So who else is Catholic?

My long-intended follow-up to this has been delayed mostly by clumsy attempts to understand the issues facing Catholic dissenters. It also seems somewhat presumptuous, as I’m not Catholic—what can an outsider know and feel? But because the Anglican Communion has been in conversation with Rome for quite some time, exploring common ground (raising some Anglicans’ hopes for reunification), it does concern me. Garry Wills in “Papal Sin: Structures of Deceit” has nailed one piece I’ve been struggling with:

…why do not all the Catholics who disagree with the Pope just get out?… Who am I—or who is anyone except the Pope—to decide what a Catholic may or may not accept as binding doctrine? …the question is based on an assumption that is not only challengeable but extremely unhealthy. It assumes that the whole test of Catholicism, the essence of the faith, is submission to the Pope… It is not a position that has a solid body of theology behind it, no matter how common it is as a popular notion… [p. 6]

I have a number of friends who are active Catholics, who disagree with much of Church teaching on ordination, gays, birth control—basically the big, hot buttons. So long as they remain an indistinguishable part of the flock, neither occupying leadership positions in the Church nor serving as elected government officials, little will happen to them. It’s priests who would rise in the hierarchy, theologians who teach in Catholic institutions, writers who publish under Church imprimatur, and politicians whose votes are a matter of public record who are vulnerable to being silenced.

Returning to letting go

Today was the first time since September 28, 2003 that I’ve attended a Sunday morning Eucharist in an Episcopal church. It is only the third time I’ve received the Eucharist in an Episcopal church during my sabbatical, the previous times having been at funerals this year. It’s about the fourth time I’ve attended church on a Sunday morning, the other times being a visitor at my friend Dash’s Lutheran church about 600 miles from here. The Gospel for today [Matt. 9:35–10:8; Jesus sends out the disciples to proclaim the Gospel] is one that has been in the back of my mind for several years now; first, when considering leaving my former parish, and then throughout the extended leaving process. The last verse included by the lectionary compares the fate of unreceptive houses and towns with that of Sodom and Gomorrah. So the preceding verse, which instructs the disciples to shake the town’s dust off their sandals, has always seemed an inextricable part of a curse—“I shake your dust off my sandals, you—you—you bad, bad people!” (with emphatic fist-shaking, if the dust is all off). Maybe a year ago or more, a different possibility was posed for me (I wish I could remember by whom). Shaking the dust off one’s sandals makes a lot of sense from a psychological standpoint: if one concludes that one’s actions are of no use, it’s best to let go of the situation. Even the dust is excess baggage. Move on. With that in mind, I’d resolved to not harbor bitterness over my former parish. In a situation where I’d actually had the chance to make a difference but failed, I did at least come to an understanding of the problem. That helped an awful lot in letting go—I’m not sure where I’d be now without that understanding. The church I attended this morning is one where a friend of mine (a fellow refugee from my old parish) has “landed.” I will probably also begin to check out a couple of others in which I’ve been interested. As I’m still pondering some theological concerns (about which I haven’t even begun to blog), it’s impossible to know where I’ll end up. It would be nice if I’d shaken all the dust off, but I guess I haven’t finished, as I’m still somewhat numb.

Filtering sanctification

LutheranChik’s musings on sanctification have triggered some processing. In particular, she observed:

My own dad, on one of the rare occasions when he waxed theological, tried explaining to me that the Sermon on the Mount was designed not to actually give us guidance in living but simply to make us feel so guilty about our inability to follow Jesus’ impossible instructions that we’d be driven to throw ourselves upon the mercy of God, which is what God really wants all along. Which, if you’ve grown up in a Pietistic Lutheran household, makes a crazy kind of sense.

It reminded me of an exchange with my mother, following my nephew’s baptism years ago. The baptism took place in a small-town (pop. 258) Lutheran church (one of two in that town!) that wanted to secede from the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America synod (ELCA), which it saw as too liberal. But first, the backstory, which has a number of intertwined strands that are difficult to separate out--the influences are not excusively Lutheran. I grew up Lutheran, but left on the cusp of some major changes (formation of the ELCA, ordination of women, new service book and hymnal), which I never fully assimilated. I knew intellectually that they were good things but I was apathetic. Nominally my first, little country church (not the one where the baptism took place; this one was 10 miles from town) was a part of the American Lutheran Church (ALC), which later merged with others into the ELCA. Out in the boondocks back then, the local sensibilities had more pull than a synod. I really couldn’t tell you what part, if any, the synod played. To further complicate matters, from grades 6 through 8 I attended a parochial school of the Missouri Synod. That synod was way more conservative than the ALC. To give you an idea: one of my school-mates, when we all hit the local secular high school, told one of our friends that she was going to Hell because she was Catholic. Perhaps the Missouri Synod guy wasn’t representative in other ways, because he didn’t seem to see his rock band, drinking, smoking, and sexual activity as way stations on the slippery slope to Hell(!). I attended a college of the Lutheran Church that had a requisite three credits in religion. One of the courses I took was “Folk Religion in Taiwan,” which was my way of eluding any further potential indoctrination. So I’m not sure if I learned the prescribed theology, but I can sure tell you the lessons carved in my heart and soul. There was no forgiveness for divorce (true of most, if not all Christian denominations then). The pastor of my little church had refused to marry my parents because my mother was a divorcee. Never mind that she had endured every kind of abuse at the hands of her former husband, the son of a southern Baptist minister, which set the scene for many of her resultant biases, and also makes it quite difficult to sift out what in her mindset came from her own upbringing (Lutheran, but with a crazy mother) and what resonated with her because of that first marriage. (Needless to say, “Son of a Preacher Man” was not a favorite tune.) Though my brothers and I were dutifully baptized, and Mom and Dad were members, our family was marginalized until a new pastor arrived. Communion (never referred to as Eucharist and always held at an altar, not a table) was so very important that it had to be guarded from all unworthy. Below a certain level of development, one was unworthy--unable to receive the Body and Blood with proper understanding, which could be developed only by the confirmation process. Intellect was an important tool in battling evil and the will, and the intellect couldn’t effectively battle without requisite instruction and proof that the instruction “took”. Now I contrast that with “I believe that I cannot by my own reason or strength believe in Jesus Christ, my Lord, or come to Him; but the Holy Ghost has called me by the Gospel, enlightened me with His gifts, sanctified and kept me in the true faith…” [from the explanation of the third article of the Apostles’ Creed, Luther’s Small Catechism]. When we moved, the new church held confirmations in the tenth grade (my one brother and I were quite annoyed because our older brother got to be confirmed in eighth grade back in the old church). Important as Communion was, it still took a back seat to the Word. Sermons (lectures, really) ruled, every Sunday, while Communion was held once a month (whether we needed it or not). And Communion was something a number of people endured while gritting their teeth, not because of differing theology but because it made the service run long. It could add on as much as 15 minutes; as church was already punishment (the only good part was the music--hymns and choir anthem or “special music”), Communion extended the sentence. The sermons were not shortened on Communion Sunday. Because there was no nursery in my first little church, children attended the entire service. I still remember my mother frowning at me as I squirmed yet again, holding my doll with the matching dress (as I have a photo of us then, I know I was around three). My parents both sang in the choir; lacking a babysitter, I ended up processing with the choir, following my mother, and sitting at the end of a pew where she could keep an eye on me. I hated that! It certainly hammered home the “children are to be seen and not heard” rule. Even though the church in which I was confirmed was much “kinder and gentler,” and I certainly participated fully there, I know my first impressions ran deep. The pastor who confirmed me had a wonderful sense of humor, and I knew he was truly a pastor, someone one could turn to in difficult times, yet certain rules held fast. I memorized Luther’s Small Catechism (1921 transl.) in preparation for confirmation (one could not be confirmed without passing the memorization test) and through the years had memorized many Bible verses in Sunday school. The double whammy of also attending Trinity Lutheran parochial school had meant that I also did their requisite memorization along with their confirmands (in eighth grade!) without being confirmed there. Rules, rules, rules. I knew the words “grace” and “mercy,” but they had only the meaning LutheranChik’s father knew. I never felt particularly assured, contrary to certain Bible verses. Faith? I was chided in high school by a charismatic when I confided my fears about our family situation. Fear was a sin, the absence of faith. Believe and trust in God, bad things can't harm you and good things overflow on you. I understand much differently now. Martin Luther's struggle over grace certainly resonates deeply. I know from my Lutheran friends that their churches aren’t like those of my upbringing, but to describe my further journey would require probably multiple posts. Back to the exchange with my mother. She and my father had attended my Episcopal church a couple of times, at a time I was finding great meaning and deriving much-needed strength from being there. They loved the music, but had said nothing about any of the rest (other than my mother’s concerns about the incense, kneeling and vestments--too much “like Rome!”). The pastor who baptized my nephew preached the kind of fire and brimstone sermon I hadn’t heard in years. It certainly took me back. Back to LutheranChik’s father’s theology. And I remember looking over at my brother (the baby's father) and knowing, just by his posture, that it would be a good many years before he set foot in a church again. My mother had quit attending church by then (yet a different Lutheran church), but had dutifully gone to the baptism. “Now that was a sermon,” she said. “Not like that watered-down stuff you’ve been getting.” At that moment her experience was encapsulated for me (though not for her): she hadn’t been to church if she hadn’t been beat up.

How Does a Leopard Change Its Spots?

Or, Teaching an Old Dog New Tricks The old dog would be me. The new trick would be my concept of time. When I was a new dog, life was lived often in kairos: time without measure, also sometimes referred to as “God’s time.” Crops growing, animals gestating, the seasons—all follow a schedule not imposed by a clock. Chronological time, chronos, has no meaning. Impatience holds no sway over kairos. Distance was measured in miles. Given the speed limit in the boondocks, the number of miles traveled equaled roughly the number of minutes to get there. When I was a medium dog, I moved to the big city. The miles=minutes concept took a beating, but a number of years passed before I finally accepted that five miles could easily take half an hour to travel. However, I still lived in kairos. Put me in front of a keyboard and the clock had no relevance. A number of years ago, as a new manager, I was sent to management classes. About the only thing I remember from them is a concept I’ve pondered but not lived until relatively recently. Dr. Karl Robinson, a psychologist who taught a couple of the classes, discussed being on time. The world, in terms of time management, is divided into two kinds of people: those who plan their schedules so as not to be late, and those who try to be on time. The former category is always early, and the latter, nearly always late. Well, I knew which category I fell into. I also knew some of the reasons I tried to be on time: I was afraid to be early, because I was just plain socially awkward. I loved interaction within programs because it gave me a legitimate reason and structure for interaction. Outside that framework, I truly feared the types of cuts and snubs I’d endured growing up. As a grown-up it took a long time for me to grasp that painful kinds of interactions weren’t so inevitable—adults don’t always behave as children, who I knew could be most cruel. As I’ve learned to let go of that extremely self-protective stance, the habit has remained of trying to arrive just in time. Add to that the fact that I always pushed the envelope—just one more page, just one more note before breaking off, to head onto the next item in my schedule. I found it quite difficult to stop doing something if I couldn’t find a natural break point. Or sometimes it was like trying to find any way possible to stay up beyond my bedtime (another child-like behavior I retained well into adulthood, easily aided by my night-owl nature). Well, circumstances at work have changed that. From a place that only a few people arrived at on time (though many, like myself, always made up the time) it has gone to zero tolerance on tardiness. Doesn’t matter if you put in a lot of overtime or work through lunch; one minute late more than five times a year (excluding verifiable transit delays) incurs consequences. As Rabbi Edwin Friedman would say, people usually change only when put in a situation where they must. Interesting to watch this experiment first hand, though I would have preferred not being one of the lab rats. The upshot is that I am now someone who schedules myself so as not to be late. And my co-workers who swore they just couldn’t get anywhere on time mostly found a way to make it happen. I no longer reside in kairos; chronos contains my life. I have moved. How does a leopard change its spots? You know the old joke—by moving, of course.

Institutions and prophets

An institution is about the status quo; a prophet isn’t. An institution can be immensely successful, long-lived, and have much good to its credit—even beauty. It might even be a pearl, but a prophet is always a grain of sand. The oyster needs the irritant in order to form a pearl, but once a pearl is formed, can it want any more sand?

Is the Pope Catholic?

Remember the wise-acre comeback for any question with an obvious answer? (“Is Michael Jordan the best basketball player ever?” “Is the Pope Catholic?”) Not being Catholic, I’ve been safely ensconced in the peanut gallery, watching all the hoopla surrounding the papal selection process. So many possible angles from which to approach, so many levels on which to observe (if not participate). You might say I’m a Cafeteria Commentator. Observational Relativism rules! And, of course, I tend to be a delayed-reaction commentator, and most of the initial surge of interest has done gone went in search of the next Peeping-Tom session. Or reality TV—I get confused. So only now is it time for me to expound. Now it’s not just yesterday’s news, it’s last month’s news, and that’s as good as last millennium’s news. Most people are moving on except me, because I haven’t fleshed out how I feel about it all. Here goes, in the interest of my moving on to the next opportunity for opinionated procrastination. Or procrastinated opinionation. The process of selecting a new pope more or less guaranteed the outcome. I don’t mean the choice of Benedict XVI specifically, but certainly of someone whose theology would make him somewhat interchangeable with Benedict (leaving aside the issue of leadership skills for now). John Paul II made a large majority of the current Cardinals. Could anybody reasonably expect that he would make someone a Cardinal that he perceived as being out of line with the Catholic church’s (his) theology, in the interest of making sure all voices are heard? The idea of considering dissenting voices just in case you might be wrong (or for other plausible reasons) is rather rare. Well, if you are a trustee of a very strong institution, charged with maintaining it and seeing to its continuance, and your position is based on conscience shaped by your many years in the institution, are you going to change course abruptly? I can imagine that a significant number of the Cardinals believe that “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” I suspect they can easily describe the problems facing the church as being not of the church’s making. That original sin continues to dog the world, as ever. And changing one’s theological stance in an attempt to fix problems has never impacted the effect of original sin. Then, to avoid the possibility of being confused (or swayed) by differing viewpoints, you go into conclave, where all contact with the outside world is cut off. That is sort of the game plan for brain-washing, isn’t it? Yes, I know that sometimes one must diminish the opportunity for distraction as much as possible, but then one invokes an incredibly vulnerable situation that can lead to really bad thought process. (I’m mindful of the think-tank that produced the Bay of Pigs incident. Sorry--I’d point you someplace if I could, but my sources for this are somewhat long-ago and not well-researched online.) Did anybody realistically believe it would go another way? That there’d be a Saul-to-Paul-like conversion on the Damascus road, whereby the Roman Catholic church would choose someone who would take the church in the direction of considering ordination of women and gays, marriage for priests, etc.? Guardians of the faith did what they were expected to do: guard the faith as they understand it. Well-trained, thoroughly indoctrinated. The cardinals did their job. They ensured that the Catholic church would continue as it has done. Is the Pope Catholic? Yes. Yes, I believe he is.

I don't think I’m going to sleep any time soon

And it’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s just extremely difficult to settle down after something like tonight. Tonight was the first concert in the 2005 Bach Week Festival in Evanston (first ’burb north of Chicago). I sing in the festival chorus; we have three concerts to go (Sunday evening, and then next weekend Friday and Sunday evenings). The chorus is really hitting its stride in its fourth (?) year of existence. The instrumentalists and vocal soloists have always been fabulous, being among the top musicians in Chicago. I do know from various people over the years that an orchestra gig can be just a job, just like any number of other things the rest of us do for a living, but these musicians are here in this festival because they love it. On tonight’s concert, we sang the Bach Cantata 190: Singet dem Herrn ein neues Lied (“Sing to the Lord a new song”) as the last piece of a splendid program. From the first notes of the first chorus, it felt good. It’s been a long time since anything felt so good. Bach was my first musical love—in high school, I just couldn’t get enough (via keyboard—I seriously avoided singing then). But as my voice is now finally getting the hang of navigating some of those incredible runs, I can really enjoy the feel. I can even almost sing credibly in German, having mostly banished the weird Scandinavian accent. The harmonic progressions I’ve loved for most of my life. They’re so logical. You get to scratch the itch at just the right time. The best part: following the concert, we did a photo shoot, and as the goal of the shoot was to catch us “in action,” we performed the opening chorus again. It’s a challenging chorus, and I think it contains the musical meat of that cantata. And it’s just plain glorious. The atmosphere was electric, and if anybody resented having to do it again, they wouldn’t have dared to say so, because the enjoyment of doing it again just because we could was proudly displayed everywhere. The photographer finished just before the end, but Richard (the director) kept right on going. One of the trumpeters remarked that even if Richard had stopped us when the shoot was over, we would have kept right on going. Many voices agreed. When you’re in that groove and you know it, and you know your fellow travelers know it, there’s nothing else on this earth that can top it.

Rejoicing and Whining

Yep, I can do both at once. Mainly because I’m ba-a-a-a-ack. My dead computer was not resurrected. I bought a new one, which arrived today. A bigger, better, faster one. Hence the rejoicing. Mistakes I made with the last computer (not whining, yet, though): 1) I opted for middle-of-the-road in what was available two years and one month ago, and learned just how fast obsolescence can set in. So, long before The Crash, I was hating how long some things took, and was plotting upgrading memory, processor, etc. 2) Because of my middle-of-the-road approach (to save money, of course), I had a less than satisfactory back-up procedure. Which means I was anything but diligent. The only thing I backed up religiously was my Quicken data (financial clarity and ease are essential for me). Oh, does the back-up lapse of everything else hurt now. 3) Knowing what I know now, I would have handled differently the initial problem that led to The Crash, and possibly could have squeaked by with some sort of save. So (still with the rejoicing), I’ve taken steps to avoid repeating mistakes. Let me make some new ones! As it so happens, my computer at work was replaced two weeks ago, without the trauma of crash and subsequent loss. I really like the new one, so when I realized I had to get a new home computer, I ordered my work computer’s twin. Hey, my buddies in the computer department did good spade-and-shovel work in writing the specs, so I simply “leveraged” their know-how. (Uh-oh—if I suddenly use the word “metrics” you’ll know I’ve been sucked into the latest business jargon—yuck!) The upshot is that my beautiful new beast at home has almost as much memory as God. Which may last me, oh, three years if I’m lucky. Now for the whining. Having just gone through installing a lot of software on my work computer, I was anything but thrilled at having to do it at home. I load my software at work because it’s specialized and I make sure all the parameters fit the work I do (graphic design, layout, print and online publishing). Adobe Indesign, Photoshop, Illustrator, Acrobat Professional, Quark Express. Besides Microsoft Office XP and Project. And then there are the specs for the high-end print vendors, so it’s not mindless magic-button-pushing. I’m never a big fan of upgrades, etc., at work, because they inevitably require trouble-shooting (no software ever works perfectly out of the box, despite all the hype). So I do the trouble-shooting and tweaking, and I do it well, but my brain does rebel at times. When it isn’t leaking. Leak-tweaking. Or tweak-leaking. I don’t want to come home and do it here too, but as I have yet to acquire my own personal IT department (I am my own IT department), there’s no escaping it. And needless to say, I’d acquire a housekeeper/cook and/or a personal secretary first. Well, I’m partly done with the software installation here—I also have the Adobe software at home, as well as Finale and the afore-mentioned Quicken to do yet. Whine, whine, whine. I guess it’s just that I want to use the tools, not create/adapt/modify them. But I do love them when they work. And the withdrawal I went through last weekend was quite amazing. I can’t recall the last time I went even 24 hours without touching a computer. Some people have house blessings. Could I have a computer blessing?

Inadvertent hiatus

My home computer's hard drive bit the dust last Friday, so I'm out of commission until I can remedy the situation. (Drat and curses!)

Expectations, imagination and teaching

I’m tremendously interested in how people learn. Everything I run across about the brain, I read. But knowing something about the brain’s potential is only a starting point. The more I read, study, and work with people, the more I believe that the most important ingredients are expectations and imagination. Maybe in that order, maybe not. I like what Carl Sagan had to say (though he was specifically concerned with science, I see the application across many disciplines):

Why should it be hard for scientists to get science across?… Knowing and explaining, they say, are not the same thing. What’s the secret? There’s only one, I think: Don’t talk to the general audience as you would to your scientific colleagues. There are terms that convey your meaning instantly and accurately to fellow experts. You may parse these phrases every day in your professional work. But they do no more than mystify an audience of nonspecialists. Use the simplest possible language. Above all, remember how it was before you yourself grasped whatever it is you’re explaining. Remember the misunderstandings that you almost fell into, and note them explicitly. Keep firmly in mind that there was a time when you didn’t understand any of this either. Recapitulate the first steps that led you from ignorance to knowledge.

The Demon-Haunted World, Ballantine Books, p. 333. He also quotes John Passmore, who describes science as often being presented

as a matter of learning principles and applying them by routine procedures. It is learned from textbooks, not by reading the works of great scientists or even the day-to-day contributions to the scientific literature… The beginning scientist, unlike the beginning humanist, does not have an immediate contact with genius. Indeed… school courses can attract quite the wrong sort of person into science—unimaginative boys and girls who like routine.

The Demon-Haunted World, p. 335. J.K. Rowling must have had this kind of learning firmly in mind when she created the character of Professor Binns in the Harry Potter series. Binns teaches History of Magic at Hogwarts, and is described as having gotten up from his chair one day, leaving his body behind, never noticing that he’d died. Granted, he teaches history, which can be trickier to teach than most subjects (I tended to fall asleep while studying music history), but he routinely puts all his students to sleep, without registering that fact, as he drones on. Over the past several decades, a number of often conflicting theories have been put forth explaining a) what’s wrong with education and b) how to fix it. I’ve witnessed pendulum shifts, but while spikes of improvement do occur, the overall trend isn’t reassuring. I look at the teachers I know who’ve succeeded (and by success I mean even their poor to “average” students learn and grow) and I see first that they have expectations (which can require great imagination when considering some people’s potential). But I think imagination also plays a part in enabling the teacher to know where the target is, and that textbooks and tests are only guides in aiming for the target, not the target themselves.

Talent hits a target no one else can hit; Genius hits a target no one else can see. Arthur Schopenhauer (1788–1860)

I suspect Schopenhauer didn't have teachers in mind here, but it's going to take genius teachers to raise up successive generations of effective teachers (and I can't even begin to get into the infrastucture and budget concerns here...).

Can unity be maintained despite the presence of seemingly unyielding disagreement?

I’m reposting my commentary, which first appeared under the handle of Julesrud here (it’s the post that got me into my own blog--for good or for ill). Though it concerns the ordination and marriage of gays and lesbians in the Episcopal Church, I believe that one could substitute any of the issues facing the Roman Catholic Church as the conclave to select a new Pope begins tomorrow. Dissidents see an opportunity for moving the Church in directions that John Paul II, however beloved, firmly quashed. (The chance of publicly airing dirty laundry was also greatly minimized by him--no such luck for the Anglican Communion.) --------------- My commentary is too long to post as a response (hence the kind invitation of Sister Dash for me to guest-post), though it is my contribution to the discussion going on (regarding the unity of the church throughout the issue of the ordination of gays and lesbians) in Sister Dash’s and Brother Dwight’s respective blogs. I’ve been trying to figure out for days why the discussion at large is so frustrating to me. It often feels that the various sides find it difficult to get beyond gainsaying (“Is so!” “Is not!”) to a real discussion. And I don’t mean the discussions going on in Dash’s and Dwight’s blogs--I believe that there is genuine honesty, listening, and charity for the participants there. I mean instead The Discussion in our world, whether in synods, blogs, letters to the editor, private conversations. I’m trying to come at this from a different angle, because The Discussion more or less feels stuck. Or, perhaps more accurately, I feel stuck. What seems amazingly clear to me seems devastatingly sinful to a large number of my brothers and sisters, regardless of the faith to which they adhere. I suppose I seem willfully disobedient to them. I know that it’s possible, or probably likely, that all of my processing on this topic is guided by a desire to discover and share information that supports my position. I know it can lead to intellectual dishonesty to start with a thesis that I’m trying to prove, because it’s quite convenient to ignore anything that doesn’t support my viewpoint. I’m leading with my heart, here. Not only that, I find that each piece of this I write reveals new concerns to me--holes left unfilled, so that I know my position is anything but finished. (A very dangerous position for a perfectionist to place herself in!--I so love to construct airtight arguments, and will have to confess that much of this is a leap of faith.) Not to mention only loosely organized. So I must acknowledge that I believe marriage is, or should be, a covenant between two people, not governed by regard for gender or sexual identity. And I believe that other people’s opinion of that covenant is irrelevant; approval from any human outside a relationship isn’t what validates the existence of a relationship. At the same time, though, we are to be married in the context of community (at least according to the Church), so that our brothers and sisters may uphold us in our commitment--we don’t have to “go it alone,”--indeed, we are expected not to. Same as for any of the Sacraments. I guess that’s the sticking point: one can’t uphold a couple in their marriage if one doesn’t believe that that couple may be married. Anybody who’s been married knows how difficult it is, even when you are upheld--how much more difficult when no one approves, or even vigorously fights against it. I also must acknowledge that until my early 20s, I believed that homosexuality was a sin, a horrible depravity, as I had been raised to believe. How that changed is a topic for another time. The parallel for a paradigm shift (sorry about that phrase--I know it needs to be retired, but I haven’t got a better one) was introduced to me by Father David Cobb in a sermon I read online somewhere. Around the time of the ECUSA’s [Episcoapl Church-USA] general convention last summer (which included the Convention’s consent to the consecration of Father Eugene Robinson as bishop), Fr. Cobb likened this dispute to that of the early church over converting Gentiles, both in its intensity and the potential for a bitter split. Yet the early church emerged from its dispute unified, joyfully welcoming Gentiles into the church (Acts 10 and 11). My ever-evolving path still stops at this point: how does a community interact, especially when faced with difficulties and issues? Considering the requirement of obedience to church authority, especially when there’s honest dissent, I wonder how to challenge church authority without doing damage to church unity (if indeed, I as a dissenting individual hold so much power as to be able to damage an institution). Some authorities are so fragile as to claim any challenge (valid or not) is an attack on church unity. And rarely can a community rise above the maturity level of its leaders. I ponder the nature of the early church--what was it that allowed them to hear and accept Peter’s vision? Acts 10 and 11 seldom get a whole lot of airplay, and I don’t really know why. 10:27-29: “[Peter] went in and found that many had assembled; and he said to them, ‘You yourselves know that it is unlawful for a Jew to associate with or to visit a Gentile; but God has shown me that I should not call anyone profane or unclean. So when I was sent for, I came without objection…’” and Peter then preached the Good News to the assembly at Cornelius’ house. Later, in verse 44: “While Peter was still speaking, the Holy Spirit fell upon all who heard the word. The circumcised believers who had come with Peter were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles, for they heard them speaking in tongues and extolling God. Then Peter said, ‘Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?’ So he ordered them to be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ.” [NRSV] Interesting that Peter acted first--there was no consensus, as he most definitely acted unilaterally--and then in Chapter 11, responding to criticism from the “circumcised believers,” he explains what caused his change of heart: his vision. The community’s response? “And they praised God, saying, ‘Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life.’” What one was born as, in this case, a Gentile, was no longer an obstacle. DNA, accident of birth--irrelevant in the eyes of God. From “Listening Hearts”:

The prophet is not an easy person for the community to accept. It can be a trial for a community to hear the prophet’s voice and acknowledge that it comes from God, since the very task of the prophet is to challenge the status quo. A hundred years before the Civil War, John Woolman felt called to be an abolitionist among the Quakers, but he also felt that he should not undertake this without the blessing of his Meeting. As a result, Woolman wrestled with his faith community over this issue for two years; many members of the community owned slaves. While many did not agree with the abolitionist position, they came to believe that Woolman did have a call and promised to support him and his family while he responded to it. During the two years Woolman stayed and presented his call, the community’s members were deeply affected. Because of Woolman’s faithfulness to his call and willingness to work out that call in the community, the Quakers eventually came to oppose slavery. We can never achieve wholeness simply by ourselves but only together with others. Consequently, as we involve the community in discerning call, God enlivens and strengthens both us and the community.

[Farnham, Gill, McLean, Ward; Morehouse Publishing 1991] I’m attempting to contrast the examples of the early church and the Quakers with today’s disputes--I suspect there are differences, but what, exactly, are they? I was rather young when the ELCA [Evangelical Lutheran Church in America] opted to ordain women, so I can hardly address whether they did it better than the ECUSA (Dwight’s blog, 12/21/04, paragraph 14). Nor do I think that the ECUSA’s consecration of Eugene Robinson is as horribly disrespectful to the other members of the Anglican Communion as some think (in comparison with other church conflicts it’s not--for instance, right now I’m reading about the Borgias, Estes, and Pope Alexander VII in a biography of Lucretia Borgia). I know only enough Anglican Church history to make me dangerous. The Elizabethan Settlement is what really established the Anglican Church, not so much Henry VIII. The goal was to stop Catholics and Protestants from killing each other following the death of Mary Tudor. Shaped in compromise, the Anglican Communion has long followed its Via Media (“middle way”), though it has of late seemed more like “don’t ask, don’t tell.” The most rapid growth of the Anglican Communion has occurred on the African continent and in Asia, while the ECUSA and the Anglican Church in Great Britain are experiencing great shrinkage. What “saved” the early Anglican Church is what may now lead to the seemingly inevitable rupture: No one was required to resolve any differences of belief, so long as they all used the Book of Common Prayer and gathered together in the pews. The Anglican Communion has barely acknowledged the existence of the very real, significant differences in doctrine, history, and culture among its member bodies. The potential for rift has existed for a long time, but it commanded little attention or energy so long as no provoking acts were committed. Even among those who have recognized the sleeping dangers, the learning curve is quite daunting. Are actions taken by the ECUSA (i.e., consecration in the face of expressed opposition) any more reprehensible than the refusal of the anti-gay ordination majority of the Communion to consider the idea without immediately labeling it “sinful”? Prolonged discussion seemed to be mere foot-dragging, of the sort where you keep someone talking, hoping, and maybe they won’t notice that no action is being taken. Talks can be a mechanism for avoidance of decision or action, a passive-aggressive reaction. Note that Woolman’s Quaker community required only two years to begin to change its heart. The ECUSA has been talking about the issue of the ministry of homosexuals in the church for far longer--and other members of the Anglican Communion have been iterating the “gay is sinful” position for at least the same amount of time. How can a community honestly enter into discernment when one or more parties claims veto power? (Can’t even touch the Roman Catholic Church on this one…) I haven’t seen a whole lot of evidence of openness to prophets on the part of the anti-gay majority--if it’s there, it certainly is cloaked. Just as it was for equal rights--civil rights for second class citizens in this country have taken a long, tortuous path--every possible delay, every possible obstacle. If the ECUSA’s handling of the ordination of women, adoption of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, and the consecration of Eugene Robinson as a bishop seems overbearing, unilateral, and sinful to many, is it a surprise that a blow-up had to occur in order for the issue to ripen in a way that could not be ignored any more? Why hasn’t the model of the early church been mirrored in our time, resulting in the fruit of the Spirit? The biggest enemy of church unity is not that of dissent, but of complacency. I don’t mean the usual implication of lowered standards leading to descent down the slippery slope. I mean “self-satisfaction accompanied by unawareness of actual dangers or deficiencies” [Merriam-Webster]--allowing calcification of one’s beliefs. It leaves no room for prophets. Yep, that’ll threaten unity more than any overt act.

Questions on the Slippery Slope of Suffering

This isn’t fully baked, but I’m putting it out there, anyway. Too many questions, and not enough conclusions. Anybody who requires certitude, look elsewhere. The Pope’s death, coming two days after Terri Schiavo’s, has provoked comparisons between their ends. A man with enormous power who doesn’t shun suffering is linked with a woman whose name none of us would ever have known but for the battle around her powerless suffering. John Kass provides one comparison. I do have to wonder what the Pope would have decided, had the last few weeks of his life been stretched out for 15 years. He got off easy. And when his organs started failing, I notice they didn’t hook him up to life support. So somebody drew a line, somewhere—his condition was terminal. Terri’s condition wasn’t terminal, given the medical advances we enjoy. That’s quite a mire. “Playing God” is how people describe Michael Schiavo’s efforts to allow Terri to die. Funny, but they don’t apply the term to the efforts to resuscitate Terri following her initial collapse; not so many years ago she would have died—period—and a feeding tube would have been irrelevant. The “terminal” stage of her condition 15 years ago was only a matter of minutes. Wouldn’t it have been God’s will that she died then? Wasn’t it thwarting God’s will to bring her back? And even if she had miraculously revived without intervention of medical technology, she still wouldn’t have been able to eat. Again, a medical intervention kept her alive. Not playing God?

We rightly fear mistakes where life is concerned. Grey areas are scary, but a coward avoids them. If a mistake was made, wasn’t it made 15 years ago? Wasn’t removal of the feeding tube the correction of that mistake? Is medical intervention only a one-way street? Is it okay to play God so long as the result is extended life? Does God always choose to extend life? The Church has elevated those who suffer for Christ’s sake, holding them up as examples for all. And it was commonplace in the Dark Ages for the pious to deliberately inflict suffering on themselves in order to identify more strongly with the pain and suffering of Jesus. Any who would refuse to endure suffering, inflicted by and/or for God, were deemed less worthy, and sometimes were exhorted to put up with it anyway. Dennis Byrne is advocating that we change our laws so that it would be nearly impossible for a future Michael Schiavo to honor a promise he made to his wife, who might or might not have been the person her parents believed her to be.

I'm sure others can think of other legal reforms that can be made to protect people in guardianship, such as Schiavo, against mistaken, self-serving, misinformed or malevolent family decisions to kill them. To say that the state has no role in protecting those in guardianship is to suggest that the state has no role in preventing child abuse or homicide.

(Of course, I’m pretty sure that “mistaken, self-serving, misinformed or malevolent” remarks about guardians who make an unpopular choice won’t be outlawed.) It seems these judgments were made, most likely based on the Schindlers having gotten their story out there first and loudest. People often make up their minds on such one-sided “evidence,” never once considering that they maybe haven’t heard all the facts, which the courts did. First impressions are notoriously difficult to change (though I did change mine). So ending another’s misery is dismissed as thwarting God’s will, as being closed to the blessings one may find in suffering. Does the quality of the suffering depend on how one ended up in it? Another question. Why should we care about Darfur, for instance? Those people are blessed, man! They’re suffering more than Terri and the Pope combined. They must really be rejoicing. A man beating the life out of his woman and her kids? They’re blessed, too. That’s a scary limb to go out on. I know that ending the suffering in Darfur doesn’t depend on killing the victims, as it may in the case of terminal or life-threatened humans. Yet, somewhere, someone draws a line. Can that line depend on one group’s religious beliefs?

What would Solomon do?

When a lawsuit drags on forever, through multiple levels of courts, it seems to be a tip-off that wisdom is in short supply for one or more of the parties. My first hearing of Terri Schiavo’s case was in the Court of Public Opinion. My opinions were formed based on mass media reports. First I thought Michael Schiavo’s story smelled a bit; his motives seemed questionable. Then I began to think that Terri’s parents, the Schindlers, were in utter denial. Then I thought, what does that denial matter, if they want to invest the time and love in caring for her? Why can’t Michael just butt out? Isn’t it better to err on the side of life, as the President noted, especially when the person in question left no written instructions in the event of utter incapacitation? It seemed to me that a lot of people were hoping for the intervention of a Solomon, who would provide a wise answer that revealed unambiguous truth (preferably a truth that included Terri rising from her bed and resuming her life). All critics would be silenced. I started to wonder what Solomon would do. In the Biblical story [I Kings 3:16-28], his tactic revealed which of two mothers was the “real” mother. Take that story and overlay it on Terri’s story. Solomon recommends slicing Terri in two and giving a half each to her parents and her husband. Well, that would suit her husband. But if her parents responded as did the baby’s real mother in I Kings (“Please, my lord, give her the living boy; certainly do not kill him!”), it would still result in Terri’s death. Too many differences of time and circumstance. How would the man with the reputation for being “history’s wisest” rule? My musings on this point got me nowhere. We have no handy template that points toward an easy answer. I was stuck until I began reading some of the pleadings and rulings in this case. A particularly helpful site has been The Terri Schiavo Information Page. From the home page Abstract Appeal, under “Schiavo Thoughts: Hearsay,” Matt Conigliaro says:

If you’ve read the trial court’s original decision regarding Terri’s wishes, then you know the court considered five persons’ testimony of what Terri supposedly said to them about what she wanted. That’s the supposedly inadmissible hearsay. Some say it shouldn’t have been admitted. Others say it can’t amount to clear and convincing evidence. “It’s not in writing!” they say, as if writings aren’t hearsay, or that a writing would eliminate any controversy…. Courts generally employ rules of evidence during trials, and a well known rule of evidence holds that hearsay is admissible to prove something only in limited circumstances. Under Florida law, there are about 30 or so such circumstances. You could say that one of them applies here, such as the exception for statements describing the declarant’s then-existing state of mind. You could also say that Terri’s statements were not hearsay, since they were offered to prove she said those words, not to prove that what she said was true. Hearsay is an out of court assertion offered to prove the truth of the matter asserted. Those are evidentiary reasons why the testimony was admissible. There’s a better reason. A constitutional reason. Terri had, and every Florida citizen has, a constitutional right to privacy that includes the right to decide that certain medical treatments should not be used to prolong her life. The Florida Supreme Court has clearly decided that this right can be exercised through written and oral statements.

Other writers have pointed out that both sides had excellent counsel who made their arguments well, in the proper venues, and appeals courts ever since have upheld the decisions. So the Schindlers took their case to the Court of Public Opinion. Issues like this can, and ought to be, debated by the public. Media can, and should, report on these issues. But it only serves the public if people understand the limitations of the Court of Public Opinion. Both sides have been able to make assertions, counter-assertions, and denials that wouldn’t be permitted as evidence in a court of law. People like the Chicago Tribune’s John Kass say things like:

What’s happening to Schiavo suggests that Americans have finally been taught to think like bureaucrats. Bureaucrats cover their flanks with e-mail and send copies to others to establish positions. They almost say what a thing is, but not outright, not exactly. The bureaucrat embraces the neutral and avoids conflict. And we’ve allowed this. We’ve embraced the values of the bureaucrat, of the manager, and replaced those older, iconic Western values of self-reliance, accepting responsibility and meeting things head on. One of these values--albeit ignored through countless wars and cruelties--is that human life is sacred. But now we are about process. Now we are about avoiding consequence. We’re about keeping our hands clean, and we use words to scrub them. Terry Schiavo is starving to death now because the machinery of the government, otherwise known as the state, has decreed that she will be starved to death. As she has been denied food and water, the state stands over her husband’s shoulder and nods assent.

Is this really what’s happening? Terri’s case has wound its way through the court system for years, with a consistent response. If either side’s counsel hadn’t been doing a good job of representation, I’m betting a lawsuit for legal malpractice would have been filed long ago. Other things are at issue. First, for Terri’s parents: appeals court is not a “do-over.” You don’t keep hammering away until you get the answer you want. Sometimes the answer is no. And that doesn’t always make it wrong, or immoral, or evil. Whatever one may think about Michael Schiavo, it really is possible that he has Terri’s best interests at heart. Maybe he finally had closure when the medical liability lawsuit was over. Maybe it took that lawsuit for him to come to terms with the situation. Can you really know? Maybe it took Terri’s father asking Michael to give them some of the money for Michael to grasp that Terri’s parents’ motives weren’t pure, either (gasp!). Maybe it was only then that he realized that their denial over the cause of her collapse would never be broken down. Second: What would the Schindlers’ response have been, had Terri actually executed a living will that stated what Michael has been asserting all along? Down to the request for cremation rather than burial? Would they have been able to accept her break with the Catholic faith they are so sure she held? I’ve known a number of parents who aren’t very good at accepting the fact that their offspring might hold different values. As long as speculation is being accepted in the Court of Public Opinion, I feel a need to raise that issue. Unless only some speculation is acceptable and I haven’t received the memo outlining exactly what is acceptable. As long as I’m busy speculating, I may as well add that I wonder what will happen to the Schindlers’ relationship once Terri dies. This kind of stress does damage to some relationships, but sometimes it’s the only thing holding a relationship together. Third: Appeals courts rarely hear a case de novo (literally, anew). And they don’t often sit en banc (the entire court), either. So because both of those requests have been rejected doesn’t mean that the Schindlers are being singled out for injustice. The “merits of the case” have been debated ad nauseum, and I doubt there’s a consensus to which we can all come. So I think it’s a good thing that most people in this country are allowed to deal with end-of-life issues without requiring the consensus of the country or approval of President and Congress. That’s what our “bureaucratic” system (according to Kass) provides for us. And that’s the way it should stay.

Sort of upside-down world

MSNBC called this “The book that’s too hot for Rolling Stone.”

Chicago Sun-Times columnist Cathleen Falsani reports in her Friday, January 28, 2005 posting “God is everywhere -- except pages of Rolling Stone” that RS originally rejected an ad placement by Zondervan Publishing for its new Bible translation, Today’s New International Version [TNIV].

I wasn’t at all surprised that RS would reject an ad for a Bible. It’s not exactly their reputation, just as you won’t find certain [de-]vices advertised in Christianity Today. But Falsani noted that RS “for years published notices for the Universal Life Church’s mail-order ordination in its classified ads.” And apparently the Jan. 26 issue had a small ad for T-shirts that depict Jesus with the words “Put down the drugs and come get a hug.”

Well, that’s a horse with no name. Somebody at Rolling Stone, by chance, on something? They certainly have the right to set an ad policy, but what it is, ain’t exactly clear. Oh, wait -- I’m expecting logic.

The ad rejection stirred up enough national interest that RS changed its mind, accepting the ad, and Zondervan moved its publishing date for the TNIV up to take advantage of the buzz.

Pulling the wool over a friend's eyes

Some imp in my brain’s backside bounced this memory up front. When I was 16, I played organ for my boyfriend’s brother’s wedding—the first wedding I ever played for. (Future topic alert: Wedding stories.) Because the wedding was held rather far away, I stayed overnight with the bride and bridesmaids the night before the wedding (boyfriend and his family stayed with the groom), and thus I was away from my friends for a sufficient length of time that my subsequent Big Fat Lie had a plausible framework on which to build. The weekend following the wedding, my friend “Mabel” and I sat together on the band bus headed home from yet another parade. Must have been bored. Somehow I launched the Big Fat Lie: my boyfriend and I had secretly gotten married at the same time as his brother. You have to know that I am (usually) a lousy liar. And when I was 16, I couldn’t do it at all. Poker face I was not. I kept laughing, which really should have tipped her off. It didn’t, which only made me laugh more. Whatever the implausible story I wove, I thought no more about it once I got home. When one tells a Big Fat Lie, one can’t always think of all possible repercussions, especially not when one is as unpracticed in lying as I was. I do know that I was envious because Mabel was to leave the next morning along with five other friends/classmates on a canoe trip of the Boundary Waters in Minnesota, and I was not included. I do know that the size of the party was limited, and I was not included! I was not included. Ah, a motive? But I could never have foreseen that my Big Fat Lie would be replayed, discussed, mulled over, chewed on during the entire week of evenings with nothing to do but swat mosquitoes and nurse sore muscles. Did I mention that the leader of this expedition was our school district’s superintendent? And it’s only now that I’m wondering if the Big Fat Lie was confined only to Mabel and our friend Laura, or if the others on the trip got wind of it in the great wilderness. I believe that, upon their return, Mabel and Laura did stop to take a shower before driving over to grill me. And yes, I ’fessed up immediately. Mabel’s and Laura’s discussions on this topic appeared to have played out this way: Mabel insisted it was true and Laura insisted it couldn’t be, but by the end of that long isolation in the wild, Laura was close to believing it as well. My reputation for being truthful no doubt was a big factor in this playlet, but still, it’s sobering to ponder what happens to people’s thought processes and emotions when there’s scant information and no way to verify any of it. When hearing any breaking news story, I suspend all judgment, because time and again, I’ve learned that truth takes time, and a lot of work, to surface. Many theories are propounded in the absence of solid fact, and most often they are wrong. I’ve never told a Big Fat Lie again. Sometimes I still tell little white lies.

The Funeral

Yesterday was Michael Lefkow’s funeral. News coverage has been extensive: Chicago Sun-Times; Chicago Tribune here and here; and Channel 2 news. So I don’t need to be another reporter. I saw enough of them yesterday. But the funeral was significant in coming to terms with lessons I’ve learned and with Michael’s and Donna’s horrible deaths. So many layers to one event. Back in a grade-school field trip to the local funeral home, the funeral director told us that funerals were for the living. This one was. I can’t help but hope, however, that somewhere Michael’s essence, his soul, heard and enjoyed every bit of it. It was such a reflection of his life and love. He was so very present in all of us gathered together, even in the people who didn’t particularly like him. That’s a lesson I learned from another extremely painful funeral more than three and a half years ago; when we gather to remember a loved one, we “re-member” that person. Just as the Eucharist is the “re-member-ance” of Christ; we come together as the body of Christ. I especially want to note that the intense security measures allowed us to have the time and space to “re-member” Michael. We were insulated from any would-be attackers and the media frenzy outside, for which I am extremely grateful. The Requiem Eucharist was exactly what it should be: profound worship, and thanksgiving for Michael’s life. The 1979 Book of Common Prayer (BCP) provides a rite for when the body is brought to the church: “Reception of the Body”.

The Celebrant meets the body at the door of the church and says With faith in Jesus Christ, we receive the body of our brother (sister) N. for burial. Let us pray with confidence to God, the Giver of life, that he will raise him to perfection in the company of the saints. Silence may be kept; after which the Celebrant says Deliver your servant, N., O Sovereign Lord Christ, from all evil, and set him free from every bond; that he may rest with all your saints in the eternal habitations; where with the Father and the Holy Spirit you live and reign, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. Let us also pray for all who mourn, that they may cast their care on God, and know the consolation of his love. Silence may be kept; after which the Celebrant says Almighty God, look with pity upon the sorrows of your servants for whom we pray. Remember them, Lord, in your mercy; nourish them with patience; comfort them with a sense of your goodness; lift up your countenance upon them; and give them peace through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

In all the funerals I’ve been at in that church, this was the first time I’d experienced that rite. Over in a flash, but gripping. We had been rehearsing music for the service, but stopped and faced the West doors when the casket was brought in. I can’t find words to depict how deeply respectful it was, but even the youngest probationers were attentive. Profound stillness allowed the simple acts of arrival and reception to be grace-filled. The readings were not from the ones appointed by the BCP for burial, but were so very appropriate: The Old Testament lesson was Ruth 1:6-18, which ends with the “Entreat me not to leave thee” text, often sung at weddings. Considering Michael’s and Joan’s marriage, it was fitting. The New Testament lesson was from Romans 8, “Who will separate us from the love of Christ?... As it is written, ‘For your sake we are being killed all day long; we are accounted as sheep to be slaughtered.’… For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” The Gospel, chosen by the daughters, was Luke 18:1-8, the parable of the Widow and the Unjust Judge. Jackie Schmitt, close friend of the family and Episcopal chaplain at Harvard, preached the sermon, and it is among the best sermons I have ever heard. I don’t think I can possibly do it any justice in a summary, though the various news sources I listed above contain some very good quotes from it. The audio is available, however, from St. Luke’s website, which is better, anyway, as it was an aural event (for anybody with dial-up connection: it’s a huge file). Thanks to Jackie’s sermon, I finally understand the parable of the Widow and the Unjust Judge (in the past, preachers have tried to pack God into the role of the Unjust Judge—corrupt, lazy, sloppy?). But now I also finally have a way to explain some experiences. I’ve known that bearing witness to the truth can be quite dangerous, though I’ve never before known someone personally who has lost his or her life because of it. I’ve certainly seen character assassination and personal attacks on both Michael and Joan because of their witness to the truth. And I’ve seen how they remained unbowed, anyway. From them and others like them whom I’ve known at St. Luke’s, I’ve learned how to bear witness, without apology, in the face of those who are threatened by the truth. I have more reflections on the funeral, but those belong to other layers, and so, may be addressed in a future post.

Tribute to Michael

Long before I set up this blog, I’d had topics upstairs that I’d planned at some point to bring to the blogosphere. I’ve even worked on fleshing out some of them-–no small feat for someone who has almost never willingly sat down to write. But they were all swept to the side by what happened yesterday. A friend of mine was murdered, along with his mother-in-law. If you want the details, look here. What I want to do is talk about my friends: Michael, his wife, Joan, and their family. Of course, I’m still processing--even at my ripe middle age, I’m not sure how long that all takes, or should take. I’m flipping rapidly among the various stages of mourning, though most often I seem caught in denial. Not intellectual denial, but emotional: I find myself thinking that I’m going to be talking to Michael any day now, remembering things we’ve discussed and the long-delayed answers I’d composed in my head for him. And remembering things I wished I’d said. I am also uncomfortably reminded that I hadn’t seen him and Joan in more than a year. My fault--I’m the one who faded. They sent their Christmas letter as usual, which I enjoyed as usual, because Michael was quite a writer. I’ve known the Lefkow family for years, though it’s been a gradual process. I started working fairly closely with both Michael and Joan in 1998, when it became apparent that our parish had troublesome leadership. Working through the issues over the next several years, I came to admire and respect both of them deeply. The words that come to mind are integrity, honesty, courage, principle, character, strong sense of self--always in the tone of calm consideration. Even when those they confronted were less than attentive or respectful, I think Michael and Joan both took the high road. Joan was elected in 1999 to our parish’s vestry, and she held the very tough ground of being part of “the loyal opposition,” which was a quite thankless task. A year later I was also elected, and had the privilege of serving with her, watching and learning. More lessons came after her term ended, because the situation in the parish changed. The many discussions I had with Michael in those times were challenging. Again faced with serious issues of leadership, following a change, we had to consider what had gone wrong, and how to fix it. Of course we had different theories, but disagreeing was okay. We gave each other things to ponder. I remember Michael often calling up and saying, “Here, what do you think about this?” And Joan was most often in the background (she really hated talking about parish events because they were so frustrating), but would still chime in when Michael relayed to her what I’d said. They were in every sense a partnership. The comments in the Tribune about their relationship are true: he clearly adored and respected her. This is someone who could not be threatened by a strong woman. I believe they would have celebrated their 30th wedding anniversary this year, but no complacency could be detected. So many memories flit through my head--what to include? I also taught music skills for adults, and Michael was an eager, engaged participant. I’m proud to say that I saw him progress from the much-maligned “monotone” to beginning to learn what intervals are and how they sound. He just didn’t do anything halfway. He was also the proud father of five daughters. I’ve watch four of them grow into lovely young women (never met the eldest), truly tributes to their parents. Just as I think Joan is a tribute to her parents--I never met her mother, also murdered, but she must have been extraordinary, to look at Joan. It’s hard to let go of someone who’s been so influential. Though I won’t let go entirely; the lessons learned will stay. Requiescat in pacem, Michael and Donna; may light eternal shine upon you.

me 

A Bag Lady with a home

I've been a bag lady my whole life. No, I'm not minimizing the plight of homeless people. I'm a spiritual and social nomad. And as with many such people on the margins, I'm either ignored or a lightning rod. But I finally came to terms with that. Now I feel free to offer my observations, knowing that most of the time they'll either be ignored or draw wrath. Occasionally they'll resonate in a good way. Sometimes I'll spew wisdom, and sometimes I'll spew madness. Maybe it'll be hard to know which is which. Let's go!