Jesus Christ Superstar

The Christian world today commemorates what is commonly referred to (in the English-speaking world) as Maundy Thursday; the Catholic Church refers to it as “Holy Thursday”. In both Protestant and Catholic churches, the day is commemorated as the date of the Lord’s last supper with his apostles prior to his betrayal, trial, crucifixion and death.

I have vague memories from my Catholic childhood of going to Holy Thursday Mass and, as an altar boy, assisting the priest as he washed the feet of twelve men selected from the parish for this purpose.  The service commemorates the institution of what is referred to in the LDS Church as the “sacrament” as well as the other events of that night so long ago.

I recently ran across a piece of music with which I wasn’t previously familiar called Ubi Caritas.  I discovered that it is an ancient hymn of the western Church, long used as one of the antiphons for the washing of feet on Holy Thursday. The Gregorian melody was composed sometime between the fourth and tenth centuries, though some scholars believe the text dates from early Christian gatherings before the formalization of the Mass. It is traditionally sung on Holy Thursday evening at the Mass of the Lord's Supper.  

Here is a recording of the Gregorian melody, followed by the Latin text and English translation.  Following the text is a recording of Maurice Duruflé’s modern choral arrangement of the old Gregorian melody.

Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.                  Where charity and love are, God is there.

Congregavit nos in unum Christi amor.          Christ's love has gathered us into one.

Exultemus, et in ipso jucundemur.                Let us rejoice and be pleased in Him.

Timeamus, et amemus Deum vivum.             Let us fear, and let us love the living God.

Et ex corde diligamus nos sincero.                And may we love each other with a sincere heart.

Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.                 Where charity and love are, God is there.

Simul ergo cum in unum congregamur:          As we are gathered into one body,

Ne nos mente dividamur, caveamus.             Beware, lest we be divided in mind.

Cessent iurgia maligna, cessent lites.           Let evil impulses stop, let controversy cease,

Et in medio nostri sit Christus Deus.             And may Christ our God be in our midst.

Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.                 Where charity and love are, God is there.

Simul quoque cum beatis videamus,              And may we with the saints also,

Glorianter vultum tuum, Christe Deus:          See Thy face in glory, O Christ our God:

Gaudium quod est immensum,                      The joy that is immense and good,

atque probum,

Saecula per infinita saeculorum. Amen.         Unto the ages through infinite ages. Amen.

Gethsemane – Jesus Christ Superstar

Now, for something completely different.  Years ago, I saw Jesus Christ Superstar, the movie.  I gather it was somewhat controversial in some quarters when it first came out (after the huge success of the Broadway musical), but the music and message resonated with many young people.  I recall being particularly affected by the song sung by Jesus during his night in Gethsemane.  Here’s a clip.  If you haven’t seen it before, it is “different,” but it is powerful.

Gay Love: Some Kind of Wonderful

I stumbled across a video on YouTube the other day, which led me to some other videos created by the same guy.  I decided I wanted to share these with those who peruse this blog.  They all depict gay love as represented in various gay-themed movies.  I think you will agree that the videos are artistic and very well done. (BTW, all of these are no more than "PG-13" and are certainly not pornographic.) You can find more of this person’s videos at his YouTube Channel.

Enjoy.

Borderlands: The Sacred and the Profane

I went with my son and a couple of friends this past weekend to see the play Borderlands, a production of the Plan B Theatre Company  playing at the Rose Wagner Studio Theatre in Salt Lake City.  I had read the Salt Lake Tribune review about the play, which was written by BYU Professor Eric Samuelsen, and was looking forward to the performance.

I wasn’t prepared, however, for what I experienced.*

Of course, I knew that all the characters in the play are Mormon and that one of these was gay – a teenage boy named Brian.  What I didn’t know, however, was that Brian, who is openly gay, falls in love with another boy (who is not out at all) and, in one of the play’s many poignant moments, describes how – though he has a testimony of the Church – there is no room in the Church for him because he is gay. 

With my son sitting beside me, I heard Brian describe his feelings for the boy he had fallen in love with.  I heard him give voice to thoughts and feelings that I have read and heard spoken elsewhere:  how it is not fair or realistic for a gay man in the LDS church to remain “chaste”, when being “chaste” means no displays of physical affection:  no hugging, no hand-holding, no kissing, no nothing.   I heard Brian quote Joseph Smith and express his “testimony”, yet resign himself to the fact there was no place for him in the Mormon Church.

I wondered what my son was thinking.  (He had asked as we were driving to the theatre whether the play was “anti”.  I said it wasn’t, so far as I knew, and this proved to be true:  though aspects of Mormon culture and belief were very definitely held up for examination, the Church itself was not criticized or belittled in any way.)

I also wondered what he was thinking when I heard the other characters each honestly express their own doubts, feelings and questions:  from the middle-aged man (Dave) who had “face-planted” mid-life and had been excommunicated; from the middle-aged woman (Gail) going through a divorce who struggled for meaning amidst her cynicism; from the older woman (Phyllis) who had experienced devastating loss early in her life (the accidental deaths of her husband and two children) and, though extremely active in the Church and holder of a current temple recommend, harbored a deep and abiding hatred of God.

What was my son thinking as he listened to these characters “come out” to each other in a world that did not correspond at all to that which is typically portrayed in your average Sunday School class?

The play proceeds to a climax as Phyllis, who is dying of cancer, maliciously outs Brian’s boyfriend, telling his parents and bishop.  Brian is furious – and heartbroken, as all contact with the boy he has fallen in love with is severed. 

A number of things happen at once.  Gail is close to the end, is hysterical and loses her reason; she no longer recognizes those around her.  Dave and Gail desperately try to calm her, without success.  Finally, Brian, the gay “predator” that Phyllis had come to hate – perhaps because he stood for a freedom and openness that she had always denied herself, and/or perhaps because he stood on the brink of a life, whereas she stood on the brink of death, and/or perhaps (most likely) because she resented his “flaunting” of rules that she had slavishly adhered to so that she “could be with her family again” (her most fervent desire) – reaches through the chaos of the moment and, after assuring Phyllis that God loves her, asks her if she would like a blessing.

The effect was electric.  The introduction of that extremely meaning-laden term into a play that had addressed themes of disbelief, disaffection and disunity was jarring.  There was some discussion among the characters:  Brian held only the Aaronic Priesthood; Dave no longer held any priesthood; and of course Gail was a woman.  None of them held the Melchizedek priesthood that was required to give a formal priesthood blessing.  Yet, they were united in their desire to help Phyllis.

At this point, I felt a tension that I’m sure was felt by many others in that theatre.  Was something that is viewed as sacred be profaned?  Were they actually going to act out a priesthood blessing on stage?  I am sure the playwright knew precisely the effect this would have on his audience, an effect which made what followed so profoundly moving. 

As Brian, Gail and Dave laid their hands on Phyllis’ head and Brian started to pronounce a blessing, only to be interrupted by Dave, who tried to tell him the “correct” way to go about it, I felt something that I’m sure many others in that theatre felt.  It started with a realization that Brian – the gay outcast – was the only one there remotely “qualified” to act as “voice”.  The irony deepened when one considered that it was he, who had been so deeply wrongly by this woman, who had proposed giving her a blessing.

But it was once Brian began the “blessing” – which was simply a prayer, uttered by Brian while he, Gail and Dave placed their hands on Phyllis’ head – that the pent-up tension I and others had felt was transformed into an experience that I will long remember.  There, on the stage, we saw ourselves – these frustrated, hurt, yet caring people who were trying to make sense of their lives and their religion – reach out and beyond the confines of formal religious strictures in an act of love and of raw, simple faith. 

We recognized, perhaps, that in our concern about the sacred being profaned, we had been more concerned about the formalities of our religion (i.e., the “blessing”) than about reaching out in love, whereupon we relaxed and let ourselves be swallowed up by what happening on stage.  In the moments that followed, the characters on the stage – and us in the audience – experienced redemption.  The profane had been made sacred.  In the sense of the Latin roots of these words, that which was outside the temple had been made holy.

The feeling in the room was palpable, and was frankly more powerful than anything I had ever felt in a temple.  I held back a wave of emotion with great difficulty, and I know I wasn’t the only one who struggled:  one could hear snifflings all over the theatre; all were affected; all felt, I think, what I was feeling.

And then, one short scene later, the play was over.  Some issues were resolved; others not.  Like life.  But the characters on the stage knew that they had been changed by their experience, as we in the audience had been by ours. 

* Note:  The play has now closed.  The complete text of the play is contained in the current edition of Sunstone Magazine.

Facing East: Thoughts on (Dis)Orientation

I was talking with a friend the other day who was feeling uneasy about his life.  Like me, he has known since he was a boy that he is gay, yet (because he was a faithful Mormon boy) he married and had children, then eventually came to a point where he could no longer continue to live the way he was.  He is now divorced and is living openly as a gay man.

Though he does not regret coming out of the closet and embracing his true self, he admits to experiencing periods of disorientation in his life:  times when he feels uneasy, uncomfortable and anxious about “where he’s at.”

I could empathize.  I have felt many such periods since embracing my gayness last October, and I have mentioned various episodes in previous blog posts.  (Just how many times I had done so, I didn’t realize until doing a Google search on my blog site.)

And so, I have reflected these past days on the subject of orientation and disorientation.  In the course of doing so, I decided to look up the etymology, or history, of the word “orientation.”  I was surprised by what I found and by how relevant I think this history is to a discussion of homosexuality.

An Etymological Lesson

The word “orientation” comes from the word “orient”, which in turn derives from the Latin word oriens meaning "east" (literally "rising" from orior "rise"). The use of the word for "rising" to refer to the east (where the sun rises) has analogs from many languages, such as Levant (rising) in French and “Vostok” in Russian (from voshkhod, meaning “sunrise”).  Also, many ancient temples, including pagan temples and the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem (as well as most Mormon temples), were built with their main entrances facing the East. To situate them in such a manner was to "orient" them in the proper direction. When something was facing the correct direction, it was said to be in the proper "orientation".

(Interestingly, and parenthetically, as I was reading this material, my thoughts turned to Carol Lynn Pearson’s play, Facing East (about a faithful Mormon couple dealing with the suicide of their gay son), which I have not seen, but I understand that the title was a reference to the LDS belief that the dead should be buried oriented toward the east.  The reason for doing so is the belief that Jesus Christ will return from the east, and when the dead are resurrected, they should arise facing east in order to meet Christ. (For those reading this who are not Mormon, Carol Lynn Pearson is a well-known poet and author in the Mormon world and the closest thing there is to a “patron saint” of the Mormon gay community.)

The word “orient” was apparently first used in the English language by Geoffrey Chaucer in 1375 in his Knight’s Tale.  The term grew in common usage, and by the early 1700s, church architects would say that their sanctuaries were “oriented” because they faced east.  By the mid 1800s, people spoke of other things as well as people that could be “oriented”, which by this point didn’t always have to mean that they faced toward the east.  Eventually, the term “disoriented” came to mean a loss of direction and confusion.

Sexual Orientation

The term “orientation” has a special significance to homosexuals.  It is a term that has come into common usage whereby others, typically not the homosexuals themselves, describe the “sexual preferences” of gays and lesbians.  One would not, for example, typically hear a gay person make a statement such as the following:  “My sexual orientation is ________.”  What?  How would one complete this sentence?  One simply doesn’t say this.  Right?

I find it interesting that the whole concept of “orientation” originally referred to one’s position vis-à-vis only one of the four points of the compass:  east.  If one wasn’t facing east, one wasn’t properly aligned, and eventually, one was referred to as dis-oriented.  Similarly, in the realm of sexuality, heterosexuality is the equivalent of “east.”  It is the standard.  Anything else becomes not properly aligned, not properly oriented, or dis-oriented.

The use of the term “orientation” also compartmentalizes sexual identity by reducing everything that forms part of that identity into a sexual “direction.”  Again, thinking of the history of the term, it’s like saying that a church wasn’t a real church if it wasn’t facing east, that the whole identity of that church, congregation and parish was bound up in which way the front door faced.  (Or like believing that someone’s resurrection is going to be somehow defective because they are buried in the proper direction.)

These are some negative aspects of use of the term “orientation” as applied to sexual identity.  But I read something the other day that conveys a positive aspect of the use of this word.  James Alison, a gay Catholic priest and theologian (of whom I plan to write more in future posts), commented as follows in the context of a discussion of the effects that scientific advances in the understanding of homosexuality, and the ineffectualness of various “therapies” that have sought to change one’s sexual orientation, have had upon one’s perception of one’s “divine acceptance” (for lack of a better term):

“[People who’ve been through various of these “therapies” can] actually say, 'Do you know, in good conscience, I've now pursued every option that those people told me I ought to pursue. So now I can relax into knowing that it's not the case.' And then they discover, of course, as I've come to discover as well, that thing which the Catholic faith has taught me is true, which is that we have a certain orientedness to what is true. When something is true, you relax; this is part of the goodness of creation” [emphasis added].

I think gay Mormons could ponder Alison’s statement and perhaps learn something.

Human Disorientation

My friend was definitely not feeling confused or anxious about his “sexual orientation,” and I have never felt such confusion since leaving the closet.  To the contrary, I have felt increasingly clarity – not only with respect to my sexual identity, but concerning every aspect of my identity – since starting the coming-out process.

Rather, the disorientation he was feeling and that I have felt is, I think, a product both of changing one’s bearings to face one’s “true East” – i.e., accepting one’s true identity and re-orienting one’s life toward “what is true” (to use Alison’s words) – and of the general human condition.  This malaise was described in a profoundly meaningful talk I heard a few weeks ago:

One of the most fundamental insights of the Christian view of the world is that to be human is to be on a pilgrimage.  At any moment in our lives we are still on the way, still in process, still unfinished … To be a pilgrim people helps explain why we are often so often unsatisfied with our achievements and feel ill at ease with where we find ourselves … Human beings have pilgrim hearts, pilgrim souls.  

But what keeps this disorientation from turning into depression and despair is the faith that was described in the above-referenced talk:

There is a divine "design," a divinely inspired order, a meaning to our lives.  This leads us to the faith that our lives are not thrown together at random, that we do not exist by accident, that we are not alone or abandoned in a meaningless and ultimately disordered world.

 

This conviction is particularly important in moments of crisis.  For in such moments, we see nothing but chaos and disorder, and we are tempted to give up.  We feel caught in a tangle of disarray, a web of meaninglessness.  We cry out in our hearts, “Why?”  “What’s the point?”  “Why is all this happening?”

Yet, according to Christian faith, there is a divine plan at work in all human situations.  That does not for a moment mean that God is manipulating every situation of crisis, least of all that God is testing us deliberately by messing up our lives.  (Who could have any love for such a God?)

 

The notion of a divine plan or design means that each crisis can become a moment of opportunity.  We are called to search out the value, the possibility for growth, the creative response.  Every crisis is an opportunity; every burden a chance to practice virtue; every disorder is a challenge to find order.  

One of the most fantastic things that has happened to me since I came out of the closet is, out of disorder, I am finding order.  Out of disorientation (i.e., orienting myself to something I wasn’t), I am finding my true orientation.

But most of all, out of theoplasticorporatism, I am finding my humanity.  I am a human.  Homo sum.

 Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto

(I am a man.  I consider nothing human to be foreign to me)

~ Terence

Roman Playwright

But One Thing is Needful

This is another in a series called “Gay Gospel Doctrine Class,” which takes a lesson from the LDS Church’s (Adult) Gospel Doctrine class and presents it from a gay perspective.  Today’s lesson, based on Lesson #14 from the Gospel Doctrine Manual, focuses on two passages from Luke 10, the first pertaining to the parable of the Good Samaritan, the second containing the story of Mary and Martha.

The Greatest and First Commandment

We are all familiar with the parable of the Good Samaritan that resulted from an exchange between a “scholar of the law” and Jesus.  But discussions of this parable tend to focus almost exclusively on the second part of the exchange, rather than the first.  Me being the contrarian that I am, I would like to focus on the first part of Jesus’ conversation with the lawyer.

According to the 10^th Chapter of the Gospel of Luke, verses 25-28, There was a scholar of the law who stood up to test [Jesus] and said, "Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?" Jesus said to him, "What is written in the law? How do you read it?"  He said in reply, "You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself." He replied to him, "You have answered correctly; do this and you will live"  (New American Bible Translation).

This passage is similar to another account, contained in the 22^nd chapter of the Gospel of Matthew, wherein a Pharisee asks Jesus “which commandment in the law is the greatest?" Jesus replied:  "You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment.”  He then added, “the second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments."

The centrality of this greatest commandment was and is central to Jewish theology, life and culture.  It is the Shema, the great Hebrew prayer recorded in Deuteronomy 6:4: “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God is one Lord; and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.”  It is this prayer that is contained in the frontlets worn by Orthodox Jewish men and this is contained in every mezuzah fixed to Jewish door frames, in compliance with the commandment set forth in Deuteronomy 6:6. 

I have recently had occasion to ponder, however, whether this greatest commandment is given today the deference and attention it deserves.  It occurs to me that, in the tradition with which most of us are familiar, the emphasis of these passages is usually placed on loving one’s neighbor, rather than on loving God (which goes hand in hand with the traditional emphasis placed on the parable of the Good Samaritan) and there is otherwise little emphasis placed on developing a love for God.

But if we assume, as I think we must, that the first and greatest commandment is to love God, I would like to pose a couple of questions.  The first:  how do we develop that love?  How do develop and strengthen a love for God that is all-consuming, that encompasses our heart, soul and mind?  I would be interested in hearing your answers to these questions. 

Again, in the tradition with which most of us are familiar, the belief is pretty widespread that we earn, prove and demonstrate our love for God by rendering service and by keeping the “commandments” (by which is generally meant a lengthy list of things we are “supposed” to do).  This approach, however, strikes me as “other-directed”; i.e., it is not directed toward God but (i) toward other people, and (ii) toward an organization’s requirements.

I would like to propose one answer to my question.  It comes from 1 John 4 and is summarized in verse 19 of this chapter:  “We love him because he first loved us.”  But there are many verses in that chapter that read like a love letter:

“Beloved, let us love one another, because love is of God; everyone who loves is begotten by God and knows God.  Whoever is without love does not know God, for God is love. In this way the love of God was revealed to us: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might have life through him. In this is love: not that we have loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as expiation for our sins [New American Bible translation].”

This last verse echoes the famous verses from John 3:16-17, beautifully set to music in John Stainer’s hymn, God So Loved the World, from his oratorio, The Crucifixion: 

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son,

that whosoever believeth in him should not perish,

but have everlasting life.

For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world;

but that the world through him might be saved.”

So, if we start from the position that God has amply demonstrated His love for us and invites us to love Him in return, I think that puts us in a very different position than us believing that we have to earn His love or work for His love.  God calls us into a love affair, if you will, with Him.  The question is whether we will accept His invitation; this, if you will, is the first and great commandment.

My second question is:  How do we demonstrate our love for God?  Here again, I turn to 1 John 4:

“Beloved, if God so loved us, we also must love one another. No one has ever seen God. Yet, if we love one another, God remains in us, and his love is brought to perfection in us … We have come to know and to believe in the love God has for us. God is love, and whoever remains in love remains in God and God in him … If anyone says, ‘I love God,’ but hates his brother, he is a liar; for whoever does not love a brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen. This is the commandment we have from him: whoever loves God must also love his brother.”   

This passage brings to mind another famous passage from the 14^th Chapter of the Gospel of John.  Verse 15 is very well known in the LDS world (“If ye love me, keep my commandments”), but is typically used as a stick to promote “obedience.”  I would like to suggest, however, that what this scripture is really talking about is keeping the Commandment to love, as expressed in 1 John 4.  Looked at in this way, verses 15 and 16 take on a different meaning, as is so beautiful expressed in Thomas Tallis’ composition, If Ye Love Me, Keep My Commandments, wherein the stern voice of the “disciplinarian” is replaced by the loving invitation of the Savior:

“If ye love me, keep my commandments.

And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter,

that he may bide with you for ever; even the Spirit of truth.”

Choosing the Better Part

The second part of this lesson concerns the story (in Luke 10:38-42) of Mary and Martha.  You remember it:

“As [Jesus and his disciples] continued their journey he entered a village where a woman whose name was Martha welcomed him.  She had a sister named Mary (who) sat beside the Lord at his feet listening to him speak.  Martha, burdened with much serving, came to him and said, "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me by myself to do the serving? Tell her to help me."  The Lord said to her in reply, ‘Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things. There is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part and it will not be taken from her.’”

There have been innumerable sermons, talks and commentaries made on this passage of scripture.  I am not going to go into all of those (some of which make some very interesting points), but simply make the following point:  Martha was consumed with business and work, trying to perform service on behalf of the Master and His friends;  Mary, however, chose to sit at the Savior’s feet and listen to Him.  The point I take from the Savior’s commendation of Mary is that it supports what Jesus proclaimed as the greatest commandment:  to love God.  Service is good, but it doesn’t take the place of communing with God.  But one thing is needful.

Being Loved and Loving as We Are

There is a common notion in some corners of Christianity that the love of God is conditional upon obedience or other “conditions”.  This is false.  Such a notion, among other things, can make people feel unlovable, outside the pale of God’s love.  It also breeds fear and stifles a reciprocation of the love that God offers us.

This is obviously the case for many gays who come from a religious tradition that treats homosexuality as deeply sinful and gays as deeply flawed individuals who are – bottom line – unlovable.  They are taught that they are unacceptable the way they are, that they have to change in order to be worthy of God’s love and grace.  This is a lie.

I was reminded of these thoughts recently when I read an article written by Rev. James Alison, a gay Catholic priest and theologian.  He wrote of Benjamin O’Sullivan, a Benedictine monk who had killed himself “because this extremely attractive, apparently self-confident, effervescent young man had been unable to stand up as an ordinary gay man.” Benjamin had looked “… at the world through fear-coloured spectacles, and fear darkens rather than illumines what it projects.”  He was “… the sort of person who can't stand up and be what they are, who can't trust in the goodness of what they are being given to become … the sort of person who labours instead in a world of half-truths, any belonging being a half-belonging, because always feeling that 'if they knew' then 'I wouldn't really be allowed here'. Which translates into a permanent and deep feeling of 'I'm not really allowed here'.”

Alison went on to observe that “any sort of presentation of the Christian faith which says 'I love you but I do not love you', or 'I don't love you as you are, but if you become someone different I will love you' is in fact preaching a double-bind, a stumbling block, a pathway to paralysis.”  Alison then wrote of two imaginary conversations, one between a false god and the self, and the other between the Unambivalently loving God and the self:

Let's imagine the conversation between a false god and the self:

Fg: I want to love you, but I can't love you as you are, because you are sinful and objectively disordered.

Self: Well, what then must I do to be loved?

Fg: You must become someone different.

Self: I'm up for it, show me how.

Fg: Love isn't something that can be earned, it just is.

Self: Well then how do I get to become the sort of person who can be loved?

Fg: If I were you I would start somewhere else.

Self: That's a great help. How do I start somewhere else?

Fg: You can't, because even starting off for somewhere else starts from you, and you can't be loved.

Self: Well if I can't start off from somewhere else, and I can't start off from where I am, what can I do?

Fg: Give up on the love thing; just obey and be paralysed.

That's how powerful it is to receive our sense of self, our identity, our desire, in imitation of, through the regard of, eyes which give us a mixed message, a double bind.

Now if the Gospel means anything at all it means that the Good News about God is unambivalent, that there are no 'if's and 'but's in God, God's love is unconditional. And this means, above all, that there are no double binds in God. That God desires that our desire should flow free, life-giving and untrammelled, because it is in that flow of desire that we are called into being.

Well, if that is the case, imagine then what might be a conversation between the Unambivalently loving God and the self:

UlG: I love you.

Self: But I'm full of shit, how can you love me?

UlG: I love you.

Self: But you can't love me, I'm part of all this muck.

UlG: It's you that I love.

Self: How can it be me that you love when I've been involved in bad relationships, dark rooms, machinations against other people?

UlG: It's you that I love.

Self: But.

UlG: It's you that I love.

Self: But.

UlG: It's you that I love.

Self: OK then, so are you just going to leave me in the shit?

UlG: Because I love you, you are relaxing into my love and you will find yourself becoming loveable, indeed becoming someone that you will scarcely recognise.

Self: Hadn't I better do something to get all ready for this becoming loveable?

UlG: Only if you haven't yet got it that it's I who do the work and you who get to shine. Because I love you, you are relaxing into being loved and will find yourself doing loveable things because you are loved.

Self: I think I could go along with this.

Or to put it in a nutshell, when faced with the standard Irish joke about 'How do I get to Dublin?' and being told 'If I were you I wouldn't start from here', the Gospel response, that is to say the regard of Christ, tells us: 'I will come with you starting from where you are'.”

We love Him because He first loved us. Where we are.  For who we are.  Period. 

Can I get an “Amen”?

Mixed-Orientation Underwear

Ok, so I admit that I don’t wear garments very often anymore.  Well, basically never.  I hope that doesn’t shock anyone.  (For those who may read this who are non-Mormon, garments are the underwear that those Mormons who have been to the Mormon temple wear.)  But there are still occasions when I do wear garments, at least a top.  (And for the record, before last fall, I was über-faithful in wearing G’s morning, noon and night.)

Yeah, I admit, it’s a bit hypocritical; but right now I’m in a sort of limbo in between the active, by-all-appearances-straight, married Mormon I used to be and the out-there divorced gay guy who is sort of ambivalent about the Church right now.  There are times when it is just easier to play along rather than rock the boat, particularly in this limbo-like state in which I now find myself. 

You see, if people from my “old world” see that I am not wearing garments – as all of you Mormon readers know – this can be undesirably problematic:  it can cause an active Mormon’s view of you to go from “acceptable” to “apostate” in less than a split second (as a friend of mine recently experienced):  all they have to do is notice that there is no undershirt sleeve visible underneath your shirt.  When one is trying to keep a low profile and not “rock the boat”, this can cause problems.

So the other day, I was invited to lunch by a former priesthood leader.  Because I was sure that he would go back to my old ward and make a report to the bishop, I planned to wear at least a garment top.  I saw no need to wear garment bottoms, however; instead, I put on one of my pair of new “gay-ish” underwear, then, on the spur of the moment, went out and modeled my “under outfit” for my roommate (also a former faithful garment wearer), referring to it as “mixed-orientation underwear.”  We both got a good laugh out of it.

As I thought about it later that day, however, it occurred to me what an appropriate metaphor this is for many gay Mormons who are active and/or believing in the Church to any degree:  there is always a mix between the sacred and the profane, between being true to who one is and putting up a good front, between wanting to be who one really is and wanting to be accepted in the Mormon community, between leaving and staying (to one degree or another).

And then again, since coming out and meeting more guys, I’ve come to realize that not everyone had or has the same degree of punctiliousness when it comes to wearing garments as I did in my über-Mormon days.  In an informal poll among some of my friends, I was told by one who has held several very responsible callings that he lost no sleep (literally) when he didn’t wear his garments to bed; in fact, he slept much better. 

Another friend commented that he wears the garment tops to work so that he doesn’t “rock the boat there,” as well as when he visits his parents.  Most Saturdays, he doesn’t wear any G’s at all.  “It's about allowing myself to feel attractive,” he said, “and to me garments don't do that.”  (If anyone does feel sexy and attractive wearing garments, raise your hand.)

Finally, another friend took home the prize when he described a book he had been reading that mentions a character's Catholic sister (they were in Ireland) who would wear her most scandalous and sexy underwear to church on Sunday as her own silent form of rebellion and independent nature.  She knew it, but no one else did.  “In honor of that book,” he said, “I wore a jock to church after that for several weeks.”

You gotta love it.

Ok.  I'm going to go duck now.  Bye.

Lenten Music: When I Survey the Wondrous Cross

This is another in a series of posts, published on Friday's during Lent, featuring the music of Lent.

"When I Survey the Wondrous Cross" is considered one of the finest hymns ever written.  Charles Wesley, viewed by many as the greatest of all Christian hymn-writers, reportedly said that he would give up all his other hymns (numbering around 6000) to have written this one by Isaac Watts. 

Watts wrote the hymn in 1707, and it is the first known hymn to be written in the first person (using the word “I”), introducing a personal religious experience rather than limiting itself to doctrine.  In Watts' day such hymns were termed "hymns of human composure" and they stirred up great controversy. At the time, congregational singing was predominately ponderous repetitions of the Psalms. But this hymn gave Christians of Watts' day a way to express a deeply personal gratitude to their Savior.

Even as a child, Watts had shown a passion for poetry, rhyming and such mundane things as everyday conversation. His serious-minded father, after several warnings, decided to spank the rhyming nonsense out of his son. But the tearful Isaac helplessly replied,

'Oh father do some pity take,

and I will no more verses make.'

When as a teenager Watts complained to his father about the monotonous way Christians in England sang the Old Testament Psalms, his father, a leading deacon, snapped back 'All right young man, you give us something better.'

To Isaac Watts, the singing of God's praise was the form of worship nearest to Heaven and he went on to argue: 'Its performance among us is the worst on earth.' Young Isaac accepted his father's challenge and eventually wrote a total of more than 600 hymns, earning him the title 'The Father of English Hymnody.'

"When I Survey" first appeared in a hymnal published in (what later became) the United States in 1758.  Since then, it has been found in the hymnals of American denominations as varied as traditional Protestants, Roman Catholics, Mormons, Unitarians and the Assemblies of God.

Here is a performance of this great hymn by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, followed below by the lyrics of the hymn.

When I survey the wondrous cross

on which the Prince of Glory died;

my richest gain I count but loss,

and pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,

save in the death of Christ, my God;

all the vain things that charm me most,

I sacrifice them to his blood.

See, from his head, his hands, his feet,

sorrow and love flow mingled down.

Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,

or thorns compose so rich a crown.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,

that were an offering far too small;

love so amazing, so divine,

demands my soul, my life, my all.

About the Painting:  Christ on the Cross (1632) Velazquez

Christ on the Cross by Diego Velazquez is a deeply moving work in which Christ is depicted with a body of classical proportions, representing the most perfect man, while blood drips from his wounds down his body and the wood of the cross. As a devotional painting, it invites silence and meditation.

The pathos of the Christ figure in the painting is given special poignancy by a most unusual feature, the hair that falls forward under the crown of thorns to hide half of Christ’s face. The disarray suggested by the detail disrupts the otherwise perfect composure of the dead Christ, recalling the cruelty and mockery suffered by the Saviour throughout his Passion.

After many years in the dark sacristy of a convent, it was briefly put on auction in Paris in the early 19th century by the wife of Manuel de Godoy, before returning to Spain and becoming part of the Museo de Prado in Madrid.   Goya used the work as a model for his application painting Crucifixion to the Royal Academy. This and other works inspired Picasso and Dali. The painting is the central theme of one of the great works of 20th century Spanish literature, The Velazquez Christ by Manuel de Unamuno.

Sources/Further Reading:

http://www.bibleits.com/when_i_survey_the_wondrous_cross.htm)

http://songsandhymns.org/hymns/detail/when-i-survey-the-wondrous-cross

http://www.selahpub.com/Choral/ChoralTitles/425-350-WhenISurvey.html

http://www.sermonaudio.com/hymn_details.asp?PID=whenisurvey#history

http://www.crosscrucifix.com/solitaryF2.htm