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? 

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!

A visit to Diocese of Alaska

IT and BP have been exploring again. As is our wont, we get a taste of local communities by visiting church, which gives us an opportunity to meet locals outside of shops and restaurants. On Sunday May 31, we were in Ketchikan, AK. It's a small town, about 13,000 people, hugging a narrow strip of land between forest and sea along the Inland Passage of Alaska's Southeast, and marks the southern entry point into that region. Ketchikian lives on fishing and summer tourism, feeding off the 10-story cruise ships and their smaller brethren that dock alongside in the morning, swelling the tourist shops and the false-fronted frontier downtown, and who depart in the evening, leaving a brighter, quieter community behind (one of the biggest arts communities in Alaska).

As we wandered the town, we walked past a small, clapboard church typical of the structures of this wet climate. BP was pleased to note that St John's, the oldest church building in Ketchikan, is Episcopal, and even more delighted to realize it was possible to attend the morning's service.

So there we were, in a cozy, wood-paneled church just steps from the dock, with a small but cordial congregation. A number of other visitors were there as well (though ironically they were all Roman Catholic!). The sermon, by the retired rector, was very scholarly. It's the kind of community where passing the peace takes some time because everyone has to wander around the church saying hello to everyone else. The Announcements slipped into a parish council meeting as there was a spirited discussion of the timing of the service for the 4th of July Sunday, relative to the town's parade. And then the retired rector, Fr Kotrc, asked an important favor of the visitors. St John's is looking for a new rector, and seeks our help to find one. We informed him that we have a great conduit on the internet tubes into the larger TEC community, and I will tell you more in a separate post so you can help get the word out. We then went out into the surprisingly sunny Alaska day.

Off we trekked further into a northern adventure, blessed by sunny weather and great vistas, orcas, otters and whales before us, mountains around us, and always the restless surge of the sea beneath.

A week later, June 6th, we were afoot in Sitka, the heart of Russian America. The skyline (such as it is, in a town of 8,800) is dominated by the spire of the rebuilt Russian Orthodox Cathedral, clad in the familiar clapboard, and with a bearded priest in the long robes and squared hat of the orthodox running up the steps. Further along the shoreline we found St Peter's-by-the-sea, the oldest original church building in Sitka, in a rather different style of wood and stone, built by its first rector. It's an enthusiastic TEC community that supports three (count them) services each Sunday, the extra one being a "family service" between the early morning and the more traditional later morning service.

Again, a small congregation at the service we attended, again, the church-wide exchange of the peace. This community is vigorous, outgoing, and joyful. They have a fabulous website, and a very personable rector, Fr Dave, who insisted the visitors stand and introduce themselves, and then handed each one a small cross lapel pin and an enthusiastic welcome. (The other visitor this time was a grizzled fisherman, not a tourist, which was a delight). Sitka, which is also a fishing town, differs from Ketchikan in that the cruise ships have to anchor in the bay and tender their passengers ashore. Thus, there aren't as many, and the town is not dominated by docks and 10-foot looming floating hotels that block the sun.

I commented to BP that I expect the sung Eucharist at our home Cathedral to take a long time, with 300 people in the pews and a full music program. What's surprising is that even with 30 people in the pew at these smaller churches, it takes just as long! Still, we enjoyed meeting everyone, and they were all kind and solicitous of the travelers, full of advice and good will and great love for their communities.

Nice church y'all got out there. You ought to advertise it more. ;-)




Photo: Hubbard Glacier, the largest tidewater glacier in North America--over 6 miles wide. This photo taken from several miles away.

On the Road in Minneapolis

BP and I are in Minneapolis on a combined business/family trip. We are staying close to the University on the East Bank. Last time we were here we were in St Paul, and had a very nice visit to the parish church of St Christopher's. But this time, BP said, "let's bag a Cathedral!" (I guess she enjoyed our trip to the Cathedral in Portland, OR.) A moment on the web showed us that St Mark's Cathedral is a welcoming parish, so off we went.

It's an imposing church, neo-Gothic in style, with a high, vaulted ceiling. The stone is warm tan in color, though I have to say I'm glad I don't have to pay for heating the place in the winter time. (Our own Cathedral is also neo-Gothic but much smaller in size--not surprising because it was built before San Diego was an independent diocese. ) A good showing in the congregation, and a good choir, though we were disappointed not to hear more solo-choir pieces. They did a Vaughn Williams piece that was spectacular, however. A little less pomp than our home community--no incense, no stately vergers escorting the readers, and the Dean, who presided and sermonized, is not a chanter. But he had a warm, Southern intonation and his image of social justice and inclusion ( "that's when the Gospel hit the fan!") was priceless.

According with our habit of showing up when things are happening, they were retiring their Deacon today, and welcoming a number of new members (including young families). We enjoyed bringing greetings to the Dean from our home Cathedral and got a warm welcome from him in return.

We travel a fair amount (as you will have seen) and so we rely on web sites to tell us if the churches we look at are likely to welcome folk like us. This one is a spectacularly welcoming, social justice parish. We felt very much at home there, and commend it to you if you travel that way. Way to go, Minnesota.

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.

And so it begins

It's only been in the last year and a half that I have lived my life to the rhythm of a liturgical calendar. Not that I was unaware of it, but when BP was a Roman Catholic, I didn't go with her to church (nothing is as militantly anti-Catholic as an ex-Catholic atheist!), so I did not experience it in the same way. I referred to myself as the Church Widow and found Easter week quite tedious since I spent much of it apart from my spouse.

Now, however, I go with her to church so I have the sense of weekly continuity in a community, as well as the ebb and flow of the liturgical year. And as we gear up for this year's Holy Week, that is especially apparent as we both have heightened senses of awareness since she will be received on Saturday. Of course, I do take a more removed view of the whole thing which I experience in a narrative, not spiritual sense.

The Cathedral had an enthusiastic Palm Sunday service today, with a long procession around the block (escorted by San Diego's Finest) and a Samba band and dancers. There were long streamers, and banners, and more than 200 parishioners waving palm fronds and they processed to Jerusalem. So what's with doing the preview of the Passion on Palm Sunday? Seems to jump past the party and the enthusiasm straight to the end, without the deliberate pace of the entirety of Holy Week. I'm with MadPriest, who writes,

I have decided to do Holy Week this year as I think it should be done and damn tradition. I started today by completely ditching the Passion bit of Palm Sunday and going back to the Book of Common Prayer's template of today concentrating on Christ's triumphant entry into Jerusalem. I remember, when I was a kid, that Palm Sunday was a joyous day with lots of "Hosannas!" I also remember how intense the betrayal of Christ a few days later felt when shown up against the jubilation of Palm Sunday. The Catholic insistence on getting the entrance to Jerusalem over and done with before the service proper so that most of the time can be spent on the trial and crucifixion of Christ completely buggers up this stark contrast between joy and sorrow as you leave church on Palm Sunday feeling just sadness and guilt.

I knew I was right! So drama-wise, I'm going to try to ignore that flash-forward of the Passion we heard today, and focus on the here-and-now narrative vector of Maundy Thursday, Holy Friday, and the Saturday Vigil. That strikes me as the way to tell the story.

At least this year I get to spend it with my wife.

Jesus said.... (video)

Big blog announcement

Some of our readers have been around for a long time. I think most of us first met at Fr Jake's, at which time I explained that Your Token Atheist was hanging here in part to learn what I could tell my wife the RC about a sensible catholicism.

I am pleased, nay, absolutely delighted to inform you that my most beloved BP will be received into The Episcopal Church at the Easter Vigil by Bishop James Mathes in the Cathedral of St Paul in San Diego. It isn't an easy journey and I am awed by her strength and her serenity as she takes this step. Both of us feel very welcome at St Paul's (which is saying quite a lot, coming from me!)

Many of you have been invaluable in assisting me as well as BP in this journey, and I treasure you as dear, dear friends.

But I think the ultimate blog blame resides with that mysterious dark-eyed Terry Martin. Thank you, Terry, for so much.

A visit to Trinity Cathedral, Portland

This weekend BP and I visited family in Portland Oregon. We had a great time, staying downtown in the very funky Ace Hotel, and riding the MAX train everywhere. What a cool city. We could definitely live there (of course we'd have to switch our identity from desert rats to rain forest bats).

Generally when we travel, we find ourselves attending local parish churches, as you've read before. However, since we were downtown, we decided to visit Trinity Episcopal Cathedral on Sunday, and compare it to our home Cathedral, St Paul's in San Diego.

Trinity is an imposing building (or rather complex of buildings) in dark stone. The cheery cherry red doors are a welcome dash of color under the grey Northwest sky. Inside the Cathedral is huge! It's a big, open space, quite in contrast to the narrow, neo-Gothic style of St Paul's, San Diego. Trinity's interior is painted in a pale cappuccino color that picked up a warm tone from the lighting and candles. We particularly appreciated the red cushions on the pews! :-) The choir was also large, and very good, though we were a bit disappointed that they sang few pieces alone, but mostly sang with the congregation. We also missed the St Paul's thurifer, who can swing a mean thurible (BP and I share an affection for incense both at home and at church). But those are minor differences, and we found it a wonderful and welcoming place.

The space was pretty full. We figured around 200 people were there , and noticed that they were (A) much better dressed than we were and (B) mostly older than we are. The reason for this was explained by the Dean, who was presiding, and who told us during the announcements that a "family service" was being held simultaneously in the church hall where about 180 kids and parents were located. All I can say is, wow. That place must be totally packed to the gills on a "normal" Sunday! It has an associated school, too.

A real treat was the sermon, which was preached by Rev Canon Marianne Borg, who is on staff there. She is Marcus Borg's wife, and we had heard from our own Dean about her . She is an outstanding preacher, very animated and alive in voice, with a warm approachability. She began with the reminder that all are made "very good". From there, she went to the different ways of knowing: head of course, but also heart and gut. One message (ironic, she acknowledged, given she is married to a noted intellectual) was to "remember" other instinctual ways of knowing and feeling. She told a sweet story:

A young couple had a second child and brought him home from the hospital. After a few days, their 4 year old daughter asked for a few moments alone with her new baby brother. The parents did not think that sibling rivalry had set in, but cranked up the baby monitor to hear what happened in the nursery when the little girl went in by herself. They heard her approach the crib and a creak as she grasped the rails. "Please tell me about God," she asked the baby. "I've almost forgotten!"

Reminding the congregation that many have "almost forgotten", she concluded with an exhortation to leave one's comfort zone, to put out to deep water, and to let down the nets. Of course it was far richer and more complex than this précis, but I found it an interesting and, I admit, intellectually satisfying homily.

Everyone was very friendly at coffee, and we were able to speak to the Dean and to Rev Borg. We were entrusted with greetings to take home to San Diego, and left with good things to chew on and discuss over lunch.

Oh, I almost forgot. Trinity Cathedral has an excellent bookstore, where BP decided to invest in her own copy of the Book of Common Prayer. As we crossed through airport security on Monday, BP's bag was pulled off the line. "Do you have peanut butter or something like that in here?" asked the agent, as she opened the suitcase. Seems the BCP has suspicious qualities on the X-ray. Fortunately once it was identified and examined, it made the grade, but it clearly has unsuspected potentcy. So be careful how you travel!

Aloha, and Mele Kalikimaka

In 1820, King Kamehameha II announced to his Hawai'ian people the end of the system of taboos, or kapu, the end of the traditional gods, and thus the end of the highly structured, ritualized society of old Hawai'i. Not long thereafter, the first American missionaries, of a strict Calvinist tradition, arrived, presumably finding fertile ground in the disruption that followed Kamehameha's announcement. The Catholics also came (see previous discussion of the remarkable St Damien of Molokai).

In 1860 or thereabouts, King Kamehameha IV and his wife Queen Emma (who was a noted philanthropist and life long Anglican), invited the Bishop of Oxford (UK) to send missionaries of the Church of England. The King and Queen were responsible for the translation of the Book of Common Prayer into Hawai'ian, and are revered to this day in the Anglican liturgical calendar (More on this from Padre Mickey). Thus the Anglican tradition gained a foothold on these volcanic islands, being officially established in 1862. Some of the church history can be found here . The islands lost their independence and their monarchy when annexed by the US in 1898, and just celebrated their 50th year of statehood.

The oldest Episcopal church in the islands is Christ Church in Kealakekua, on the west side of the Big Island, established in 1867. A small chapel, perched in the dense jungle green 1500 feet above the sea, it stands today overlooking an old graveyard. From their website:

The nave, built  by Rev. Williamson, was  the schoolhouse for immigrant children, mostly British, and a house of worship for native Hawaiians.   The present steepled church, begun by Rev. Williamson, is the oldest Episcopal Church in Hawaii, 142 years old and still functional. Queen Emma attended worship services here.

And it was to Christ Church that the traveling BP and IT, with kids, found their way for Sunday Mass and for Christmas eve celebration. (We were visiting the Kona Coast for a family Christmas reunion.) Our drive to the church led from the sere lava flats under Mt Hualalai, past the town of Kailua, and then climbing through the more rural communities along highway 11 into the dense green of the hillside. Services were held in the community center adjacent to the old building (to our disappointment, I admit) although we were able to see the cozy interior and the remarkable windows of the original church after the 10am Sunday service, thanks to the friendly Warden, Doug. (The photo below shows one of the windows, featuring tropical fish such as the humuhumunukunukuapua'a, and the Moorish Idol). Christmas Eve was preceded by an enthusiastic carol sing, and the entire congregation helped Fr Jim, their temporary priest, pronounce Mele Kalikimaka! (which means Merry Christmas). Fr Jim also filled in at bass in the choir and instructed a young thurifer in the correct handling of the thurible.

Parts of the service were also in Hawai'ian, for example this:

Ho`o nani ka
Makua mau 

Ke Keiki me ka
Uhane no, 

Ke Akua mau 

Ho`o mai ka`i, pu,

Ko ke ia ao, ko ke la ao 

Amene

WHich is basically
Praise God from Whom all blessings flow. Praise Him all creatures here below.
Praise Him above, ye heavenly hosts.
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost. 
Amen.

The congregation is small, and seeking a new rector whom they hope will grow the community amongst young people and other groups in this area. The community right now is mostly white and older, but their enthusiasm and warm welcome to us were striking and there is a clear vibrancy among them. They have a lot to offer and I hope they are successful in their call. (We met one of the candidates, whom we liked very much, and will be interested to learn whom they choose). Again, from their website:

Diversity is accepted here. Whether we are conservative or liberal, traditional or progressive in our religious values, politics or lifestyles, all are welcome here. We are not called to agree, we are called to share the Lord's Supper as one family. We are called to walk a faith journey together in a nurturing, compassionate, inclusive community of seekers.

There's a lesson in that, for those amongst us more prone to argue. So Mahalo Nui Loa* to Christ Church for the warm welcome and hugs, and to all, a Mele Kalikimaka me ka Hau'oli Makahiki Hou!**



*Thank you very much
**Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

photos by IT, except for the images of the Kings

Healthy and growing

We're on the road again, in Berkeley to visit family, so off we went to All Soul's church in North Berkeley. I've blogged before about our trips to this parish.

It's tucked amidst the pleasant homes and small apartments at the base of the Berkeley hills just north of the UC Berkeley campus. This is one vibrant community, with lots of young families as well as many older people; the church was absolutely packed on this average Sunday with tons of kids. Our regular venue, St Paul's Cathedral in San Diego, is also full, but as a downtown church in an urban district, its members have a different demographic --not many young families live in downtown San Diego--and of course its style of worship appeals to us in a different way. But the full seats at St Paul's and All Souls' makes it clear that predictions of a dying church are greatly exaggerated.

Of course there is one demographic missing from most churches, whether Episcopal or not, and that's the late teens/young adults. I've decided that whether by design or accident, young adults give themselves a rumspringa with regard to faith matters. It's one of the reasons I feel very strongly that kids should be raised in a religious tradition; I think having that structure as a familiar is important, so that they have something to rebel against, as well as something to which they can return. Kids without familiarity are much more at risk, I've always thought, and much more vulnerable to bad choices and bad companions.

True, I'm not sure what gives All Souls such vibrancy. We've been in very nice, friendly local parishes elsewhere that are clearly struggling to fill the pews. All Souls is in a very established community and has been there for over 100 years, but there's nothing staid or complacent there. If we lived in Berkeley, we'd be happy to be part of it. Still, I must admit that I miss the incense and the English polyphony of the Cathedral service to which we will return next week.

The Anglican Communion, East

BP and I are on the road again, and thanks to the wonders of Google, were able to find a parish for her to visit. The church is called (I kid you not) St Alban's-by-St-Andrew's, as it resides right next door to the small Cathedral of St Andrew. It's a smallish building, very strikingly built with a traditional wooden interior and cross beams. Also quite a diverse community; the ushers were a middle-aged Japanese lady and a young African man. A good turn out on a rainy Sunday.

The congregation sang robustly and were very friendly at coffee, willing to tell the visitors sites to see and places to go. The members are truly far flung in origin, with a variety of accents delighting the ear, including Australian, British, American, and Japanese-inflected English. You see, St Alban's is the English speaking Anglican congregation in Tokyo, a member of the Nippon Sei Ko Kai (Anglican Episcopal Church in Japan), where your fearless correspondent is spending a week at a conference, and the members are a range of expats and locals. Lots of kids running about too.

As you would expect, the liturgy was pretty familiar, although some of the words differ. You'd have to ask an expert to detail the differences. A nice touch was at the end, when Fr Randall asked the visitors to introduce themselves and their home parish. I nudged BP who stood up and claimed St Paul's Cathedral, San Diego. There were visitors from Florida and England as well. We took along some friends from the conference who also appeared to enjoy this cross-cultural slice, before we spent the afternoon wandering rainy Tokyo and exploring her shrines and side streets.

That was yesterday for me, though still today for you. It's Monday here and I'm off on the day's activities. I've left a couple of posts in the queue and will be back to regularly blogging next week.

Wandering and welcome in the desert

IF you fly into Southern California from Atlanta, say, or Texas, you fly over the great Colorado desert. As your plane starts its descent over the Colorado River, you may forget that, since below is the unnatural greenness of the agricultural Imperial County (one of the most staunchly conservative and antigay parts of the state) and then suddenly the landscape below looks bleak and brown as you look out on a vast expanse of desert, rippled into folds of badlands and canyons.

Most visitors don't realize they are also looking out on an expanse of North American history. Spanish explorer Juan Bautista de Anza led an expedition into California from Mexico through this region in 1774 establishing an overland route to the coast. The famed Butterfield Stage pushed a brute-force route across the southern desert during the Mexican-American War, and in the late 1850s, this was the main route into California, the great Southern Emigrant Trail, across the desert and up over the mountains before descending into the fertile farmland on the other side.

Despite its monochromatic appearance from the air, the desert floor teems with life, from the dark green creosote bush, with leaves that smell like tar if you crush them in your fingers, to the ephemeral grey-green of the smoketrees, to the branching cholla cactus, each branch topped with pale golden thorns giving it the look of a halo aglow. Animal life also survives and even thrives: insects, snakes, and at night, scorpions, doe-eyed kangaroo mice, and singing coyotes. The endangered Peninsular Mountain bighorn sheep sip water from the occasional canyon oasis shaded by the rare California desert palm. (Borrego, the Spanish for "sheep", combines with the early explorer to name Anza-Borrego Desert State Park).

Desert living is hard, and communities often are boom-or-bust. The shells of lost commuities can be see along the desert roads, sometimes with a few people still scraping out a life in the searing summer heat. Palm Springs, in the Coachella Valley, is a booming vacation community popular with rich Angelenos. Sixty years ago, developers thought that they might create another Palm Springs in the next valley down. The small community of Borrego Springs was then home to a few cattlemen and farmers raising grapefruit and dates. Surrounded by a nascent state park (soon to become the biggest in the state, and the nation), it was almost unreachable in the early days. Although roads were eventually built in to the valley the developers failed in their goal to bulldoze a superhighway up to LA, with their desired route being blocked to protect the bighorn. Thus, the drive from more coastal cities remains slow and sleepy on twisting 2-lane mountain highways. Although Borrego Springs is a vacation and retirement destination (the population quadruples in the winter as the snowbirds return, but there are fewer than 3000 year-round residents), it lacks the big glamorous and expensive resorts, and maintains a quirky, small-town feeling.

Along the edge of the valley runs a narrow and unevenly paved road called "Church Lane" where four churches sit side by side: Lutheran, Catholic, Methodist (shared with the 7th day Adventists) and Episcopal. BP and I walked to the Episcopal church, St Barnabas, on Sunday Morning. It's a pleasant building, simple and light inside. Strikingly, the wall behind the altar is a huge picture window with a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains. Si monumentum requiris, circumspice.

The parish reflects the Borrego Springs demographic, being older overall, with many retired folks. It's a small community, but they were clearly involved and collaborative with each other. We felt very welcome, although they seemed a little disappointed we were just visiting, rather than new residents (the start of high tourist season is still a few weeks away). At coffee in the tidy little hall, with excellent home-made carrot cake, we were interested to see flyers about various activities, like helping at-risk youth in the grim farming town of El Centro in Imperial County, or helping farflung poorer desert residents deal with rural challenges like disposal of old appliances. There's a labyrinth laid out with rock in the sand outside the church which I bet is spectacular at sunrise. They are searching for a new rector and relying on supply clergy, although we were quite taken with their interim, Fr Juan, a retired priest. Clearly despite their small size, they are a vibrant and engaged group. So, chalk up another welcoming visit to TEC in the wanderings of IT and BP, desert rats.

The landscapes are mine, the other photos from the web. In 15 years of regular visits, I have yet to see an actual bighorn--they are very shy and hide in the up-country.

A Welcoming Church

Many of you are probably aware of the story of Father Geoff Farrow, the Catholic priest who was kicked our of his California parish for supporting equality for LGBTs.

Last weekend, Father Geoff visited All Saints, Pasadena, the home church of the Rev. Susan Russell. He writes movingly of his experience there and reflects on what he heard about TEC's actions at General Convention:

When I said my first Mass at my last parish, the choir sang, “All are welcomed here.” I winced when I heard them sing that song, because my predecessor had informed me that they would send LGBT parishioners across the street to the Methodist Church, since they could not offer them services at St. Paul’s.

The choir did not sing, “All are welcomed here” at All Saints Episcopal, but the community silently proclaimed that invitation by their actions.

You can read it all here.

When the doomsayers talk about TEC losing members, I think of all the "Father Geoffs" I know, who have found a home in the Episcopal Church. I count myself among their number.

When the "outcasts" feel welcomed, we are preaching the Gospel.

Meanwhile, back in real life

Those of us who are political junkies of whatever stripe have to remember that for the vast majority of people, politics (whether national or ecclesiastical) takes a relatively small role compared to the activities of real life.

We're in Berkeley this weekend, visiting family, and attended All Souls. This was my mom's parish as a child, and where we usually go when we're up here. And while GC was mentioned briefly, the business of the parish was much more focused on the events of the community, the monthly open meal for the hungry and homeless, the anniversaries and birthdays and events of everyday lives.

As for the dark prognostications of the conservatives that TEC is dying? This church surges with youngsters. I think there must have been 25-30 little ones coming up the aisle in this family-oriented parish. We brought a bulletin home to show mom, and she recognizes some of the names from 60 years ago, so there's a good sense of continuity as well.

As always, a warm and friendly welcome to the visitors, like us. They're starting to recognize us, I think. We quite like them too.

The Cathedral in Parts

The Episcopal Cathedral of San Diego has an intimidating choir. But even the experts need a vacation, so for the month of July, they have an all-volunteer choir that consists of whoever shows up an hour before Mass. BP sings with a Roman Catholic folk choir which is her primary connection to the RC church. She's pretty serious about music and sings multi-part pieces well. Me, I did some casual choral singing for fun about 20 years ago. And i took classical piano as a child so I read music. So when BP suggested that we go for summer choir today, I thought it sounded interesting. Before I thought better of it, that is.

I think we both had second thoughts this morning (an "oh my, what are we getting into?") but each of us went for the other. And BP agreed to sing alto with me rather than her more usual tenor. So that's how it happened that at 9.30 we were sitting in the choir room of the Cathedral with some other newcomers. Fortunately there were some regular choir members with lots of experience who were also there, although it was a near thing because there were no sopranos until 9.50!

I had forgotten how much work it is to sing parts; keeping track of the timing, not to mention the notes of your part, without getting distracted by the other sections; reading a piece of music you've never seen before, while trying simultaneously to read the words AND watch the conductor. We managed to learn the basics of chant for the psalm, and the a cappella anthem, and then were outfitted in borrowed vestments for the processional (yes, that's me in the photo). This being the Cathedral, the processional is a big crowd. And then, did I mention that there were several other hymns in parts that we didn't practice ahead of time? I'm way out of practice sightsinging....fortunately we had two more experienced altos in the section we could follow. Phew!

The funniest thing was at the beginning of Mass when the Dean looked over casually to the choir and then did a classic double take when we saw us. He knows our faces, because we've been around for a while now, but I don't think he knows our names or our story. In any case, he had a big grin for us at the end of the service.

We met lots of nice new people in the choir so we may go back this month for another go at this somewhat terrifying experience. But I don't think I aspire to regular participation beyond the summer -- too much work!

Here I thought that I was going to GC to for my online friends, whom I've never met. Turns out I'll know people there already, and we'll be seeing a bunch of our new San Diego friends too. Funny!

Postcard from Minnesota

We're in St Paul, Minnesota for a family wedding. BP wanted to go to Pentecost mass so we googled for TEC churches near the hotel. Well, that's not very helpful in determining who is welcoming to a gay couple, so next we went to the Integrity web site and lo and behold, there's a church listed: St Christopher's. They have three Eucharists on a Sunday: Rite I, Rite II, and RIte III.

There's a Rite III? Who knew?

For various scheduling reasons we went to the 9am Rite II. It is a nice parish church, with the steeply pitched roof of snow country. Everyone was very friendly and quite outgoing. We've gotten so used to the big service of the Cathedral that it was nice to be in a smaller parish church, where everyone knows each other, and the acolyte and the reader had the same family name. We enjoyed the sermon. When BP went up for Communion (I don't for obvious reasons) the elderly lady behind me tapped me gently on the shoulder and said, with some concern, "You are welcome to receive!" I thanked her.

We noticed as we left that there's a small sign in on the bulletin board at the entrance. It says "Friendly" surrounded by rainbow colors.

Yes, it is very friendly. Thank you to Fr Michael and the kind people of St Christopher's for welcoming the travelers today.

Notes from the march

Well, it wasn't a huge crowd, 5000 people at most? The vibe was suprisingly positive: not angry, more resigned, but resilient. There were all sorts of people there, although overall the group skewed a little older. It was very well organized, as these events have been here. The crowd was polite, though noisy, and the cops were respectful and effective. We marched to the hall of justice for a short rally.

We marched with the Episcopal Cathedral and wore purple Cathedral t-shirts. You can see in the picture that the Cathedral marches with a big banner that says, "love to each of you". BP is the one holding the rainbow flag behind the banner. You can't see her, but you can see the flag. (Click to enlarge).

During the march, we saw someone we know, a young man named C. who we met at party a couple of months ago. BP caught up with him to say hello. "Oh, wow, " he said. "this is so cool, is this your church? "

BP looked at me. "Why, yes," she said. "It is now."

The Cathedral is holding an interfaith service of "consolation and determination" on Monday night. Our friend C. might go.

We got a great letter from the Dean today that read in part,

This ruling creates two classes of citizens. As such, it goes against the core American values of equality and justice for all, and it violates our Christian commitment to respect the dignity of every human being. The clergy and Chapter of Saint Paul's Cathedral continue to call for one relational standard to apply to all people, a standard rooted in the core Christian values of fidelity, mutual regard, and life-long commitment.

Godly laws, civil laws, and the Sunday Sermon

My beloved wife has settled into a pattern for now where she alternates her attendance weekly between the Roman Catholic and Episcopal churches. The RC parish is her home community of many years, where she has strong roots, and deep and loving friendships. Aside from the people, however, she feels institutionally remote and on the outside, and since the November election has chosen not to receive Communion there. By contrast, the Episcopal Cathedral, where we know no one, is an explicitly welcoming community, and she fully partakes. I tag along for the music, and I've told you about it previously here, here, and here.

This weekend we were being Episcopalian, and (typically running behind) we were dashing down the freeway for the city. BP who was driving, made a little "huh" noise, and I looked over to see us passing a car with a YES ON PROP 8 sticker on the back, along with another that read "AMERICA UNDER GOD." The people in the car looked mean and humorless. "How ironic," I said to BP, "it's us lesbians who are racing to get to church!"

The Cathedral was as usual pretty crowded with a very wide demographic (and as usual fantastic music ;-). After the readings, the Dean began his sermon. I like his sermons; they are erudite, but still approachable, and as a teacher myself, I enjoy following the way he weaves patterns around his theme. Given this week's readings, he talked about laws: following "Godly laws," of course, but he also pointed out that that Jesus was a lawbreaker, which led to a consideration that civil laws can be unjust and demand to be peacefully resisted or overturned.

He talked for a bit about William Wilberforce and his battle to eliminate the slave trade in Britain, and of course invoked Martin Luther King, Gandhi, Tutu, Mandela, and Oscar Romero as examples of people who fight unjust laws to maintain the great commandments of loving God and thy neighbor (see how he does it with weaving those threads? He's good.)

You can see where this is going, and by this time BP and I were holding hands tightly and staring fixedly at the Dean. "We see another example in Proposition 8," he began, citing the court case, and saying that while he hopes the court overturns the amendment, he is not confident they will. "But, " he went on, "in this Cathedral, we welcome those couples who want to live faithful, committed lives " and now BP and I have tears coursing down our cheeks as he goes on to explicitly welcome People Like Us. In Mass. None of this Don't Ask Don't Tell baloney. As BP said simply, "Wow."

And then he said something very important. "You may not agree," he said, "and that's fine." He made it clear that people of good faith can and do disagree, as families do, but the important thing is to come together in the common things that unite us and truly Godly laws. As in, Love each other. (That wasn't all there was in the sermon by a long shot but it is the part that grabbed us hard.)

As BP and I approached the doorway after Mass, the Dean didn't even wait for us to open our mouths to thank him. Without hesitation, he simply gathered each of us into a great big hug. (He obviously saw us weeping through that part of his sermon). If any of our readers are from the Cathedral of San Diego, tell Scott thanks, from the blogger IT and her wife. (Don't be shy about saying "hi" in the comments, either!)

High-TEC Sunday

As you will recall from my previous posts, my beloved the RC is alternating her attendance at her Roman Catholic church with our visits to the Episcopal Cathedral of San Diego, as she continues to explore where she belongs. This was an Episcopalian week, so off we trooped to the 10.30 Mass, which being a Cathedral service is quite impressive with a full choir, lots of people in procession (and VERY well attended by a wide demographic). We appreciate it for its warm welcome, about which I have posted previously.

Now, the Cathedral has lots of interesting events throughout the week, but especially on Sunday. However, because it is rather inconvenient for us to get there, and because we have BP's son with us Sunday nights, we usually can't go to any evening events. But this week, the Boy was off on a college visit, which meant we had the luxury of time to go back down to the city and attend Evensong at 5pm. I've always enjoyed Evensong (my years in England gave me a taste for it) and the Men and Boys choir at the Cathedral that sings this service is really outstanding. There is something unworldly about a boy soprano's voice. Although not as crowded as the morning Mass, I counted about 60 people there. We appreciated the service, and then decided to grab a bite to eat in the neighborhood and come back for Compline at 8.30.

I have never attended a Compline service, and neither had BP, so we didn't quite know what to expect. We returned to the Cathedral to find it dark inside, with only a few candles lit on the altar and no other lights. At first we wondered if the service was cancelled but then our eyes grew accustomed to the dark and we saw scattered shadows in the pews of others, sitting quietly. We found our way to a pew and sat, waiting.

Then, three people in black cassocks came out, each lighting a candle , and sat in chairs at the front. Holding their candles over their choirbooks, they proceeded to sing a cappella, polyphony, harmony, and plainchant, some in Latin and some in English. Between each piece was an extended quiet period for reflection. It was intensely beautiful and contemplative. When they finished, about 30 minutes later, they extinguished their candles and disappeared. We made our way out of the darkened church to be met by the cacophony of night-time city streets, unexpectedly garish under fluorescent lights. We headed for the freeway and the drive home, both of us feeling peaceful and refreshed in our own way.

BP, who is a brilliant punster as well as beloved partner, dubbed it our High-TEC Sunday.