When I was a regular churchgoer and the choir would disband for summer with clergy taking their vacations, the passing weeks slowly trudging onward. Yes, I would attend services, but all seemed to be marking time until everyone returned in the fall, and I remember looking forward to the Sunday when the choir and clergy returned.

Now that I sit on the other side of the calendar, things are a bit different. I look at the passing weeks, and they seem to blur into the next with little time to slow down, and mark time. I look at my plans for the fall and realize they will be here before I realize it with time ticking ever faster.  I look at dates in the future wondering how I will get things done while at the same time coming to the realization that I truly, and holistically need a break.

As I reflect, and look back to last summer, I realize that its been a very busy year/cycle. Last summer I took EFM mentor training on what was to be my first weekend of vacation time, and then during my first week of break took my canonical exams for ordination. This left me with only one week away from any obligations. Then, there was my final year of study, and my ordination which took place in February of this year. Since that time it’s been an interesting ride into a new life. This summer, my Rector left on sabbatical which meant I have held down duties keeping the church where I am employed on track, trying not to steer into uncharted waters.

If anyone has any concept of what I am writing about, then you might understand why I am in need of rest and relaxation. I look forward to this time away (from mid August-Mid September) from my usual duties. As the year has passed with lightning speed, I wonder if my 3 weeks or so will move as quickly or, for the sake of my inner being, time slows down a bit.

When I return from my time away, I’ve got a month until we have our 6th National Coming Out Day celebration, which this year has the potential to be a very important event. Then there’s the new church year with whatever holds in store from my rector who will be recharged and ready to go go go. In my present state, that’s too many go’s!

Emergence has been defined as the way complex systems and patterns arise out of a multiplicity of relatively simple interactions, and a lot of net ink, and print space has been devoted to the concept of the Emergent Church; a claim, and movement which has yet to be totally defined.

In many cases, when I read of the Emergent Church, talk invariably moves towards liturgy, which is the most obvious resting place for many churchgoers. Try as we might, there is a connection between what we experience, and how we inwardly process public expressions of faith.

People may teach that worship is not performance, but in secret, there are elements of performance art connected with liturgy.  Public expression experienced through the lens of emergent worship, however, is not the Emergent Church.

Over the weekend, as I pondered news from the Church of England, it’s synod, and their struggle surrounding female bishops, I began to reflect on  the ontological nature of emergence.  We, who are active in the life and work of the church, are witness to the systems and patterns arising out of a multiplicity of relatively simple interactions which took first shape in the United States rooted in the Social Gospel movement.

If we follow the social gospel’s arch, it leads us to Martin Luther King, Jr, and beyond which, in the Episcopal Church, opens the door to the first canonical ordinations of women in 1976, and Barbara Harris’ Episcopal ordination in 1989; approximately 100 years after the social gospel’s inception. Here is what the social gospel Presbyterians had to say in 1910:

“The great ends of the church are the proclamation of the gospel for the salvation of humankind; the shelter, nurture, and spiritual fellowship of the children of God; the maintenance of divine worship; the preservation of truth; the promotion of social righteousness; and the exhibition of the Kingdom of Heaven to the world.”

If we follow the trends of simple interactions, which most equally align with a basic pulse of Christianity, it is no surprise Gene Robinson was elected Bishop, and equally appropriate the Episcopal Church would elect Katharine Jefferts Schori as Presiding Bishop in 2006. For about 100 years, the greater church has embraced emergence, and it is now taking root all over the world.

Like the pains of birth, we are witness to the Holy Spirit’s re-birth of the church. We are witness to the casting away of medievalism with the wider church being reborn into the ideal of equality wished for in the first century.

Emergent worship, which stems from the outgrowth of a particular community, only reflects the larger call of the wider Christian body to regain a circle of faith, not seen through the mighty fortress of the basilica, but the gentle outgrowth of countless communities seated in a grand circle: one with each other, and one with God. We are witness to God calling us  to remove the Rood Screen.

]]> http://dancertm.net/?feed=rss2&p=829 0 http://dancertm.net/?p=824 http://dancertm.net/?p=824#comments Sun, 11 Jul 2010 21:23:35 +0000 dancertm http://dancertm.net/?p=824 Delivered at St. George’s Episcopal Church, La Canada, CA

Amos 7:7-17
Psalm 82:1-5,8
Colossians 1:1-14
Luke 10:25-37

One of the major differences between Judaism, and Christianity is very subtle. The difference is that Judaism focuses on the Law, but Christianity from the onset, was attracted to the story.

When a prophet like Amos came to a city, to proclaim a judgment on the people of the northern kingdom, he didn’t spend a lot of time telling stories. He merely went before a king, or stood amongst the people and told them off, in God’s name of course. Prophets only relied on a story in order to remind people where they had screwed up, especially with reference to the law of the covenant.

Through the eyes of the gospel evangelists, the good news in Christ is spread by sharing stories, and if you look at the major thrust of the gospels, we are told of the life, and work of Jesus through the use of theological story telling. Historically, I think we can be pretty sure that Jesus used stories to spread his message amongst the people of Galilee. I also think it would be safe to assume that Jesus really did use parables; there are far too many recorded to think these were thought up later and inserted into the text.

The reason I brought up the difference between the Law and the Prophets vs. the Theological Story is that in today’s gospel reading, we are given a story which has become a literary classic, and so well known that even people who never attended a church, or went to Sunday School recognize the story of the Good Samaritan. But, this story is so familiar that it presents a problem. Being so well known we may no longer be able to stand back and grasp the theological importance of the message.  So today, I would like to look at the gospel passage from a different perspective; through the use of questions.

Questions are important. Questions, it has been said, are the starting point of revelation, and questions are central to our story read today. Jesus, after all, answers the lawyer’s questions with more questions. So….lets look at the story of the Good Samaritan asking a few questions, and see where this leads us. In our story today, who’s this lawyer? Is he a person who is trying to trick Jesus in his own words, or does he truly want to learn something? Is he sincere?

Being a scribe (who were the legal arm of the Pharisees), he uses legal-speak asking Jesus “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” By using the word “inherit”, he implies that he wishes to impress God so that he can be willed the inheritance of eternal life.

The lawyer in our story reminds me of some people I went to college. When I studied music at university, I had planned on becoming a professional musician, and was not that much concerned with fulfilling requirements to become a music teacher. I wanted to learn from good mentors, the best I could find. Time and time again I was confronted with fellow students, who didn’t seem to give a hang about learning music, but what was needed to complete a requirement; there was no heart involved. Like our lawyer in the passage from Luke, undergrads might have said, “What to I need to do to inherit my music degree.”

Do you recognize a bit of yourself in our lawyer, trying to find out what is necessary to please God?

What about the other characters in our parable? We have three people walking down a road; a priest, a Levite, and a Samaritan, and yes…we also have our robbery victim. Starting with the star of the passage; what makes the Samaritan good? You might answer, “Well, it’s because he stopped and helped the man who was robbed.” Ok, fair enough…but let’s look at the other two people. Obviously, if the Samaritan is good, the other two must be bad.
The story says the priest and the Levite pass by the person who was robbed. But, they had passed by on the other side. This implies that they are walking to Jerusalem. The priest and the Levite were walking in the opposite direction. The priest might be on his way to the temple, and more than likely had an obligation or a service to lead. If he was going to the temple, even if he wanted to help the robbery victim, due to purity laws, the priest was forbidden to come into contact with blood, or very possibly, a dead body. This would have made the priest ritually unclean, and he would not have been able to fulfill his obligation to God, temple worshipers, or his vow as priest. Does this make him bad, or does your heart maybe wonder if the priest had a very difficult ethical choice to make, but chose obedience to God?

What about the Levite?

A Levite is a descendent from the tribe of Levi whose task was to support the priest in various ceremonies at the temple. Though not bound by all purity laws, they were expected to adhere, as best as they can, to the purity code, and to be an example. Since the Levite followed the priest on his way to Jerusalem, it would be safe to assume that he was on his way to assist the priest. Does this make the priest and the Levite bad, and the Samaritan good?

Our “Good” Samaritan is not necessarily good, or better than the other two fellows, but the Samaritan, an outcast in the eyes of the Judeans, is ready and willing to heed God’s call to help another person. Our Samaritan does more than rescue the person in distress; our Samaritan blesses the robbery victim with compassion, and blesses their life with an abundance of care. Luke, using the Samaritan outcast, demonstrates the continual message first founded in Hebrew Scripture that God is able to take something seen as bad, bless it, and turn it into abundance. This is the message found in Genesis when Joseph is sold into slavery by his brothers but eventually becomes second only in power to Pharaoh. This is the message found in the Exodus story of people freed from servitude and this is the message found in Jesus’ death and resurrection. God takes something seen as bad, and makes it better than good.

Our Samaritan accepts God’s call to action, and invites the victim of assault, and robbery to be his neighbor. The question might not be: “Who is my neighbor”, but could be reframed as: Do you have the energy, and enough compassion to invite all people to be your neighbor?” God calls…..we choose. Our Samaritan was willing to risk, choosing not to be hampered by religious legalism, or doctrinal differences.

Our priest and Levite were caught up in dogma and legalism, and were blind to the reality of God’s hesed: God’s supreme and loving compassion. The Samaritan outcast was free enough in faith to make God’s compassion known. This story proves that God can and will use anyone to make compassion known. Do you think this is possible for you, and all of humanity, to make God’s compassion known? If so…Go, and do likewise.

Amen.

2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14
Galatians 5:1, 13-25
Psalm 77:1-2, 11-20
Luke 9:51-62

In what appears to be a fit of anxiety, Elisha turns to his mentor and asks for a double share of the spirit. The prophet tells his student that what he asks for is a difficult thing, offers no promises, and in a whirlwind of fire, a chariot carries the prophet Elijah into heaven. By the sea, Elisha find’s his master’s mantle, a cloak of authority, stands there alone, hesitates…..eventually picks it up, and follows in Elijah’s footsteps.

Paul writes to the people of Galatia who are confused, and unsure of what to do next. They struggle with many things, including the traditions of the Law of Torah, and the prevalent philosophy of the region which states that when you are totally free that you can do anything you want as long as it feels good.

Our reading from Luke offers three lessons in discipleship. Each of the three people mentioned in the story have their own excuses as to why they can’t follow Jesus. Each of the reasons seems valid, and maybe we might sympathize with their fears speaking through their logic, but the fact remains something prevents them from further growth in themselves, and in faith.

All three readings today revolve around people who were changed, or in the process of change. Their lives, due to an experience with God, had been transformed, but in each and every instance, for what ever reason, were afraid to take the next important step, to move towards the next plateau, to walk into the unknown…a place of fear….that unknown place where faith is formed, where God resides, that place where Jesus faithfully calls us.

I would like to share with you a mediation by Danaan Parry entitled The Parable of the Trapeze. As I read it to you, apply it to our readings, our community of faith, and your life:

Sometimes I feel that my life is a series of trapeze swings. I’m either hanging on to a trapeze bar swinging along, or, for a few moments in my life, I’m hurtling across the space in between trapeze bars.

Most of the time, I spend my life hanging for dear life to my trapeze-bar-of-the-moment. It carries me along at a certain steady rate of swing, and I have the feeling that I’m in control of my life. I know most of the right questions and even some of the answers.

But, every once in a while as I’m merrily (or even not-so-merely) swinging along, I look out ahead of me into the distance and what do I see? I see another trapeze bar swinging toward me. It’s empty and I know, in that place in me that knows that this new trapeze bar has my name on it.

It is my next step, my growth, my aliveness coming to get me. In my heart of hearts I know that, for me to grow, I must release my grip on this present well known bar and move to the new one.

Each time it happens to me I hope, (no, I pray), that I won’t have to let go of my old bar completely before I grab the new one. But in my knowing place, I know that I must totally release my grasp on my old bar, and, for some moment in time, I must hurtle across the space before I grab onto the new bar.

Each time, I am filled with terror. It doesn’t matter that in all my previous hurtles across the void of unknowing I have always made it. I am each time afraid that I will miss, that I will be crushed on unseen rocks in the bottomless chasm between bars. I do it anyway.

Perhaps this is the essence of what the mystics call the faith experience. No guarantees, no net, no insurance policy, but you do it anyway because somehow to keep hanging on to that old bar is no longer on the list of alternatives. So, for an eternity that can last a microsecond, or a thousand lifetimes, I soar across the dark void of “the past is gone, the future is not here yet.” This is called transition. I have come to believe that this transition is the only place that real change occurs.

I have noticed that, in our culture, this transition zone is looked upon as a “no-thing,” a no-place between places. Sure, the old trapeze bar was real, and the new one coming towards me, I hope that’s real, too. But the void in between? It’s that just a scary, confusing, disorienting nowhere that must be gotten through as fast, and as unconsciously as possible?

No!…… what a wasted opportunity that would be. I have a sneaking suspicion that the transition zone is the only real thing, and the bars are illusions we dream up to avoid the void where the real change, the real growth occurs for us. Transition zones in our lives are incredibly rich places. They should be honored, even savored. Yes, with all the pain and fear and feelings of being out of control that can (but not necessarily) accompany transitions, they are still the most alive, most growth-filled, passionate, expansive moments of our lives.

Isn’t that a wonderful mediation?

I can’t but help to think of my own call….no, not toward ordination, but a call from a person whose name shall remain anonymous, even though that particular person is on sabbatical, inviting me to move from an area I had lived for 15 years, a place where I was settled and comfortable.
This meditation reminded me that had I not grabbed on to the trapeze, I would not had been given my treasure…my treasure…..each and every person at St. George’s, and each and every person who has yet to join our community of faith.

For me, this meditation speaks to the diaconal importance of the dismissal which invites the congregation to take the love, and the ministry of Christ out into the world, putting your own unique stamp upon it, not as a lone individual, but as the Body of Christ, bringing into fullness God’s reality for all people.

Think of that moment after the dismissal up until you walk out the door your transitional time in the void, that space between the old trapeze bar, and the new.

God’s reality is not defined by our past, but by our future. Jesus continually calls us to reach for the next bar of the trapeze being sent towards us, not being seized by fear or by weighty traditions, and the banality of safety. For Luke, and for Jesus “the way” only goes forward, but as grace will have it, the Spirit of God sends the bar to meet us where we are, all we need to do is grab it to move forward in wonderment and praise.

Amen.

The film was based on the novel by Chris Greenhalgh which is based on the “what if” scenario that rumors of a purported affair between the Chanel and Stravinsky were actually true.

In my reading surrounding Stravinsky, I had never read much of anything concerning this extra marital affair.  Much had been written by the composer himself, Robert Craft, and other scholars pertaining to his life in France after the fall of the Russian aristocracy, and the monetary problems the composer faced when he was forced to flee his homeland.  It was very true that other musicians, and wealthy patrons helped support the composer and his family, especially since his three major ballets written for the Ballets Russes were dependent upon Russian copyrights which no longer existed.

From the point of view of plot, the film, which was written by the novelist, followed a logical path with the nouveau riche Chanel, introduced to the composer by Diaghilev at a party, instantly intrigued by the composer of Le Sacre De Printemps, a ballet which shocked Paris in May of 1913, and according to the story, a premiere she attended, witnessing  the most scandalous event recorded in music history which not only shocked the artistic establishment, but eventually changed the course of music forever.

The recreation of the opening night is worth the ticket price, it is spot on with costumes, and the decor expertly recreated, as well as the choreography (undoubtedly based on the detective work first done by Millicent Hodson in conjunction with the Joffrey Ballet).

As the story unfolds, Stravinsky, his with Katerina and his four children move into Chanel’s country estate as she wishes to help the composer and his art, as well as his young family. As is true within Stravinsky’s biography, his wife had already succumbed to the Tuberculous, which in 1939 would claim not only his wife, but oldest daughter. With Katrina bedridden much of the time, the story suggests that Stravinsky was a man with a healthy sexual appetite, eventually falling under the spell of Chanel’s erotic charms. Once the film falls into it’s main conjecture, I could not help but think an appropriate tag line for the movie might be, “See the man who changed course of music history fornicate his way through the 1920s.” It was a bit too much.

Historically, the affair shown in the film took place during the span of a few months in the year 1920. When Stravinsky moves into the house he is shown the study, and plays a few notes on the piano; the striking introduction of his Symphonies for Wind Instruments (composed in 1920).  Two other works featured in the film, besides Le Sacre, included his Piano Sonata-Third Movement, composed in 1924 (much later than the film would suggest), and one of his Three Easy Pieces for 4 handed piano, composed in 1914-15.  However, within the context of the film, the Ballets Russes’ new staging of Le Sacre, featured at the end of the film, choreographed by Lionide Massine took place in 1920, the year in which the story unfolds.

Stravinsky, as presented in the film, came off as the brooding, passionate, yet cerebral giant, something in which he is often represented, but having viewed countless videos of the composer in rehearsal, and in conversation, and after reading his letters edited by Robert Craft, I would suggest that the film relied my on myth than the full dimensions of the man displayed in true life.

The film, however, hinted at the complexity which was true to Stravinsky’s music, as well as his emotional make up. He was not a saint, and in 1924, once again through an introduction by Diaghilev, met Vera de Bosset who became Stravinsky’s mistress, and eventual wife, married for nearly 31 years. As the film suggests, with regard to the Chanel affair, in real life, Katrina was aware of her husband’s double life with de Bosset, and according to Stravinsky’s letters to his wife, urged the two women to become friends, which they did.

Though not based in fact, despite the over use of cinema-much-to-graphic love making, the film offers insight to a time, and an era we can only wonder, and as a snap shot of a famed riot at the first hearing of Le Sacre, it is worth the price of admission, especially for people like me who enjoy historical drama, no matter how loosely based.

]]> http://dancertm.net/?feed=rss2&p=791 0 http://dancertm.net/?p=786 http://dancertm.net/?p=786#comments Thu, 10 Jun 2010 23:40:56 +0000 dancertm http://dancertm.net/?p=786

On a blog site, someone considered Pride Parades, and Faith, and do they conflict? I responded in this manner:

As clergy in the Episcopal Church who welcomes all people, and meets them where they are, the one thing I’ve noticed is that many organized religious folks seem to think it’s a biblical tradition to think only of THEIR personal piety, and THEIR chances for entry into whatever they think heaven is.

The reality is, much like this website, people are called into community, and if you look at the true ministry of Jesus on earth, he called people into community, fed, healed, and taught others to NOT put yourself first……strange how 2 millennium has kinda screwed things up, huh?

I have seen Pride parades loose their way as each individual group tries to use their time for their own personal agenda, be it a non-profit, or a person’s own hedonistic gratification. I get a sense that many people who attend Pride seek community, and don’t find it. Then, from my side of the coin, as a representative of a faith tradition who thinks in terms of community, we get a touch of resentment from people who have been abused in the name of Christianity, and other faith traditions.

I’m not sure there is a quick answer, but maybe the first step is for people to realize that it is community that they seek, and once this is found, all types of healing can occur, and all kinds of growth can take place.

Since I’d been ordained I have recognized the outward appearance. Now, on Sundays, or when I am representing the church, I wear a stiff collar around my neck, and on Sundays when I am vesting I add another article of clothing, my deacon’s stole, but those are outward things, things I can see.  That’s not to say there are not been inward moments of personal revelation attributed to ordination, but they were fleeting as if you catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye, and then its gone.

Last Sunday, however, was different. I had been asked by the Arch-Deacon of the diocese to chant the Litany for Ordinations are a large service as three of my colleagues were ordained. The place was packed with friends and well wishers from their sponsoring parishes. It being a Vocational Deacon ordination there were many deacons present, and involved in the service, and there were many, many clergy attending….and there I was, the newbie, decked out in a fancy red dalmatic, told to walk to the center of the aisle, face “ad orientem” and begin a very long chant for all the world. Yes, I was very nervous.

In the middle of the long chant with responses, something happened. Yes, I was concentrating on what I was supposed to be doing, but at the same time a voice from deep inside me said, “Yes, you ARE a deacon, and you ARE leading this group in very important prayers for the world, the ordinands, and all of humanity…yes, you are chosen by God and the Church..you are.”

Just like the surprise of the rushing wind from the Pentecost story in Acts, this ontological realization took place inside my being during an outward experience during an ordination rite.

That’s my Pentecost story, and I’m stickin’ with it.

As I was making my way bacl to the building I had to walk past two people representing the typical array of shouters who show up at all religious, or human rights events from Gay Pride parades, to the AIDS Walk in Orange County. These people are not members of a church but a group using freedom of speech, and “church” protection show up at many public events including funerals of fallen soldiers spewing hate in the name of Christ.

As a Gay person, over the years, I’ve grown used to their taunts and  intimidation tactics. Thirty years ago I was subject to police taking names of people standing in line to enter a club, and I’ve ducked eggs being thrown at me while walking on Santa Monica Blvd, I’ve had people throw quarters at me hoping to strike me in the head. Verbal taunts, and inflammatory shouts are nothing new, however, for the first time I was witness to something new. I had never seen a child used in this manner.

At the beginning of the service, an adult stood, and held his hand painted sign spewing typical and expected rehearsed platitudes to gain attention. There was no care or concern in his words, merely a regurgitation of hate. After the man was escorted out of the building a boy stood up shouting “Repent!……Repent!”

He, like the man before him, was escorted out of the worship space with a voice from up in the balcony shouting, “We’ll pray for you.” Then, from behind me, someone said in a hushed but solid tone, “Now that’s child abuse.” Suggesting that using a child in this way had crossed the line of decency.

I was told after the service by an usher who helped escort the boy out the building that he was the son of the previous man shouting venom. I was told that the boy was terrified, and as he was walking out of the building had no idea of how he’d be treated. The usher said to the lad, “That’s ok, we’re not going to do anything, you are loved…you’re ok.” She then asked the boy where he went to school, and he replied that he was home schooled.

One of the hallmarks of abuse, especially with children, is the robbing of innocence. If we use this as a criteria, keeping a child at home to fill them with hate for fellow humans, teaching them that they are duty bound to verbally abuse other people in God’s name, and forcing a child to be involved in an act of civil disobedience is tad amount to child abuse.

The picture of this face has haunted me ever since, and I continue to pray for him, each and every time I think of his voice screaming words he did not understand of can fathom or comprehend makes him an icon for parental abuse.  We can only pray that the instruction he continues to receive will someday be melted away from the ultimate love, and spirit of the God of Love, not the ideology of cold-hearted  hate.

Palm Sunday, 2010

I invite you all to imagine that this is the year 40 C.E., and you are sitting in a home somewhere in Jerusalem, where a visitor has been invited to speak; a  voice of prayer can be heard outside in the distance.

Ah, yes…the Shema…..the great prayer… Sh’ma Yis’ra’eil Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad. Hear, Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One. These are troubling times…Israel is not one, and the Lord our God is not one…at least with the people of the earth…and I am forbidden to join them in prayer at their synagogue.

My name is Aaron, from the tribe of Joseph, and I am a Samaritan….and amongst the Hebrew people, I am an abomination, I am not pure because my ancestors worshiped God on Mt. Gerizim and intermarried with foreigners, not out of disrespect to God, but to survive after the Assyrians destroyed and brutalized my nation, and my people. I have lived, and my people have lived with this memory for generations, and it has taken root in our souls. Living your life as an abomination is a tough thing, it seems each day I am reminded that I am nothing, I am not worth the dirt a person steps on.

For as long as I can remember, my people and the Judeans have held our lives in mutual contempt. In fact, by speaking to you in this place I am in great danger as I am not allowed to set foot on this land, as the Judeans are not to walk on my soil. But, the Judeans and the Samaritans have much in common; we are both a conquered people, and a people whose existence is marked by violence, and oppression.

One day, almost at the end of my rope, I traveled through a village where I spoke with an old woman who had met an amazing man. She told me that he was more than a prophet, or a teacher, and that he had an amazing gaze, and when he spoke, his voice contained so much authority that people came away from the experience healed.

She told me that he was a Nazarene from Galilee, and that his name was Jesus. She said that he did not keep to custom, and that he spoke of acceptance for all: Jew, Gentile, Samaritan, and Romans or Greek. She said that he was the walking embodiment of God’s Wisdom and Glory; he is the Shek-in-ah walking among us, the Glory of God with us in the flesh. I somehow had to find him, and in time I did…I heard him preach.

I can’t tell you exactly what he said, but I remember when he finished, I knew for a fact that God was asking us to be one….I could tell that God was reaching out beyond the barriers we had obstructed. Because of Jesus, God was not this being up there, out of reach, so majestic it would be impossible to experience communion. Jesus taught God was with us, in each of us, filled with love beyond our understanding. Jesus taught that God was not vindictive, and that God was not to be feared like the Assyrians who destroyed my people……God’s love, and care reaches out to all of us, each and every person…..but, at the same time, I learned that God desires justice and mercy for all….for the first time in my life, I was made whole, and the abomination I felt for myself, and my ancestors was lifted. My healing and transformation had begun. Jesus made it possible for me to celebrate my wholeness as a human being.

I know…yes…..you brought me here to share my memories of Jesus, but I can’t help including myself because that’s the way Jesus works…he may be speaking to a multitude, but the inside of your being each person was automatically included, through all joys, each person’s suffering, and his compassionate grief.

After my first experience with Jesus, some time passed and I wanted to learn from him again.  Word reached me that he arrived in Jerusalem. I tried my best to dress as a Judean, and made my way to the city, only to discover he had been arrested…..arrested for blasphemy, saying he was the Messiah, but some said he had claimed to be the Lord God….I don’t recall Jesus saying anything like this, but his being claimed the power, and awesomeness of the Lord; a cedar tree does not have to explain what it is, it just IS….Jesus did not have to claim anything….he IS.

Once I made my way into the city, not far from the temple, I heard a large commotion, so I stood with the crowd in front of Pilate’s palace, and when the doors opened, there stood Jesus, bloody, and beaten…..and then a large wooden cross was placed on his shoulder…the weight was great, but he was able to support it. In my heart, I got the sense that he was taking the weight of all outcasts on his shoulder, accepting each and every person’s private pains, even the ones shouting insults.

The crowd was large, and seemed to have an energy of its own, almost out of control, but greedy to witness pain. I was pushed the shoved, but I followed his path. I saw him stumble and fall. Then a Roman soldier grabbed a man from the crowd, and ordered him to help Jesus. As the younger man offered help, Jesus, with complete graciousness, smiled; in misery, kindness flowed.

As they make their way, Jesus stumbles again, and I heard a loud crack of the lumber as it hit the stone path. I thought of my failures and how I wished I could retreat from life, but here is Jesus, symbol of humanity, a model for gentleness, and strength willing to fall in public, and accepting help without shame —I learned that falling does not mean failure……even through this humiliation, Jesus is teaching…and allowing others to grow.

I remember hearing a scream, a women confronting the soldiers leading Jesus to Golgotha. “What are you doing to my son!” And I see an older rugged faced women standing in the center of the street slowly making her way to her son. The guards prevent her from getting too close, but mother and son look deeply into each other’s eyes with a communication so intense and perfect it bares no explanation. Through this public and intimate moment, I was witness to her quiet strength and resolve, allowing her son the freedom to follow his chosen path with absolute trust.

After this I ran….I don’t know the city well, but in time I made my way out the gate, and I sat on a hill, numb, and confused. I closed my eyes, and wished I had the power to disappear, but soon realized, I don’t even have the power to live….when I opened my eyes, below me, in the distance, I could see the image of Jesus nailed to a cross, flanked by two other people. I can see him trying to raise himself up to breath…but I know he won’t last long….. I stand transfixed and can’t move. In my silence, I wonder what will happen to his followers, and what will happen to me, and those like me who were offered hope, what will become of us?

At that moment, hope was lost, and nailed to a tree. As my inner soul felt the weight of a thousand pounds, the sky suddenly grew dim, and darkness covered the city. I heard Jesus give out a loud cry, and he died.

Tears fell, I closed my eyes once more, and I could hear the sound of weeping echo off the rocks, bouncing around like fireflies of grief. I realized that all of us at that place were a conquered people, a product of violence, subjected by people’s need to control others, to use acts of violence to condone power over other people and nations. At that moment Jesus taught me that aggression, in all forms, crucifies the innocent.

But Jesus also taught me something about love, and compassion, and it was at that moment I realized I was no longer an abomination, that there is no power on earth that can destroy compassion for others, and the love that God had freely given to me, and everyone……My name is Aaron, from the tribe of Joseph, and am loved by God, and I am follower of Jesus, the anointed, who was crucified, and died.

With my head bowed, as my inner soul felt a power it had never experienced, I could feel someone take my hand, and then another person placed their hand on my back, and another person touched my shoulder. A bit startled, I opened my eyes and realized other people were standing with me, each and every person coming to terms with this intense experience. Each one of us, through our numbness, was transformed.

A woman from the group spoke to me saying that I looked as though I were a stranger, and offered me a place to rest and eat. She said that she had only heard about Jesus when she had come into Jerusalem for Passover and asked if I had met him. I said that I had not, but I had heard him preach. She asked me to share with her, and her household, all that I knew……I have been sharing my memories ever since, and will continue to do so for as long as I live.

But I must be going now…and I thank you all for your kind invitation, allowing me to share some of what know of Jesus. Sh’ma Yis’ra’eil Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad. The Lord IS ONE, when we are one with each other, and transformed by the light of Jesus; may it burn in our hearts forever. Amen.

My needs are relatively simple. A private place to relax, and prepare simple meals. A space comfortable enough to watch my PBS shows, or screen a movie. A space enough for my bed, and small flexible table for meals, a usable bathroom for grooming, and a place to hang my cloths.

For almost 900.00 I was offered a living spaces the size of some people’s walk in closets, a kitchenette consisting of a microwave, and a dorm refrigerator. Surprisingly, one place in Glendale was so dirty, it appeared to have been painted over 20 years ago with grit in the shower older than the the city itself.

Another layer of difficulty finding a place might have also stemmed around my age, sexual orientation, and the fact that I work for a church. I think I can safely say that a middle aged Gay male who not only works for a church, but is ordained clergy does not help as a marketable roommate.

My question before me, as always, is to ask: where is God in all this? How can I be aware, and open to be led in transformation; full in the knowledge that in a spiritual life, one must trust to know that the primordial essence of God takes something which might appear to be bad, and turns it into a good —that’s after all what God does.

This Friday I was made an offer by a snow bird couple from the church were I serve to stay at their home not far from church; a place they reside during the winter, and leave for summer. They are happy to have someone stay in the house so it will not be vacant, and for me, the cost would be much less than renting a guest house or a room. They also have enough room to store my meager processions. I will take it.

The situation, however, is not without it’s immediate drawbacks. Until June, I will not be able to spend as much time with Felix, and I am used to us spending private time together; it relaxes, and comforts me as our lives have become interconnected in ways which are healthy. I know I will feel unsettled, but at the same time, I know some good will come from this.

My journey continues, and it continues with many changes. This year will involve moving twice, once to the temporary living situation and later to a new place. My journey continues as a newly ordained Deacon, making my way into a new life, new situations, and new responsibilities. My journey continues as I balance my job as parish administrator, and deacon. My journey continues as my Rector leaves for a three month sabbatical, holding down the fort. My journey continues as I try and maintain my on-going relationship with my significant other as I move further away, and the ease in which we could meet each other.

My journey continues . . . .