What You Can Do for Episcopalians in San Joaquin

From Remain Episcopal:

Those of us who remain Episcopal within the Diocese of San Joaquin extend our thanks and appreciation for the overwhelming expression of love and support that we have received from faithful Episcopalians and Anglicans throughout The Episcopal Church and the Anglican Communion. We are committed to the very challenging tasks that we are now faced with, including but not limited to, supporting and protecting the clergy that have stood with us, maintaining and growing the parishes that retain their Episcopal affiliation, providing support and leadership to those who are in the minority in their current parishes, informing and gathering those who have left over the years in response to words and actions they found oppressive and marginalizing. To those within our diocese who have not felt represented by Remain Episcopal but have a desire to remain loyal to The Episcopal Church, please know that we do not exclude those who may feel their opinions and beliefs differ from ours. Contact us so we can better understand all perspectives and go forward representing all. ( reach us at contact@remainepiscopal.org )

Many of you have asked how you can help. Please continue to pray for the Diocese of San Joaquin. We are all mourning some level of loss regardless of our affiliation. We are in need of comfort, strength, discernment, and wisdom as we go forward in love and service to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. The tasks that face us will require considerable financial support. We need to get the word out that The Episcopal Church is still present in the Diocese of San Joaquin. Bulk mailings and print ads for media in 14 counties are costly. We would appreciate any donations. We are a 501(c)(3) organization so your donations are tax deductable. Please mail them to:

Remain Episcopal
2067 W. Alluvial
Fresno, CA 93711

Much more on their website. These people matter to me because my best friend is among them; they matter also because they've been persecuted for twenty years (by which I mean lied to, manipulated, and abused). While I hurt for the ones who followed their clergy out, my heart is rejoicing with my friends. There is joy, relief, and hope in the Valley. It's like watching a flower open, or a bird fly for the very first time.

Episcopalians in San Joaquin need our support, our prayers, our love. I'm keeping the link on top of my sidebar for the foreseeable future. If you can give money, please do; if you have prayers to spare, give those.

And, if you are an Episcopalian in the Diocese of San Joaquin and you need a community to worship with, please contact them. They will help you.

ALSO: Check out the brainstorming at Jake's. (Thanks, Buddhapalian.)

Well, they did it

As I wrote privately to a friend (in a less censored fashion), I'm not sure how to respond to this, now it's happened. I expect things to be a muddled mess, for awhile.

Please keep praying for the people of San Joaquin: those who rejoice, and those who grieve.
***

Episcopal Life Online
December 8, 2007

San Joaquin votes to leave Episcopal Church, realign with Southern Cone

Some delegates vow to 'Remain Episcopal'; Presiding Bishop comments on action

By Pat McCaughan
[Episcopal News Service, Fresno, California]

Delegates attending the 48th Convention of the Episcopal Diocese of San Joaquin on Saturday, December 8 overwhelmingly voted to leave the Episcopal Church and to align with the Anglican Province of the Southern Cone.

San Joaquin Bishop John-David Schofield asked for a moment of silence in deference to those who opposed the change, reminding the gathering that he "knows what it feels like to be a minority" before the vote tallies were read. The results, by orders were: 70-12 clergy and 103-10 vote in the lay order to effectively remove all references to the Episcopal Church from its
constitution and describe the diocese as "a constituent member of the Anglican Communion and in full communion with the See of Canterbury."

"The Episcopal Church receives with sadness the news that some members of this church have made a decision to leave this church," said Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori. "We deeply regret their unwillingness or inability to live within the historical Anglican understanding of comprehensiveness. We wish them to know of our prayers for them and their journey. The Episcopal Church will continue in the Diocese of San Joaquin, albeit with new leadership."

Full article here.

Praying for the Diocese of San Joaquin

My best friend (alias Apostle in Exile) is a delegate to the San Joaquin convention, meeting today and tomorrow in Fresno. We’d planned for me to go with her, but she has more confidential meetings than she thought, and I have one more week of the semester. I’m also preaching Sunday; it just was too much. (Just as well, really; I’ve been feeling queasy and nauseous since I woke up.)

She knows I and other friends support her; Remain Episcopal knows they have support from outside. We know how the vote’s going to go; the overwhelming majority is expected to finalize the decision made last year, to split from the national church (and to likely align with the Southern Cone). We don’t know how that will play out.

We’re talking about people’s faith, and what they’re taught about the God they seek and love. We’re talking about communities, webs of long-standing relationships of support and journeying together, being divided because some leaders can’t stomach the idea of receiving Communion at the same table with those with whom they disagree. We’re talking about homophobia and sexism, and what it means to let narrowness and prejudice define for you, who’s in and who’s out of the Realm of God. We’re talking about fear of the other, the unknown and misunderstood, disguised as love for what’s held up as righteous.

It’s clear which side I’m on. And while I know, like I know the sun is shining, that God loves all of us more than we can imagine, that God raises up whom God will, for leadership, and for that matter, that sexuality, expressed in a loving, consensual, committed adult relationship is holy—I also know that my anger, irritation, impatience, and possibly arrogance around this issue are not helping.

I’m well past praying for unity. The best I can pray for is a compassionate divorce. And I pray that everyone directly involved, and all of us on the outside watching, will listen, deeply, and can discern the true will of God. The vote is almost a given. The steps that people take afterward will make all the difference. I pray for openness, honesty, generosity, and love on all sides, even as we take leave of one another.

We are all, right now, every one of us, caught up in the forgiving, merciful, empowering, liberating, life-giving love of God. We all—John-David, you, and I—will be redeemed. We all will stumble into grace. Let us remember the One at the heart of our faith, who said, “Let anyone among you who is without sin, cast the first stone.”

Unsolicited church plug

The other good thing that my friend and I did last weekend, was worship at St. Bartholomew’s, Livermore. We were both taking breaks from our home churches (and she from her diocese). She’d been to St. Bart’s and I hadn’t; she knew it would be a good alternative.

It was. My friend introduced me to the rector, at the Peace. Carol (who reminds me very much of Julia Child in vestments) wore green Crocs, that matched her stole. She joked with me about how, if she’d known she had a third-year seminarian, she wouldn’t have praised academia so highly in her sermon. I told her I’d enjoyed it (which I had).

The building is structured in the round. Friend and I were sitting in the front, kitty-corner from the altar. Carol came over to us at the offertory and asked me if I’d like to carry a chalice. Surprised and delighted, I said yes. Of course a seminarian can carry the cup—but I’d never been invited, barely-met, to do it. (I had to be licensed, to bear the chalice regularly at home.) This struck me as incredibly welcoming.

Their liturgy had elements from the New Zealand prayer book, and was very similar to what I’m used to at St. A’s. It was enough like home to feel liturgically comfortable—but it was out of the city, away from the whole seminarian trip. The rector knew who I was, but I was also anonymous. And I don’t know the community, but they feel like a safe, nurturing refuge. (When I said that to Carol, she got it. They’re warm, in an easygoing way.)

Go there, to worship, or just to see the Stations of the Cross, if you can. There’s no text—there doesn’t need to be. They’re wood carvings, all involving hands in some position (holding the cross, hiding a face). Incredibly evocative. A member of the community carved them; his wife came and talked to us, as we were circling around.

I love my community. My home is very focused on being welcoming, and we do it well. But if I need a break, where I already know I’ll feel comfortable, this is an option that’s open to me. And to you, if you’re in the area. Go.

I love my bishop

...because he's not afraid to speak for justice.

Go here to see what I'm talking about.

Thank you, Bishop Marc.

On incense, progress, and inclusion

I am, among other contradictions, an asthmatic seminarian. CDSP is nothing like Nashotah House; we use incense, but only on high feast days.

Last night turned out to be one of them. My advisor, also Dean of the Chapel, was installed as the Kaehr Chair for Liturgical Studies (I think that’s close to her title). I couldn’t go to the liturgy, because I knew there would be incense. But when I went to congratulate her at dinner, she told me why they’d made that choice. The Kaehrs really love incense, and were very clear in their hopes that it would be used at her installation. Up to that point, they hadn’t been planning to.

I would have loved to have been at the liturgy, and Lizette knows that. She also knows that I’m impressed that she thought of me. She’s pastoral, hilarious, and I love her to pieces—but I was not aware that my breathing issues influenced chapel decisions. I’m really glad that they do, both for myself and for other people. I have one more academic year here. I’ve been told I wasn’t alone—my mentor last year was fantastically supportive—but I’ve often felt on my own in this. I haven’t heard of any others who share my experience, or who are vocal about it. I know that there will be.

I’ve spoken up often, but I’ve tried to be clear and calm about it. Mostly I just say when I can’t participate. If the sacristans are looking for last-minute volunteers, I write back asking if there’s incense (if I’m not sure), and offering to help if there isn’t. It was harder for me emotionally last year than now. I am still excluded by the presence of incense, but I don’t take that personally, anymore. Today, I’m thrilled to have been thought of last night. People are basically good, and well-intentioned. I’m glad that my presence changes their approach to issues of inclusion/exclusion, even if that doesn’t lead to instant change of action. Awareness is a very good thing.

One of the people I love the most here is entering a new phase of “fraudulent retirement,” and we honored him and another retiring faculty member last week in chapel. I had thought there would be incense, because the rota read “Thurifer TBA,” and so told John I couldn’t go. He would be preaching. I went home after class, and he went to rehearsal. He called me to tell me they weren’t using it, and I could attend. I went, happily, and thanked him.

Both last week and this, when my inability to participate because of incense came up, John has suggested I stand outside so I can listen. I won’t do that—it feels even more exclusionary to watch from afar, and not to be able to come in and receive Communion. It’s really not a compromise at all. I haven’t told him that, though, because the presence of incense wasn’t something he could change at the last minute, and I know he means well. He wants me to feel free to participate in any way I can, and sees that as a way I could at least listen to the liturgy. His heart’s completely in the right place. To me, however, standing outside is analogous to being in the Court of the Asthmatic Gentiles.

I’ve been breathing comfortably at my parish since I landed there; other people blazed that trail long before me. One couple in particular are good friends of mine, and we talk about this often. Their concern is not only for themselves and their friends; they worry about the rise in childhood asthma caused by air pollution. They sent me a stack of articles related to incense and the church, which I haven’t had time to read closely. There are some interesting angles, though, and again I’m glad it isn’t just me. Other people have asked me, incredulously, how I could consider entering the clergy if I can’t tolerate incense. The answer to that is easy: I would be up front with my limitations, and I would seek positions in safe churches. Before I came to California, incense was rarely an issue. My parish is safe, as is the one where I’m considering interning a year from now. I know there are others.

To me, it’s all about inclusion—not only of myself, but of everyone. We build ramps so that everyone can enter the building; we experiment with the words used in worship so that those who have been excluded can fully participate. I’m doing my best to raise awareness that people with asthma still love the church, still want to participate in the worshipping community, and still are called to serve God here.

People are hearing me, and I'm glad.

Go.

The following is a talk I gave at St. John the Baptist Episcopal Church in Lodi, CA this morning. They are sending a group to New Orleans in June. The rector, an old friend, asked me to speak of my experiences there.

I went to New Orleans because my friend Michael invited me. What I found there changed me forever. I met God, and God’s people, there.

I went with three other seminary students, over our Spring Break, during the last week of March. We worked with a local grassroots nonprofit. Michael gutted houses, which is still the most needed physical task there, as taking people’s houses apart from the inside, down to the studs, preserves people’s property rights should they want to return. Judy, Vivian, and I divided our time between a women’s shelter and a distribution center, in the 9th Ward. We met people whose stories will stay with us forever.

We met Joanne, a cargo worker at the Port of New Orleans. She was staying in a three-bedroom house with 16 other women. Her second home since Katrina was condemned, two weeks before I met her. The storm pushed sea water underneath the city. 19 months later, the water is still underground. The water corrodes the pipes, ultimately destroying the plumbing. The problem is too extensive, and costly, to fix. Joanne has been all over the world. New Orleans is her favorite place. She loves the city—but she is finding it impossible to live there.

Joanne led us to Bill, the rector of St. Anna’s Episcopal Church. Joanne had told us that she was drunk for a year after Katrina, and that this church had led her back to God. We attended Eucharist on a Wednesday night, drawn both by her witness and by the Mission to Musicians benefit potluck they host every week. Bill said that he, along with most other New Orleanians, simmered with anger underneath the surface. But when I asked him what he would have me take back to California, the first things he said were peace and hope.

We took a day to play, and had lunch in the French Quarter at the New Orleans School of Cooking. When they found out what we’d been doing, wealthy locals out touristing thanked us just as whole-heartedly as the residents of the 9th Ward had, just for noticing them. The chef thanked the out-of-town tourists as deeply as he thanked us. It’s important that you go and witness to the devastation in that city. It is also important to go and have fun there. There’s a lot to make you think, in New Orleans. There’s also a lot to love there. The Quarter is a really fun place. Tourism has always been important, and that’s even more true now. Putting money into their economy helps them survive, and it will help them rebuild.

I thought I knew what poverty was. I didn’t. No amount of reading, or seeing photographs, could have prepared me for block after block after block after block of empty, flood-damaged houses. Nothing could have prepared me for the shock of standing in someone’s kitchen, and coming to really understand the geographic, economic, and political causes of this flood that took six weeks to pump dry. Nothing could have prepared me for meeting so many people who were so poor and yet so faithful, who lived with their souls almost visible. They were so grateful to be seen, to be spoken to, to be helped, to be remembered. We were a sign of hope to them; a sign of God’s presence. They were a sign of God’s presence to us.

Going to New Orleans changed me forever. I have a new commitment to mission, a new understanding of the political and economic forces in my own country, and a new empathy for people in all third-world situations. I know that I’ll go back; I’m already planning to. I urge you to go, to help out, to meet the people, to experience the place. I’ll be at the back table. I have more stories, and I have pictures. Please come talk to me.

Thank you.

Thank you, Elizabeth Kaeton

…for publishing this photograph of an Easter ad run by the Bay Area Reporter (local LGBT rag). I already had a paper copy; now I get to share.

My church is on the lower left. If this is "making trouble," I am proud to do it.

You might want to swallow whatever you’re drinking, before you click on the link!

Ask, and ye shall receive...

I’m still wound up tighter than an eight-day watch, but I’m feeling better. I’m still talking fast—my telltale “I’m anxious” sign—but I feel calmer inside. The thing I was so afraid of is working itself out in a way that I think could be really amazing. And I’ve had a few good conversations about all of it.

Breathe. All shall be well.

I talked with my priest today, about new ways to be involved in my parish. He asked me to coordinate the younger-adults group. I said yes. I asked him if I could teach an adult ed class; I’m taking “Postmodern Christian Education” right now and need a project anyway. He was really enthusiastic—and now I’m going to lead a four-week series, during Easter season.

Eep! I'm up for it--but I've never done that before.

All this amid papers, reading, and my middler review (another eep). Back to work! Thank you all for your prayers; they are truly helpful.

Bonnie Anderson to visit St. John's Episcopal Church in Lodi, CA

Bonnie Anderson, President of the House of Deputies in the Episcopal Church, will visit St. John's on Saturday, February 10. She will preach at Holy Eucharist at 11 a.m. Lunch will follow, provided free for all attendees. The afternoon session will begin with a presentation by Anderson entitled “I Will, With God’s Help: Our Mission and Ministry in the World.” A panel discussion will follow. The event will end at 4 p.m.

The theme for the event is “Celebrating and Proclaiming the Gracious Love of Jesus Christ in and through the Episcopal Church."

The parish address is 1055 S. Lower Sacramento Road, Lodi, CA. If you live within the Diocese of San Joaquin, please contact St. John's to register. The phone number is 209-369-3381; you may also e-mail the church.

If you live outside of the Central Valley and you wish to attend, please call the parish a day or two in advance, to confirm available space.

A press release with full details can be found here.

Thank you, Bishop Katharine.

PSA: Supporting Faithful Episcopalians in San Joaquin

"Bishop Schofield of San Joaquin has issued a letter in which he unfolds his plans to leave the Episcopal Church. Part of this plan involves passing various resolutions at the diocesan Annual Convention scheduled to conclude December 2. There is some question as to if these resolutions will pass. If they do, then as of December 3, many in San Joaquin will have officially left the Episcopal Church. It is fairly safe to assume that some of those who leave will also take the keys to the buildings with them, which will most likely result in long legal struggles."

Read the rest from Father Jake.

I don't live there, but a good friend does; the suggestions Jake posted are hers. The diocese covers the Central Valley of California, from east of the coastal mountains to the Nevada border, and from just south of Sacramento to just north of Los Angeles. They need support--emotional, spiritual, financial--to help them build Episcopal communities if the diocese affiliates elsewhere, and to continue in their current ministries if it doesn't. If the diocese does align itself with a more reactionary province, polity will be the least of the changes. The spirituality, culture, and ethos present in the Episcopal Church will be much more difficult to find. In its place will be the homophobia and sexism that are motivating this schism.

The bishop of San Joaquin is one of three remaining Episcopal bishops who does not ordain women. The rest of us have been doing that for 32 years. General Convention decided three years ago to affirm New Hampshire's choice to call a gay man to be their bishop. The bishop of San Joaquin believes that practicing non-heterosexuals are sinners. He is choosing to align himself with an official body that preaches the same.

We believe that God is love. This schism is driven by the desire to exclude. Please help those who may be left without a church that feels like home to them.

Homily, Feast of All Saints

I preached this morning at St. Aidan's.

Matthew 5:1-12

Wow. It’s All Saints Day. It’s fall in California!
This is the day when we remember all who came before us.
We praise famous, and not-so-famous, people.
We think about what it means to honor them,
with our lips and in our lives.
People jump into our minds at odd moments,
and we wish them happiness and love.
We send out a quick thank-you for the ones we love,
as we go back to studying or washing the dishes.
We might notice a grandparent in a child’s smile.
We remember, in turn, who we are,
whose we are,
and how we are called to live.

The first record of a feast set aside to commemorate all the saints
dates from before the year 270,
in a work by Gregory the Wonder-Worker, a bishop in Greece.
The date was fixed to November 1 in the eighth century.
This is our way of honoring our ancestors.
We’ve been doing it for a very long time.

What is a saint?
Is it someone who lived a legendarily perfect life,
and died centuries ago in the service of the faith?
Is it someone about whom we tell miracle stories?
Is it the statue under the birdbath in the yard?

The catechism in the Book of Common Prayer says this about sainthood:
“The communion of saints is the whole family of God,
the living and the dead, those whom we love and those whom we hurt,
bound together in Christ by sacrament, prayer, and praise.”

Saints are the faces on the icons,
and the names forgotten centuries ago.
Theirs are the stories we tell once a year on their feast days,
and the stories remembered only by their children.
We are the babies of the family.
Ours is an ancient line of love and faith,
seeking and finding,
wrestling with and celebrating God.

This is a time to honor our own pantheons,
as well as those individuals specifically mentioned by the church.
Not only Aidan, monk, missionary bishop, and generous soul,
but Dymphna—patron of madness and also, for us, of creative chaos,
amazing organizational skills, drag-queen nuns, and children.
Not only Francis, who loved peace, practiced radical poverty,
and kissed a leper on the street—
but all who have lived and died and worked and played
and loved in this city.

I honor friends right here, who have welcomed me, laughed with me,
taught me a new skill, and helped me through a difficult time.
I honor a woman I never knew in the town I came from,
who roused her friends to create a flock of doves out of paper mache,
old sheets, glitter, paint, and glue.
They marched in an annual street fair celebrating life,
the year before she died on Palestinian soil.
I honor her parents, who carry on Rachel’s work
and who have become good friends to me.
I honor a child I cared for when I was just out of college.
She’s a self-conscious thirteen-year-old now;
she no longer jumps into my arms when she sees me.
But she taught me more about joyful assertiveness than anyone has,
before she even turned two.

I honor Mary, the bearer of God, saying yes to wild possibility.
I honor Mary Magdalene, first, vocal, witness to the resurrected Christ.
I honor Thomas, who honored his own need to see and touch the resurrected Christ for himself.
I honor all those who serve the San Francisco Night Ministry,
and who give their time by volunteering anywhere
in the service of God’s people and creation.
I honor those, too numerous to mention, following their faith
with thoughtful abandon,
stepping out bravely and joyfully into new ministries,
serving the God who calls us all to be our true selves.

Who do you honor today? How do they help you hear the call of God?
How do they encourage you to shine your light for others?

Saints are the holy ones, and saints are all of us. What is holiness?

Jesus said,

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
Blessed are the ones who are not attached to material things,
or financial security,
for they will find freedom in the generosity of God.
These are the ones who can share what they have,
with others who need even more than they.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”
Blessed are those who can feel their true feelings,
who can grieve and cry without shame.
They have the courage to ask for the comfort that they need.
When others need to be held, or rocked, or listened to,
these are the ones who have the strength to give that.

“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.”
Blessed are the ones who meet anger not with posturing and threats,
but with openhearted, unreserved love.
These are the ones who can heal the ruptures in this world.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.”
Blessed are those who seek God through working for justice on this earth.
The power of God will be with them
like a mighty stream.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.”
Blessed are the ones who can reach out with love and offers of forgiveness,
for they too will be loved and forgiven.

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.”
Blessed are the ones who are not complicated by greed,
hunger for power,
or any wrong attachments.
These are the ones who can pray in silence.
These are the ones who can be still, in their bodies and souls,
and make space for the love of God to fill them.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”
Blessed are the ones who work to heal divisions
between all peoples of the earth.
This is the work of shalom to which God calls us;
when we do it, we live into our call to be co-creators of the Kindom.

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
God is with us in our hurt and fear and pain,
as much as God is with us in our joy.
God knows our deepest intentions, and God loves us immeasurably.
God “gets” who we are.
In a time when it was physically dangerous
to practice a countercultural faith,
Jesus was assuring his listeners that God was present with them,
even in their suffering.

“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”
The work we do here matters.
Our lives matter.
The love of God, shining through us, matters.

Shalom is a Hebrew word that means more than peace;
it means wholeness, completeness, union with one another and with God.
Our new Presiding Bishop, Katharine Jefferts Schori,
preached yesterday on what it means to embody the concept of shalom.
She said,

“The ability of any of us to enjoy shalom depends on the health of our neighbors. If some do not have the opportunity for health or wholeness, then none of us can enjoy true and perfect holiness. The writer of Ephesians implores us to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace – to be at one in God's shalom. That is our baptismal task and hope, and unless each of the members of the body enjoys shalom we shall not live as one. That dream of God, that word of God spoken in each one of us at baptism also speaks hope of its realization.”

We are given the work of holiness at baptism,
the very moment at which we enter the communion of saints.
When we do this work,
we affirm the love, the creativity, and the reconciling power of God.

Today we celebrate the Feast of All Saints.
Our cloud of witnesses is right here with us.
Let us do the work that God has created us to do.
Let us be who God has called us to be.
We are the family of God.

Sharing Our Stories: St. Aidan Member in the 21st Century

A different relatively new person is speaking at my church each week, from the Feast of St. Aidan in late August until Epiphany. The topic is how St. Aidan's intersects with our spiritual lives. I was asked to participate last Wednesday, and here is what I said this morning.

My mother was not Cesar Chavez’ lawyer, but my mentor was an Aidanite.

Our Dean of Students chooses current students to mentor each member of the entering class, to show them the ropes their first year. She knows the mentors she chooses; she has met each newcomer who has visited, and read their applications. By a stroke of grace or genius, I got Molly. We met by e-mail over the summer. She took me out for a much-appreciated beer, the first night of orientation. As she tells it, she “got me drunk and made me take Greek.” We talked about how each of us had landed at CDSP. She knew I was from Olympia, had come from a bit of an upside-down situation, and was going to be looking for a new home here. My path wasn’t entirely unlike her own. She told me about St. Aidan’s, and about Aidan’s Way and Dymphna. I knew who Dymphna was, because I’d gone looking for a patron saint the week before. This sounded like a good community, and an incredible amount of fun. Molly was doing Field Ed at Holy Innocents and couldn’t bring me here, but she urged me to come. I remember my exact answer: “I’d love to. I can’t. We stole your rector.” She said, “No, don’t worry about that. You’d love them, and they’d love you.” Prophetic words.

I went out of town for my class retreat and then my birthday, and visited Grace Cathedral and somewhere else. I made it over here for the first time on St. Francis Day. I got off of BART and waited what seemed like forever at the bus stop. I overheard people talking about the #52. I went over and asked them about it. That was Kate and Angela. They showed me around that first day, and introduced me. Everybody was so incredibly open and welcoming. They took me out to lunch afterward, and we talked for a really long time. They weren’t just being nice to the newcomer; they were genuinely interested. I came back the next week, and it was clear that my having a connection to Nedi had mattered for about ten minutes. People who hadn’t heard that piece were just as friendly, just as welcoming, just as enthusiastic and encouraging.

I visited a couple other places, but when I wasn’t here, I missed it. I connected with the worship; I loved the community. I connected right away with the sense of compassion and utter chaotic, creative joy. I volunteered at Dymphna so I could meet people. That resulted in the following often-repeated exchange:

“Hi, how was your weekend?”
“Great! I waitressed at a drag show for church.”

I’m bringing a friend from San Joaquin to that, next month. She was here last week, with me.

I explored a few more congregations, but I kept a foot here. The community was wonderful, friendly and supportive. I had a lot of sorting and healing to do, and that seemed to be possible here. But the future rector was an unknown quantity. Because of an experience in the parish I had come from, I needed to be able to trust the priest. I was hesitant to completely fall in love before I knew who that would be. I came back from break at Epiphany, and you announced that you’d called Tommy. He is a friend of a seminary friend, since graduated; she’d found him in the Baton Rouge phone book when she was looking for a church for her parents. They love him. I met him, got to know him, and there was no longer a reason for resistance.

I got on the rota, and started really feeling like a part of this place. I started coming to the women’s group. I did what felt to me like little random things, like putting together a sheet about the labyrinth last Holy Week, and being there for an afternoon. People have commented to me that they appreciated me jumping in. I’m here; how could I possibly not? I’ve been asked to participate in some ways, and been happily included in anything I’ve expressed an interest in. People here have helped and supported me, sometimes on purpose, often more than they know. One major question I came down here with is, “What do I have to give to the world, and the church?” You’ve been more than willing to let me explore. I’ve been really embraced here, encouraged to give whatever I want to, and loved for who I am.

I went to Seattle for the summer, and had a fantastic time up there. Puget Sound holds my roots, and I love it. The parish I was in was very active and inclusive. In the middle of all of that, I wrote to Sally and asked her to transfer my membership here. I visited because my mentor told me to. I stayed because I caught the spirit of this community. I came from Olympia last fall, needing to do a lot of sorting and healing, and listening to what the call to uproot my whole life is all about. I struggled a lot with the whole idea of home, being from one place and needing to be in another. I came back here last week, twitching all the way up the hill on the bus, because I would not rather be anywhere else.

Thank you.

Winding down

Well, lying down, at any rate, as I’ve got a stomach bug. The Apostle in Exile thinks it’s the same thing that teased her for days before it really knocked her down. I’m pinning my own hopes on exhaustion, and my body needing some catch-up time. I don’t get digestive bugs very often, but I’d still rather have this than a respiratory illness. I hate those.

She came up last Wednesday and left Sunday afternoon. We took care of the animals I was housesitting for (two cats and a bearded dragon lizard), and ran around all over the city. I got to play tour guide all around my back yard; it was so much fun. We did the Underground tour, went to the glass museum in Tacoma, listened to the wind in the trees in Discovery Park, and walked all over Pike Place Market and the waterfront. We had Thai food in Fremont, sushi in Wallingford, lunch wherever we were, and breakfast at home. I really wanted to take her on a ferry to Bainbridge for ice cream, but we ended up not having time. Oh well. We also had a lot of good talking time. She is and has been helping me heal from a whole lot of things in my past. (I was not the child my parents wanted, and still am surprised when people want to be around me.) She said once that she forgets how new it is for me to be completely accepted. I thought, fabulous—I’m evolving.

I really have started shedding my skin. There is no looking back from that; all I want to be is real, transparent, comfortable in the skin that I’m growing, and not overwhelmed by my own wants, needs, and fears. I’m getting there, and I am nothing if not supported—but it still feels like a long road. I want to be there now. This is my map: I’m not afraid of my own feelings at all. I’m used to them. I know how it feels to be me, when I’m happy, calm, overjoyed, hurting, angry… everything. I am much less scared to talk about the reasons for my tears; those words come almost easily now. I am still afraid that I overwhelm other people. This rock in the road is all about boundaries and trust.

My friend Don from St. Aidan's met us at church on Sunday, and took us all out to lunch. We talked about World in Prayer, the Communications Committee, how to get around the city, and suchlike. It was fun to see him. I took the Apostle to the airport Sunday afternoon, went back to Ballard to gather up my stuff, and moved in to where I am now (north of the U-district). I went to work Monday, but didn’t really get anything done. Mostly, I was tired. Woke up with the stomach thing yesterday, and it’s still coming and going, so I’ve stayed home. I need to finish revising my work for the Altar Guild, and e-mail that. Tomorrow I have to go in, because I have two meetings about fall worship services, and Dorian and the wardens want to take me to lunch.

Friday, I’ll get the a/c in my car looked at, and fixed if it’s not horribly expensive. I think I have a party in Magnolia Saturday evening to go to; during the day, I’ll catch up on little things for myself I’ve wanted to do while I’m up here. Sunday after church is a lunch by the youth who went to MA on a mission trip, and then I’ll pack up the car and head south. I’ll stay in Olympia until Tuesday morning, then drive back to CA. I’ll sleep that night on the Apostle’s couch, and settle back in to CDSP the next day. We're going to play in SF a bit over the weekend, and then I'll start school that Tuesday.

I’m very glad I came up here; it’s been good to do some useful work, come home, and heal. I’ve met some good people, and I’ve done (mostly) what I came here to do. By Sunday, I’ll feel very ready to leave. I miss my friends in CA and the rhythm of church and school. It’s time to move forward with all of this.

Slackerdaisicality, and a book meme

Yes, I’m still alive. Still in Seattle, still happy, still healing, growing, and having a good time. I’ve taken too many long, guilty looks at my and my friends’ blogs, and it’s past time for an update.

I finished my part of the altar guild project. I resisted it; I’m not sure why—I think I just had too many distractions. I’ve been moving every week or two or three, and had trouble finding my focus. All I needed to do was write up some information on church seasons, and find prayers to go with them. I did it at last while Dorian was on vacation, because I couldn’t have looked her in the eye when she came back. They’re going to finalize both pieces (mine and the procedural stuff that someone else wrote up), and make it available in September.

I’m housesitting right now for a family from Ascension, and taking care of their plants, two cats, and one bearded dragon lizard. They’re really nice people. One’s on the vestry, and when I went over to get the house tour and key, we ended up having a meeting regarding their fall retreat day (by which time I’ll be back in CA). I think so far that I’ve done everything I was responsible for, for that.

I’m getting to help plan a Celtic worship service, that will start happening here once a month in the fall. Even though I won’t be here then, I love doing this sort of thing. I had known next to nothing about the Celtic church. The history is fascinating.

The Apostle in Exile is coming to visit this week. We haven’t figured out what all we’re doing yet; how much touristy stuff can you pack into three days? We both kind of want to go to the San Juans; we’ll see. I’m also taking suggestions for sushi…

After she leaves, I’ve got exactly one more week here. Then, I’ll pack my car (ought to clean it out right now), and head back to Oly for a couple days. I’m having breakfast with a friend on the 29th, then I’ll hit the freeway. I plan to get back to Berkeley on the 30th, buy my books and settle in. I’m lectoring at the Orientation Community Night Eucharist on the 31st.

The Apostle and I have plans to show up at St. Aidan’s Labor Day weekend, and play in the city a bit. Then, I start school. I’m not scared at all, because I know what I’m getting into this year. I feel excited and ready.

Here, snagged both from Juniper and Mimi, is a book meme:

1. One Book That Changed Your Life: I don’t know about changed my life, but in a sense helped me define who I’d be: The Sneetches and Other Stories, by Dr. Seuss. It was my favorite book when I was five. I didn’t know about the WWII parallel until early adulthood—I just loved it for telling me it was okay to be me.

2. One Book That You've Read More Than Once: I read The Dark is Rising, the best in that series by Susan Cooper, most Christmases.

3. One Book You'd Want On a Desert Island: Barbara Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible. I could read this over and over. I didn’t get into Prodigal Summer at all; I’d like to try again. I love her essays, also.

4. One Book That Made You Laugh: Um… a Calvin and Hobbes anthology?

5. One Book That Made You Cry: The Secret Life of Bees, by Sue Monk Kidd. I read it in three evenings; would have finished it in one sitting if I hadn’t had to stop so often. And books never do that to me.

6. One Book You Wish Had Been Written: A book on early/medieval church history, in English. I have a difficult time with academic-ese; I can read it, and comprehend it slowly, but I start wondering why after awhile.

7. One Book That You Wish Had Never Been Written: I despised The Mists of Avalon. I endured it, in college, because I was taking a religion/mythology program and all the other women I knew raved about it. I never could keep straight who stole whose child, and who was sleeping with whom. Then, after sweating my way through 800-odd pages, I found Marion Zimmer Bradley’s conclusion: Mary is just Brigid anyway, in different clothes, so none of the previous fighting and intrigue have mattered. Ugh.

8. One Book You’re Currently Reading: Gospel Women, by Richard Bauckham. I’m preaching on Mary in the morning.

9. One Book You’ve Been Meaning To Read: Listening Hearts: Discerning Call in Community. I’ve had it out from the GTU library for months, and am going to buy my own copy before I go back to school.

Adding,

10. One Book You Want to Read Again: The Left Hand of Darkness, by Ursula Le Guin (thanks Max). I’ve never gotten into fantasy/sci-fi in general, but I discovered her several summers ago and binge-read her work. I have something else in that series checked out from the Seattle library right now.

Off to write a sermon. I’ll post that tomorrow.

I'm supposed to be writing a sermon

...and I'm stuck. I'm preaching at 7 a.m. tomorrow; I was offered this day and I said, "Sure!" Really, it shouldn't be hard; it's the feast of St. Benedict, and this only needs to be about four minutes long. Telling anything at all about him could take most of that.

I think the readings are tripping me. Either of the Psalms, and the section of Proverbs, I can wrap my mind around; they're about listening to wisdom. The Gospel is from Luke 14, about giving up all your possessions to follow God.

I've been a (very) poor hippie. I'm going into more debt than I'll ever pay off, to do what I'm doing right now. I'm doing this willingly. But I don't have the right to preach poverty to 70-year-olds who worked for decades to have two homes and go golfing when they want to. I have no right to judge other people's choices. I can talk about Benedict giving up everything for God. I can't tell anyone to do that.

We are, each and all of us, called in the ways that we are called, to do the work that is ours. This Gospel reading is about counting the cost, and then calling it nothing. I don't know how to speak this, to people who have more materially than I do. I'm also catching myself, for not being as open and attentive to God as I want and need to be.

Help?

A measure of redemption

Other people have responded more eloquently than I to Resolution B033. Susan Russell's blog links to the dissenting bishops' statement, the rector of All Saints, Pasadena's reflection, and Father Jake.

My classmate Debbie Graham implores us to stay.

Stay, and work, we will. Pray for the church, and for all people.

Pride and disgust

...in the same week.

Last Sunday, my church elected +Katharine Jefferts Schori as our first female Presiding Bishop. I knew nothing about her; I'd been told by a friend that she didn't have a chance, and another nominee was a friend of another friend. He's managed to make progress among both the liberals and the conservatives, and I thought it would be him. It wasn't. She got it. The more I've read and learned about her, the happier and prouder I am.

Today, Reuters carried this headline: "Episcopal Church votes to avoid gay bishops." Apparently, we're bowing to the ones who would hold unity above justice, at the expense of good, qualified, and called human beings. Bishops Iker, Schofield, and Ackerman can be happy. ++Akinola of Nigeria can dance at his influence over us. I'm not.

The election of +Gene Robinson as bishop of New Hampshire in 2003 brought me back to this church. The legislative body assembled in Minneapolis didn't do a bloody thing wrong. They consented to the choice made by the people of New Hampshire, of who would best lead them. In so doing, they made this church safe for all people on every kind of margin. This week, some of those who voted for +Jefferts Schori are friends of mine. I am part of this. This is my tribe. I'm in seminary in an Episcopal institution. I'm considering what form my ministry will take. I am committed to being here. The issues I left over, at 22, are still very much present. But these people made progress in my absence, and I will join my efforts with theirs.

We had done nothing which called for repentance. Not in 1976*, not in 2003, not in 2006. It is not for human beings to stand in the way of God. An Australian Anglican friend put it this way: "My thoughts on schism are that women are the price Anglicans have been willing to pay for unity for decades. My response to that is that unity is the price I am prepared to pay for women."

Unity is the price I am prepared to pay for the respect and inclusion of all of God's people.

*September 16, 1976, on the very day I turned six, General Convention authorized the ordination of women to the priesthood and episcopate.

Newsletter piece

This is something I wrote for the Ascension monthly newsletter; I thought I'd publish it here for people who are just meeting me in blogland, and for people in the Bay Area who want to keep up with what I'm doing. It had to be short, so I've left some background out. I thought about expanding it, and may later, but here I am for now. Peace.

First, I’d like to thank everyone I’ve met, on Sundays, at the rummage sale, and at vestry meeting, for making me feel welcome. Everyone’s been open and friendly; you’ve put me right at ease here. Thank you.

To introduce myself:

I’m a second-year seminarian at Church Divinity School of the Pacific in Berkeley, CA. I grew up in Everett, lived in Olympia for 17 years (during and after college at Evergreen) and was looking for a different parish experience near my home for the summer. Through recommendations, I landed at Ascension. I’m very happy here, and energized about the work I’m doing.

I’ve begun with a plan for a baptism class I’ll get to lead next week. I’m also creating something for the Altar Guild about liturgical seasons, and finding or writing prayers to accompany them. I’m integrating into the community as I go. You’ll see me sitting in the pews sometimes, and serving sometimes as well. During the week, I can be found upstairs, surrounded by my laptop, books, and tea, next to the choir’s vestments.

I’ll also be housesitting for many of you. Thank you for welcoming me into your homes while you’re gone; I now have places all summer where I know I’ll be. You’ve all been a huge help.

In the meantime, I’m asking myself questions. I know that I am called into ministry. Into what, exactly? Do I need to be ordained? Do I want to sign up with Mercy Corps, and work in Africa? What feels right, what doesn’t, where are my gifts and what can I learn? What do I absolutely not want to do? I believe that people are called where they are. When I’m in the right place, it’s like being in the middle of a waterfall. I’ve begun this journey non-traditionally. I will enter the formal discernment process at some point; I’m considering how ready I am for the rigors of that. In the moment, I’m learning, working, experimenting, and growing where God has put me.

I’ll keep you posted.