I’ve long been an admirer of actress and social activist Vanessa Redgrave (to the extent of writing much of her biography onWikipedia).
I was saddened to hear the news yesterday that her daughter, Tony award-winning actressNatasha Richardson, was in a “critical condition” after a fall on a beginner’s slope at the Mont Tremblant ski resort in Canada.
The last film I saw starring Natasha Richardson was 2007’s Evening, which also featured her mother.The two also appear together (along with Vanessa’s sister and Natasha’s aunt,Lynn Redgrave) in the 2005 film,The White Countess.
Natasha was actually the lead actress in this beautiful yet often underrated film, one that was the last production of the renownedMerchant-Ivoryteam. (ProducerIsmail Merchant died shortly after principal photography was completed.)
According to news reports, Richardson laughed and joked as she picked herself up from what has been described as an “undramatic fall,” yet within hours she was complaining of a headache and taken to the nearby Centre Hospitalier Laurentien before being transferred to the larger Hopital du Sacre-Coeur in Montreal.
Later she was flown to the U.S. where her family, including husbandLiam Neelson; the couple’s two sons, Micheál and Daniel; her mother (right); and her sister, Joely Richardson, gathered at her bedside in New York’s Lenox Hill Hospital. Some media outlets yesterday were reporting that she was brain dead, yet I was hoping and praying that this was not the case and that she would make a full recovery.
Sadly, it’s just been reported that Natasha Richardson has died.
At approximately 8pm, New York time, her husband Liam Neeson’s publicist issued the following statement to the press:
Liam Neeson, his sons, and the entire family are shocked and devastated by the tragic death of their beloved Natasha. They are profoundly grateful for the support, love and prayers of everyone, and ask for privacy during this very difficult time.
My thoughts and prayers are with Natasha’s family, and with all who have experienced the sudden and unexpected death of a loved one.
“[Natasha’s death is] a sudden and horrifying loss for her family and friends, for the film and theater communities, for her many fans and for both her native and adoptive countries. Descended from at least three generations of actors, Richardson was a proper Londoner who came to love the noise of New York, an elegant blonde with large, lively eyes, a bright smile and a hearty laugh.”
I appreciateMichael of Norfolk’s heartfelt reflection on Natasha’s death:
Natasha’s untimely death should remind all of us of the need to live more in the moment and grasp some happiness each day – and to love others each day - since we truly do not know when some freak accident could change everything in literally hours. . . My thoughts go out to her children and family.
I intend lighting a candle tonight for Natasha and her family – and watching theDVDof The White Countess.
Above: Vanessa Redgrave (center), her daughter Joely Richardson (right), and her granddaughter Daisy Bevan (left) arrive at the wake for Natasha Richardson at the American Irish Historical Society on 5th Avenue in New York, March 20, 2009. (REUTERS/Mike Segar)
Above:Vanessa Redgrave and her husbandFranco Neroarrive at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Lithgow, N.Y., for the funeral of her daughter Natasha Richardson - March 22, 2009. (Associated Press)
Above:Family and friends of Natasha Richardson gather for a photo prior to the funeral of Natasha Richardson. At left is Vanessa Redgrave, Richardson’s mother. At right is Liam Neeson, Richardson’s husband. (AP Photo/Craig Ruttle)
Above:Liam Neeson and his mother-in-law Vanessa Redgrave walk through St. Peter’s Cemetery in Lithgow, N.Y. on Sunday, March 22, 2009 after a funeral for his wife, Natasha Richardson. (AP Photo/Mike Groll)
Sexuality is an education in how to be human, how to be open and vulnerable, not hiding behind facades and pride; it opens us to growth and learning how to love. Yet some writers have, through their pronouncements, made it into a most dangerous activity. Books of moral theology (ethics) are still often about what not to do in order not to sin.
Moral decisions are often made in the name of religion. Yet valid religious experience is, first of all, human experience. Historically, we’ve learned to call religious those parts of life that are mysterious, beyond comprehension, because they are so other. They send us in search of the sacred and the transcendent. Calling ourselves religious but denying these dimensions of life makes us the opposite. And in the opinion of Anthony Padavano, if one responds to these aspects of life, even if not as a member of a formal religion, one thereby becomes religious.
All valid religious experience sends us in search for two precious jewels: freedom and fidelity – excellent criteria for judging the worth of our decisions. Freedom is the right and ability to do what we feel we must do to be human. Fidelity finds us using freedom to be what we choose to be even though others may not agree with how we interpret that choice.
Freedom and fidelity serve our goal of becoming radical lovers. The agony and ecstasy of good decision making means using freedom in search of a commitment to what makes our life meaningful. Chosen commitments free us and allow us to stop thrashing about, never arriving at God’s heart within our own. Commitment centers our energies and releases them for action.
In light of yesterday’sassertionby Pope Benedict XVI that condoms were not the solution to Africa’s fight against HIV and AIDS (I know of no one who says that, alone, they are!), and his statement that “the distribution of condoms” only “increase[s] the problem” of HIV/AIDS, I share the following excerpts from an article entitledDo Condoms Prevent AIDS?, originally published in the Summer 2002 issue ofConscience.
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Important Roman Catholic leaders . . . have frequently claimed that condoms are not effective in preventing AIDS. In addition, anti-family planning organizations such as the American Life League and Human Life International have aggressively questioned the efficacy of condoms. They argue that condoms should not be promoted as a way to fight AIDS because the virus that causes AIDS is small enough to pass through latex condoms, or that condoms have an unacceptably high “failure rate” (the frequency which condoms break or slip off), or that condoms are not reliable because they don’t prevent all sexually transmitted diseases.
Such claims that condoms should not play an important role in halting the spread of HIV are unfounded, according to the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) and leading AIDS researchers. Condoms opponents have seized on the fact that condoms are not 100% perfect in preventing AIDS to further their arguments that abstinence and sex within marriage are the only ways to prevent AIDS.
Condoms, like all contraceptives, are not 100% foolproof. Most condom failure is due to human factors such as the failure to use condoms consistently or incorrect use of the prophylactic. (1) Many of these problems can be corrected through safe sex education, which opponents of condoms also oppose. Poorly manufactured condoms, which are sometimes found in the developing world, or those stored at excessive heats for long periods of time, can also fail. Non-latex condoms, such as those made of sheepskin, are not adequate protect against AIDS because HIV can pass through the larger pores of these condoms.
Claims that latex condoms allow HIV to pass through are unfounded. The pores of latex condoms are too small to allow HIV to pass through. Condoms have been shown to be effective barriers not only to HIV, the virus that causes AIDS, but also to herpes simplex, CMV, hepatitis B, chlamydia and gonorrhea. (2)
While condoms are not foolproof, they are highly effective in preventing HIV infection. According to the CDC, studies examining sexually active people at high risk for contracting HIV have found that “even with repeated sexual contact, 98-100% of those people who used latex condoms correctly and consistently did not become infected. (3)
(1)Do Condoms Work?, Center for AIDS Prevention Studies, Feb. 1995. (2) “Condoms for Prevention of Sexually Transmitted Diseases,” Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report, 1998; 37:133-137. (3)How Effective Are Latex Condoms in Preventing HIV?, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
Postscript 1 (7:57 a.m.):I appreciate the perspective of the editors of the New York Times whowrite:
Pope Benedict XVI has every right to express his opposition to the use of condoms on moral grounds, in accordance with the official stance of the Roman Catholic Church. But he deserves no credence when he distorts scientific findings about the value of condoms in slowing the spread of the AIDS virus. . . . There is no evidence that condom use is aggravating the epidemic and considerable evidence that condoms, though no panacea, can be helpful in many circumstances.
. . . [H]ealth authorities consider condoms a valuable component of any well-rounded program to prevent the spread of AIDS. It seems irresponsible to blame condoms for making the epidemic worse.
Postscript 2 (12:50 p.m.):Here is what bloggerColleen Kochivar-Bakerhas to say about the Pope’s statements on condoms and AIDS:
There is no spin that can address this stupidity. It’s heartless, and that’s the whole problem with the Institutional Church. It lacks any heart, any compassion, any sense of reasonableness. It favors cold logic based on unsupported assumptions and takes these to absurd conclusions, almost exclusively to the detriment of women and children. This is really all about a “culture of life” for some at the expense of others, whether that’s anine year old rape victimin Brazil or the preventable HIV infection of a mother in Cameroon. Somewhere Jesus weeps.
Kochivar-Baker calls the Pope’s assertion that the use of condoms only aggravates the AIDS crisis an “outright lie,” as there are “reams and reams of evidence to the contrary.”
My sense is that it’s a “lie” that’s quite popular among many of those who uncritically support the sexual theology of the Vatican. Just last October, for instance, the visiting “scholar in residence” at the St. Paul Seminary, Janet Smith, stated that condoms don’t prevent the spread of the AIDS-causing HIV virus. She made this statement during a publicpresentationgiven at the University of St. Thomas. Can you imagine it: a statement like that being made at a university of the caliber of St. Thomas? I recall how my friend Mary Lynn objected from the audience to Smith’s comment. She was dismissed and belittled by Smith – a cowardly response that, I’m sorry to report, elicited cheers and applause from many in the audience. (For Mary Lynn, this experience was thelast strawin terms of her relationship with the institutional church.)
This morning I attended my friendBrigid’s annualSt. Patrick’s Day celebration. It was a wonderful gathering of friends - and not a bad day in terms of the weather! I even rode my bike to the celebration.
Above (from left):Mary, Pepper, Tom, me, Polly, and Susu.
Above:Bill, Darlene, and Kathleen.
Above:My friendKathleen(left) helped provide the music at this morning’s very Celtic celebration.
What was Jesus’ disruptive action in the Temple all about? Was it an act of purification, protest, or both?
In this post I survey the current range of theological opinion that seeks to explain and clarify this decisive moment in the life of Jesus of Nazareth.
In assessing various scholars’ interpretations of the incident in the Temple, it’s clear that the historical and theological issues such interpretations raise revolve around the meaning that Jesus and others invested into this particular incident. Depending on the meaning given, different understandings and interpretations emerge concerning the person and character of Jesus, the nature of his mission, and the circumstances concerning his arrest and execution.
The Gospels imply that Jesus’ action in the Temple was a protest against the commerce within its walls – commerce that he perceived to be dishonest. Thus by driving out the money-changers and the sellers of the livestock, Jesus was symbolically restoring or reforming Temple worship.
Yet Paula Fredrikson inFrom Jesus to Christ, notes that such a scenario alienates Jesus from the Judaism of his time. Money changing and the selling of animals was “necessary to the normal functioning of the Temple which was universally regarded as vitally important.” (Fredrikson, p.112)
Fredrikson also points out that if Jesus aimed to ritualistically “cleanse” the Temple, and thus change Temple practice, then his gesture was lost on the disciples, whom, she notes, continued to worship and offer sacrifices in the Temple after Jesus’ death (a claim refuted, in part, by Richard Horsley who maintains that “there is no clear indication in Acts 2:46, 3:1 or elsewhere that the early apostles in Jerusalem were in the Temple to bring sacrifices and offerings.” [Horsley, Jesus and the Spiral of Violence, p.292])
Nevertheless, the Temple episode must have had some meaning for the early church, and modern scholars seriously doubt that it was simply an isolated incident of anger on the part of Jesus. It obviously had invested meaning and, accordingly, potential implications – both then and now.
Fredrikson proposes that Jesus’ gesture of overturning tables was a symbol of destruction rather than purification. She points out that the synoptic tradition notes that shortly after the incident in the Temple, Jesus begins predicting its destruction. In John, the Temple’s “cleansing’ is combined with Jesus’ sayings about its destruction, and explicit reference is made to the Passion.
Accordingly, Fredrikson states that these traditions connecting Jesus’ death with his prediction of the Temple’s destruction suggest both the meaning of his action in the Temple and the reasons why the chief priests enter and dominate much of the passion narratives. Fredrikson maintains that Jesus’ disruptive behavior in the Temple was “another way of stating in the idiom of Jewish apocalyptic eschatology what he had preached throughout his ministry – namely that God’s kingdom was at hand.” (Fredrikson, p.113)
Thus seen in the context of his mission, Jesus’ overturning of the tables in the Temple on the eve of the archetypal holiday of national liberation (Passover) would have been “readily understood by any Jew watching as a statement that the Temple was about to be destroyed (by God, not human armies, and certainly not ny Jesus), and accordingly that the present order was about to cede to the Kingdom of God.” (Fredrikson, p.113) – as prophesied by Tobit two centuries earlier. In light of this interpretation, Fredrikson argues that the high priests acted against Jesus not because they saw his gesture in the Temple as a religious offense, but as a threat to civic peace and order in light of the Roman presence in the city.
Fredrikson is obviously attempting to attribute a political meaning to Jesus’ action – an action which, accordingly, had political implications, namely the fear-inspired reaction on the part of the Jewish authorities, and the threat-annihilating response on the part of the Romans. This “threat” was of a political nature. Yet politics do not exist in isolation but instead infuse the fabric of societal life. Jesus’ action in the Temple, therefore, should (and has) been perceived as having not only political implications but social ones as well.
Walter Wink inEngaging the Powers, notes that the meaning of Jesus’ demonstration in the Temple was lost on the disciples until some time after the Resurrection. Then, “the church gradually discerned that his life and teaching had undermined the entire theology of holiness on which the Temple cult was based. Jesus’ death . . . had exposed and annulled the whole system of sacrificial victimage, and thus terminated Temple slaughter – in short, spiritual violence. (Wink, p.125)
Wink stresses that Jesus’ gesture in the Temple was understood symbolically. Like Fredrikson, he maintains that “it was not a ‘cleansing’ or reforming of the Temple . . . rather, the Gospels depict Jesus as enflamed by the separatism and exclusivity of the Temple.” (Wink, p.126) For the Jews, holiness was understood in terms of separateness (note the Holiness Code of Leviticus that outlawed certain practices that identified the Jews with other races and groups of people). The Jerusalem Temple embodied, institutionally, this understanding of holiness – one that Wink notes, “prevented direct access to God by all but ‘undefiled’ Jewish men.” (Wink, p.126)
The Temple’s active maintenance of a separation between the sacred and secular worked greatly to the financial advantage of the priestly ruling elite (“but you have made it a den of robbers,” Mary 11:17b), and it was this “maintained system” that Jesus sought to abolish through his action in the Temple.
Wink labels this system “sacrificial,” and notes that it “projected the need for substitutionary slaughter into the very Godhead.” (Wink, p.126). He maintains that the violence that the animal sacrifices were suppose to quell was never satisfied, and that the system required human lives. By giving his life voluntarily, Jesus was seen to expose the scapegoating mechanism of the system. His death was understood by the early church as “a sacrifice to end all sacrifice,” and one which revealed another power at work in the universe apart from those of domination and violence. This power, “like water, cuts stone. It is the power of sacrificial love: active non-violence.” (Wink, p.126)
In contrast to Wink’s assertion that Jesus was a champion of “active non-violence,” Richard Horsley inJesus and the Spiral of Violence, insists that Jesus’ action in the Temple “must have been an actual attack involving some violence against property if not against persons.” (Horsley, p.300). Horsley maintains that Jesus was not attacking things peripheral to the system but components which were integral parts of it, i.e., those who sold and bought, and those who changed money. Such enterprises were operated and controlled by the aristocratic priestly families and were points at which the domination and exploitation of the people was most obvious. Thus, concludes Horsley, Jesus’ gesture in the Temple was a “prophetic act symbolizing God’s imminent judgmental destruction, not just of the building, but of the Temple system.” (Horsley, p.300)
Although the various scholars cited differ in some ways in their interpretations of the Temple incident, the underlying premise of each is that through his action in the Temple, Jesus sought to expose a human reality contrary to the Reign of God. As Christians today, we need to emulate Jesus’ mission and action, and seek to likewise expose all humanly designed and maintained structures and systems that separate and alienate people from their true selves, from others, and from God.
Such exposing entails “taking a stand,” “rocking the boat,” challenging the status quo. For Jesus, it would have been obvious that such action would incur the wrath of those who gained most from “the system.” Yet he believed so much in what such action had the potential to accomplish (i.e., the liberation of the oppressed) that he was willing to accept the consequences – even of one was his own death.
And as I’ve notedpreviously, such an understanding liberates us from having to view Jesus’ death as resulting from the will of an exacting God – one determined to see Jesus die for the atonement of “fallen” humanity. Such a negative theological interpretation serves to encode violence into our religious tradition – as “holy” wars, inquisitions, and excommunications of both past and present testify. Letting go of this interpretation we are free to perceive Jesus’ death as the selfless love of one individual so open to the Spirit of Love that he would willingly die for a message, a way – one that he believed (indeed, knew from experience) would liberate the oppressed and lead all to human flourishing and union with God.
PART ONE OF THE JOURNAL OF JAMES CURTIS BY MICHAEL J. BAYLY
Sunday
I think I’m done with St. Jerome’s. Oh sure, the music’s great – thanks entirely to Jay, the gay music director who, of course, can’t be gay at work.
And the church building itself would be something I’d miss if I were to throw it all in. Unlike so many Roman Catholic churches in this city, St. Jerome’s isn’t dark and, well, heavy.
That’s not to say it’s one of those hideous post-Vatican II churches – thank God! I might be gay and at odds with how the church says I should live my life, but I do love the old style look of St. Jerome’s – and the more “traditional” liturgies it offers. I’m definitely a “bells and smells” kind of guy when it comes to the type of Mass I want to attend. Of course, that puts me at odds with a lot of my Catholic gay friends. They’re mostly over at St. Anne’s, the city’s “liberal” Catholic church; although for how much longer is anyone’s guess. With the recent arrival of our new bishop there’s been ominous talk of changes, a “clamp-down,” even – or rather, especially– at St. Anne’s.
So why am I contemplating leaving St. Jerome’s – a parish in which, by and large, I’ve felt, well, comfortable enough? Jack jokes that I stay only for the new young priest, Fr. O’Connor. Yet in truth, it’s Fr. O’Connor that I have issues with.
Let me explain: As a guy in his early thirties, I’m well aware of what the Catholic Church teaches about homosexuality and gay sex. And like every other gay Catholic man I know, I consider this teaching to be, well, quite frankly . . . odious. But it’s been an odiousness that’s been easy to ignore as, until quite recently, we haven’t had it rubbed in our faces here at St. Jerome’s. True, we’re no St. Anne’s – with a gay social group and all that – but St. Jerome’s definitely borders on what I’d call “gay-friendly.” Well, at least it was moving in that direction until the arrival – straight from seminary – of Fr. O’Connor. Oh, he’s friendly enough – affable, I guess you could say. And, yes, he’s undeniably good-looking; a “nice piece of eye candy,” as Jack says, and he obviously takes his priestly ministry very seriously. I’ve been told he’s very good with the house-bound members of the parish, and has established a regular and rigorous visiting schedule. Yet I have to say that his fixation on protecting “Mother Church” and the “traditional family” from all those “gay activists” who, he insists, are determined to destroy both, is starting to wear thin.
“Closeted gay men are our worst enemies,” Jack likes to say. Jack, I should note, is a total flamer, and can’t for the life of him understand why I have anything to do with the Catholic Church – actually, with any church. Jack’s also an activist for immigration reform. His boyfriend, Enrique, was deported four months ago in a series of raids across the state that made national news. St. Jerome’s, to its credit, held a prayer vigil and educational event in the aftermath of the raid that took place in our local area. Jack accompanied the speaker that St. Jerome’s brought in from the Immigration Reform Network. We got talking afterward over donuts and coffee, and ended up at one of the gay bars downtown. I’d be the first to admit it’s an unlikely friendship. Not that I’m totally unfamiliar with activism; I marched against the war in Iraq, and vigiled and rallied when a young transgender youth was beaten and left for dead just blocks from St. Jerome’s. But Jack’s something else. He’s what I’d call a hardcore activist – and is determined to be reunited one day with Enrique, which I find really sweet.
But back to Fr. O’Connor. If Jack had heard what this young (and, yes, perhaps closeted) priest had said this morning he would have been up and out of there in no time – though probably not before hurling a few choice words in the direction of the pulpit. He can get pretty fiery. I, on the other hand, do not. Although, looking back, I am kinda surprised I managed to sit through this morning’s homily. I could have discreetly left. But I didn’t.
It started with Fr. O’Connor talking about the hierarchy; about how, as Catholics, we need to be “in love with” the members of the hierarchy. Yes, those were his words! And why should we be “in love” with these guys? Because according to the fresh-faced Fr. O’Connor, they’re the direct descendants of the twelve apostles. He then instructed those before him – the vast majority of whom were old enough to be his parents or grandparents – on the meaning of the first Pentecost, of how the Holy Spirit came down on “those twelve men in that upper room” and gave them a sacred power that continues on today in the pope and bishops. Well, anyway, the gist of what he said was something along those lines.
What struck me then, and stays with now, was how infantile it all seemed. Look, I’m no theologian but even I know that “the twelve” weren’t the only ones in that upper room. I found myself resenting being forced fed such drivel, devoid of any genuine insight.
Yet I probably could have stomached today’s homily if all it had been was a pathetic attempt to have us all fall in love with our new bishop. But there was more. Fr. O’Connor somehow went from that upper room in ancient Jerusalem to how we must all join the fight today to protect the “sanctity of marriage” against the efforts of “militant gays” and “activist judges.” It wasn’t the first time that he had raised this topic but in the past he had merely touched upon it. Today, however, it was full-on.
I sat in my pew, steadily becoming more uncomfortable. Is he talking about me?, I found myself wondering. Those destroyers of all that is good about family and society, does he consider me to be one of them?
I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my back, and suddenly found myself thinking of Carlos. No, not just thinking of him, but for a moment, I swear, actually seeing Carlos – naked and in my arms, sweat on the nape of his neck . . . his beautiful neck. But I couldn’t think of Carlos, not here . . . not anywhere. No, I won’t think of him.
I forced myself to refocus on Fr. O’Connor and his fervent call to arms. He was clearly on a roll and I realized that I was consumed by a need to look around and see how my fellow parishioners were taking it all in. Most of them, after all, know that I’m gay. Unlike poor Jay, I’ve got nothing to loose by being out at St. Jerome’s. Some looked impatient, a few even bored. Those who caught my eye looked embarrassed and uncomfortable – almost apologetic. Yet I noticed how several people were nodding their heads in silent agreement as they listened to the animated young priest before them.
I turned back to the pulpit. In time Fr. O’Connor concluded what had started out as a homily but ended in a pep talk. For the briefest of moments our eyes met, and I was shocked by the surge of anger that I felt within me. And then came remorse. James, he’s a priest!, I heard myself say. A man of God! You shouldn’t be feeling such anger towards him.
Yet within minutes a cool voice of what I guess I’d call reason, asserted itself. He’s an ignoramus, and it’s not at him personally that you’re angry but at what he just said.
And with what he represents? That question banished the calm voice of reason and I once again found myself feeling sweatily guilty and unsure.
And still that residue of anger lingered - Anger at what he had said, and anger about making me feel angry! For now I was obviously incapable of receiving Jesus in the Eucharist. How could I welcome Jesus into a heart filled with such anger and resentment? And so when the time came for Communion, I stayed in my seat, eyes downcast.
As I made my way out of the church at the end of Mass, a number of people approached me. Some I knew well, others I’d say only remotely. I could tell by their sad little smiles (even a few pats on the arm) that they felt bad about what I had to endure. But what about what they had to endure? Didn’t Fr. O’Connor’s diatribe against people like me and Jay - their fellow parishioners – disturb them? Did they really believe what he had said about gay people?
I was feeling embarrassed and confused, and a voice inside was firmly saying to that angry and questioning part of myself to be quiet. One thing was certain: I could not bring myself to approach the handsome smiling face of Fr. O’Connor. Yet there he was at the rear door of the church, shaking hands and bidding farewell to the departing members of his flock.
I nodded a hasty goodbye to old Mrs. Olson who was approaching me with that same sad, apologetic smile – that same feeble smile – that I was seeing on faces all around me. I turned, no doubt abruptly in the eyes of the poor old dear, and exited out the side door. I felt sick and realized it was that smile, the smile of people determined to not let this particular issue, or what I was possibly thinking and feeling, disrupt the safe and comfortable parish life of St. Jerome’s. If that smile could speak it would say: Sure, we feel bad, but you really can’t expect us to . . .
To what? What was it I was expecting – wanting – them to do? I knew the answer, despite doing my best to avoid it, and again I was consumed by a surge of anger, followed almost at once by a debilitating sense of guilt – guilt for expecting my fellow parishioners to do something that I wasn’t prepared to do: speak out.
I made my way to my car and, looking up, noticed that Joe was walking ahead of me. Joe has been attending St Jerome’s for decades. Unlike me, who moved here from Memphis just over three years ago, Joe was born in this city and grew up here. He’s gay but of that generation that doesn’t feel it necessary to broadcast it. “Internalized homophobia,” Jack would say. Yet I wasn’t prepared to be that harsh and judgmental. I liked Joe. He worked hard on a number of parish committees and honestly felt that his sexuality wasn’t anybody’s business but his. Did he have a partner? I had no idea. But we had come out to one another after the parish retreat two years ago – in this very same parking lot. I had no idea who else did or didn’t know that Joe was gay. And for the first time it occurred to me that this was actually something that was rather sad.
At the sound of my voice calling his name, Joe turned around, and I was struck by how old and tired he looked. He looked burdened – old, tired, and burdened. I was taken aback. I’ve never had that impression of him before – despite the fact that he must be at least 75.
“Joe, I . . . I . . .” I was stammering like a fool. In truth, I was at a loss for words. I wanted to share with him how I felt, to off-load some of my anger, guilt, and confusion. But I couldn’t. I realized I couldn’t burden Joe any further.
“I find it helps to look at the windows,” he said.
My uncomprehending look brought the faintest of smiles to his face.
“We’ve had priests like this young gun before,” he said. “They come and they go. And when they start on all that political stuff I just find a beautiful part of one of the windows and I look at it until they’ve finished.”
“But Joe, didn’t what he say make you angry?”
“I’m not there for him – for any of his kind. They come and they go.”
“But what they say . . . it’s all lies. It’s not the truth about . . . about us.”
There was an awkward silence. Joe shrugged his hunched shoulders and turned to leave. And I suddenly realized how obsequiously Joe had always lived among the good folks of St. Jerome’s.
“I felt like walking out,” I said. “Walking out and never coming back.”
To my surprise I felt the sting of tears.
This time it was Joe who gave me a look of incomprehension.
“But the windows, Jamie! Wouldn’t you miss the beautiful windows?”
Today at Spirit of St. Stephen’s Catholic Communitywe heard John’s account of Jesus’ driving out of the money-changers from the Temple. It’s a story that depicts an angry Jesus – an anger fueled by awareness. Jesus was aware of the systemic injustice taking place around him, and of the negative impact that this injustice had on people – the poor in particular.
Before the Gospel reading was read this morning, a “contemporary” reading was shared. It was an excerpt from Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr’s 1967 book, Where Do We Go From Here: Chaos or Community? Like Jesus, Martin also displayed an awareness of systemic injustice and the need for radical transformation - in both the personal and social spheres.
The rich must not ignore the poor because both rich and poor are tied together. They entered the same mysterious gateway of human birth, into the same adventure of mortal life. A true revolution of values will soon cause us to question the fairness and justice of many of our past and present choices. We are called to play the Good Samaritan on life’s roadside, but that will be only an initial act. One day the whole Jericho Road must be transformed so that men and women will not be beaten and robbed as they make their journey through life. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar; it understands that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring.
The angry Christ of today’s Gospel reading reminds me of something I recently read about Pier Pablo Pasolini’s 1964 filmThe Gospel According to St. Matthew(Il Vangelo secondo Matteo).
Above: Director Pier Pablo Pasolini (center) and Enrique Irazoqui (left), who plays Jesus, pause during filming of The Gospel According to St. Matthew (1964).
In his book,A Certain Realism: Making Use of Pasolini’s Film Theory and Practice, Maurizio Viano writes about why, of the four evangelists, Pasolini chose Matthew. As you’ll see from the following excerpt, one reason was because, according to Viano, “Matthew’s Christ is an angry Christ,” the “embodiment of a destructive reverence.”
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Reportedly, Pasolini declared that he selected Matthew because he is the most “revolutionary” of the evangelists. . . . By this, he meant that Matthew’s text is the one which most offers unfamiliar glimpses of Jesus. To a larger degree than the other three, Matthew’s text allows for an appreciation of the multifaceted quality of Jesus’ teachings, which, in turn, explains how Christianity has managed to function as a storehouse of answers to such a wide variety of moral and political questions.
Furthermore, Matthew’s Gospel is most concerned with the problem of the relationship to the Law and tradition and, much to Pasolini’s liking, suggests an ambivalent attitude towards both. Any reader of Matthew’s text is bound to be struck by the recurrence of the formula, “You have heard that it was said . . . but I tell you . . .” Tradition is invoked and corrected, accepted and refused. As a result, Matthew’s Christ is the embodiment of a destructive reverence, of an oxymoronic love/hate relationship with the Law. Such a gesture of simultaneous affirmation/negation is cleverly emphasized by a recurrent image in Pasolini’s film: Christ’s most often-repeated posture shows him walking decisely ahead, with his back to the camera and his face turned towards it. An image which stresses leadership but also conveys the sense of going ahead while looking back. Finally, it is the common understanding of those having even a superficial knowledge of the Gospels that Matthew’s Christ is an angry Christ. And anger is precisely the dimension which Pasolini’s visual translation wishes to highlight.
The desire to portray an angry Christ can be detected from His very first appearance, where He fades in over the image of a ragged and infuriated John the Baptist. While John’s violent words (“You viper brood,” Matt. 3:8-13) are taken from Scripture, the film adds a little visual detail, the image of three scribes casually passing by, which provokes John’s indignation, causes him to raise his voice, and sets the mood for Jesus’ appearance. His head draped with a dark shawl, Jesus advances slowly, without even a hint of a pacifying smile, his browline giving the impression that He is frowning.
Instead of following the order of Matthew’s text and starting Christ’s preaching in the fifth chapter, the film gives precedence to the previously mentioned passage from the tenth which so impressed Pasolini: “Do not suppose I have come to bring peace” (Matt. 10:34). After this initial statement, the film goes back to the skipped chapters, so that the rest of His words are tinged with the previously established sense of antagonism. All of the parables (much of chapter 13) and the eschatological sermons are missing from the film, while not a single word is omitted from His last harangue in Jerusalem. This part of the film is shot with a verité style which emphasizes the analogy with the present by evoking a sense of news coverage. Glimpsed from afar through a dodging and peeping camera, Jesus is nothing but a vehement voice thundering against “the blind leaders.” The point, of course, is not so much that we are in front of a Marxist Christ, as that He is not the gentle, all-loving Jesus of conventional, Catholic iconography. He is a wrathful Christ . . .
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Mmm, maybe I shouldn’t feel quite so bad now about those times when I find myself angry at the Roman Catholic hierarchy’s “blind” stance on homosexuality!
I also simply must get around to renting and viewing theDVDof Pasolini’s The Gospel According to Matthew. This is the second time now that I’ve highlighted it here at The Wild Reed (seeherefor the first), and it’s definitely got me intrigued, especially after reading J. Clark’s informative and insightful review atAmazon.com. Clark writes, for instance, that:
[Pasolini’s The Gospel According to St. Matthew] is one of the most astonishing films I have seen: probing, complex, lyrical, and at times emotionally overwhelming. . .
Can you imagine a less likely candidate to make what, after 40 years, may still be the greatest and most moving film about Jesus Christ? Pasolini was not only a gay Marxist but a devout atheist. His fascination with Jesus may have connected with his most personal theme, that of the outsider (with his artistic, political and sexual nature, he saw himself as the consummate outsider). Although one of Italy’s leading intellectuals, he also moved among the laborers, indigents, and hustlers (some of whom were his lovers, not to mention the inspiration for his early poetry and novels), whose counterparts two millennia earlier had walked with Jesus.
. . . [The film] is like no biblical picture seen before; a quantum leap beyond the artificiality of, say, King of Kings, both De Milles’s silent version and Nicholas Ray’s 1961 remake, and later pictures like Scorsese’s Last Temptation of Christ are inconceivable without Pasolini’s model.
. . . This is filmmaking at its most subtle, resonant, and - while acknowledging the long tradition of Christian motifs in art - original. Pasolini brings together history, art and his own probing genius to depict Jesus in all of his humanity and divinity.
From what I can gather, the downside of The Gospel According to St. Matthew DVD is its technical quality. Timothy Hulsey, another reviewer at Amazon.com, notes, for instance, that “the only [available] soundtrack . . . is the English-dubbed version. The original Italian-language soundtrack is not available, and the sound mix is seriously compromised whenever the dubbing is inserted.” In addition, “the picture is barely watchable, and even shows a few lines here and there that make the film look as if it had been copied off an old VCR.” The DVD also lacks any extras. All this and more leads Hulsey to declare that “The Gospel According to St. Matthew is one of a few truly great religious films, but it has yet to receive even an adequate presentation on DVD.”
For this Friday’s “music night” at The Wild Reed, I share a great slice of Aussie pop – the hit song, “If I Could,” the second single by Australian rock-pop band1927’s debut album,...ish.
Written by band member Garry Frost and released in October 1988, “If I Could” peaked at number four on the ARIA Singles Chart and was certified gold.
The song was nominated for “Highest Selling Single” at the ARIA Music Awards of 1989 but (incredulously) lost to “I Should Be So Lucky” byKylie Minogue.
If I could play
I’d play up a storm for you
A raging sea of passion that you never knew
Every whispered sound would touch your heart
And maybe for a moment I could be your favorite star
If I could do anything at all
If I could, I’d give you more
If I could do anything at all
I’d do it for you
And darling can’t you see
You mean the world to me
Anything that I can do
I’ll do it for you
And darling don’t you know
Just how far I’d go
Anything that I can do
I’d do it for you . . .
“If I Could” was released when I was living a closeted life in Australia, working as ateacherat a Catholic primary school inGoulburn, New South Wales.
When I first heard this song, it’s lyrics of unrequited love deeply resonated with me. Of course, this shouldn’t be that surprising, given that one consequence of being closeted at that time was that I never expressed the love I felt for a young guy I’d knowntwo years earlier when at college in Canberra. Indeed, I think for many closeted gay people, unspoken and thus unrequited love is a common experience.
I can also recall how the video for this song particular appealed to me. Why? Because it seems rather obvious (at least to me) that of the two young people who come into the old church hall to watch the band, it’s to the guy, not the girl, that the lead male singer is singing his song of love.
I mean, seriously, take a look at the video again. When the singer sings key lines (such as “Seems like loving you is my biggest mistake . . .” and “I’d be your favorite star”), the camera focuses on the guy, not the girl.
Also, the young girl seems rather oblivious to the heartfelt message of the song, and her attention wanders at various times from the singer. Yet the gaze of her male companion never leaves the singer. Indeed, he seems quite entranced!
I have no idea if the singer of 1927 is gay, or if the band was deliberately attempting to appeal to a gay audience. The point is that for me, it was in some ways comforting and affirming to see myself and my experience possibly being depicted – albeit somewhat clandestinely – in this video.
Another observation: the older woman who gets up and dances in this particular video reminds me of my Mum! Not in her physical appearance or her dress, but in her joyful willingness to get up and dance to the music, regardless of what others may say or think. Indeed, when I was at home in Australia in 2006 and my brother’s band was rehearsing in a little old country town hall, I can recall my Mum doing exactly what the woman in the video does. And I’ve got the photos to prove it!
Finally, the setting of this music video also brings back happy memories for me as in 1986 I held my 21st birthday celebration in a little church hall just like the one featured in the video. I’m not sure where the church hall that 1927 performed in is located but the one in which my 21st was celebrated is just outside of the rural city of Armidale, New South Wales.
Above and below:I turned 21 during my last year of college in Armidale. I celebrated my 21st birthday on the evening of Saturday, October 18, 1986 inDangarsleigh Hall, a little country church hall a few miles outside of Armidale.
At that time I was very much into Hal Foster’s comic strip characterPrince Valiant, and so had the hall decorated with huge colorful images of this hero who was both a Viking prince and a knight of King Arthur’s Round Table.
It was a great night. Myparentscame from Gunnedah, as did my cousin Steven and his girlfriend (now wife) Narelle, and my childhood friend, the “girl-next-door,” Jillian (pictured above) and her boyfriend (now husband) David. My younger brother Tim (pictured above and below at right) was also present, along with numerous college friends.
We danced into the early hours and managed to get through three kegs of beer!
I established The Wild Reed in 2006 as a sign of solidarity with all who are dedicated to living lives of integrity – though, in particular, with gay people seeking to be true to both the gift of their sexuality and their Catholic faith. The Wild Reed's original by-line read, “Thoughts and reflections from a progressive, gay, Catholic perspective.” As you can see, it reads differently now. This is because my journey has, in many ways, taken me beyond, or perhaps better still, deeper into the realities that the words “progressive,” “gay,” and “Catholic” seek to describe.
Even though reeds can symbolize frailty, they may also represent the strength found in flexibility. Popular wisdom says that the green reed which bends in the wind is stronger than the mighty oak which breaks in a storm. Tall green reeds are associated with water, fertility, abundance, wealth, and rebirth. The sound of a reed pipe is often considered the voice of a soul pining for God or a lost love.
On September 24, 2012,Michael BaylyofCatholics for Marriage Equality MNwas interviewed by Suzanne Linton of Our World Today about same-sex relationships and why Catholics can vote 'no' on the proposed Minnesota anti-marriage equality amendment.
"I believe your blog to be of utmost importance for all people regardless of their orientation. . . . Thank you for your blog and the care and dedication that you give in bringing the TRUTH to everyone."– William
"Michael, if there is ever a moment in your day or in your life when you feel low and despondent and wonder whether what you are doing is anything worthwhile, think of this: thanks to your writing on the internet, a young man miles away is now willing to embrace life completely and use his talents and passions unashamedly to celebrate God and his creation. Any success I face in the future and any lives I touch would have been made possible thanks to you and your honesty and wisdom."– AB
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"Reading your blog leaves me with the consolation of knowing that the words Catholic, gay and progressive are not mutually exclusive.."– Patrick
"I grieve for the Roman institution’s betrayal of God’s invitation to change. I fear that somewhere in the midst of this denial is a great sin that rests on the shoulders of those who lead and those who passively follow. But knowing that there are voices, voices of the prophets out there gives me hope. Please keep up the good work."– Peter
"I ran across your blog the other day looking for something else. I stopped to look at it and then bookmarked it because you have written some excellent articles that I want to read. I find your writing to be insightful and interesting and I'm looking forward to reading more of it. Keep up the good work. We really, really need sane people with a voice these days."– Jane Gael
"Michael, your site is like water in the desert."– Jayden
