Hiatus

I meant to get this up at 7 sharp, as usual, but I didn't manage to write last night, as I was blinded by a terrible headache. So here's what I was going to say:

I'm taking a mini-hiatus from blogging. Check back in on 25 April, when I will give you an update on things. Thanks.

Spectator Sport

Theatre is not a spectator sport. Perhaps it is just the revolutionary in me, but I find myself more and more dissatisfied with "traditional" theatre, the sort of theatre where you sit back and disengage. Like television.

It is no secret that I do not watch television, and I have few qualms with expressing my distaste for television. It is certainly not a universal distaste-- I love PBS, enjoyed watching the World Cup, and even like "regular" shows sometimes-- but the "new normal" of mindlessly detaching by staring at a television is just something I cannot accept. It bugs me. Our culture watches way too much television, and it is all a part of our incessant (and unhealthy) desire to disconnect, shut down, and remove ourselves from the world.


A friend and I have been discussing the possibility of directing a musical together recently, and we started looking at our performance space options last night. Our options were all places not intended for musical theatre, and the closest to a conventional stage was nowhere near deep enough for much dancing at all. Another potential space was just a big, empty room which would require the construction of a stage, including the backstage area. Freedom, but we lack the resources and funds to do something like that. But the last one grabbed me: theatre-in-the-round.

The more we considered the possibility of the space, the more I realised the potential for incredible theatre. Not only would it be theatre-in-the-round, but it would be near-impossible to use the space without including the audience. There was no room for a fourth wall to be built anywhere, or even a third, second, or first. The audience would be forced into the musical with no hope for detaching.

That is the kind of theatre I like. In fact, I think it's the only theatre worth bothering myself with at all. What is the point of sharing a story if the audience is detached? What is the point of theatre if the audience will not hear? Theatre is not something you watch happening; theatre is life, and like life, it is something we all have to participate in for it to work.

Life is not a spectator sport. It is high time we turned off the television, got off Farmville, and opened up our eyes and our hearts to the here and now. We have not been called to disconnect and disengage, but to wake up to all that surrounds us. Regardless of whether or not our world is the product of intelligent design (believe what you will), it is undeniable that life is an utter miracle. It is inexplicable. Every plant, animal, rock, and element in this world is a part of something more incredible than we will ever truly understand or appreciate. Everything, as Archbishop Desmond Tutu would say, is "holy," is a "God-carrier."

We are a part of this miraculous world, inherently connected to all of Creation/Big-Bang-ation. And as we disconnect and disengage, the world then lacks a crucial part of itself: us, and so too do we lack the connection to the world that is so necessary to our existence. It is absolutely imperative that we re-connect with our world, lest we and our world wither.

Life is not a spectator sport.

Battle for My Soul

There are too many things on my mind for me to write a coherent post. My mind has been in civil war for weeks now. Months, even! There is a battle for my soul taking place right now, and I am utterly powerless as I watch as a spectator outside of my own self. Whatever sense of control I once had is gone. I am completely out of control. Free will is a joke.

What happened to me? I keep trying to retrace my steps and pinpoint the moment I lost control and my free will was stripped from me, and yet I don't know that I ever had free will. What choices do I have? What choices have I ever had? I feel myself dying. And yet it is not death like you'd expect; it is liberation. In dying, I have new birth, like a phoenix. My soul is being pushed and pulled and stretched in every direction, ripped and torn and yanked and slashed. Strained. Expanded!

I want to cry nearly every day. Whatever is going on is beyond painful. I am fighting an internal battle, and no amount of external support has been able to do a damn thing. Either I will make it through this on my own and be transformed into something incredible, or I will die. I have consumed a powerful mass, and either it shall consume me, or I shall consume it. Either I perish, or I absorb the strength, the might, the wisdom of something much greater than me.

I could choose not to fight. Even now, so deeply invested in this war, I could choose to flee. I could lock away my soul forever, and declare it no one's. Let me live out this earthly life in safety, not war.

That option doesn't feel like an option. As painful as this internal war is, my soul has already been caged. My soul has been beaten and bruised, scarred and abused, locked away with no air. My soul is dying, and I am well aware of that fact.  To lock it away would be to destroy it for good. I would live soulless. Is earthly life so great that I should live with no soul?

I have revoked control. My pride is crumbling helplessly under the might of powers greater than I. I have placed all of my faith in a God in whom I do not even believe, and this faith is all that I have. I am stripped of free will, of human might, of all that has made me "worthy of praise." Am I worthy of praise? I think not. I am helpless and weak. I cannot do anything, even control my own fate. I am a pawn in the fight for justice. My life is not mine to claim. I was built to be a vessel of God's will, not mine.

I hate how Christian I sound. I hate Christianity; I hate the God of Christians. I am angry and hurt. Still. How many years has it been? I don't care. I do not want to forgive Christianity for its crimes against me, nor do I want to forgive the Christian God for "His" crimes against me. Where was this so-called loving God when "His" people broke the soul of "His" daughter. Was not I a child of God? Or were the Christians right? Who the hell is God anyway? God, who let me live with an insatiable feeling of desperate homesickness for so many years! God, who just let my friend take his life! God, who sat idly while every voice around me spoke only hateful judgement! Where was God's justice? Not on earth, that's for sure.

And this is my battle. A war with God for my soul. Revolution. I want to believe, and I want to forgive. I want to happily give myself up without fear, but I am terrified. I am crumbling.

The Democracy of Wisconsin

Did you hear about the peaceful protests in Egypt that started last month? How the people of Egypt ousted Hosini Mubarak simply by taking to the streets and demanding, peacefully, that their voices, voices crying out for democracy, be heard? So did Wisconsin.

When you sign any political petition online, they usually ask for your email and get you on their mailing list to send you more information about the cause for which you're showing your support. It makes sense. I have signed political petitions online, and my email inbox is flooded with political crap every day. I skim them, sign the petitions for issues I already cared about anyway, and then delete. Sometimes, I'll go so far as to post links to petitions and news articles to my Facebook in support of causes. But, for the most part, I am not a huge political activist. My political beliefs don't quite fall into liberalism or conservatism "perfectly" and so I often find myself not completely "on board" with the majority of the political activism about which I get emails.

When I started getting emails about Wisconsin though, I was sincerely annoyed. I already thought the whole situation was ridiculous, and now my inbox was getting filled with ridiculous calls to support the ridiculousness. If you don't know what's going on in Wisconsin, here are the basic "facts": the Republicans are trying to pass a bill that is anti-union, and the Democrats don't like this. So they (the Democratic lawmakers) fled the state. Literally. Their absence prevents the Republicans from having the necessary-under-law quorum to pass any bill involving money, which is pretty much all bills. The citizens of Wisconsin too have made their disapproval of the bill heard by staging peaceful protests at the state capital, comparing Madison, Wisconsin to Cario, Egypt.

I'm all about power to the people, but seriously? Fleeing the state? Thousands of people leaving their jobs just to go protest an anti-union bill? And the nerve of comparing themselves to Egypt! Egyptians have shown incredible courage in their fight for their freedom; Wisconsinites just seemed to be jumping on the "let's find something to protest" bandwagon. Their lives were in no danger. No one shot rubber bullets at them or threw tear gas; they were safe,  not brave.

And then something happened. As I was listening to myself grumble about how stupid the Wisconsin protests were, I suddenly realised what I love most about my country but so often forget to appreciate: that we can protest without fearing for our lives, that we are free to unite and stage protests for what we believe in, and that we are also free to think the protests of our fellow Americans are stupid.

I know very little about the bill being protested, actually. I haven't formed an opinion on the bill either way because I just don't know the details. I don't even have an opinion on unions, really. They're good for some people and bad for others, but I don't know what the net benefit or net harm of unions are or what would happen in the long run were this bill to pass or were it to fail. And if it weren't for the Wisconsin protesters, I wouldn't be aware of my own ignorance.

So I signed a petition in show of my support for the Wisconsin protesters. Not because I had done my research and discovered that the protestors were right and the bill would cause more harm than good, not because I supported their cause, but because I supported their willingness to stand up for their belief that this bill would cause more harm than good. I decided to show my support for the right of all people to protest, even when I do not agree. Let the voices of all people be heard; let no one be silenced. This is democracy.

Will You Heed the Call?

One half of my family is Catholic, and the other is Presbyterian, but I was raised in an Evangelical school. I had no clue there were any differences between the different Christian denominations growing up, mostly because I didn't even know there were different denominations. The words got thrown around, but were never processed. What I knew of Christianity was limited to my Evangelical school, as my family provided very little religious guidance to me. (Actually, I provided the religious guidance in the family with my constant desire to pray, read the Bible, and talk about God; I have always been incredibly drawn to religion and spirituality.)

So coming out was painful. Evangelical Christianity was clear on homosexuality, and my school was no different: I was a sinner. My declaration of my sexuality was a blatant defiance and rejection of faith. And I was thus no longer under God's grace, until I could deny my sexuality and live in accordance with what God wanted. No one offered me help, only condemnation. It was up to me to figure it out, and I knew immediately that I would never be able to convince God that I was straight. God knew me; I could not hide from God. In coming out, God ceased to be the loving, protective, embracing God I had known and needed. In coming out, God became an angry, hateful, condemning God of wrath I feared. Painful does not even being to describe how much the battle between my faith and my sexuality tore me apart. I am still not healed.

I read the religion section of the Huffington Post almost every day, in addition to the basic news and politics. I love reading all of the varying ideas about faith, religion, and spirituality, and often want to just share every article on there. But nothing comes close to this article, which does not possess great insight or revolutionary ideas in the least. Instead, it is a brief article on the beginnings of what seems to be Evangelical Christianity's coming acceptance, inclusion, and embracement of homosexuality. I started crying as I read the article, and have stopped many times while writing this entry just to regain my composure. Had just one person in my Evangelical Christian community dared to tell me that I deserved full acceptance and inclusion, that I was just as deserving of love as my straight peers, within Christianity and that my sexuality did not separate me from God or make God furious with and hate me, I would have been spared incredible amounts of suffering. If only just one person told me that my sexuality and my spirituality could coexist in harmony, not war. If only.

I would love, more than anything, to hear that even now, though I don't need to hear it to know that the God I have faith in loves me exactly the way I am, gay, straight, or upside-down. I would cry, just to be accepted in the place I had so desperately needed to be accepted as a child. I am stronger now because of my struggle, but I desperately hope that Evangelical Christianity, and indeed all peoples, will heed and echo the call to accept, include, and embrace, regardless of sexual and gender identity so that no one else ever need suffer the way I did. 

Please, I beg you, accept, include, and embrace.

A Week in Review

It has been quite the week, as usual:

I discovered how very much un-healed my spine is, now five months after my collision, when I woke up Wednesday unable to move my neck, shoulders, and upper spine. I barely moved all day, and the pain has continued throughout Thursday. I just want to be mobile by Sunday.

I got myself into a "heated" debate about politics and religion, in which I found myself defending, for some crazy reason, a conservative, Christian, Republican who more or less said that God punishes women who have abortions by making the rest of their children handicapped because the first born of all creatures are to be "dedicated to the Lord" and called it fact. Someone posted the quote, and then added in how furious Christian Republicans made them. I jumped in, identifying myself as Christian and a registered Republican (though, honestly, I'm not a huge fan of either party) that did not agree with him. The discussion quickly became about how secularism and atheism are superior to religion because they "don't have beliefs" and how America was founded by atheists. Atheistic superiority is just as hateful as Christian superiority, and I had to make my own opinion heard. It was probably stupid, but I saw my 16-year-old self in that Christian-hating, atheistic superiority. It was probably a fight against my own ego, more than anything.

I reconnected with an old friend, to whom I owe my life for making me swear to her that I would never ever commit suicide. I was twelve, and life was hell by thirteen; though she was no longer a part of my life, that promise kept me alive. So it was weird to reconnect. It feels dream-like. It feels like life has been poured into my soul again, like my promise has been fulfilled, and depression's reign over me is gone forever. Light has returned. But it's less about her and more about me; I don't need a promise to lighten the dark, for I am the light.

Sunday, Archbishop Desmond Tutu is coming to my church to preach. My church will be utterly packed. And while he gives his sermon, I will be elsewhere on campus, assisting in Children's Chapel and missing his sermon completely. As selfless as it may seem to help with the kiddies and miss Archbishop Desmond Tutu's sermon, I'll admit that it wasn't really a hard sacrifice to make: the sermons are filmed every Sunday, so I watch it Sunday evening/Monday morning; I love being around kids; and the kids are all getting taken up to the altar to celebrate the Eucharist up close and personal with Archbishop Desmond Tutu, so I'll be up there with them. I'll miss feeling the energy of the room during the sermon, but I have to say it's not too bad of a trade off. And I don't mind doing my duty to help out the church. After all, what kind of future priest would I be if I wasn't willing do my part?

UPDATE: Children's Chapel got cancelled so that the kids could all hear Archbishop Desmond Tutu's sermon. I'll get to see it live after all! Apparently, people are going to be lining up to get good seats over an hour before the service, yeesh! I've heard (or, well, seen on Facebook) people who definitely do not go to my church talking about coming. I'm pretty excited. Also, my spine is getting better.

A Foolish Struggle

I want to want wisdom, true wisdom. I've spent many years having my ego inflated with comments about my being "wise beyond my years" or an "old soul" or something like that. My ego longs for more. More, more, more! So often, I find myself just finding quick-fix façades of wisdom though, instead of true wisdom. I'm too afraid of admitting that I am not wise to truly gain wisdom. My pride and my ego have too strong of a hold on me.

I stopped praying for wisdom. It seemed silly, after all, to pray for a quick-fix from a God whose divine intervention I doubt. I find it hard to believe that asking God for anything will bring any results; even if God exists and is listening, why would God intervene in my life? Why would God waste his/her/its/their time with intervening in my life? It seems ridiculous. And what? God's going to do it just because little old me asked? It just doesn't make sense.

I took out my Book of Common Prayer, flipped to the Thanksgivings, and just started reading each prayer of thanksgiving out loud, fighting desperately against my ego which sought to get what it could out of this God and then leave God behind, fighting against my own selfishness. "Thank you, Lord." My ego screamed. Over and over and over again. The ego which mocks me for my (hesitant) belief in God and makes my fight against my own hatred of organised religion even harder. Organised religion has burned me, has scarred me, and every time I see or hear words like, "God," "Jesus," "faith, "prayer," and so many others, all of the pains the church has caused me come right back.

And my ego laughs at my foolish struggle. Why fight to have faith? What is the good of faith? Why should I subject myself to the pains of my past, pains brought on by the followers of the very God I wish to be close to? Why suffer? This is utterly foolish. My recent breakdown was brought on by church, by faith. Why should I force myself to relive the pain of my childhood? It was buried deep in the past; why should I have to "deal with" and "reconcile" my past?

We give you thanks, most gracious God, for the beauty of the earth and sky and sea; for the richness of mountains plains, and rivers; for the songs of birds and the loveliness of flowers. We praise you for these good gifts, and pray that we may safeguard them for our posterity. Grant that we may continue to grow in our grateful enjoyment of your abundant creation, to the honour and glory of your Name, now and forever. Amen.

I don't know what else to do but pray. I hate prayer. I cannot bow my head and clasp my hands together; this feels like submission to the hateful religious leaders of my childhood. It feels like self-mutilation and self-destruction. It feels like bowing to a wretched dictator. My very being rebels against this submission. I hate submission because I was forced again and again into submission by "God." But that "God" is not the gracious God which created the beauty of the earth and sky and sea; the richness of mountains, plains, and rivers; the songs of birds and the loveliness of flowers. That "God" is not the God I could ever bow before because that "God" rules with fear, not love. The God I once knew and the God I long to know again is a God of love, not fear or hate.

Grant me courage, O God, to love you. Heal my broken, fearful heart, that I may come to know and trust you. Guide me to seek out wisdom and not falsehood. Help me, O God, to be light, not darkness. Envelope me in your peace and guard me from evil. Let me not fear.

Burning Out

I knew this day would come, but I'm surprised it took so long, actually: I am utterly burnt out from church. It's Sunday night, and I just got home after being at church for eleven hours straight, non-stop doing things. Busy, busy, busy. I feel so utterly exhausted. As we sung through the last hymn in the evensong, I was wondering why on earth we had to sing five whole verses. Wasn't one enough?

It's been three full months of this ridiculous "join every activity possible" attitude, and I'm only just now feeling any kind of exhaustion. A little food in my stomach and a chance to just sit down and relax, and I'm already feeling like I could be ready for more by morning when you read this.

I'm emotionally burnt out though. Not from church particularly, but overall. Last week was a very long week, full of inner turmoil, and I'm still recovering. Maybe it's my church's fault for bringing to light all of my unworked-out issues. Maybe I could blame my church for being such a strong positive force in my life that my subconscious figured now would be a good time to launch repressed issues at me and throw me into a "spiritual awakening." Why not blame my church?

I'm glad to be burnt out. I'm glad to feel exhaustion take over me. Because you know what's going to happen now? I am going to rest. My church has pushed me and pushed me to the point of utter exhaustion, but now I get to rest. And I can rest in the church. As exhausted as I was once the day was through, I felt like I could spend even more time there, only resting rather than working.

This is how I know my church is right for me, this is how I know it is home. It is a place where I am pushed and pushed and pushed until I can take no more, and then the moment I have passed my limit, I can rest. And soon, I know, I will be energized again and ready for more pushing, to feel myself grow like a balloon being filled with air and feel my skin stretching and stretching, but never popping. I am being filled with life, even in my exhaustion.

Redefining Human Nature

I read an article on the Huffington Post Wednesday entitled "Can We Be Truly Good? The Transcendent and Sacred Possibilities in Humans" by Rabbi David Wolpe. I urge you to read it; it's a very short story, but it's a powerful one.

I have been struggling to define human nature for what feels like eternity, and perhaps we, as a species, really have been trying to define our own natures for the entirety of our collective existences, for the eternity of humanity. (Not that humans have always been around.) About two months ago, I reflected in one of my notebooks on what I thought might be inherent in human nature, a topic brought to the surface by my own ridiculous reaction to being responsible for taking care of a snake for a few days: I found myself desperate to understand the snake and determine the best way to assure his well-being:

I fear the snake. Not because I fear it is inherently harmful, violent, or to be feared, but because I fear my own ignorance. I fear my own ignorance could harm one or both of us. Should the light be on? Should the light be off? Would he like to be picked up? To be touched and given attention and affection? Or would he rather be left alone? Was he aware that he was free to move about the bathroom as he pleased? Did he know I was there to care for him? That, could he communicate a want or need to me, that I would do all in my power to fulfill his wishes? Did he know I loved him? [...] To think I could love a snake! I know I do, but somehow I have learned cynicism. I have learned that humans are not capable of love and selflessness. Humans do not love snakes. Should I deny my humanity? No, the solution is not to deny being human, but to redefine humanity. Everything is solved with a redefinition of what I believe is inherent in being human. Humans are fully capable of love and selflessness. In fact, this is what being human is about, is it not? Love and serving one another.

I think we are so convinced that it is in our natures to be selfish and cruel for two reasons:

1. If human nature is inherently good, then we have no excuse but to do good 24/7. To do anything but good would be to deny and fail our very own nature. If we are to believe in the goodness of ourselves, then we must hold ourselves responsible for our imperfection. By claiming that selfishness is inherent, we can accept our shortcomings and allow ourselves to feel good when we do good. If we are built for goodness and we aren't good, we're as useful as an unplugged toaster, (Seriously, try to get your toaster to toast without plugging in; it just takes up space.) and no one is interested in feeling utterly useless.
2. And secondly, if human nature is inherently good, then others have no excuse but to good 24/7. Of course, we all know that no one ever does the "right thing" 100% of the time, so to expect that those around us should be perfect and flawless only leads to pain, anger, and disappointment when they fail. Forgiveness becomes impossible. We have to believe that humans are imperfect, or we will never forgive them for being thus.

Humans are not inherently good. We are not built for goodness, perfection, or other-centered-ness. Yet humans are not inherently evil or selfless either. Every single day, humans make illogical choices which put others first. The moments which bring us most joy are when we do something for the good of others. It is clear that our nature cannot possibly be inherently evil, or our species would have long ago gone extinct.

I would like to thus redefine humanity as inherently good-seeking. You see, our problem is not selfishness or a instinctive desire to harm others. Our problem is that we do not know that "good" is. We all have different ideas, but who of us truly knows? Often, we find ourselves faced with the choice between two not-so-good options, and our actions fail to live up to that indefinable "good" for which we long. 

My idea of "good" might not always agree with yours, but in the end, we all want to do what we think is right. And sometimes, we fail. We seek goodness, but other things distract us, or we don't really know what goodness is or how to find it, and our imperfections show. And when that happens, it is absolutely necessary that we forgive, both ourselves and others, or else hate and fear will become our masters, and not goodness and love.

Thank you.

(Boy, was that preachy! Heh.)

No One Will Be Your Friend

I decided that my brother is not going to grow up to be as self-loathing as me. He will not learn to strive for perfection and, upon failing to be perfect, fall into self-loathing and resentment and bitterness and unhappiness.

He got into a fight at school. Not a big, huge fight. Just some normal, lost-his-head-for-a-moment moment. They were all playing kickball, some kids said he "got out," he said he didn't, tempers went a little crazy over something silly, and some kicking/pushing happened. And then it was over. Our parents sat him down to talk about what happened, and they told him that no one will be his friend/like him if he gets in fights.

It's true, of course, that getting in fights won't make you friends, but in the midst of my "breakdown," I've come to realise that the messages of "no one will be your friend/like you if _____" only reached me as "no one will be your friend/like you." No one will be your friend, Elizabeth. No one will be your friend. You are a bad person. You are unworthy of love and friendship. No one will like you.


I don't want that for him. He is my little brother, practically my son nowadays, and as much as I'd love for him to be flawless and perfect, what I really want is for him to be happy and not have to struggle. Isn't that what any parent wants? It was hard to just listen to him being told those horrifying words of "no one will be your friend/like you if . . ." and know that all he was getting was "no one will be your friend/like you." Ever. But I didn't say anything that night.

The next morning, as he and I ate breakfast (I am the only adult around in the mornings, so I do all the morning parental activities), I decided it was a good time to say something.

"You know, they'll still be your friends," I said. "Everyone has bad days sometimes. They know that. As long as you apologise and really mean it, they'll still be your friends. You shouldn't be getting in fights, but it's not the end of the world." And I explained why our parents were mad, and why fighting was wrong and would so get him fired if he had been at a job, not elementary school. And in telling him that it was okay, that he was forgiven for his imperfections, that he was good, I started to believe it about myself too.

He smiled.

Becoming Vulnerable

I am in the midst of a breakdown. (Or "spiritual awakening," as said in the TED Talk below.) I already made mention of this breakdown on Monday, but I have not done it justice because I just don't know how to end a post without some sort of "Woo, everything's better now!" sort of ending. I like to tell the full story.

Truth is, I am in the middle of this story. It started Saturday when, after the prayer day retreat, an onslaught of repressed memories surfaced for the first time, and not just as some vague, distant, "Oh, wasn't that so sad," detached sort of way. No, I was reliving the memories for the first time, and they were the miserable kind. I completely fell apart Saturday night, pulled myself together, and then fell apart again Sunday morning. I keep pulling myself together to get through certain things, but I keep falling apart again. It is a horrible cycle.

I'm self-medicating with orange juice, Harry Potter, music, adequate sleep, food, games, excessive amounts of writing, and TED Talks. Do you know about TED Talks? If you don't, you're about to find out. Yesterday, I'm not really sure how, but I stumbled across a TED Talk, and I stumbled across just one: Brené Brown's Talk on "The Power of Vulnerability." Rather than tell you everything she said, I urge you to watch it for yourself:



I'm like Dr. Brown: "knock discomfort upside the head and move it over." I don't like being vulnerable, don't like discomfort, don't like messiness. I like everything to be neat and orderly and make sense. I want to solve for x in all situations. I numb. Constantly. I turned to numbing pretty much immediately after the breakdown started.

But take note, world. I am choosing authenticity. I am making myself vulnerable, and I am going to live wholehearted. Because the only way to connect is to become authentic and to become authentic requires becoming vulnerable. It is one thing to get up on stage and hide behind the mask of whatever act you are playing, but to truly connect, you must become vulnerable. I know this, and I have known this for a long time, but never has it been so clear that I have been inauthentic and too afraid to be vulnerable.

I want to connect.

Jesus Loves Harry Potter

First off, let me say that yes, I do realise how blasphemous this post is. I am well aware that a great number of people would put my Christianity into question for this post. Actually, plenty would say I am not Christian at all: a sinner, a blasphemer, going to hell, unloved by God. Fine.

The Harry Potter series often serves as, for lack of a better term, a bible for me. I'm not here to discuss all of the parallels, symbolism, and theology, but these books have served as a guide for me for many years. And not only do the books provide guidance, but "wrock," the music of Harry Potter created by fans, again and again somehow can pull me out of the hard stuff.

Saturday's prayer day retreat was great, up until it was too great: repressed memories and buried emotions came up at last. It was more than I could handle. I spent my Saturday night crying. I talked to a friend to calm my self down enough to sleep, but I was a mess all over again Sunday morning. The music was beautiful (I was singing), and the sermon was even more so. And then I did something stupid: I decided to go to the side after Communion for the "laying on of hands"/healing which is available every Sunday; I decided to admit that I was a great big mess. Of course, you're supposed to tell the priest what's going on so they can give you a personal prayer, but that was more admitting than I could do, and I pretty much just sputtered incoherent nonsense. So much for holding it together. I was a complete wreck for an hour or two after, but I managed to pull myself together enough to get through a Super Bowl party (my first football game in years!) and get home.

At last, a song called "Ascendio" by the Ministry of Magic came up on one of my playlists while I wasn't paying attention, and then, immediately, the very first words grabbed me: "How could I be more than just an orphan, more than just a burden without a home?" Harry Potter flooded my being, and I cried (jeeze, I sound like such an emotional wreck) right along with him, wondering how I could be anything more than a burden.

The problem I have with the Bible (okay, so I could probably lodge a few complaints) is that it is missing nearly all of Jesus' life. For a man who's supposed to be my connection to God, I really don't know how to connect to him sometimes. I get that it's all about the miracle of Jesus' birth, his teachings, and then his sacrifice/death and resurrection, but for an all-purpose guide for my "journey of faith," it sure seems to be missing the whole journey of its main character. Isn't that my example? How can I live like Jesus when I don't know what 19-year-old Jesus was like?

But I suppose that's the beauty, isn't it? Our journeys are unique; had the Bible laid out all of Jesus' journey, it would have made other journeys seem "lesser" or even "wrong." The Bible says to love and teaches how to love, but it doesn't give up step-by-step instructions. It just says, "Build an airplane"; you get to find your own building materials and make your own path. "There is more than one path to enlightenment."

The journey of Harry Potter, all of the pain and fear and hate and injustice and evil with which he is faced, is a journey much like mine. I may not live in a cupboard under the stairs, my parents might be living, and no dark wizard is running around trying to murder me, but I can so deeply relate to his desperation to be good, to be loved, to be "more than just a burden," and to his fear of being like Voldemort, of being evil. While I know those are pretty universal ideas, Harry and I are connected on levels I cannot comprehend. And Harry brings me closer to God, to Jesus. In understanding Harry, I begin to understand myself, and in understanding myself, I begin to understand God. I think the Holy Spirit knows what it's doing.

"I'm not a burden, not good for nothing; I am The Boy Who Lived, the one to save the world."

In the Present

I am lying on the fountain at City Hall. I hear the sound of birds twittering in nearby trees. The sound of car motors. A young child— a girl, I believe— calls out from somewhere outside City Hall. Playing, perhaps. A helicopter flies overhead. Things are being moved elsewhere in City Hall. The sky is blue. Thin, soft clouds everywhere. Wispy. I can feel the heat of the Sun on my back. Footsteps, people walking across the sand, talking. A truck backs up somewhere. This is Pasadena. This is home. Sounds of construction. Birds and machines; nature meets technology. Together. As one. Symbiotic. My hand is shaking a bit, as it often does. The fountain is off. City Hall is beautiful. Majestic. It is the triumph of man, but not over nature: it is with nature. The great building is surrounded by trees and bushes and twittering birds. And the artwork, the architecture, is full of nature. The bell sings. A stone building. Imageso flions, nature's powerful beasts, of plants and fruits and life. Perhaps stone is not living, but there is life in this building. It lives. Stone does live. It is peaceful here, quiet, but it is life. The power of peace overwhelms, envelopes. Inescapable. God is in this stone building, this still fountain.

Why am I doing this? Why am I here? What has drawn me to this foolish belief? Why do I seek God? I am at a prayer day retreat because it is part of my class, a Confirmation class, but why do I seek to confirm? Because I have to in order to become a priest? Why do I want to become a priest? Is not Christianity "dying"? What has led me to this foolish, nonsensical, irrational, utterly ridiculous idea that not only is there a God, but that God loves me and everyone else too and that I need to be close to God? Am I delusional? This is completely illogical, and yet I believe. Is it desperation? Do I simply believe because not believing would wreck me? I am in love with God. Love cannot be rational, cannot conform to simplistic truths. It is instinctive. It is beyond our physical world. Why am I so desperate for logic? I am in love with God, and God loves me. Is not this enough?

These are the words I wrote during an hour of prayer in the midst of what was called a "Prayer Day Retreat." Our priest talked to us about prayer before we were sent off to pray on our own, and one of the things she said was that prayer should, in her opinion, bring us to the present. So I laid down outside, and just took in the present moment. I let all of the clutter of past and future leave my mind and just focused on that very instant. And it was beautiful. I was struck by the contrast between how foolish and unrealistic prayer and faith seem and how the very powerful that foolish act was in bringing me peace.

I served as a Lay Eucharistic Minister (which basically means someone who isn't a priest giving the already-blessed-bread/wine to others) during the Eucharist we had at the end of the retreat, and someone came up to me after and told me that I had served "well" (though I'm not sure how you could really "screw up" holding a cup) and should "look into that," implying serving within the church, probably as a priest. It struck me. Hard. A stranger who had no way of knowing I'd even thought of being a priest suggested it based simply on how I served wine to "the people." My mind was blown and still is. I keep looking for something to come along, screaming, "STOP!!! Don't become a priest!!! Turn back now!!!" but little moments like that keep happening. Leading prayer, reading the lessons, serving the wine— all these things strike something deep within me that says, "Yes! This is it! More! More!! Let's do it again!!" and result in comments from others who know nothing of my discernment (often, who I've never even met!) praising how well I served.

"The place God calls you to is the place where your great gladness and the world's deep hunger meet." —Frederick Buechner. My rector spoke about this very meeting place on Vocation Sunday (just a few weeks ago), and as moments like today's slowly add up, I am beginning to suspect that God is indeed calling me to serve as a priest. Who knows though? Only time will tell. For now, I must live in the present.

For Truth and Justice

I don't have much to say today; I think it's bet to let this boy do the talking.



It blows my mind that he is my age, but it gives me hope and it gives me determination to be better. I want the courage and strength of Zach Wahls to stand up for truth and justice. And I want everyone to see this too. Pass it along; his voice needs to be heard.

Flinging Poo

Sometimes, you just have to make crap. Forget creating anything good, anything worth sharing. Sometimes, you just need to indulge the shamelessly horrid artist in you, and let it all about. Because art is about expressing, not getting it right. Art is not about answers, but about the search, the process of finding answers. Who cares if you make a shit-ton of crap before you make something beautiful?

I really need to make some crap. I need to be like a monkey and just fling poo all over my screen. I've reached the point where I'm being too careful, too concerned with perfection and "getting it right" that the creativity and freedom has left my art, my writing. So it's midnight after a long Tuesday; I should sleep. But you know what? I need to write crap more. I'll be exhausted tomorrow, but who cares? My creativity and ability to express is dying. I'd rather be exhausted than have no creativity.

So I won't sleep tonight. When you read this, I'll probably be gulping down some tea in an attempt to make up for lost sleep and get through the day. But I will have gotten the crap out of me. I will be the proud author of shit, the proud painter of a poop splatter. Of course, it's not like I'm going to let you ever see the crap, but you'll see what comes out after that's out of my system and made room for the prettier, less stinky stuff to come out. It'll be nice.

Maybe you should go fling poo too.