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I recently finished “Gilead” by Marilyn Robinson, a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel about a Congregational minister in Gilead, Iowa. It is a fictional memoir written in the first-person with poignant descriptions of small town life, growing old and work in the church, but also contains brilliant passages that reflect on the meaning and mystery of life. The book is stunning – simply beautiful – and I can’t recommend it enough. I was moved to tears at several points not because it was sad or tragic but because it touches something so fundamental to our human experience.
One passage has stuck with me, related to the minister’s understanding of baptism and the act of blessing others.
“I still remember how those warm little brows felt under the palm of my hand. Everyone has petted a cat, but to touch one like that, with the pure intention of blessing it, is a very different thing. It stays in the mind. For years we would wonder what, from a cosmic viewpoint, we had done to them. It still seems to me a real question. There is a reality in blessing, which I take baptism to be, primarily. It doesn’t enhance sacredness, but it acknowledges it, and there is a power in that. I have felt it pass through me, so to speak. The sensation is of really knowing a creature, I mean really feeling its mysterious life and your own mysterious life at the same time.”
Over the past few months I have been seeing someone and it has been a beautiful time of learning and discovery. We are slowly getting more comfortable sharing the deeper parts of ourselves with each other and I have found many of our talks and intimate moments to be much like Robinson’s character describes the act of blessing. There is a sense of mystery, beauty and joy as you hold a person who has opened their heart, mind, body and soul to you. Something wells up within me at those times and “deep speaks to deep,” as Henri Nouwen writes. It is holy experience.
I grew up with an understanding of same-sex relationships as somehow incomplete or incorrect, and was told that one could not find fulfillment in them. These were conclusions drawn from very different readings of scripture than I have come to accept today and I’m not going to open that can of worms in this entry. My sense is that an understanding of gay relationships as flawed comes from a narrow/exclusive focus on the physical/sexual aspects of gay relationships – the mechanics, if you will, or their reproductive potential. They appeal to some notion of what is “natural” in a biological sense but tend to completely ignore the deeper human and spiritual qualities that, to me, both include and transcend our bodies. And this binary reading of relationships and of sexuality in general makes for a very simplistic, two-dimensional understanding of what it means to be human.
I don’t claim to have profound insights but in my process of discernment it is becoming clearer that relationships are sacramental, and in that respect they are mysterious and deeply personal. Each one is an occasion to experience God’s presence in a real, tangible way in our lives. There are as many different types of relationships as there are people, and there are different levels or dimensions in which they are expressed. But the labels and particulars are secondary. At the heart of them all – the partner, the friend, even the passing acquaintance or stranger – is this idea of blessing others. We are not here just for our own satisfaction or pleasure. Relationships are not simply about being happy or fulfilled (though healthy relationships often bring a sense of wholeness and satisfaction); they are about experiencing and seeing the sacred in and through others. They are about calling forth or naming others’ beauty, worth and potential. And then, maybe in the process, we find the beauty, worth and potential in ourselves.
I believe that same-sex relationships require great care and thoughtfulness, might I even say prayerfulness. We have freedom, a scary but equally exhilarating opportunity to define our relationships in the ways that we need to and want to. Gender roles are not assumed; we do not have to be bound by many of the societal norms and expectations as heterosexual couples. But I also believe that in our attempts to forge new ways of being together, we should not forget that the heart of all relationships is in an invitation to the mystery and wonder of life, an opportunity to know another deeply and to be deeply known.
My hands are made to bless,
to offer on behalf of others,
a prayer, a touch,
inner healing and life.
It is part of my calling
part of my own healing, perhaps,
to hold another beautiful soul
and to claim its beauty and worth,
to pray from a deep place for
its safety, peace, stability,
to ask that this soul know the
ground-shifting, life-reorienting love and grace
that I have heard spoken of and
glimpsed in unexpected moments in my own life.
I feel myself a broken vessel
into which something of great
beauty and value has been poured,
and I am grateful, and humbled,
and curious how it could be.
But I know that I am also called to be courageous,
to live in this holy paradox and to
seek God’s will in it,
to ask more deeply whose I am
and who I am
and what this this precious gift of life and love
are to accomplish in this beautiful, broken world.
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.
One of the gifts of living in New York City is that I have been able to get around without a car. I may be wanting it back when the temperature dips below-freezing (talk to me in January) but it is such a great feeling to leave the house in the morning, walk around the corner and catch a bus that takes me two blocks from work. Or if the weather is good and I’m feeling motivated, I can take a slightly longer trek 6 blocks south and 3 avenues east to catch an express train that also drops me off two blocks from work.
I have found that this commuting time, especially on the bus, really helps to get me centered for the day. I can sit back and let someone else worry about the traffic while I order my thoughts, pray or simply watch the world go by. Over the past few weeks I have been reading poetry. Two books that have proved mainstays are A Book of Psalms translated by Stephen Mitchell, and The Stream and the Sapphire, a collection of poems on religious themes by Denise Levertov. I usually choose one piece which I read over and over again throughout the ride, letting the words and images deepen; sometimes I try to memorize it. It’s sort of like lectio divina except the text is not always from the Bible.
Though I’ve only been here for six months, it has been a particularly intense time. With all of the major changes and adjustments, these moments on the bus give me a simple, tangible way to affirm that God is with me, that God loves me, and that success is not necessarily measured by doing more work or pushing myself harder. It is so easy for me to forget this, and when I do, I find myself scattered and distracted, fragmented and stretched in far too many directions. But when I take the time to come back to my center, to savor and memorize words that affirm who I am and whose I am, I gain a fresh perspective. I find myself able to breathe more deeply and to feel at home in my body. I often feel a deep sense of joy and peace. And I would like to hope that this time helps me to be more focused and whole in my life and in my ministry in the church.
Psalm 16
Unnamable God, I feel you
with me at every moment.
You are my food, my drink,
my sunlight, and the air I breathe.
You are the ground I have built on
and the beauty that rejoices my heart.
I give thanks to you at all times
for lifting me from confusion,
for teaching me in the dark
and showing me the path of life.
I have come to the center of the universe;
I rest in your perfect love.
In your presence there is fullness of joy
and blessedness forever and ever.
- from A Book of Psalms, selected and adapted from the Hebrew by Stephen Mitchell
The Avowal
As swimmers dare
to lie face to the sky
and water bears them,
as hawks rest upon air
and air sustains them,
so would I learn to attain
freefall, and float
into Creator Spirit’s deep embrace,
knowing no effort earns
that all-surrounding grace.
- from The Stream and the Sapphire by Denise Levertov
