No, I haven’t seen Fahrenheit 9/11. Not yet, anyway. I’m not much of a Michael Moore fan, actually (yes, there are some card-carrying Christian Socialists who dislike his bombast). But I am really, really, really tired of the number of attacks directed at Mr. Moore’s weight. I’ve got eyes, I can see that he’s a large man. But this is getting tiresome:
Here. Here. Here. Here. Here. Here. Here. Here. Blogsurf for ten minutes, you’ll find more.
Seriously, folks, enough already.
This one may get me in a bit of trouble.
Like many Southern Californians (and perhaps others elsewhere), I have paid a modest amount of attention to what is generally known as the “Orange County Gang-Rape Case”. (For those unfamiliar with the case, visit the Orange County Weekly site for an exhaustive archive of articles). Bottom line: three teenage boys were accused of raping and sodomizing an unconscious 16 year-old girl; the key piece of evidence was a videotape shot by one of the boys. A mistrial was declared on Monday after the jury deadlocked on all of the counts, and despite the fact that most of the jurors favored the defense, the case will now be retried.
It’s hard to think of anything original to say about this sad story, except to give thanks that (as of yet) the videotape has not started making the rounds on the Internet. I do wish that the case had been tried in secret, so that none of the sordid details would have been leaked to the public. But since everyone in this part of the country is now familar with the case, I have a couple of quick thoughts. They center not on the facts of the case, but upon the age of the victim and of the accused.
My heart breaks for the very troubled young girl whose violation is at the center of this case. My sympathies are, first and foremost, with her. But though I imagine it will annoy a few of my readers to say this, I confess that I am not without sympathy for the young men who have been accused in this crime. They face over 50 years in prison if convicted on all counts. In my mind, no teenager should ever face such a lengthy sentence.
As a volunteer youth pastor, I work regularly with 16 and 17 year-old boys (the age of the trio accused in Orange County). The longer I work with them, the more I love them. And the longer I work with them, the more convinced I am of just how very, very young most adolescents in our society truly are. I have always hated the idea of trying juveniles as adults. I hated it when I was a teenager, because it seemed unfair to give kids the same consequences as grown-ups without giving them the same freedoms. (Frankly, my position on that hasn’t changed — freedom and responsibility ought always to be concomitant.) But now, I hate it even more because I have come to realize that in no meaningful sense can adolescents truly be considered adults. That’s a sweeping statement, but the more experience I have with teens, the more convinced I am of its essential truth. And as a result, (I’m bracing myself for the inevitable reaction), I think there is a world of difference between a sexual assault committed by a 17 year-old and one committed by a 30 year-old, and I think the legal system ought to acknowledge that distinction. (I am, naturally, clear on the obvious fact that from the standpoint of the victim’s pain, that distinction may not exist.)
Recent studies have shown that adolescent brains don’t work the way adult brains do:
The researchers found that when processing emotions, adults have greater activity in their frontal lobes than do teenagers. Adults also have lower activity in their amygdala than teenagers. In fact, as teenagers age into adulthood, the overall focus of brain activity seems to shift from the amygdala to the frontal lobes.
The frontal lobes of the brain have been implicated in behavioral inhibition, the ability to control emotions and impulses. The frontal lobes are also thought to be the place where decisions about right and wrong, as well as cause-effect relationships are processed. In contrast, the amygdala is part of the limbic system of the brain and is involved in instinctive “gut” reactions, including “fight or flight” responses. Lower activity in the frontal lobe could lead to poor control over behavior and emotions, while an overactive amygdala may be associated with high levels of emotional arousal and reactionary decision-making.
I’m no brain expert, but I’ve spent plenty of time with teenagers to become quite clear on the premise that virtually all teens have trouble with “behavioral inhibition”. Add in alcohol (something that everyone in the OC rape case admits was involved), and adolescents simply have a drastically diminished capacity to make appropriate moral judgments. To acknowledge this is not bleeding-heart liberalism, it’s sound common sense.
I am not for a moment suggesting that these boys in Orange County ought to go unpunished. The fact that they had a diminished capacity to make good decisions does not, of course, vitiate their responsibility to refrain from drugging and violating another human being. But a fair and just legal process would take the age of all parties involved into account, both in terms of establishing guilt and, far more importantly, in terms of providing a penalty. Knowing that those boys might go to prison for more than half a century would make it impossible for me to serve on their jury. From a moral standpoint, had I been on the OC jury, I would have felt compelled to vote for a not-guilty verdict (despite the evidence), merely because such a lengthy sentence cannot, in my mind, ever be appropriate for someone who is not mentally, intellectually, or emotionally fully adult. (Parenthetically, I’ve been excused from two jury panels because when asked, I twice said that I could not imagine convicting someone of a crime without knowing exactly what punishment they might face. Call me crazy, but if I can’t have a say in the penalty phase, I won’t even dream of participating in the guilt phase.)
I am not proposing letting the boys walk without consequences. I am proposing that if found guilty, the focus should be on restorative justice. What might that look like? Here’s how it generally works:
(Restorative justice revolves around conferences). A conference is a structured meeting between offenders, victims and both parties’ family and friends in which they deal with the consequences of the crime and decide how best to repair the harm. Neither a counseling nor a mediation process, conferencing is a straightforward problem-solving method that demonstrates how citizens can resolve their own problems when provided with a constructive forum to do so.
Conferences provide victims and others an opportunity to confront the offender, express their feelings, ask questions and have a say in the outcome. Offenders hear firsthand how their behavior has affected people. They may begin to repair the harm by apologizing, making amends and agreeing to financial restitution or personal or community service work. Conferences hold offenders accountable while providing them an opportunity to discard the “offender” label and be reintegrated into their community, school or workplace.
The victim in the OC rape case may well need the opportunity to confront those who raped her. The boys need the opportunity to see her as a human being, and recognize the harm they did. And the legal system needs to recognize that they are dealing with teenagers, complex creatures who are hardly innocent children, but who at the same time cannot be considered rational adults. Rape is a very, very serious crime — but even the most serious crimes must be seen differently when committed by the as of yet biologically and intellectually immature.
Last Friday night, I met with my Mennonite small group. We ate strawberries, yogurt, brownies, hummus, pita, and beans. (A very Anabaptist repast, I assure you).
We also ended up in a rather interesting discussion about "Christian anger." It was not our intended topic of conversation, mind you. We started out debating the meaning of some parables, and quickly segued (as progressive Mennonites will) to contemporary geopolitics. Ours is a fairly left-wing group, and one of our more passionate members talked about how difficult it was for her to be anything BUT angry with our current president and his advisors. We were all in agreement with her about the failures of contemporary American foreign policy, but we were split as to "how angry" we ought to be.
I don’t like folks who raise their voices in wrath. I don’t like shouting. As an adult, I find myself always wanting to soothe people, both in my personal life and in the blogosphere. I learned this early on. My family doesn’t tolerate public displays of negative emotion. The moment things start to get heated at the dinner table, we immediately offer the aggrieved party another helping of the main course. We literally stuff our anger back inside. Now that I am an adult, I do it without my family being present. In the midst of what was becoming a very animated discussion on Friday night, I ran into the kitchen and returned with the brownies. I actually said something maddeningly inane like "Now let’s get to the important stuff — dessert!" I wore a forced smile on my face to boot.
When I first became a Christian, I though Christianity was, at its course, about being very nice to everybody. I’ve always wanted everyone to be nice, even when in my own life, I have fallen miserably short of that particular standard. Rodney King’s plaintive and era-defining plea of "Can’t we all just get along?" was, and still is, my mantra. When I became a Christian, I hoped to find the spiritual tools to make me an even nicer person, the sort who NEVER lost his temper, raised his voice, or said anything even remotely nasty to anyone else! Somehow in my head, I have to admit I had gotten Jesus confused with Miss Manners (whose wisdom I have imbibed like ambrosia.) Miss Manners has a great column on suppressing anger here.
One of my friends on Friday night caught me out, though. She called me on what I was doing. When she questioned my desire to soothe everyone, I quickly quoted some Scripture (Romans 12, naturally) about loving one’s enemies, and (Romans 12:17), being "careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody." Coming from my background, I have a fairly clear idea of what constitutes doing "what is right." For me, doing what is right involves trying to make other folks feel comfortable. It involves avoiding anger at all costs. My friend asked what I would do if a thirsty Nazi came to my door, asking for water. I replied that my half-Jewish self would invite that person in, give them a cool drink, and sit and chat with them. I insisted that that is what Jesus would do, too.
But then everyone brought up the occasions on which Jesus DID display anger, most notably when he drove the moneychangers out of the temple with a whip. I have to confess that Miss Manners would be appalled. (I can’t imagine that she could ever condone the indoor use of such a livestock management device.) When, my friends asked, can we pacifist Christians be like Jesus in that instance? Surely, they said, Jesus was angry when he overturned tables and chased folks out of His Father’s house!
What I realize is that I am completely, totally, utterly afraid of anger. Not just other people’s anger, but my own. I confess I have occasional fantasies about erupting in righteous indignation, causing a ruckus and "driving out the moneychangers." Those daydreams are quite satisfying. But deep down, I cannot imagine really doing anything like that. And despite the fact that Scripture attests to Jesus’ wrath on that and other occasions, I still can’t quite reconcile anger with what it means to be a good Christian. (I’ve always said that if I could take one story out of the New Testament, it would be the story of the whip and the temple. Even now, the story makes me shudder with discomfort.)
As I grow as a Christian, I am learning that no emotion is wasted in God’s economy. Lust can be incredibly destructive, but in a loving marriage, sexual desire is clearly a blessing. Similarly, I have to accept the possiblity that while misdirected rage can also be wildly dangerous, there is a place for righteous anger. There may even be times and places where suppressing one’s anger is sinful in and of itself. I wonder — if I suppress my anger at those who mistreat the vulnerable, merely because I want to "get along with everyone", am I sinning? Am I complicit in the exploitation and oppression of the weak when I try to remember to smile winningly at those who mistreat them? Have I mixed up my own intense desire to have everyone like me with God’s command to love my enemies? I think I know the answer to that one.
So one of my spiritual jobs is clear: Hugo has to work on being appropriately angry, even at the risk of hurting other folks’ feelings. (I’m pretty pickin’ sure the moneychangers’ feelings — and their backsides — were smarting after Jesus drove them out!) Following Christ is easier for me when it involves comforting the sad than when it involves confronting the nasty. But Jesus did both.
Any advice on how to "get angry", Jesus style?
My father recently used Google to discover a whole set of relations in Australia and New Zealand. He and I had a happy time on the phone and the internet last night, doing some geneaological digging about.
Despite the current spelling of my name, I have no Swiss ancestry. The original spelling, "Schwitzer", was an exclusively Jewish name. Why my ancestors — whom we have traced back to a town called Breclav (formerly Lundenburg) in the Czech Republic – were named for the German verb "to sweat" is beyond me, though given my proclivity for exercising, I suppose it is appropriate. In any case, honoring the power of search engines, I am sticking the four major spellings of the family name in one post. Any descendants of sweaty ones from the Habsburg empire should drop me a line…
I published this earlier today, and the HTML came out all screwy. I’m republishing it now…
It’s Monday morning, and I am a bit sleepy. My gal and I went with two of my good running buddies to the Hollywood Bowl last night for some excellent Brazilian music. We weren’t in bed until well after midnight, but even in my tired state this morning, I have those compulsively danceable rhythms in my head. (And yes, I did dance in the aisles of the Hollywood Bowl. Without shame).
Before I go any further, let me praise Lynn’s terrific Saturday post on Infertility and Ethics. Well worth the read and the visit; she’s included some great links.
Stentor inspired my post below on “why gender matters”, and he has a very thoughtful response over at his place. Most importantly, he identifies why so many men in our country are uncomfortable with what passes for male companionship in our society today:
It’s not that I didn’t want to be held responsible, it’s that I didn’t want to be held to what I saw as the typical male standard of responsibility. To put it in terms of crude stereotypes, the prospect of a mostly-male social circle raises the specter of being expected to leer at girls who meet a socially-defined beauty standard, being expected to demonstrate knowledge of and interest in professional sports, etc.
Stentor’s point matters. Indeed, when I was in high school and college, like many sensitive and non-athletic males (the running came later in my life), I disliked being in all-male situations intensely. I was uncomfortable around other men for the same reason that Stentor suggests — I found the vulgarity and the leering and the brashness to be distasteful. I also felt that (and I was usually right) that because I was uncomfortable with that behavior, I would be judged negatively by my male peers. It’s one of the reasons that I never considered “rushing” and joining the fraternity to which my grandfather and great-grandfathers had belonged at Cal. But I was smart enough, even then, to recognize that at least half of the contempt I had for my fellow males was rooted in my own intense fear of being exposed by them as not being a “real man”. I always, always, wanted the approval of my male peers, even when I pretended that I didn’t.
It is axiomatic that we carry the wounds of our childhood and our adolescence into our adult lives. I am 37 years old, but the names (“geek”, “faggot”, “queer”) I was called on the playground a quarter-century ago can come back vividly into my consciousness at the slightest provocation. I notice that most men who end up in academia were not “popular”, “athletic”, or deeply “masculine” when they were young. Most of us who end up doing gender work often come from a background of years and years of being teased for our physical gracelessness, our social ineptness, and, often, our lack of physical strength. (All of those qualities associated, in the mentality of the playground, with homosexuality). I, for one, was the consummate “nerd” throughout my adolescence. (One of the many reasons I turned to marathoning and ultra-running — initially — was to have something physically demanding at which to excel, to banish some of the demons of my pudgy, awkward, and sedentary adolescence — but that’s another post).
From the time I was a teen, I found that it was much easier to be friends with women than with men. My female friends didn’t expect me to be like the “other guys”; heck, I found to my wonder that some girls disliked the very qualities I loathed in most of my male peers. They liked me because I wasn’t like the other guys. (Actually, both I and my female friends came to find I was a hell of a lot MORE like the other guys than we had imagined!) I formed a series of intense friendships with many women throughout high school and college. Predictably, I got crushes on some of these women — and these remained unrequited. I noted, to my chagrin, that these young women tended to fall for the very men whose behavior they found to be so repugnant. (The old “bad boy/nice guy” syndrome, one with which virtually all of us are familiar!)
But as my teens became my twenties, and then my twenties my thirties, I found to my astonishment that there were many, many men who felt just as I had felt. I made friends with guys who seemed to me to be athletic and cool, and found that they too had felt alienated by the incredibly rigid standards of American adolescent masculinity. (Indeed, in planning for my high school reunion next year, I’ve talked to several guys whom I used to fear, envy, and dislike — and discovered, to my amazement, how decent and human some of them truly are. Who knew?) And as I began to make more and more male friends (something that eventually became a priority in my life), I found that more and more men out there were hungry for a different vision of masculinity. (I found this to be particularly true among endurance athletes — marathoners, triathletes, ultra-runners, and so forth, but again, that’s another post.)
The bottom line is that in order to connect with other men, men often have to “banish the demons” of childhood and adolescence. Very, very few men truly felt as if they “measured up” to the demanding standards of masculinity when they were young. The problem is, most adult men are unwilling to reach out to each other, wounded as we often still are by memories of long ago. Eventually, we may find friends of our own sex — but we tend to see them as exceptions to the rule. We may like other individual males, but we dislike men as a whole. As a result, it is easier to pretend that “gender is a social construct to be overcome”, rather than a “gift and a challenge into which to live.”
As I wrote on another occasion, I try to have three kinds of men in my life today: older men to show me “how it’s done”; men of my own age with whom I can empathize and share stories; younger men to whom I can offer whatever experience and wisdom I have picked up along the way. At times, I would rather not reach out to other men. Reaching out to women comes more easily to me, even now. But I know that if we are going to reclaim an authentic and brave and lovingly inclusive masculinity, men are going to have to take risks with each other. We’re going to have to make relationships with other men the highest priority after our obligations to our families. From experience, I know the rewards are marvelous on an individual level. But I am also convinced that on a societal level, the rewards can be even more profound.
It feels irresponsible to spend so much time wondering about gender when hundreds of thousands are dying elsewhere. The LA Times has this sobering story today:
Humanitarian aid agencies, analysts and U.S. officials all agree that no matter what the international community does to try to prevent the catastrophe unfolding in Darfur, western Sudan, it’s too late: Huge numbers of people will die there in coming months.
But in the face of death, we must do SOMETHING. Rudy Carrasco provided this link to give specifically to the Sudan through World Vision. I’ve sent in a small contribution; let’s all see if we can’t make this something of a priority this week.
Stentor, in a comment on the post immediately below, asks:
I have to admit that I don’t quite “get” what you’re saying. I’m trying to figure out what specifically you think men need from other men — what is it that you can give Craig that a female friend couldn’t?
Fair question, and I don’t think the answer is inherently obvious.
First of all, a woman can’t give Craig intimacy without any possible hint of sexual attraction. No, I’m not saying that platonic friendships between men and women are impossible. But virtually all of us have stories of the strains and stresses that attraction can put on those relationships. For Craig, a heterosexual married man who is struggling with what might be called sex addiction, he needs to be able to reach out to someone with out either party having any sexual motive. I can give him that in a way that virtually no woman can. When one is married, friendships with the opposite sex become even more problematic. If Craig’s wife knew that Craig was sharing their marital difficulties with another woman, she would have every right to be furious. I doubt another man would threaten her in the same way. That doesn’t make her, or any other woman, irrational — it is just an acknowledgement of our deep-seated sexual identities.
Of course, on a more basic level, I do think that men and women are in many ways profoundly different. I am a zealous advocate of equality for women in the workplace, and of egalitarian relationships. But acknowledging equality is not the same thing as denying difference! Our biology impacts our identity far more than 1960s and 70s feminists (who were convinced that gender was simply a social construct) were willing to realize. Nowhere is this difference more obvious than in the area of sex.
Are there women out there who have done what Craig has done (cheat on a spouse with a prostitute)? No doubt there are a few, but I’m fairly certain that their numbers are small indeed. Many women tend to be mystified, not to mention threatened and enraged, by that kind of behavior. Few know what it is like to struggle with sexual temptation in the way that so many men struggle. (Women do, of course, have their own temptations and trials, often of a sexual nature — but they rarely “act out” in the same way.) All of the men whom I know well “get” the kind of struggle that Craig is going through. We ALL “get it”, even though many of us, thankfully, have not had to go where he has had to go! Thus while a woman might even be sympathetic to him, a man can be empathetic. Men can offer other men not only the stories of similar “falls”, but more importantly the vital experience of temptation overcome, of commitments honored, of relationships restored, of spiritual transformation. We can offer this with compassion and complete understanding and without any interpersonal sexual tension.
Men ultimately show other men how to live. Mothers can tell their sons what kind of men they ought to grow up to be, but they can’t show them how to do that job of growing up. Our female friends can offer us valuable and different perspectives on life; my life has been enriched over the years by wise counsel from both my biological and spiritual sisters. But what has kept me sanest and soundest has been the presence of men in my life.
Especially among young people, the failure of same-gender friendships seems to have hit epidemic proportions. I know many of my high school boys who are much more comfortable around girls than around their male peers; similarly, if I had a dollar for every female student who has ever written in her journal “All my good friends are guys”, I’d be able to afford a semester off. Opposite sex friendships are especially appealing to the young, and not merely because they often offer the “spice” of sexual attraction. What is most appealing is the freedom from the competition and the judgment that so many young men and women feel in the presence of their same-gender peers. But invariably, those who have no close friends of their own sex feel at a loss at certain critical life points. In order to lead healthy lives, we have to work to overcome our own fears about being judged by those of our same sex. We’re going to need folks beside us who know what it is like to live incarnate as a man or a woman. What makes me a man is more than my Y chromosome and my genitalia — it is a thousand thoughts, feelings, experiences that so many of my brothers know so well. Men need each other, desperately.
And if there is one thing I have come to know with near-certainty, it is that men who have other men (not just boys) in their lives to love them and hold them accountable make much better husbands and lovers, fathers and brothers to the women around them.
I’ve been talking to a new friend of mine this week. I’ll call him Craig, though that isn’t anything like his real name. (Note to anyone who reads this in my “circle” –please don’t try and guess who Craig is; trust me, you don’t know him, and out of basic respect, I’ve changed quite a bit more about him than his name.) He’s about my age, married with a teenaged daughter. He’s a Christian. Craig and I were recently introduced by a mutual friend from Talbot Seminary. Craig is in trouble.
Craig’s one of those guys who doesn’t have any close male friends. He says his best friends are his wife… and other women. He’s a very tall, lean, strikingly handsome man (he tells me he was quite the basketball player in his younger days, and still shoots hoops as often as he can). Craig is also addicted to strip clubs. He’s been going for years, and a week and a half ago, while his wife and daughter were out of town, he took a stripper home and had sex with her. He’s been reeling from guilt and shame. He’s in constant pain. And we’ve been talking, and that hasn’t been easy for him.
This isn’t a post about men and sexual infidelity. It’s a post about men and other men and the need to share with each other. Craig and I went out for coffee last week, and he cried in Starbucks over our soy sugar-free vanilla lattes (he was so out of it, he let me order my favorite drink for both of us). It was a wrenching experience for him. You don’t often see two reasonably well-dressed men in their late 30s sitting together in Starbucks, one of them furiously wiping away tears. For an hour, Craig poured out his shame and his guilt and his fear, and I listened. At the end of it, as we were walking back to our cars, Craig looked at me and asked, “Hugo, what do you think of me?” It was an honest question, and I gave him the most honest answer I could, praying as I did so that my words would be grounded in both love and truth. We embraced by his car, and he promised to call me so that we could chat.
Craig did not call for days. But we met up last night, and he seemed more “together” and calmer than he had been the previous week. He also seemed acutely embarrassed at having shared so much with me. He admitted that the issue that was “tripping him up” was his intense shame that I knew his secret. He told me that he had spent the week getting angrier and angrier — at me! Because I had seen him cry, because I knew he had been unfaithful, in his mind I had this terrible power over him and he resented the hell out of it. But more importantly, he knew himself well enough to know that the only way he was going to get the strength to start to turn his life around was through radical honesty with other men. He knew he had no choice but to continue to seek out not just professional help (he and his wife are going to go to counseling), but the help of a community of men. He told me that he realized that his anger at me had been rooted in his fear of being judged and condemned and exposed. I had assured him that I would do none of those things, but it had taken me a week of processing to start to believe that that might be true.
Craig and I are going to talk later today. I’ve introduced him to a couple of other male friends of mine as well, guys about our age (more or less) who are also committed to finding trust, accountability, honesty, and yes, intimacy with other men. Not all of these guys are Christians. But the guys I hang with these days are all men who have realized that only another man can “save another man’s ass” when serious trouble looms in our lives. (I’ve met them in a variety of places — the gym, church, running groups.) Most men are surrounded by women who badly want to “help” them. That help, however well-intentioned, does not provide men with the tools to live lives of justice, restraint, and honesty as men. As an older friend of mine explained it, “women can make us want to change, but only another man can show us how to change“. That’s one of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned in the last half-decade. It has changed my life, and it’s why I am committed to reaching out to my brothers who are in pain and in isolation, who don’t know what it is like — yet — to break down safely in the presence of other men.
I don’t know whether Craig’s marriage will survive or not. So far, he hasn’t told his wife. But whatever happens, if he want freedom from the kind of reckless and destructive behavior that has done so much damage to him (and of course, to others) then he is going to have to turn to other men. He is going to have to face down his own embarrassment and shame at looking weak in the presence of other males. He’s going to have to let us hold him accountable — and sooner rather than later, if he chooses, he can find himself a resource to other men as well. It’s a good thing.
If Craig doesn’t call me today, I’m calling him.
that I am the #1 site on Google for the query “Christians for Kerry”? I’m stunned. Google has sent a number of folks my way the past few days, though, with those very key words. One wonders — if I am the top site for that search, how many Christians for Kerry can there be?
UPDATE: I am also the number one Google response for “men are dogs“. Go figure.
I am devastated by England’s heartbreaking loss to Portugal today in the Euro 2004 football competition. On penalty kicks. And the goat of the hour is the celebrated David Beckham, whose performance throughout the tournament has been dismal.
And a kind reader in Modesto named Jody Landis has informed me that the technical term for what Matilde does in her dust bath is called “wambling”. To wamble, I am told by the link Jody sent, is to turn and twist the body about, roll or wriggle about, or roll over and over. That link gives a marvelous example of “wamble” in a sentence:
“Eels are said to kelter in the water when they wamble.â€Â
Now we know. Matilde is due for some wambling tomorrow morning. Tonight, she will have an unsalted cashew nut. Here she is playing inside my jeans:
The Independent reports today that Episcopal Bishop John Chane of Washington D.C. has performed a same-sex blessing in his diocese:
More than 100 people witnessed the Bishop of Washington DC, the Reverend John Chane, bless the union of Father Michael Hopkins, 43, and his partner, John Clinton Bradley, 44, at a service at Father Hopkins’s church in Maryland on June 12.
(I’ve met Michael Hopkins (past president of Integrity USA, the leading Anglican gay rights group) a couple of times. He definitely goes by “Michael”, not “Father Hopkins”. But the English are still the English.)
Bishop Chane is only the second Episcopal bishop to bless a same-sex union; I was proud last month of my friend Jon Bruno, bishop of Los Angeles, who became the first Anglican bishop to bless such a union on May 15.
Conservatives in the church are irate, liberals are happy, and schism seems to become more and more inevitable. It is noteworthy that even the relatively progressive Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, is unhappy with Chane and Bruno:
The blessing service went ahead despite a request from Dr Rowan Williams to liberal Anglican provinces to refrain from gay blessings and ordinations until the Lambeth Commission, set up last October, reports on homosexuality and the church later this year.
Here is a pastoral letter from Chane to his diocese setting out his reasons for peforming the Hopkins/Bradley blessing. And here is Integrity’s current president (and fellow Pasadenan) Susan Russell’s sermon at that same event. Here are some excerpts from Susan’s sermon:
What we (those who support gay blessings in the church) have to offer is a unique and God-given opportunity to provide a different vision of what the Christian life and faith are all about. We have the chance to witness to our experience of a God who is about justice rather than judgment and whose inclusive love is available to all people, to a community of faith that asks not “who do you love†but “DO you love?†Yes, there is some controversy around our actions here at St. George’s today – but there is also much joy, support and excitement … and an extraordinary opportunity to tell that old, old story. It is, my brothers and sisters, an opportunity for evangelism!
Far from undermining the sacrament of marriage, I believe what Michael and John Clinton intend here today builds up ALL relationships. How it must grieve the heart of God that the Body of Christ has gotten so caught up in whether or not it should be acting as an agent of the state it has neglected its high calling to be an agent of blessing. So I take heart that while the church and culture continue to wrestle through questions about marriage and unions and sacraments and sanctity, the blessing Michael and John Clinton are claiming today enriches not just their lives but all of ours. (The bold emphasis is mine).
I hate the phrase “culture war”. I have too many good conservative friends, men and women of loving hearts and sound minds, to ever speak of being at “war” with them. But when I read Susan’s sermon, my heart leaps with joy — and I know that there are others out there who read the same words and are angry or bitter or disgusted or just plain saddened. I am not a bleeding-heart simpleton because I rejoice in what Michael and John have done, but I know that my traditionalist friends are not bigots and homophobes because their reading of scripture and understanding of scripture does not permit them to rejoice alongside me.
Schism is coming, most people seem to think, and it is coming over the issue of sexuality. What I am most concerned with is not preventing the inevitable, but with ensuring that the parting is warm and amicable on both sides, done with considerable regret but also great respect for the integrity and decency of those with whom we can no longer consider ourselves in communion. I think divorces can be done with grace and good humor as well as sadness — may it be so for the Anglican Communion, and may we all ask for and freely give forgiveness to and from one another.