 10th grade. We all remember that our RC confirmation was a bit of an assembly line -- tracing a cross on the forehead, a few rote words, and next, please! BP found this experience quite different and deeply moving. The Bishop took her hands, as he spoke to her, then touched her face. He looked deep in her eyes ("like he was looking into my soul," she reported later) and made this a very personal moment.

The solemnity broke as the lights came up (though there was no easy sermon from the Dean, who as usual challenged any comfortable complacency) and the choir went forward in full voice, as did the impressive organ. After it ended, we all went to the great hall for a joyous reception of champagne and sweet snacks. BP asked the bishop to sign her BCP, and posed for the standard picture-with-Bishop. And so, finally, home--both metaphorically and physically. And here we are.