Reimagine. Rediscover. Recreate.

Life is different. Not simply because of a pandemic, or a different president, or now the promise of a vaccine. Life is different because I am now married. 

As anyone can imagine, I am filled with a range of emotions – mostly awe and gratitude for the woman and two children that have accepted me into their lives as husband and stepfather. I am filled with more gratitude still, for all the friends and family who have supported me in my life transition from priest to husband. I am also amazed at God’s timing, bringing so many things together all at once in such a way that can only be described as miraculous. Even the weather seemed to open up allowing the sun to shine on our wedding between two immense storm systems.

It has not been an easy year, but it has laid a foundation for something new to emerge.

The day after our wedding, I told my wife that I think it will take some time to get used to all of this. This has nothing to do with her or the kids, as I can no longer imagine my life without any of them; rather, it has much more to do with the idea that I am married – that I am now a husband and she is now my wife.

I cannot help but wonder why that is? Why do those titles or that status feel so strange? 

In her homily at our wedding, our Pastor declared that a wedding, especially in the midst of a global pandemic, stakes a claim that no matter what occurs or darkness descends, God’s love will triumph. That God is always at work. That evil does not get the last word. That commitment matters. That love is not just about affection, but more so about service to the people around us – both known and unknown. 

As I reflect about it, it is this public declaration that demands something different. Even though I have lived much of life in declaration of something bigger than myself, this is a different kind of declaration. As a priest, I was to be a mediator between God and the people I served, convening and celebrating grace on behalf of another. Now, I am no longer a mediator, but an active participant in the unfolding of that declaration. 

Even as I write this, I think I need time to let that soak in.

If the wedding is any indication of the marriage, which I believe it is, then there are two things worth noting about our day. First, it was undeniably sacred. There were palpable moments of transcendence in the scripture, the music, the trees which canopied above the church lawn, and after so much time in isolation, the very gathering of people. 

Second, it was a community affair. For all of my own gifts of gathering people, there is no question my wife is better at this than I am. I loved that our wedding was at our church just down the road from our house. That our vendors were local business in the neighborhood where we live. That our reception was on the lawn of our home. That while we wish everyone we love from all over the world could be there, most of our guests could walk from their own homes to ours.

Soon we will close the rather awful year that is 2020, but it has had its bright moments. Our lives our different because of all that has transpired. Mine is. . . brighter, fuller, and more joyful. It has not been an easy year, but it has laid a foundation for something new to emerge. May we all be able to see the new foundations that have been built this year so that we may declare something miraculous in the years to come.  

For many people, the four weeks leading up to Christmas are celebrated as Advent. It is my favorite season, not only because of the joy it brings as we deck our halls and connect with loved ones; or this particular year, because it ushers the end of one year and the beginning of another. The reason I love Advent because it reminds us that the most important lesson we can learn in life is how to wait well. 

Waiting, more than anything else, is the central theme of sacred scriptures. Most people think the Bible is about love, but that is a difficult claim to support when you read about death after death after death. What most people tend to gloss over is how much people have to wait – 40 years, 400 years, for this person, or that person, or the Messiah. 

Advent is a light in the darkness allowing us a glimpse of what has been there waiting for us all along.

As a people who no longer have to wait for much of anything (or if we do, we do so passing the boredom on our phones), Advent is especially important for us today. The most profound lesson I have learned about waiting is that I am not usually the one doing it, so much as it is others, or God, who is waiting for me to come to the right conclusion. In my experience, waiting is what we call the process of us coming to terms with the decision or course of action that is necessary which we initially thought to be crazy. When it comes to the stuff worth waiting for – the important stuff that really matters – I have found I am usually not ready for it when I would like to be. I need time to be ready for the change, decision, or resolution. 

Which brings me to the second reason I love Advent: it celebrates the coming of a new world order. For all of our songs and images of a baby being born peacefully as we gather with family, we forget that this particular baby brought about a religion that would reshape our history. Not unlike any baby, for that matter, his birth changed everything. The prayers and liturgies of Advent are designed to remind us that we are meant to be changed by Christmas more than we are to relive traditions of old. While remembering our past grounds the decisions we make about the present and future, Advent reminds us that we are not meant to stay in our nostalgia. This is a season of newness and radical change; a season when we bring to fruition that which has taken time and preparation – not of food or gifts or the sort, but of our soul.

This is why I love Advent: because it is a season of poetry – words that convey more meaning each time you read them. Advent is a light in the darkness allowing us a glimpse of what has been there waiting for us all along; a season of dreamers in the daylight; of stillness before the storm. Advent is a season when we wait, not in passive boredom; but with active preparation for a soul soon to be renewed.  

Today, December 1^st is a day that has crossed my mind many times over the past few months. Because today is World AIDS Day – the day we remember those who have died, or are suffering from, HIV/AIDS. Though AIDS-related deaths have decreased 60% since its peak in 2004, there are still about 38 million people living, and approximately 690,000 dying, with HIV/AIDS every year.^[1]

I have spent 12 years, off and on in various capacities, volunteering with organizations who care for those who are suffering and/or dying from this terrible disease. Many hours have been spent by the side of people reduced to no more than skin and bones as they took their last breaths; and on the other side of the spectrum, playing games with children who contracted HIV from their mothers through birth. When I began this work in 2004, the stigmas and unknowns about HIV and AIDS evoked fear and worry. My parents were terrified that I may contract the virus from the children in my care, but I felt compelled to do what I could nevertheless.

At Bryan’s House in Dallas, I spent much of my time with two brothers whose lives continue to impact me to this day. Evan and Aaron were born with HIV, given to them from their mother who had already passed a few years before. At ages 8 and 11, they were on the extraordinary end of success rates among children born with HIV. They were joyful, playful children who loved to spend as much time outside as possible. I was often amazed at their energy, despite being “sick.” I was also astonished at the ease with which they took more pills in one day than I would take in a year. They lived each day fully, almost as if they understood that today could be their last day to feel well.

I wonder if we have taken the time to consider how much of our activity is spent distracting ourselves from our fear and pain rather than learning how to hold the tensions? 

Evan and Aaron are just two of many names I remember every year on this day, but who have also been on my mind many other days in the midst of this pandemic. I have tried to live my life as they did: doing all that is required to stay healthy and keep others healthy, but also to live life fully, without too much concern for what my lie over the horizon. 

Most years, I think we tend to forget those who are suffering from viruses like HIV/AIDS; however, my hope is that this year is a bit different. Not only because we need to remember those who have lived, but because we need to remember the lessons they have passed to us. At a time when sickness and death dominate our lives, we are reminded to live joyfully while also accepting our realities. 

I wonder if we have taken the time to consider how much of our activity is spent distracting ourselves from our fear and pain rather than learning how to hold the tensions?  

Today is a day when we can be thankful for all the progress we have made. It can be a day that gives us hope that Covid will not dominate our lives this way much longer; but today should also remind us that viruses do not just disappear. They are reminders that we will never be fully in control or able to anticipate what may come. So rather than look for a vaccine that will allow us to return to what once was, I believe we are challenged to embrace a different solution:  to reduce the distractions and escapes that keep us from holding the joy and the fear in a healthy tension. May we look to people in our own lives, like Evan and Aaron, to show us how. 

---

^[1] https://www.unaids.org/en/resources/fact-sheet

Well here we are. . . Thanksgiving week. A pandemic rages on, many people are without work, or in some way, in the fight of their lives. Just a few days ago, I saw images of the Christmas tree placed in Rockefeller Center – it is the perfect tree for all of us this year: battered and worn, but still standing. 

Though our plans have changed, Thanksgiving allows us the opportunity to pause and reflect with gratitude all that has occurred. Sigh. 

As I reflect, I think I am most grateful for the resilience of my own person, family and community. I watch the kids wear masks without complaint, as we all adjust to the uncertainty around us. Planning is done one week at a time. Life is without the usual outlets that provide us release and enjoyment. Yet, this year has also been filled with joy. We have learned so much about each other at a time when it was so important to do so. 

So this week I pause in awe of our resilience. 

Many years ago, I read a book by Andrew Zolli about resilience (it is entitled as such). He contrasts resilience with our usual global conversations about sustainability, which is a word I now rarely use. Zolli writes, 

As a society, we used to believe that we could out-engineer failure.  In the 20th century, we believed that all problems had a solution.  Human capacity leaped; Life spans went from 55 to 80.  We mastered the atom.  We electrified the planet.  We believed that we were in control, but time would eventually prove us wrong:  hurricanes, typhoons, flood, economic collapse, terrorism, corruption – have taught us difficult lessons. 

Andrew Zolli, Resilience

As a result, Zolli says that our humility is moving us from risk mitigation to risk adaptation.  We cannot steer around what we do not know. Rather, we need systems that fail gracefully – that doesn’t bring down everything else when they inevitably fail. Zolli’s conclusion is based on the premise that failure is normal, healthy, and necessary for all complex structures.

And while I agree with this, we must recognize that life does not consist of things or systems – it consists of relationships, which one could argue are more complex than any structure.  

How do we prepare for the unexpected in our relationships?  With our significant others?  With friends?  . . . With God?

My gratitude this year is that my life and my community have shown an increased capacity for resilience. I don’t want sustainability, nor do I want what I once had before the pandemic. Though I would not wish the path I have taken on anyone else, I am grateful for all that has been unsustainable, because we have found there is something much better in the resilience. 

I am a hopetimist. Not an optimist, a pessimist or a realist – a hopetimist. A person who studies the data, understands the trends, reads the signs of the times and then chooses to believe that the better angels on our shoulders will prevail. A hopetimist is willing to trust in what might go well rather than what might go wrong, and then prepares accordingly. That is to say, a hopetimist is prepared for what might go wrong, but is excited by what might go well.  

I have long felt that belief is more potent than knowledge, which may sound a little strange for someone who has worked in education for so long. I am convinced it is true because knowledge, while important, is static, whereas belief is dynamic. Knowledge is necessary because it offers us a foundation and informs us about what might be possible. However, belief helps us to see beyond the possible to the impossible, because belief is always woven with a thread of hope.  

Belief is more potent than knowledge.

Belief is what allows us to see through the darkness and it is what lightens our load. As Pope Francis writes in Lumen Fidei, “Faith is not a light which scatters all our darkness, but a lamp which guides our steps in the night and suffices for the journey.”

But all the good that our faith contains, it is also disruptive. If you are the person with power and in control, faith can be very scary.  This is, after all, why Jesus was killed, because he disrupted the structures of power that are built on control and security. This is also why faith and hope are often synonymous. Both faith and hope are about the willingness to be lead to the places you would rather not go. The difference is that faith offers that leadership a historical narrative whereas hope is more often rooted in one’s own experiences.  

I would like to think there are many hopetimists out there – they just haven’t called themselves that yet.  In case you are teetering on the idea, I would like to sign off with the words of another hopetimist:  Victoria Stafford, whose words have long inspired me.  

“Our mission is to plant ourselves at the gates of Hope— 

Not the prudent gates of Optimism,  

Which are somewhat narrower. 

Not the stalwart, boring gates of Common Sense; 

Nor the strident gates of Self-Righteousness, 

Which creak on shrill and angry hinges

Nor the cheerful, flimsy garden gate of “Everything is gonna’ be all right.”

But a different, sometimes lonely place,

The place of truth-telling, 

About your own soul first of all and its condition.

The place of resistance and defiance, 

The piece of ground from which you see the world

Both as it is and as it could be

As it will be;

The place from which you glimpse not only the struggle, 

But the joy of the struggle.

And we stand there, all of us, beckoning and calling, 

Telling people what we are seeing.  

Asking people what they see.”

Over the past week, one word keeps repeating itself:  trust. The election in the United States has indicated that this country is not only deeply divided, but many are fundamentally distrusting in any result that is not in line with one’s own beliefs. Customized news feeds and the ability for anyone with an internet connection to be considered an authority have eroded the necessary intellectualism to live in such a complex world. Moreover, the rampant lies of President Trump have given permission for people to choose persuasion over proof, and hate over trust.  

In an earlier post, I asked what people will do with the anger that dominates this country?  But this is not the whole question, because anger is deeply connected to fear; it is a necessary stage of the grief process – second after denial. Denial defined the 2016 election, when people willingly ignored the necessity to evolve; the facts of foreign interference; and the importance of values, temperament and character in the Presidency. However, the initial cause of grief is the loss of dominance and control. In this new era of globalization and inter-connectedness, each culture and country must recognize the gifts of diversity and overcome traditional dualistic thinking. Rarely is there good and evil, but more often good, better and best. Rarely is there black and white, but more often shades of grey.  Rarely is there a path, but multiple paths – not to a solution but to an evolving question.  

Thus, the question is not how are we to bring peace to the anger, but how are we to trust when we are no longer in control of all that we once believed? How do we overcome the fear that we are vulnerable because we are interconnected and fundamentally dependent – by design actually?

We must learn trust. Trust is the manifestation of intimacy; of the willingness to allow ourselves to be seen and to see others. While technology has done much for the ability to tell our stories; it has veiled our intimacy – our vulnerability. Is it any wonder why we are in such a state of distrust? 

Trust is the consequence of conscience as well as capability and competency.

Trust is the fruit of integrity, which is a result commitment and constancy. It is a forwarding-thinking judgement on the past, and an extrapolation of character. With whom and where we place our trust is an ethical statement, reflective of our own moral judgement. As such, we can also say that trust is the consequence of conscience as well as capability and competency. Again, is it any wonder why we are in such a state of distrust?  How difficult it is for us to trust without a more fundamental understanding and experience of character and conscience?

If there is to be healing to the grief, then we must recognize many of us have some difficult days ahead. The façade of bravado and control will be broken revealing a sadness that comes with the recognition that we must now live differently. Thankfully, not everyone is living on the same spectrum or timeline. There are many of us who will give witness to hope, living with courage in a rather unreliable world. These will be the people who have put their trust in those around them – not simply in one person or another, but in the collective goodness of our humanity. 

I have told myself that I would post a new entry once a week, every Tuesday. . . but today is not just any Tuesday. Nor is today just any election. Today is the day when we vote for the kind of country we want to be. Though I voted two weeks ago, today is the day when I reflect with much gratitude for the tireless work that has been done by so many to make sure that every voice is heard. Today is a today when I proudly say I have done my part, but also feel I should have done more. So to all you who did so much, I offer my gratitude.

Beyond that, I wait with bated-breath. I hope with many people around the world that the people who have the power to make a change will. Over the past few weeks, I have heard from many of my friends around the world who remind me that what happens within these borders affects the borders of everyone else. Yet they are powerless.

My hope is that one week from now, I will have words of joy and forward movement, but for now I anxiously wait for tomorrow. The words that stir in my heart do not belong to me, but to Dr. Rev. Joseph Lowery. The excerpts from his benediction below where heard before the Capital at Barack Obama’s first Inauguration, but they mean almost as much to me now as they did to me then.

“God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, thou, who has brought us thus far along the way, thou, who has by thy might led us into the light, keep us forever in the path we pray, lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met thee, lest our hearts drunk with the wine of the world, we forget thee.

Shadowed beneath thy hand, may we forever stand true to thee, oh God, and true to our native land.

We truly give thanks for the glorious experience we’ve shared this day.

We pray now, oh Lord, for your blessing upon thy servant, the president of these United States, his family and his administration.

He has come to this high office at a low moment in the national, and indeed the global, fiscal climate. But because we know you got the whole world in your hands, we pray for not only our nation, but for the community of nations.

Our faith does not shrink though pressed by the flood of mortal ills.

For we know that, Lord, you are able and you’re willing to work through faithful leadership to restore stability, mend our brokenness, heal our wounds, and deliver us from the exploitation of the poor, of the least of these, and from favoritism toward the rich, the elite of these.

We thank you for the empowering of thy servant to inspire our nation to believe that yes we can work together to achieve a more perfect union.

And while we have sown the seeds of greed — the wind of greed and corruption, and even as we reap the whirlwind of social and economic disruption, we seek forgiveness and we come in a spirit of unity and solidarity to commit our support to our president by our willingness to make sacrifices, to respect your creation, to turn to each other and not on each other.

And now, Lord, in the complex arena of human relations, help us to make choices on the side of love, not hate; on the side of inclusion, not exclusion; tolerance, not intolerance.

And as we leave this mountain top, help us to hold on to the spirit of fellowship and the oneness of our family. Let us take that power back to our homes, our workplaces, our churches, our temples, our mosques, or wherever we seek your will.

We go now to walk together as children, pledging that we won’t get weary in the difficult days ahead. We know you will not leave us alone.

With your hands of power and your heart of love, help us then, now, Lord, to work for that day when nations shall not lift up sword against nation, when tanks will be beaten into tractors, when every man and every woman shall sit under his or her own vine and fig tree and none shall be afraid, when justice will roll down like waters and righteousness as a mighty stream.

Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around … when yellow will be mellow … when the red man can get ahead, man; and when white will embrace what is right. That all those who do justice and love mercy say Amen, say Amen. Amen!”

We are one week away from an election in the United States, and my emotions exist along a spectrum of hope and dread. This is not just any election, this is defining choice about the values that will guide Americans as the world is renewed after Covid has all but closed it down.  

While no one would wish for Covid, I am grateful for the giant pause it has created. The path we were on was not sustainable. Four years ago, Americans made a mistake. Succumbing to the worst parts of our humanity, the country looked past the red flags and choose a façade.  

The question I am left asking now that many Americans have voted, or will vote in the coming week, is what defines Americans now?  

The question I am left asking now that many Americans have voted, or will vote in the coming week, is what defines Americans now?  

The temptation is to offer ideas like hope, progress or even healing; but I do not believe we are there yet. After so much woundedness, I think the more realistic options are justice or mercy.  At least those are the words most people will use for ideas that are much more about punishment or forgiveness.  

Cornel West so famously said, “Justice is what love looks like in public.” If this is true, then perhaps justice and mercy are not such opposites after all.  Perhaps justice IS mercy, and mercy IS justice?

Cardinal Walter Kasper writes in his book on the subject, “Mercy is not opposed to justice.  Mercy does not suspend justice; rather, mercy transcends it.  Mercy is the fulfillment of justice.”^[i]  

We also know this as restorative justice. As a teacher, I am always frustrated by our response to the kids who misbehaved the most:  rather than help them better participate and belong in the classroom, we cast them out in suspension or expulsion. We do the same things to adults in the American prison systems.  

There is a helpful remedy in the Bible. Under the law of Moses a person with leprosy was banned (Leviticus 13:44-46), but Jesus centuries later and said punishment is not the answer. The goal is healing and so Jesus doesn’t only cure their illness, he helps the sick person reintegrate into the community (Mark 1:40-45).  

Jesus makes clear that there is a difference between curing and healing; we can cure the wound, but healing only comes when we learn how to belong. After this election, we will long for healing, but we must first learn how to belong – to our country and to each other – once again. This accountability almost certainly demands justice for all that has transpired, but one way looks like a punishment while the other looks like forgiveness. One is a focus on what has happened while the other is focused on what is now possible.  

Is it so bad to want offenders to be held accountable?  In his own reflection on this question, Fr. Ronald Rolheiser writes, “All that worry that somebody might be getting away with something and all that anxiety that God might not be an exacting judge, suggest that we, like the older brother of the prodigal son, might be doing a lot of things right, but are missing something important inside of ourselves.^[ii]

The invitation of Jesus is to practice justice in such a manner that God still has a chance to be God.  The role of the Christian is to hold others accountable without limiting the opportunity for God to encounter the soul of those we meet.  If the Christian can create such an invitation to relationship, then justice is mercy, and mercy is justice.  

Should Christians be able to demonstrate this, then perhaps they can also begin to heal the pain so many have caused by aligning themselves with a leader who did so much harm to so many people.  

---

^[i] Kasper, Walter.  Mercy.  Kardinal Walter Kasper Instituts für Theologie, Ökumene and Spiritualiät., 2013.  Trans. Paulist Press, 2014.  

^[ii] http://ronrolheiser.com/our-longing-for-gods-justice/#.XDKDui0ZM1h

Years ago, I listened to what became a life-changing TED talk for me:  Where Good Ideas Come From? by Steven Johnson.He spoke about thinking in networks and said that most of the time you don’t have a great idea; you have half of a great idea. Thus, the goal is to find the other person or people that have the rest of your great idea. However, the problem is that most of us don’t share our half-baked ideas out of fear that people will think we are crazy or that someone else will steal it and take the credit.  

Ever since then, I have been sharing my half-baked ideas – and I have a lot of them! Not only has my work been more fruitful as a result; it has been a lot more fun.  

However, thinking and working in networks requires a deeper understanding if we are to overcome the challenges of our days. We are now challenged to belong in networks; to exist with a sense of communion that overcomes the pitfalls of otherwise isolated thinking. But the decision to belong carries consequences. It requires sacrifices, and at times, even submission.  Belonging is hard. Belonging requires us to participate in forgiveness. Belonging requires us to let go and choose not to be defined by the hurts we have known. Belonging is a belief in potential as much as it is presence. However, belonging has little use for the past, since the experience of the past is fundamentally individual. While history is objective; memory is subjective. Since each person is different, so too is each person’s assimilation of an objective event. 

We are now challenged to belong in networks; to exist with a sense of communion that overcomes the pitfalls of otherwise isolated thinking.

Yet, if we go back far enough, we find something that exists prior to our experience:  a common origin. Our common occurrence imprints the soul long before our body is capable of knowing any experience. In other words, “I” cannot be the starting place if we are to transcend the issues that keep us apart. If we are to live as we believe we are capable of living: in peace and for the betterment of all; we are challenged to begin with “we” rather than “me”. We are challenged not only to think or work in networks; we are challenged to belong in networks. 

Clearly, we have a long way to go; but we have also come a long way. Technology has given us power, but it has also become a crutch that with overuse is disabling more than helpful. It is a wonderful introduction, but it will never nurture our soul. It has helped us to share our ideas, but we must now learn to share our lives.