3/18/15

I read this article today via Crux, which was posted by someone from my church:

The Catholic Church “acts unjustly” toward gay and lesbian Catholics, who are “held to different standards than other Catholics,” a situation “harming” the Church — and one that must change.

That was the message delivered Friday at the Los Angeles Religious Education Congress by Arthur Fitzmaurice, an advocate for making the Church more welcoming for gay and lesbian Catholics.

His talk, delivered to 800 catechists and religious educators during an official Church event, comes during renewed clashes between Catholics who hold the line on the Church’s teaching on issues of sexuality, and those who support same-sex marriage and other gay rights.

Fitzmaurice, resource director of the Catholic Association for Lesbian and Gay Ministry, said he, like many gay Catholics, has turned at various points in his life to Church writings for guidance, including the Catechism of the Catholic Church.

The paragraph on homosexuality — which describes it as “intrinsically disordered” while also demanding respect for gays and lesbians — is placed in a section of the catechism paragraphs condemning “pornography, prostitution, and rape,” he said.

“To keep this abusive language in the Catechism and other Church writings is, in itself, gravely evil,” he said.

Even as the Supreme Court is on the verge of ruling on same-sex marriage, and Pope Francis has signaled a more welcoming attitude toward gays and lesbians, some Catholic bishops have launched initiatives meant to strengthen “Catholic identity.”

But some Catholics are pushing back. The Archdiocese of Cincinnati, for example, is revising its contract with Catholic school teachers after a campaign from local Catholics upset at the “morality clause” inserted into the new contract.

In San Francisco, Archbishop Salvatore Cordileone is facing pushback from teachers there over a similar clause. About three-quarters of the archdiocese’s teachers signed a petition asking him to reconsider, and there have been protests by students and parishioners. As a result, Cordileone is reconsidering the language.

Catholic bishops in Nebraska held a “Day of Fasting and Prayer for Marriage” earlier this month in protest of a federal judge’s ruling deeming that state’s same-sex marriage ban unconstitutional.

Fitzmaurice condemned the contracts and other practices, saying “our Church leaders should be models of love,” he said.

He referenced recent high-profile firings of gay Church employees — such as a church musician in Chicago and a vice principal in Seattle — and said those episodes “reinforce the false message that being born LGBTQ is shameful.”

He said he’s even heard of priests not wanting to offer sacraments to some gay Catholics.

“Denying us the sacraments communicates the sentiment that we are beyond God’s abilities and unreachable by God’s love and grace,” he said. “This is dangerous and poor theology.”

Hosted by the Archdiocese of Los Angeles, the four-day event at the Anaheim Convention Center provides workshops and resources for catechists and others involved in Catholic education. Fitzmaurice told Crux that this is his second year presenting on LGBT topics, but that the convention has hosted sessions discussing similar issues since the mid-2000s.

One participant in the gay and lesbian workshop told the crowd that he is drawn to being a catechist because he wants “to change the mindset” of Catholics who are opposed to homosexuality.

“You cannot be gay in a Mexican family, because they will say so much stuff to you that hurts you,” Anthony Marquez, a high school senior, told participants. “But what hurt me most was my confirmation teacher who told me it was a disease. I want to be a catechist so badly because I want to change that mindset. It’s not a disease. We can be good Catholics, even if we’re gay.”

Several audience members spoke about experiences with gay relatives that helped them change their minds on the issue, though some said they still struggle reconciling Church and biblical teachings with their own experiences.

But not everybody present seemed on board.

During a question-and-answer period, one woman challenged Fitzmaurice on whether or not he thought sacramental marriage should be offered to gays and lesbians. Fitzmaurice declined to give an answer, stating only that he’s heard a wide variety of opinions from gays and lesbians with whom he’s worked.

Kristi Balleweg, a teacher at the Catholic Chaminade College Prep in West Hills, Calif., said she attended the workshop for ideas on how to talk to her students about the issue, because many of them are puzzled by the Church’s teaching.

“Because of the generation that they’ve been raised in, they don’t agree with the Catholic Church’s teachings,” she said. “They are much more accepting and appreciative of everyone, and they don’t think that we should put people in molds or boxes, and label them.”

Fitzmaurice cited a number of studies showing high rates of homelessness, depression, and sexual abuse among LGBT youth, and said Catholic parents have a special obligation to help prevent this.

“The Church cannot continue to turn our backs on these kids,” he said. “Tell your LGBT child he or she can have a happy future.”

I couldn't agree more. It's unjust and it needs to change so that the Church as an institution, as well as society as a whole, stops alienating and discriminating against people for reasons based on outdated understandings of human sexuality.

Love transcends gender, and I think our conception of marriage should evolve to reflect that. Jesus said, "Amen, I say to you, whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven," (Mt 18:18), and I think that it's about time we loose same-sex marriage on earth and heaven.

If we don't, we're not just hurting the LGBTQ community, we're hurting ourselves. As Nelson Mandela wrote in his 1995 autobiography, Long Walk to Freedom:

A man who takes away another man's freedom is a prisoner of hatred, he is locked behind the bars of prejudice and narrow-mindedness. I am not truly free if I am taking away someone else's freedom, just as surely as I am not free when my freedom is taken from me. The oppressed and the oppressor alike are robbed of their humanity.

And I think that the same applies to the allowance of women's ordination, as well.

3/17/15

During Lent, I've been going to a small discussion group led by Barbara. We usually go through the up-coming readings for Sunday and discuss what they mean. Most of the time, the discussions travel in all sorts of interesting directions, and I find the stories everyone tells as absorbing as the verses themselves.

One of the stories I heard today was about someone's experience at a fitness centre for women. One of the other people who goes there to work out is transgender; and the person was telling us about how she was having trouble seeing this person as a woman because she was in the process of transitioning but still very masculine looking. She didn't have an issue with it; she just found it difficult to do. She said she was praying about how to do that while working out, and that day, the transgendered lady thanked everyone for making her feel so accepted and comfortable there. She'd had trouble being accepted almost everywhere else, and she was really thankful to find a place where she felt welcomed. That really helped her see the woman that was inside and the cross she had to bear being transgendered.

It was a nice story. And what was better was that pretty much everyone in the room spoke approvingly/in support of the transgendered woman and the LGBT community in general. I also liked the way that Barbara talked about the readings, especially what she said about the progression of Judeo-Christian spirituality. In essence, people have a tendency to grasp at the letter rather than the spirit of the law, and we're constantly struggling with this.

The spirit of the Ten Words (a.k.a, the Ten Commandments) was supplanted by rigid adherence to the hundreds of laws that were built on top of them. Later, during a period of exile, God says through Jeremiah that a new covenant will be made, that the law will be written upon our hearts (our conscience and intuitive sense of the divine) so that no one will "have need to teach their friends and relatives how to know the LORD" (Jer 31:33-34). And even then, God's people seem to have lost their way. It's so easy for us (original sin?) to retreat into our own little worlds and habits and listen to the voices of greed, aversion, and delusion rather than the voices of love, compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity.

This is where Jesus enters the picture, the word (logos) of God in the flesh, who points the way to God, to the very heart of the law itself, which is simply "love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind," and "love your neighbour as yourself" (Mt 22:37-40). But even today, we're still struggling with our own Pharisees (e.g., in the form of conservative priests and bishops who cling to their worldly power and pages of canon law) and our own idols, whether in the form of money or our own egoism.

Reading the Gospels and spending time talking about them with people like Barbara, I'm more impressed than ever with Jesus as a prophet and spiritual teacher. His teachings were radical, challenging the religious legalism of his day with the simple yet powerful message of love, and I know in my heart that it's right.

3/15/15

Today is the fourth Sunday of Lent, also known as Laetare Sunday, named for the first words of the beginning of the Latin Mass, "Laetare Jerusalem" (Rejoice Jerusalem). It marks the midpoint of Lent, and is generally considered a day of celebration. Today was also the second scrutiny for those of us in the RCIA program. Like last week, we were called up to the front, Barbara and Fr. Bill (who was presiding) offered prayers, we were blessed by the community, and then exorcised of evil spirits. I saw the latter as mostly symbolic, as an urging to turn away from sinful/unskillful thoughts and states of mind conditioned by greed, aversion, and delusion and towards what's wholesome and inspired out of love.

Afterwards, being the third Sunday of the month, we had our monthly French toast breakfast, as well as our RCIA class. James taught the class today, basing much of it from a book written by Cardinal Avery Dulles called Models of the Church. The basic idea was for us to think about what 'the Church' means to each of us and then explore that further. James went through some of the models and their characteristics — institution, mystical communion/community, sacrament, herald, and servant — and it was interesting to see how each of our ideas and definitions of 'the Church' varied, being dominated by one model or the other, while still containing elements of each. Out of all of them, I found that mystical communion/community was closest to my idea of the Church, with servant being the next.

I tend to view the Church as the living experience of a universal, mystical reality. By that I mean the Church to me is 'the people of God'—those who draw close to God/Dhamma, who have an intuitive sense of the absolute and strive to realize it. They're connected by this unifying bond of communion, with each other and the reality underlying the phenomenal world they're a part of. It's not something intellectual or dogmatic, but a lived experience of God/Dhamma. Things like the institutional churches (Catholic, Orthodox, Protestant, etc.), with all their doctrines, hierarchies, etc., are historical representations and expressions of this, i.e., forms and structures conforming to, and pointing towards, this universal reality in various degrees. And part of the mission of that Church is to reform the world and help transform it into the kingdom of heaven on earth, which, for me, is where things like social justice and my communistic politics come in.

This is, of course, an idealized model or picture, and I'm fully aware of the history of the Church as an institution, which is one of the reasons I shy away from the institutional model (politically as well as spiritually). It's not that I think the order and structure that institutions can provide are wholly bad, per se. But I do think that the rigid dogmatism that can arise within these kinds of institutions is a serious danger to true spiritual growth, and it can't be denied that these socio-religious institutions have served the interests of demons like greed and imperialism equally as well, if not more so.

The true Church to me, however, is one that asks us to empty ourselves of ourselves in order that we may be open to something transcendent. It's a Church that's pan-humanistic and characterized by things like love, forgiveness, and service. It's a Church that admonishes us not to judge others while exhorting us to do to others whatever we would have them do to us. It's a Church that asks us to deny our false selves, our egoism and self-centredness, in order to open our hearts and minds to one another, as well as to an awakening within to the new life we're called to attain. Writing it out, it all sounds kind of New-Agey and ridiculous, but I think deep down these ideas resonate within us all. The more we resist this call, the more we suffer; and paradoxically, the more we submit, the freer we become.

3/11/15

I felt like a spectacular failure today.

There was a lady at the bus stop this morning who seemed a bit off. Even though it was chilly and drizzling, she was wearing a light summer dress; and as she walked up, she seemed to be inspecting everyone's clothing. It was early, and I was tired and annoyed, so I just ignored her; but after she got onto the bus, she began pacing back and forth, staring intently at everyone, particularly at what they were wearing.

She struck me as OCD, and I didn't think too much about it until someone sitting next to me said that she looked like she was on drugs or maybe like she'd been drugged. She got off at the last stop downtown with everyone still left on the bus, myself included. I started walking to work, thinking about it and debating whether or not I should do something. "She was dressed a little strangely considering the weather, and she did seem rather confused..." I was afraid to say anything, though, and I didn't want to be late to work, so I kept walking. But then I stopped and decided to go back and ask if she was alright and needed any help, feeling ashamed at my fear and selfishness.

When I got to the corner where I'd last seen her, however, she was already gone. I felt a heaviness in my heart. I failed to help someone who may have needed it. I knew what the right thing to do was and I didn't do. During Lent, even. And after just hearing about the parable of the good Samaritan. I've been trying to take the teachings of Jesus to heart, to put them into practice and be a better person; and yet here I was, one of those who "passed by on the opposite side."

When I got to work, it was all I could think about. My heart was pained, and I chastised myself for not at least saying something, being like so many others in the world who are too self-absorbed to really practice what they preach. As I was working, I offered a prayer, asking for forgiveness (because I couldn't forgive myself) for not helping someone who was potentially in need and for someone to help her if she was indeed in need of it. It was all I could think to do.

Later, on the way to RCIA with Romanos, he asked me how my day was and I told him about what'd happened. He said it was a missed opportunity, but also that sometimes we may not be able to help at the moment; and in some cases, God may not want us to do anything; God may just want to open our awareness to those in need. If it was a missed opportunity, on the other hand, he said all we can really do is ask for forgiveness and for God to send them an angel — anyone who can help them, divine or otherwise — and then let it go.

That was somewhat reassuring, and I felt better after talking about it. There's something liberating about confessing a wrong-doing, which funny enough happened to be one of the topics of tonight's class. My conscience holds onto every unskillful thing I do, like a hot coal that burns me every time I think about it. And by confessing it, with sincerity and remorse, I'm able to more easily let it go, as well as get the advice of someone I consider wise, much like how the Buddha often advises in places like MN 61:

Having done a bodily action [same with verbal and mental actions], you should reflect on it: 'This bodily action I have done — did it lead to self-affliction, to the affliction of others, or to both? Was it an unskillful bodily action, with painful consequences, painful results?' If, on reflection, you know that it led to self-affliction, to the affliction of others, or to both; it was an unskillful bodily action with painful consequences, painful results, then you should confess it, reveal it, lay it open to the Teacher or to a knowledgeable companion in the holy life. Having confessed it... you should exercise restraint in the future. But if on reflection you know that it did not lead to affliction... it was a skillful bodily action with pleasant consequences, pleasant results, then you should stay mentally refreshed & joyful, training day & night in skillful mental qualities.

People often think that it's simply about feeling guilty and unworthy, but I don't think that's true. I think confession is more about you admitting your failings to yourself, without justifications or judgments of others, because it's through being honest that we're able to truly grow emotionally, spiritually, etc. When we're open to being wrong, to making mistakes, to new ideas, etc., we gain knowledge, real knowledge. We learn more from our mistakes than we do from anything else. I've heard that's why hospitals often ask potential brain surgeons questions like "Have you ever made a mistake?" and "If so, what would you do differently next time?" to determine who'd make a good surgeon and who wouldn't.

It's the same in Buddhism, as well. The Pali term hiri, for example, which is often translated as shame or conscience, refers to a sense of shame over unskillful actions that arises out of self-respect; and these feelings of guilt and remorse are actually guardians and quite skillful when properly approached. We don't use them to beat ourselves up with; we use them to grow, to become better.

Looking back at it, she could have just been a little crazy and there might not have been much I could have done to help her besides call the police, which, to be honest, isn't at the top of my list of ways to 'help' people. Maybe approaching her would have even made her angry, more manic. But if it was a missed opportunity, then I at least hope the memory of my failure will motivate me to not make the same mistake next time.

3/8/15

For the last few days, I've been plagued by a lot of doubts and fears. About what I believe. About what I'm searching for. About where I fit in... Some days I think I have everything figured out, and others I feel like the rug's been pulled out from under my feet. It's often said that the Catholic Church is a large umbrella, yet I often wonder if it's large enough for me to fit under.

I see in Catholicism a living faith of myths, mysteries, symbols, and sacraments trying to articulate truths that defy the boundaries of human language and reason; and I'm drawn towards those myths, mysteries, symbols, and sacraments. But my faith isn't like most, and I worry that it's too fragile, too discordant to be accepted.

Today, I was full of uncertainty as I waited for Romanos to pick me up for mass. Entering the church, I saw a lot of familiar faces and felt more at ease. Once the service started and we got closer to the first scrutiny, however, I began to worry, wondering if I was doing the right thing, scared to face the idea that maybe I was lying to myself and entering into this before I was ready, or worse, that I was putting my hopes and faith into an institution that I don't fully support. Thoughts of the Church's stance on things like gay marriage, women ordination, and married priests flashed through my mind, as did various scandals and the rather conservative, authoritarian structure of the Church itself. Before I knew it, though, we were being called up to the altar by Fr. Charlie.

Fr. Charlie, who was celebrating his 45th anniversary of ordination, began by asking everyone to bow their heads and pray for an inner spirit of repentance, true clarity of their sins, and God's Grace to face and overcome their temptations. Then he asked the assembly to stand and raise their hands in blessing as both he and Barbara took turns offering prayers on our behalf: that we review our lives and acknowledge our sins, that hold the word of God in our hearts and search its meaning more fully each day, that we sincerely reject everything that's displeasing and contrary to Christ, that the Holy Spirit will help us overcome our weaknesses and become true temples of holiness, and that our daily example will help bring others to Christ.

Afterwards, Fr. Charlie gave an exorcism prayer based on the day's Gospel reading, John 2:13-25, the cleansing of the temple:

All merciful God,
through your Son,
you reveal your love and mercy to those
who ask for these gifts.
Look favorably on these elect and candidate
who are now turning to you.

Open the doors to their hearts
so that they can choose to become
Temples of the Holy Spirit.
Protect them in every danger,
that they may serve you faithfully in peace and joy.

Lord Jesus,
you are the Word to everlasting life.
Over-turn for these Elect the tables in their hearts
that support the temptations of sin.

Help them avoid the lures of the marketplace
so they can hear your call to be
witnesses of your Words.

In the power of your name,
which we now call upon in faith,
stand by them and heal them.

Touch their hearts with the power of the Holy Spirit,
that they may come to salvation
through you who live and reign for ever and ever.

Something about that experience put me at ease. Romanos joked that his real role as my sponsor was to hold me in case I tried to run away; and at the end of mass, I felt light, peaceful, and was reminded once again what attracted me to St. Philip in the first place—the faith of its people.

Most of the things that had me worried are aspects of the Church as a human institution, and those things change. But the real Church, the one that people place their true faith in, is of a different sort. Like the Dhamma, it's timeless. It's universal. It's what lies within the hearts of those who live their lives with conviction in what's skillful and a mind suffused with compassion and loving-kindness. It's the path that leads to theosis, awakening, union with God. And it's that Church that I'm putting my hope and faith into.

Lent is all about 'cleansing the temple.' Not the Temple in Jerusalem, but the temple within, where St. Paul tells us "the Spirit of God dwells" (1 Cor 3:16). I'm still in the process of cleansing my own temple, figuring out what 'God' means to me, how God fits into my life, and how to reach out into the silent darkness and touch the absolute, like a wave touching the sea from which it's born before returning to its fathomless depths.

But I suspect it's a journey that'll take more than 40 days; it'll be a life-long journey of seeking and transformation. And I hope that I'll have the wisdom, patience, and guidance to see this "gradual process by which a person is renewed and unified so completely with God that he becomes by grace what God is by nature" through to the end ("Theosis: Partaking of the Divine Nature").

3/7/15

Not much time to write these days, not that I really feel like writing anyway. Things have been kind of rough lately, internally as well as externally. Had an argument with Annie today and ended up walking to Lone Fir cemetery to be alone and think.

Staring at a grave and contemplating the long-decayed corpse that was once in it, I started thinking about life and death and whether I truly believe in things like God or life after death. I'm not sure I do, at least not the way they're generally understood. As much as I sometimes want to, deep down I'm skeptical, and I feel conflicted about moving forward with RCIA.

Reading the Gospels, I'm more impressed than ever with Jesus as a prophet and spiritual teacher. And I still desire to know God, to reach out into the silent darkness and touch the absolute, like a wave touching the sea from which it's born before returning to its fathomless depths. But in my day-to-day life, I struggle to see the hand of God in the world. I see it in the good works of people, but I also see a lot of unnecessary suffering.

When someone blesses the food they eat, I see the hands of the multitude of labourers who produced it and made it available to us rather than the hand of God. The farmers. The drivers. The grocery store clerks. And what of all the people who go hungry? What of the children who die of starvation? How is it that someone like me is worthy to have enough food while an innocent child goes without?

Is God simply the inspiration of a community to come together and support the less fortunate among us? Is God merely the compassion and generosity in our hearts? If God's hands are our hands, what need do we have of God? Or is God more than just that? And if so, why is God so hard for us to see?

3/2/15

I've been so busy this past couple of weeks that I haven't had much time to write about anything. Things are going OK for the most part. RCIA is going well. Barbara and Romanos seem to have hit it off, which is good. We're going to be doing the first of the three 'scrutinies' next Sunday. They're a combination of blessing, examination, and exorcism from what I understand. One of the things I like about all these rituals is the rich symbolism underlying them. Dogmas are kind of like mandalas in a way, i.e., representations of truths that are more easily grasped by the imagination than logic.

I gave what I had of my testimony Thursday night. I can't remember precisely how it went. I was pretty nervous and it all just came tumbling out. It diverged quite a bit from what I'd written out, as well as what I'd said to Rose before that. But I recall that I started with the fact that I wasn't raised with any sort of religious faith, mentioned that I was inspired by talking to Romanos, reading books like In the Spirit of Happiness, and my visit to Our Lady of Guadalupe, and ended with how I saw the love of God manifested in the relationships we have with one another.

The latter was something I heard from Romanos the first time we met at Holy Trinity ("when I see you, I see God"), and was further reinforced by my reading of the Gospels and something Fr. Charlie said during Wednesday night's RCIA class to the effect of, "Having a relationship with Jesus means having a relationship with others; if it's just you and Jesus, you're doing it wrong." To know Jesus is to know others. To love Jesus is to love others. To serve Jesus is to serve others. And in that sense, the Church to me is everyone who experiences God through their interactions with one another.

It's a lot easier said than done, though. I think one of the reasons we often struggle to really follow in Jesus' footsteps is the fear of rejection, of being judged and condemned as unworthy. We feel as alienated by the opinions of others (or our perceptions of what others think of us) as we are our own self-centredness. Focusing on our own comfort and happiness, we push away the world as much as we feel the world pushing us away; and when that happens, we find ourselves unable to turn towards the love and peace that I think we all intuitively seek in our spiritual lives.

Selfishness is like a cocoon that we build around our hearts, creating our own little self-contained worlds that exclude everyone else. But unlike the caterpillar that transforms into a beautiful butterfly, it's a reverse kind of metamorphosis, one in which the person who emerges is, spiritually speaking, an even more larval version of themselves. No one knows that better than me.

Christianity isn't just about being social or unselfish, however. That's only part of it. I think there's a contemplative aspect involved, as well. Today I learned that many of the early Christian mystics who were influenced by Platonism used the word theoria to describe a method of contemplation on the paradoxical nature of God that transcends thinking and conceptualization, halting the mind's activities and opening it up to an ecstatic union with God (History of God, pp. 118-27). It's not unlike the use of koans in Zen, which are used in a somewhat similar way.

Unfortunately, I'm not terribly good at either aspect at the moment, but I'm working on it.