Their Own Country

Cross-posted on the Confirm not Conform blog.

I had an epiphany a couple of days ago.

I have heard many a sermon on the magi that talked about how they traveled home by a different road. But this year, it was the snippet of a phrase immediately before that that caught my attention: “they left for their own country.”

It reminded me of a sermon I heard many, many years ago, probably when I was a teenager myself. I even remember the title: “The three unwise men.” And the argument made by the preacher was, “It’s all well and good that they came to worship Jesus, but why didn’t they stick around?” Thinking about it now, that seemed to be a pointed jab at the Christmas and Easter crowd for Not Faithfully Attending, but I remember being annoyed at the time on behalf of the wise men who had made the effort to travel a very long way. After all, the chief priests and scribes who told the magi where the child would be born were in a town just a few miles away. Why weren’t they there?

But that’s not the epiphany. The epiphany was this: people live in different countries. Metaphorically speaking, I mean. And believe me when I say I think our church can do a heck of a lot better job keeping people involved and included – people for whom our churches are their native land.

But I think a lot of us are like that preacher long ago: we believe that to be truly faithful, you need to stay in our country. Never mind how far you have traveled. Never mind what efforts you have made. If you don’t stay with us, then clearly you are not truly faithful. And all our efforts are spent on making sure you stay in our country, our denomination, our worship services, our programs.

Maybe this year we need to do some more traveling. Maybe this year, we need to visit their countries – not to change people, not to convince them, not to draw them back, but simply to visit, to bring gifts, to rejoice, to pay homage, and to return to our own country, transformed by the God who leads us home.

Reading Auden for Christmas

I tend to look at blog stats too much, but I'm glad I did so recently when I noticed someone had clicked on Christmas Oratorio. What's that? I wondered, and found a post I'd done a year ago that was a poem by W.H. Auden that is fantastic. (It's reposted below.)

I did a little more digging and found it was one small snippet of a very long piece called For the Time Being: A Christmas Oratorio. The plan was for Benjamin Britten to set it to music, which would have been fantastic except it probably would have taken days to perform. It's 37 pages of text in the edition of Collected Poems I checked out of the library, and covers from Advent to the Flight Into Egypt.

And it ends there, with the flight into Egypt. I hadn't thought about that, about how Christmas ends with a cliffhanger. The order of events gets so mixed up in the calendar, with the magi arriving tomorrow on Epiphany (in the church year), but the Slaughter of the Innocents, which happens after they leave, occurred a week ago on December 28.

And so, with Joseph and Mary and Jesus on the lam, and with the recitative immediately before beginning, "Fly, Holy Family, from our immediate rage," the next-to-last section begins with "Well, so that is that." So shocking, and so wonderful.

There are so many wonderful, shocking moments in this work. I haven't made my way through it all yet. I loved part II in the Temptation of Joseph section. Here's a little bit:

  For those delicious memories
Cigars and sips of brandy can restore
To old dried boys, for gallantry that scrawls
  In idolatrous detail and size
A symbol of aggression on toilet walls,
For having reasoned -- "Woman is naturally pure
since she has no moustache," for having said,
  "No woman has a business head,"
You must learn now that masculinity,
To nature, is a non-essential luxury.

And Herod's essay/proclamation on The Massacre of the Innocents is incredible.

But the whole thing is. It's worth savoring. It gave me so much to think about in a deep Christmas mode, far past the manger. I can see this is a work I will have to revisit when Advent rolls around.

The oratorio ends with this text, which is in the Episcopal hymnal and have never heard sung. It makes much more sense in its original context.

He is the Way.
Follow him through the Land of Unlikeness;
You will see rare beasts, and have unique adventures.

He is the Truth.
Seek Him in the Kingdom of Anxiety;
You will come to a great city that has expected your return for years.

He is the Life.
Love Him in the World of the Flesh;
And at your marriage all its occasions shall dance for joy.

October 1941-July 1942

From "For the Time Being: A Christmas Oratorio" by W.H. Auden

The Flight Into Egypt
III
Narrator

Well, so that is that. Now we must dismantle the tree,
Putting the decorations back into their cardboard boxes --
Some have got broken -- and carrying them up to the attic.
The holly and the mistletoe must be taken down and burnt,
And the children got ready for school. There are enough
Left-overs to do, warmed-up, for the rest of the week --
Not that we have much appetite, having drunk such a lot,
Stayed up so late, attempted -- quite unsuccessfully --
To love all of our relatives, and in general
Grossly overestimated our powers. Once again
As in previous years we have seen the actual Vision and failed
To do more than entertain it as an agreeable
Possibility, once again we have sent Him away,
Begging though to remain His disobedient servant,
The promising child who cannot keep His word for long.
The Christmas Feast is already a fading memory,
And already the mind begins to be vaguely aware
Of an unpleasant whiff of apprehension at the thought
Of Lent and Good Friday which cannot, after all, now
Be very far off. But, for the time being, here we all are,
Back in the moderate Aristotelian city
Of darning and the Eight-Fifteen, where Euclid's geometry
And Newton's mechanics would account for our experience,
And the kitchen table exists because I scrub it.
It seems to have shrunk during the holidays. The streets
Are much narrower than we remembered; we had forgotten
The office was as depressing as this. To those who have seen
The Child, however dimly, however incredulously,
The Time Being is, in a sense, the most trying time of all.
For the innocent children who whispered so excitedly
Outside the locked door where they knew the presents to be
Grew up when it opened. Now, recollecting that moment
We can repress the joy, but the guilt remains conscious;
Remembering the stable where for once in our lives
Everything became a You and nothing was an It.
And craving the sensation but ignoring the cause,
We look round for something, no matter what, to inhibit
Our self-reflection, and the obvious thing for that purpose
Would be some great suffering. So, once we have met the Son,
We are tempted ever after to pray to the Father;
"Lead us into temptation and evil for our sake."
They will come, all right, don't worry; probably in a form
That we do not expect, and certainly with a force
More dreadful than we can imagine. In the meantime
There are bills to be paid, machines to keep in repair,
Irregular verbs to learn, the Time Being to redeem
From insignificance. The happy morning is over,
The night of agony still to come; the time is noon:
When the Spirit must practice his scales of rejoicing
Without even a hostile audience, and the Soul endure
A silence that is neither for nor against her faith
That God's Will will be done, That, in spite of her prayers,
God will cheat no one, not even the world of its triumph.

Various & Sundry: My Miserable Pony Takes the GOEs, Gains Wisdom

I wasn't quite sure what to make of this tweet:

@vapriestess @karanslade That may be my new code phrase for something. Don't mess with Buttercup Sprinkles.
— Laurie B. (@Drtysxyministry) January 5, 2013

Until I saw this:


OK! Now that we've got that out of the way...

The General Ordination Exams are this week, testing potential Episcopal priests on subjects that I cannot recall at the moment. The Crusty Old Dean is having quite a time of it, expounding on each question, and for Episcopal geekery, he cannot be beat.

I am so glad I will never have to take those again. I realized today that they reminded me (to expand the field of geekery) of the Kobayashi Maru simulation, given to Star Fleet Academy cadets to put them in a no-win situation. Unless you're Kirk.



In other movie news, Buzzfeed offers A "Les Miz" Character Guide. For example:

And since I'm doing lots of videos today, here's that video that's been making the rounds of a family falling apart after seeing Les Miz. I fall apart just watching the trailer, so believe me, I'm laughing with them.

Oh, and for all you GOE-takers out there, and others as well, I offer you James Martin's 12 things I wish I knew at 25.  Probably especially 7, 8, and 9.

1. First up: Stop worrying so much! It's useless. (I.e. Jesus was right.) 

2. Being a saint means being yourself. Stop trying to be someone else and just be your best self. Saves you heartache. 

3. There's no right way to pray, any more than there's a right way to be a friend. What's "best" is what works best for you. 

4. Remember three things and save yourself lots of unneeded heartache: You're not God. This ain't heaven. Don't act like a jerk. 

5. Your deepest, most heartfelt desires are God's desires for you. And vice versa. Listen. And follow them. 

6. Within you is the idea of your best self. Act as if you were that person and you will become that person, with God's grace. 

7. Don't worry too much about the worst that can happen. Even if it happens, God is with you, and you can handle it. Really. 

8. You can't force people to approve of you, agree with you, be impressed with you, love you or even like you. Stop trying. 

9. When we compare, we are usually imagining someone else's life falsely. So our real-life loses out. I.e. Compare and despair. 

10. Even when you finally realized the right thing, or the Christian thing, to do, it can still be hard to do. Do it anyway. 

11. Seven things to say frequently: I love you. Thank you. Thank you, God. Forgive me. I'm so happy for you! Why not? Yes. 

12. Peace and joy come after asking God to free you -- from anything that keeps you from being loving and compassionate.

Review: Grace

I have been a reading fool the past few weeks, which has been a treat for me. And as a humongous indulgence, I bought -- in hardback! -- the new memoir Grace by Grace Coddington.

Like many people I met Grace through the movie The September Issue, which was about the production of Vogue's mammoth fall collections issue. Ostensibly, the focus of the movie is Anna Wintour. But Grace Coddington steals the show (I'll post a clip of the movie below). She looks more like an ex-nun, stumping around the Vogue offices in sensible shoes, than she does an ex-model who used to hang out with Mick Jagger and the like.

She steals the show again in this book. Though she's not a booky person, she's a good storyteller and has lots of stories to tell. She includes a lot of her own sketches, which are wonderful. And be aware that at the back of the book are lots of photos from the fashion shoots she describes in the text.

I read a few reviews from people who were frustrated because they didn't know fashion and didn't know the people she was talking about. Well, I don't know fashion either. But I read it like a book with vocabulary words I didn't understand, taking my time and looking things up as I went along -- or just allowing things to wash over me if I didn't want to spend the time on complete comprehension. What's great with the internet is you can look up people, images, notable fashion collections, even, and find out what she means. I thought it was incredibly rewarding, even if it did slow me down a little.

Mostly I continue to think she is an incredibly compelling person with no pretensions, thoroughly herself and unconcerned whether you like it or not.

If you do want to read this, and aren't a fashion person, I recommend you watch The September Issue as well, and probably as an introduction. It certainly helped me to hear her voice throughout and understand a little better the world and some of the people she describes.

Review: The Hunger Games trilogy

Book 1: The Hunger Games

I've been meaning to read The Hunger Games books by Suzanne Collins for forever, but only just got to them last month. They were a very satisfying and interesting read.

Satisfying because they were well-written and plot driven and I love a good, dense, and well-constructed plot.

Interesting because the books allowed things to be complicated. "Good" and "bad" were not as clear-cut as they first appear. Finding the right person for you and falling in love is not a straightforward proposition. And heroic deeds are not all done by heroes, or even by nice people.

Book 2: Catching Fire

Nor is the result of heroic behavior restful sleep and pleasant dreams. Those called upon to kill one another, whether for justice or for entertainment, are severely damaged by the experience. And you don't often see that in hero's quest books of this nature.

For that reason, I liked the third book, Mockingjay, best of the three (though I though all were terrific). I appreciated how Collins both resolved the action in a truly satisfying way while writing the experience in a way that seemed emotionally believable.

Book 3: Mockingjay

One of the thought-provoking things about it was how it explored the notion that, one way or another, violence would be done and people would be hurt. So given that you have no perfect option, what is the best option you have? What if you know that no matter what you choose, other people will get hurt? What will you do? It reminded me, of all things, of the movie Lincoln, in which the awful choice is to allow the bloody Civil War to continue so that the violent system of slavery can be abolished. Either way, people suffer and die. So what do you choose? Whose lives do you spare? No matter which way you go, your hands are going to have blood on them. So how do you play the game?

Be warned: these books are very violent. Brutal, even. There's no way you'll get me to see the movie versions. But I doubt I'd want to anyway. The books are told in first person, and part of the pleasure and complexity of these books is thinking along with our protagonist Katniss Everdeen about what is happening and how to deal with it. I'm not sure I'd simply want to see what happens without also knowing the mental struggle that's going on inside.

Where God Hides Holiness: A Personal Reflection

Last week, I wrote a review of Where God Hides Holiness with my professional hat on for the Confirm not Conform blog. But I also wanted to write my personal response here on my personal blog.

In the book, co-authored by Mary E. Koppel and Laurie Brock, each woman tells her story of the church breaking her heart. Both Episcopal priests, they served in the same diocese as assistants in two different churches. Each one lost her position when she could no longer conform to the external appearance demanded of her. Each one is now working somewhere else. They also still blog at the wonderful Dirty Sexy Ministry.

I read Mary's harrowing account straight through without stopping. In her case, she went through six miscarriages, a failed adoption, and a divorce. As a single mother, she loses her church job. (Her rector says she quit; she says she was fired.) What happens next?! I truly couldn't put it down until I found out. Mary's story was dramatic, but her writing style beautifully spare. Watching her experience I simply wanted to know what happened. Would she be OK? I rooted for her from the sidelines and cheered for her success.

Laurie's story was different. She experienced a lot of grief, but also confusion - that crazy-making confusion where people around you tell you everything is fine while deep down you know something is wrong. I heard the ominous music start the moment she interviewed with the rector who told her, "We aren't just colleagues here, we're friends." Dun dun DUNNNNN!!! I knew in that instant that Laurie was in for trouble.

I read her story much more slowly, finding myself every so often stopping and staring into space. I was rooting for Laurie, but I was also reliving my own first church call.

It was over 10 years ago, but there are still moments that are indelible. My own "dun dun DUNNNN" moment was at my first meeting with the rector when he explained that "loyalty was important" to him, and that, due to the fact that we were in a very small town, I could not talk to anyone in town (whether they were part of the parish or not) about what went on between us. The next moment came soon after when the parish administrator asked what title I would like to have; when I said I wanted to be called chaplain, the rector explained that I should be called "Mother." I insisted on chaplain, to which the rector said, "Women never think about things like this."  Dun dun DUNNNN!!!

He could be late to any meeting - or skip them entirely; I could not, even when I had a doctor's appointment or had gotten lost. My time belonged to him. My priorities were forever being co-opted. Any trespass, no matter how small, was a sign of my insubordination. It showed that I "didn't have the first idea of what it meant to be an assistant." Perfection was the only acceptable option, and perfection was not possible. This lasted to the very time I submitted my letter of resignation, which did not occur as he wished. He came into my office and said these unforgettable words. "You are my assistant. You serve at my pleasure. You will do what I say."

He's now the dean of a cathedral.

Thank God for several things: one, a very good spiritual director who, when it became necessary, directed me to professional medical help; two, a wonderful therapist and psychiatrist who prescribed anti-anxiety medication when the pressure became so much that I could not sleep at night; and three, a supportive group of friends to whom I had been writing a "weekly report," an email of the goings on, who could tell that things were not right and who knew I was not crazy. Thank God also for my bishop who did not let the rector set the date for my ordination to the priesthood as he had wanted.

So, yes, reading Laurie's story brought much of this back. It also brought back something much closer.

Just a couple of months ago, I had gone to have coffee with a new priest in a nearby parish, looking perhaps for a new colleague and friend. She, of course, asked about my history and I told her some of this story in what I thought was a light-hearted, "here's what happened" sort of way. She nodded and said, "It sounds like you're still grieving."

It made me furious. Rightly or wrongly, what I heard when she said this was, "and you shouldn't be grieving any more. It was a long time ago." Rightly or wrongly, I really didn't want her to put on the professional pastor voice at that moment. I just wanted her to talk to me like a normal human being, not like someone who is Offering Spiritual Insight. Rightly or wrongly, what I would have liked to hear was, "How rotten!" or, in my more selfish moments, "What a jerk!" I did not care to be told I was grieving. Still grieving.

Which is why Laurie's story was so freeing for me. Because rather than implying that my grief was some sign of spiritual turpitude, she writes,

My years in ministry remind me that grief is never a done process, however much we might like it to be. We do not easily slip through the stages of grief as if they are way stations that simply slow our journey through life. Grief is a part of our souls that is ripped away, and we spend our lives working with and around that part that is now absent. The longer we live and love and lose those we love, the more grief we acquire, so that each subsequent loss just adds to our brokenness. We don't get over grief; we somehow allow it to change us, hopefully for the richer. [emphasis mine]

So, thank you, Laurie, for sharing your story. Let me just say, How rotten! And what a jerk! And thank you so much for reassuring me that I'm not somehow stuck in grief, that I'm not wallowing or victimized, but that it's part of me for better or worse. Hopefully for the better.