Milk…gets me thinking about hope

I went to see Milk a week ago, a new film directed by Gus Van Sant about the first openly gay man elected to political office.  It was a moving piece of cinema.  And I was surprised to find that I did not forget about it afterward (which is what happens with most movies I watch) but it keeps coming back to my thoughts in various ways.

I still find it hard to believe that this drama played out in my lifetime.  It was sobering to see the violence, discrimination and hate that so many gays and lesbians faced in those years and prior: police brutality and arrests; violence and verbal insults; the possibility of losing your job because you were gay.  I was a toddler in the late 70’s (so obviously didn’t have clue what was happening!) and didn’t come out until the late 90’s.  When I did come out, it took a while to actually claim a place in the community – to see my life and history connected to the lives of other GLBT folks.  I suppose I knew that these things happened or had heard about them, but to see documentary footage woven into the film made it especially poignant to me.  I find it hard to believe that some of my older gay friends and colleagues actually lived through this.

I was moved by the insatiable hope and ambition that seemed to motivate Harvey Milk and others in the film. He seemed to have a deep sense that a better day was coming and was willing to throw himself fully into the fray.  Despite several lost elections and setbacks, he did not give up.  Against the odds, he continued his quest for public office, sometimes at great personal cost.  And when he finally was elected, he became a beacon of hope and possibility for others even in his death.

The film left me grateful for the amazing gifts that Milk and other GLTB activists and advocates have given to our world.  Societal attitudes have changed dramatically over the past 30 years and my life is a small example.  Yes, there have been challenges and difficulties related to my sexual orientation but I have never been a victim of a crime or knowingly been discriminated against.  Thankfully, it is the same for many of my gay friends.  But there is still work to be done and this movie also left me asking, “What am I willing to do to make equality a reality for everyone?”  The recent spate of anti-gay marriage amendments in several states show us that GLBT folks are not completely welcome to make our relationships public and, even if we do, they are not honored with the same rights (and responsibilities) given to others. Whether the solution is gay marriage or civil partnerships, I’m not sure, but there is still inquality.  GLBT folks are still not welcome to serve as the spiritual leaders within many churches and religious traditions.  There are still places in this country where it is not safe to be “out”, where individuals are forced to lie or to hide this very real part of themselves.

The picture may look bleak right now but this movie was an infusion of Advent hope.  There is a day of justice and equality coming for all of God’s children.  Though the pace may be excruciatingly slow, things are getting better; the day is drawing near.  Like the film, this season also asks us what we will do to bring the Kingdom of God on earth.   Are we living with the boldness and freedom that would allow us to become the agents of change in our world?  Are we willing to serve as voices of challenge, dissent or compromise?  Will we stand with those within and outside of our community whose dignity and rights are not recognized?  There is much work to be done but thanks be to God for the hope that will strengthen and nourish us on the journey.

Advent through the eyes of Fellini

This was a very busy weekend of music making. I was involved in two separate performances of the Vivaldi Gloria – one on period instruments with a small choir and informed by Baroque performance practice; the other in more typical fashion with string orchestra and large choir. The choir at Trinity also sang a poignant Advent cantata by Hugo Distler, a lesser-known German composer from the early 20th century.

I often myself conflicted about music for this season. Of course, there’s the fussiness that pastors and church musicians are sometimes accused of when we ask our congregation to sing out of the (usually small) Advent section of our hymnal. But I find it so difficult to jump over a time of waiting and ambiguity and directly into the warm, fuzzy glow of Christmas carols and holiday cheer. Maybe it’s on account of my own spiritual journey – having experienced moments in life where rays of hope pierced the darkness of doubt, fear and grief in my heart. And maybe it’s just this year in particular, which has been full of so much unexpected grief and loss.

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Tonight I watched Federico Fellini’s film 8 1/2. It was so rich and fascinating that I had to watch it twice. The first time was with subtitles, letting the images and dialogue surprise and delight me. The second time I watched it with commentary offered by two film scholars and a personal acquaintance of Fellini. I rarely afford myself the luxury of watching anything twice and I consider myself a second-rate movie watcher in that I often miss extremely important symbols and ideas in films. But the second viewing was a spiritual experience.

This film is semi-autobiographical as it tells the story of a film director who has a producer, a cast, and a set for a new movie but has not been able to write a script. His creative energy is depleted, he is struggling with his faith, has several broken relationship and (as we see in some very surreal flashbacks) is still haunted by memories from his past. He is also painfully aware of the sorts of questions that critics and the public will ask about his work when it is finished. We get a picture of someone paralyzed by fear and perfectionism. In his mind, success or failure in life stem from a choice between a true, “pure” art (which is somehow separate from the brokenness) or finding personal wholeness (which he believes can only happen if he quits the whole film business and starts over again from the beginning).

In the course of the movie (especially the final 30 minutes or so) he finds a new level of clarity and honesty. Through his interaction with several characters, he becomes aware of his freedom and sees that the choice between a “pure” art and a “pure” life is a false one. The starting place for his art (and his wholeness) will come in allowing all of the parts of his being to dance together. At the very moment the movie ends it begins as the entire cast (his wife, his lovers, the actors, his mother and father, the Catholic cardinal, the prostitute) join hands and dance in a circle, accompanied by the music of a circus band. There isn’t a tidy bow put on the story; the brokenness, doubts and pains are still present. Perhaps his art and his life will never be extraordinary by others’ standards, but they will be more honest and deeply human because they speak to each other; they meet in the tragic/comic circus dance that is our lives.

I couldn’t have found a more wonderful film for the season. Advent asks us to take an honest look at this messy existence of ours. But, thankfully, we are not left there. The Incarnation shows us that God is willing to enter into this place with us; Christ’s birth, life, death and resurrection affirm the complexity and depth of our human stories. We do not need to live fearful and divided lives but are invited to a place of freedom and hope. It is a holy place – where all of our being is present to and held by a loving God who is calling us, not to greatness by others’ standards, but to lives that are more whole and more human.