Here comes the Fall
Prayer When Words Won't Come
O My Father, I have moments of deep unrest -- moments when I know not what to ask by reason of the very excess of my wants. I have in these hours no words for Thee, no conscious prayers for Thee. My cry seems purely worldly; I want only the wings of a dove that I may flee away. Yet all the time Thou has accepted my unrest as a prayer. Thou has interpreted its cry for a dove's wings as a cry for Thee, Thou has received the nameless longings of my heart as the intercessions of Thy Spirit. They are not yet the intercessions of my spirit; I know not what to ask. But Thou knowest what I ask, O my God. Thou knowest the name of that need which lies beneath my speechless groan. Thou knowest that, because I am made in Thine image, I can find rest only in what gives rest to Thee; therefore Thou hast counted my unrest unto me for righteousness, and has called my groaning Thy Spirit's prayer. Amen.
- Rev. George Matheson (1842-1906)
Fall is here. I believe that the fall is the season of introspection, wherein the cyclical motion of time directs oneself inward. With the end of the season of life with spring, and the robust energy of summer, fall signifies a retreat from that energy. A retreat back into the self. With that in mind, fall is here and I am scared. The movement inward has always been dealt with some apprehension. No. Some apprehension would be an understatement. It’s a feeling that’s more active, agony perhaps? Silent agony. Yes.
With the onset of Fall, feeling the seasonal changes, the air, the ‘return’, the unrest that usually comes around this time has, indeed, found a place in my spirit. I actually have grown prepared with this condition as it rears its unlovely head almost at a time when external conditions make me feel uneasy.
A little more than a week ago I was at dinner with my brothers, dad, and his wife. Somehow politics was put on the table, and as usual, voices were raised as other patrons of the restaurant exchanged awkward glances at each other including a few predatory stares towards me. This is fairly typical at a night out with the family, yet something atypical was brought up. As the discussion on politics started to cover Proposition 8, I said something that I think shocked my dad more than anything else I’ve said in my life, even more than the day I came out to him.
“I stopped going to church.”
His eyes widened, and his jovial tone he had when mocking Obama suddenly lowered to a baritone, stern, and didactic voice and demeanor. He told me a couple of things: 1) that politics should not interfere with my relationship with God, 2) being without the Eucharist, the body of Christ does effect my relationship with God 3) The institution of the church and her policies should not interfere with the spiritual nourishment from the Eucharist.
As much as I believe in his assertions, it just isn’t easy to swallow. Already having anxieties and having bouts with my own issues that come along this time, the first place I would go to would be church. The spiritual nourishment is something that I desire, which makes going to church so much harder; to solace only to receive condemnation, to seek peace but to come out with more inner violence.
And a part of me is not going to lie, I miss the Eucharist. I miss being in communion. But being in what should be a sanctuary hurts too much, and right now I am not strong.
A couple of days later I went with my class to listen to speakers regarding Spirituality and Mental Health. There were representatives from Christian, Jewish, Muslim, and Atheist backgrounds. Listening to some of the speakers grounded me spiritually, especially the young student who would ‘religiously’ describe herself as atheist. Her life, in her speech was one of turmoil, as she undergone countless abuses, sexually, emotionally, physically, by those who should protect her. Despite her struggles, she was able to under-go a transformation that utilized the journey of self-examination, and eventual connectedness to others.
What I noticed that compelled me most was after her speech, and observing her. To be honest, when the other speakers came up, my defenses started to come up. I began to be anxious about what they were going to say, what I was going to hear about God, and the interplay of religion with mental wellness. This exacerbated fear stems largely from past experiences when listening to speakers, especially being away from the sphere of Berkeley, progressive spiritual thought, and not having the protection of spiritual peers that have constantly been an edifice for my own spiritual identity. So while in my anxiousness, I couldn’t help but watch the atheist student that caught my attention throughout the night. What I saw was discerning, she gave the speakers her full attention, nodding intensely, as they spoke about spirituality and how it connects to their religiosity. After each person spoke, I would see her raise and stand and applaud, without taking notice of how the rest of the audience reacted. Why I say this is discerning, I look at her and she has every reason to be angry with God and has every reason to find disbelief in what the others were saying, but she was there, being receptive to those words, opening her self up, and being hopeful.
It was witnessing prayer in action.
Hope. Faith in hope. That is what truly being connected to God is about. That faith and hope in oneself to develop self-love and harnessing the ability to love others. Or more so, all that is life. What I saw in her is someone that probably still struggles with her issues but every now and then, and at that moment, hope and faith triumphs. And it reminded me something that I believe in, but tend to forget, that in faith in hope, and openness to God’s grace, the darkness can be confronted.
I’m still uneasy about religion. I’m still damned angry at the (local) Catholic church. I’m still sad that I don’t participate in communion and the Eucharist. I still strongly feel that the gay and lesbian community are slighted from having a strong supportive spiritual network. I wish there was more support in the spiritual community for gay and lesbians. Especially here in Bakersfield, spiritually it becomes a very lonely place. I think it was through God’s grace that brought me to Berkeley, to have that spiritual support and to be able to openly grow into myself. I don’t know how I would have made it through without that experience.
To say that the gay community is devoid of a spiritual identity would be unfair. This weekend I had an incredible experience going with my boyfriend to a fundraiser/gala as the San Francisco drag queen beauty pageant took center stage. What I thought would have been a ‘campy’ experience was actually an eye opening realization of love and support in that community. The inspirational works of self-less ness in raising money for the homeless with AIDS, and after hearing the final ‘If you were Miss Desperate Diva?’ question, one of the drag queen contestants spoke in confidence and solidarity of the community that made me believe that one sole ‘queen’ can shake it up, but 12 ‘queens’ cause earthquakes.
Also this weekend was able to watch the incredible performance of the final show of RENT in NY at the movie theaters. The emotionally charged musical once again brought me to tears, probably even more-so than the first time watching it live in the SF Orpheum theatre. The tailoring of this musical was made by the hands, mind, and creativity of a dying gay man, that has evoked a spiritual awakening for the neglected and dejected… like a prayer conceived in art.
Finally I was able to go to mass at SF. I went to the Catholic church in the Castro district, whose attendance is primarily gay men. And how refreshing it was! To be able to walk in, holding the hand of my boyfriend, without fear of rejection or ‘predatory’ stares. To finally be able to participate in Communion with the Eucharist. To be able to sing praise to God without feeling like I am compromising my integrity. For that moment, to finally be me, and be in touch with my inner-self without the fear, anxiousness, or uncertainty. Even though it’s just momentary, it’s just enough nourishment to get through,
Fall is here. A movement from the activity and into a movement towards introspection. For some introspection is a time of peace and stillness, but at times it could be a tremor of quiet, the cacophony of silence. But I believe that the dance of life continues, and the music of life has its diminuendos. While this time moving inwards may come with anxiousness, the fundamentally I have faith that God is there somewhere, and I’m sure God is listening to me in my unconventional ways, while God is clearly speaking to me in unconventional ways.
O My Father, I have moments of deep unrest -- moments when I know not what to ask by reason of the very excess of my wants. I have in these hours no words for Thee, no conscious prayers for Thee. My cry seems purely worldly; I want only the wings of a dove that I may flee away. Yet all the time Thou has accepted my unrest as a prayer. Thou has interpreted its cry for a dove's wings as a cry for Thee, Thou has received the nameless longings of my heart as the intercessions of Thy Spirit. They are not yet the intercessions of my spirit; I know not what to ask. But Thou knowest what I ask, O my God. Thou knowest the name of that need which lies beneath my speechless groan. Thou knowest that, because I am made in Thine image, I can find rest only in what gives rest to Thee; therefore Thou hast counted my unrest unto me for righteousness, and has called my groaning Thy Spirit's prayer. Amen.
- Rev. George Matheson (1842-1906)
Fall is here. I believe that the fall is the season of introspection, wherein the cyclical motion of time directs oneself inward. With the end of the season of life with spring, and the robust energy of summer, fall signifies a retreat from that energy. A retreat back into the self. With that in mind, fall is here and I am scared. The movement inward has always been dealt with some apprehension. No. Some apprehension would be an understatement. It’s a feeling that’s more active, agony perhaps? Silent agony. Yes.
With the onset of Fall, feeling the seasonal changes, the air, the ‘return’, the unrest that usually comes around this time has, indeed, found a place in my spirit. I actually have grown prepared with this condition as it rears its unlovely head almost at a time when external conditions make me feel uneasy.
A little more than a week ago I was at dinner with my brothers, dad, and his wife. Somehow politics was put on the table, and as usual, voices were raised as other patrons of the restaurant exchanged awkward glances at each other including a few predatory stares towards me. This is fairly typical at a night out with the family, yet something atypical was brought up. As the discussion on politics started to cover Proposition 8, I said something that I think shocked my dad more than anything else I’ve said in my life, even more than the day I came out to him.
“I stopped going to church.”
His eyes widened, and his jovial tone he had when mocking Obama suddenly lowered to a baritone, stern, and didactic voice and demeanor. He told me a couple of things: 1) that politics should not interfere with my relationship with God, 2) being without the Eucharist, the body of Christ does effect my relationship with God 3) The institution of the church and her policies should not interfere with the spiritual nourishment from the Eucharist.
As much as I believe in his assertions, it just isn’t easy to swallow. Already having anxieties and having bouts with my own issues that come along this time, the first place I would go to would be church. The spiritual nourishment is something that I desire, which makes going to church so much harder; to solace only to receive condemnation, to seek peace but to come out with more inner violence.
And a part of me is not going to lie, I miss the Eucharist. I miss being in communion. But being in what should be a sanctuary hurts too much, and right now I am not strong.
A couple of days later I went with my class to listen to speakers regarding Spirituality and Mental Health. There were representatives from Christian, Jewish, Muslim, and Atheist backgrounds. Listening to some of the speakers grounded me spiritually, especially the young student who would ‘religiously’ describe herself as atheist. Her life, in her speech was one of turmoil, as she undergone countless abuses, sexually, emotionally, physically, by those who should protect her. Despite her struggles, she was able to under-go a transformation that utilized the journey of self-examination, and eventual connectedness to others.
What I noticed that compelled me most was after her speech, and observing her. To be honest, when the other speakers came up, my defenses started to come up. I began to be anxious about what they were going to say, what I was going to hear about God, and the interplay of religion with mental wellness. This exacerbated fear stems largely from past experiences when listening to speakers, especially being away from the sphere of Berkeley, progressive spiritual thought, and not having the protection of spiritual peers that have constantly been an edifice for my own spiritual identity. So while in my anxiousness, I couldn’t help but watch the atheist student that caught my attention throughout the night. What I saw was discerning, she gave the speakers her full attention, nodding intensely, as they spoke about spirituality and how it connects to their religiosity. After each person spoke, I would see her raise and stand and applaud, without taking notice of how the rest of the audience reacted. Why I say this is discerning, I look at her and she has every reason to be angry with God and has every reason to find disbelief in what the others were saying, but she was there, being receptive to those words, opening her self up, and being hopeful.
It was witnessing prayer in action.
Hope. Faith in hope. That is what truly being connected to God is about. That faith and hope in oneself to develop self-love and harnessing the ability to love others. Or more so, all that is life. What I saw in her is someone that probably still struggles with her issues but every now and then, and at that moment, hope and faith triumphs. And it reminded me something that I believe in, but tend to forget, that in faith in hope, and openness to God’s grace, the darkness can be confronted.
I’m still uneasy about religion. I’m still damned angry at the (local) Catholic church. I’m still sad that I don’t participate in communion and the Eucharist. I still strongly feel that the gay and lesbian community are slighted from having a strong supportive spiritual network. I wish there was more support in the spiritual community for gay and lesbians. Especially here in Bakersfield, spiritually it becomes a very lonely place. I think it was through God’s grace that brought me to Berkeley, to have that spiritual support and to be able to openly grow into myself. I don’t know how I would have made it through without that experience.
To say that the gay community is devoid of a spiritual identity would be unfair. This weekend I had an incredible experience going with my boyfriend to a fundraiser/gala as the San Francisco drag queen beauty pageant took center stage. What I thought would have been a ‘campy’ experience was actually an eye opening realization of love and support in that community. The inspirational works of self-less ness in raising money for the homeless with AIDS, and after hearing the final ‘If you were Miss Desperate Diva?’ question, one of the drag queen contestants spoke in confidence and solidarity of the community that made me believe that one sole ‘queen’ can shake it up, but 12 ‘queens’ cause earthquakes.
Also this weekend was able to watch the incredible performance of the final show of RENT in NY at the movie theaters. The emotionally charged musical once again brought me to tears, probably even more-so than the first time watching it live in the SF Orpheum theatre. The tailoring of this musical was made by the hands, mind, and creativity of a dying gay man, that has evoked a spiritual awakening for the neglected and dejected… like a prayer conceived in art.
Finally I was able to go to mass at SF. I went to the Catholic church in the Castro district, whose attendance is primarily gay men. And how refreshing it was! To be able to walk in, holding the hand of my boyfriend, without fear of rejection or ‘predatory’ stares. To finally be able to participate in Communion with the Eucharist. To be able to sing praise to God without feeling like I am compromising my integrity. For that moment, to finally be me, and be in touch with my inner-self without the fear, anxiousness, or uncertainty. Even though it’s just momentary, it’s just enough nourishment to get through,
Fall is here. A movement from the activity and into a movement towards introspection. For some introspection is a time of peace and stillness, but at times it could be a tremor of quiet, the cacophony of silence. But I believe that the dance of life continues, and the music of life has its diminuendos. While this time moving inwards may come with anxiousness, the fundamentally I have faith that God is there somewhere, and I’m sure God is listening to me in my unconventional ways, while God is clearly speaking to me in unconventional ways.