Ramblings and reflections on the Day of the Dead

Saints Sergius and Bacchus
Roman Soldiers and Lovers
Martyred in Syria, ca. A.D. 303
for refusing to worship the Roman god Jupiter

(This is a contemporary icon which I'm sure is copyrighted, but I have no idea who wrote it (icons are "written", not painted).)

My user picture for this post is a 7th century icon showing SS. Sergius and Bacchus, with Christ Jesus between them. Some scholars believe that it depicts the wedding or union of Sergius and Bacchus, with Jesus as their best man.

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There has always been something about the Triduum of Hallowe'en, All Saints' Day, and All Souls' Day which has made it holy and one of my favorite times of the year. Perhaps the names have special symbolism to me: my parents were married in a parish called "All Saints'" and my formal church membership is still in an Oklahoma City parish called "All Souls'." Perhaps it's because the very idea that not only saints but all souls—all people—are a beloved part of God's creation.

I always remember a children's hymn from church, Grand Isle. I still have the hymnal which belonged to my grandmother, who was the organist at All Saints' half a century ago...let me find the words:

I sing a song of the saints of God, patient and brave and true,
Who toiled and fought and lived and died for the Lord they loved and knew.
And one was a doctor and one was a queen,
and one was a shepherdess on the green:
they were all of they saints of God—
and I mean, God helping, to be one too.

You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea,
in church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea,
for the saints of God are just folk like me,
and I mean to be one too.

Hmm. One was a queen. When I used to sing this song, I never had any visions of crowns or majesty. Interesting. And another thing I love about this hymn, something I didn't discover until adulthood, is that the words were written in 1929 by a woman named Lesbia.

A lot of my friends and acquaintances question how I can be both a Christian and a gay man. In fact, for both some of my gay friends and some of my Evangelical acquaintances, "attack" may be a better word than "question." It's just something I've always been. It's as much a part of me as being gay or being tall or being brunet.

I was blessed by God to be born gay, and as an American Indian, we have ancient traditions that some special people are born with "two spirits:" we have positive traits of both males and of females. The Two-Spirits were often the "medicine men" or healers or reconcilors or abitrators or peacemakers, and many tribes considered them to be a third, superior gender. I was also blessed by God to be born into the Episcopal Church, the American branch of the Church of England. We're the church with the gay bishop in New Hampshire. The Episcopal Church has always been open and accepting of all kinds of people, from the eccentric to the socially outcast to the incredibly ordinary. In fact, when I was a child, the people I now know are gay were just incredibly nice, ordinary people in the congregation and in the community. Everybody knew they were "two old maids living together" or "confirmed bachelors," but nobody cared and it wasn't discussed because who was sleeping with whom and what they were doing with one another was just not polite conversation. It's only been in the last decade or so when the Evangelicals have gotten so very filled with vitriolic hatred for homosexuals that "gays" have even been an issue in the Episcopal Church. I don't worry about the Evangelicals, though. Once I point out to them the cultural evidence that the beautiful, young John—the "disciple whom Jesus loved"—and Jesus were most likely lovers, they just swoon away.

All that being well and good, I am a Christian because I am loved by God, I feel comfortable and serene in church, He accepts me as I am (after all, He made me this way), and Jesus died as the sacrifice to forgive the sins of all mankind, not just the self-righteous Evangelicals spewing bile from the pulpit. It's complicated; yet, it's simple.

So, yesterday we celebrated the Feast of All Saints, a roster which has certainly grown during my lifetime; from 1978 to 2005, Pope John Paul II named more new saints than all his papal precedessors combined! You've probably read my report on last night's service, which left me happy and invigorated.

Today, though, is the Feast of All Souls, an observance in the church which goes back to the 10th century. For those of us who aren't saints (God knows, I'm certainly not!), this is our day. It's a much more down-to-earth observance, and parishes all over the world will be offerring prayers for and reading lists of the dearly departed of the rank and file ordinary parishioners—their parents, their grandparents, their spouses, their children, their friends. In many cultural traditions, this is the day when families go to cemeteries to clean the graves of their ancestors and leave food, flowers, and other mementos, and in many rural European cultures, peasants believe this is the night when the dead return to earth to eat the food of the living. No doubt there was some ancient pagan celebration around this time that was being replaced by the Catholic Church with this feast day.

It's also a special, festive holiday for Hispanic cultures, where it is known as La Dia de los Muertos: the Day of the Dead. Back in Oklahoma, which isn't so very far from Mexico, we observed it in some way. I've yet to see if there is enough Hispanic presence in D.C. for there to be any note of the holiday. I imagine I could wander over to some of the Salvadorean neighborhoods to see, but they would no doubt force pupusas or tamales or other such wonderful foods upon me which are so totally not on my diet!

While most South and Middle-American cultures are Catholic and observe All Souls' Day in the church, the tradition of La Dia de los Muertos is ancient, pre-dating the Catholic celebration by millennia. Anthropologists believe the observance began over 3,000 years ago amongst the Aztecs, Mayas, and their ancestral indigenous tribes. Of course, when the Spanish conquistadors arrived in the New World, they were appalled by pretty much everything the Aztecs did, calling them "pagan observances," and they forced the Aztecs to move their Dia de los Muertos from August to November 2, when it could be absorbed and incorporated into the Roman Catholic All Souls' Day. Today the celebration is Christian, but the historical underpinnings remain, and people celebrate with candy and breads in the shapes of skulls and skeletons.

And so, today we remember our loved ones who have gone on to the next phase in their journey through eternity, whatever that may be. Today I'll think about my grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, neighbors, colleagues, classmates, and the dozens and dozens of my friends who succumbbed all too young to AIDS. Still yet, I'll celebrate life, firm in the knowledge of the love of God and in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life.

Requiem æternam dona ei, Domine.
Et lux perpetua luceat ei.
Requiescat in pace. Amen.

All Hallows' Day

Oh my God, I was standing in church tonight singing the first hymn, and I just about had an orgasm!

We were singing a Ralph Vaughn-Williams hymn called Sine Nomine (For all the saints), which those of you from liturgical denominations will recognize as a fun, festive hymn with eight verses: four in unison, then two in four-part harmony (sometimes harmonized if there's a good choir, but usually sung in unison by the congregation), then the final two in unison. The organist was being festive with lots of fanfares and descants and what have you (he's still having fun playing with the new tuba mirabilis) as we happily soared through the first four verses; then, we got to verse five and the whole congregation started singing in parts! I was just so ecstatic I almost wet my pants.

Today is All Saints' Day or, as it's known in England All Hallows' Day, and this is the reason we have All Hallows' Eve, or as it's known in the U.S. Hallowe'en. A lot of Fundamentalists don't like Hallowe'en, claiming it's a pagan celebration of Samhain (yet they don't mind Christmas, which was placed in late December to compete with Mithra's birthday and with the pagan celebration of the Saturnalia), but All Saints' is really a Christian holiday dating back to the Fourth Century, A.D., with a lot of fabulous Christian imagery and symbolism; it's the fourth most important Christian holy day (behind Easter, Christmas, and Ascension Day). Up until the 20th century, the church pretty actively believed in the existence of demons, spirits, goblins—from ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties and things that go bump in the night, Good Lord, deliver us! (words from an actual Scottish prayer). People portrayed the dark side of Creation on All Hallows' Eve so that symbolically Christ could break the bonds of evil and triumphantly prevail on All Hallows' Day with a grand and glorious celebration.

And that's exactly what we had tonight at St. Paul's K Street, where a packed church celebrated the Church Triumphant in a grand and glorious way.

The mass setting tonight was Messe à deux Chours et deux Orgues, Op. 36 by Charles-Marie Widor, which was at times wonderfully lyrical and at other times bombastic and spine-tingling. The prelude was a thrilling performance of Louis Vierne's Symphonie II Op. 20—II. Choral. The postlude was Marcel Dupré's Placare Christe servulis, Op. 38, No. 16, but the service started at 6:30 and the postlude started at 8:15, so I was more interested in getting out the door than listening to Dupré. Organists are so abused and under appreciated.

Tonight's Solemn Mass began with a formal Procession. After an introit antiphon, Sine Nomine started things off, then after a collect at the font in the narthex, the procession continued with the hymn Lasst uns erfreuen (Ye watchers and ye holy ones). Other hymns were Zeuch mich, zeuch mich for the sequence, San Rocco during post-communion ablutions, and an old 1940 Hymnal song, All Hallows, for the recessional. The psalm setting was Anglican chant by Thomas W. Hanforth. The offertory anthem tonight was "What are these that glow from afar," an interesting work by Alan Gray with words by Christina Rossetti that I'd never sung.

I might also mention that this is a parish which routinely chants most things which can be chanted (including the Epistle and the Gospel) and the congregation sings both the Lord's Prayer and the Nicene Creed. They always use three sacred ministers for celebrations of the Eucharist, and they firmly believe in my incense rubric that "If you can see the Altar, there's not enough smoke" (and they like my second rubric, too: "There is no such thing as a pipe organ that is too loud.").

Don't know where I'll go for All Souls' Day Mass tomorrow (La Dia de los Muertos). Might go to Ascension and St. Agnes......I'm thinking it's the church I visited on All Saints or All Souls when I was here in D.C. doing my internship years and years ago, and what I remember most about that service is they had a long, long Mass, and then only the priests received communion and they didn't communicate any of the congregation!

Reformation Day

An interesting irony has occurred to me in view of the nomination today of Judge Alito and the possibility of a Catholic majority on the Supreme Court: this is Reformation Day.

On this day in 1517, Catholic priest Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses onto the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg in present-day Germany, thus sparking the Protestant Reformation. The 95 Theses, also known as The Disputation of Doctor Martin Luther on the Power and Efficacy of Indulgences, challenged the Church's teachings on indulgences, a medieval Catholic eccentricity and fund-raising technique whereby in exchange for certain meritorious deeds and acts (e.g., major cash gifts for cathedral construction, dying in a Crusade, etc., etc.), the excess "merits" of the saints are transferred to a sinner to remit his punishment or purification time in Purgatory (another Catholic eccentricity) before going to Heaven, challenged the Church's teachings on the nature of pennace (confession and forgiveness of sins), and challenged the authority of the Pope as the dictatorial, theologically-infallible, supreme head of the Church.

Hmm. I wonder how many Christians have died since 1517 in the wars between Catholics and Protestants over the supremecy of the pope and the Roman Church?

"Scalito"

Welcome to the Vatican.

With the President's expected nomination this morning of the Honorable Samuel Alito (a/k/a "Scalito," a nickname comparing his opinions to those of the ultraconservative Mr. Justice Scalia) to the Supreme Court, the President is setting the stage for a record-breaking "first" with the Court if Judge Alito is confirmed: a Roman Catholic majority.

Already, the new Chief Justice plus Associate Justices Kennedy, Scalia, and Thomas are Roman Catholics. For those of you wondering, Justices Breyer and Ginsberg are Jewish, Mr. Justice Souter is Episcopalian, and Mr. Justice Stevens is "Protestant," though a very liberal one.

Now, many people may not have paid a whole lot of attention to Catholics, who make up about one-quarter of the nation's population, other than to note they exist; they have major presence in New York, Boston, and Chicago; they've had a little bit of problem with allegedly celibate clergy not being so celibate; and that a lot of the more conservative Fundamentalist protestant denominations think Catholics aren't Christians and that they are idolators who worship Mary. What many people do not realize, however, is that Catholics are a surprisingly devout and unified group; what's more, unlike the Evangelical churches which are essentially autonomous fiefdoms of star televangelists, local Catholic churches are disciplined and organized parts of a whole where local ministers and priests are bound by vows of obedience to state and diocesan level bishops who in turn have vows of obedience to His Holiness the Pope at the Vatican in Rome. Rome does not tolerate dissent or disobedience.

The Catholic Church, in its millennia of controlling information, money, and people, has evolved a position on women which has not evolved as quickly as modern American movements for the equality of women. In the Catholic Church, women may not become priests or even deacons, the two basic levels of ordained ministry which lead local churches (and we need not even consider their ability to become bishops or even pope). A Mother Superior of a group of nuns may have years of leadership experience guiding her nuns, her abbey, and their sometimes million-dollar business operations, but she is subordinate even to the newest, youngest, greenest male priest.

It has always interested me that an all-male, clerical hierarchy under vows of celibacy and who presumably went into seminary and their vows as sexual virgins could make so many pronouncements and dogmatic rules about women, married life, families, and sex. It's really nothing new, though, since the apostle Paul (the person who never met Jesus in His lifetime, yet wrote most of the New Testament epistles) was a big-time sexual repressive who advocated celibacy for all and allowed for sex if people were too "weak" to be celibate, but only if they were married to one another and only if it was unpleasurable procreation; this is the 21st century, though, not the 1st, and I wonder if Rome realizes that.

This is a church that opposes birth control: no condoms, no diaphrams, no progesterone pills, rods, or shots. This is a church that was one of the earliest leaders in opposing abortions in all cases, all scenarios, all events—no exceptions, period. This is a church that taught girls that it was their duty to marry, to submit to their husband, and to lay there and endure his sexual advances because it was his right and the woman's Christian duty. This is a church that supported spending hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep a brain-dead pregnant woman alive long enough for her fetus to develop sufficiently to have a chance to survive after birth. This is a church that would rather have a battered spouse stay in an abusive relationship instead of getting a divorce. This is a church that opposed letting the husband of a woman in a persistent vegetative state have her feeding tubes removed when her parents objected. This is a church that currently is "auditing" seminaries to purge them of open and suspected homosexuals so that these "intrinsically disordered" men do not get ordained to the priesthood (even though I think about 40-45% of American priests are celibate homosexuals). This is the church that had the Inquisition for 600 years until 1834, where "heresy" was a capital offense.

Please don't think that I'm anti-Catholic. I was in the pews at Mass yesterday morning, I probably go to a Catholic Mass at least three times a month, and I helped lead Masses as a cantor at one church every Sunday for about two years. It's just that I'm a historical and political scholar and rather a bit of a realist when it comes to organized religion; I consider myself to be religious, I just don't always agree with denominational politics and man-made rules. And, in this case, I can see the potential for some serious legal conflicts of interest.

Decades ago when John F. Kennedy was running for president, there was serious concern and discussion about whether he could lead the country independently of the Vatican and whether or not the pope would exert control over him and over his leadership decisions. Then-Senator Kennedy naturally claimed independence and the Vatican was tactfully and discreetly silent, thus paving the way for the Senator's election as the first Roman Catholic president in 1960.

The Vatican is no longer being silent, though, about the control of religion over civic affairs. In the last 2004 presidential election, the cardinal archbishop of St. Louis ignited a furor when he said that he would deny Democratic Senator John Kerry the right to receive communion in his diocese because Senator Kerry supported abortion rights, contrary to the teachings of the Church. For non-Catholics, this is a very serious thing: Catholics believe that during Mass the priest magically turns bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ himself, and then the attendees reverently troop up to the altar in single file to "receive communion," or to be able to eat Jesus; being denied communion is a serious discipline second only to excommunication from the Church. Keep in mind also that a cardinal is a very high official in the Catholic Church—a "prince" of the Church—and as such is not going to go off and make radical public statements on issues without clearing it with a top official at the Vatican or even the pope himself. While the current official position of the Church on giving communion to politicians is that it is a matter left to the discretion of the local bishop, the Archbishop of St. Louis isn't the only American prelate to express such views, and Catholic politicians remain uneasy. And, with a potential Roman Catholic majority on the United States Supreme Court, the country should be uneasy, as well.

If the Court were to decide a case in favor of birth control, homosexual civil rights, or abortion rights, will the justices be denied communion or even excommunicated? What about religious freedom? Separation of church and state? Prayer in the schools? In the face of such serious punishment, can a Catholic justice fairly and impartially decide the issues?

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of Scalito's confirmation.

Howells and others

Sometimes when I go to St. Stephen's for church, it feels so Episcopalian. Yesterday, the choir did Herbert Howells' "Like as the Hart Desireth the Waterbrooks," another one of my very favorite anthems. The hymns were Leoni, O Waly Waly, and McKee. All of those would have been very much at home at an Anglican service. Of course, they still have problems with their service music (a problem which seems to be shared by all of the Catholic parishes in D.C. I've visited). I fear it's a diocesan illness. Vatican II was such a disaster for liturgical music in the United States (but not all countries!). Perchance next time I see the cardinal, I'll have to see if he'll go to dinner with me or something, and then I can chat him up about strengthening the service music in the archdiocese. I understand the pope is going to keep His Eminence on for at least another two years. That should be enough time to fix the music before it's irrevocably lost.

Movie Review: Latter Days

Steve Sandvoss as Elder Aaron Davis

I hate movies that make me cry.

Ordinarily, I'm not a sentimental person. In fact, I can be very cold, calculating, and callous when appropriate. Deaths don't bother me, and I used to make lots of money singing at funerals, many of which had mourners bawling their eyes out. So, I was dismayed this afternoon when I watched a DVD of the 2004 movie Latter Days and found myself sobbing and in tears by the end of the movie.

What's worse, when I watched the music video of the song from the movie "3 a.m.," I started crying again!

New actor Steve Sandvoss stars as Elder Aaron Davis, a young Mormon doing his church mission with three other homophobic missionaries in Los Angeles, including Ryder, played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt of Third Rock from the Sun fame. They end up in an apartment living next to Christian, a hot gay waiter and party boy played by former Guiding Light actor Wes Ramsey, and his roommate Julie, played by model/singer Rebekah Jordan. Once Julie discovers their new neighbors are missionaries, she and their restaurant colleagues make a bet with Christian that he can't have sex with one of the Mormon boys.

As luck would have it, Aaron is already struggling with his homosexual urges and his commitments to his church, so it doesn't take long for Christian to make inroads. Aaron resists his devils, though, and challenges Christian about his promiscuous lifestyle, asking if any of his love making has any meaning whatsoever, or if it's just as casual as shaking hands. Problems ensue when Aaron is discovered, sent home in disgrace, and excommunicated from his church (a very big deal in Mormon country!). Christian has to deal with the consequences of his bet and his actions ruining Aaron's life, only to realize that he fell in love with Aaron.

Aaron's struggle reconciling his homosexuality with his church and his family was heartwrenching. The more he looked at Christian, the more he turned to his Bible and his Book of Mormon, and he was certainly the most serious and the most committed of his group of missionaries. He typified the struggles that gay Christians of all denominations have when they discover their sexuality and find themselves in direct conflict with their religion.

Jacquelyn Bissett served as the matriarch of the film, acting as proprietress and mother confessor at the restaurant where Christian and Julie work. Actor Eric Palladino (E.R., Over There) had a small but powerful role as Keith, an AIDS patient Christian delivered lunches to and visited.

Now, I have to say that casting Steve Sandvoss as Aaron was a stroke of genius. That boy is tall, handsome, blond, cute, soft-spoken, thoughtful, and looked very much the freshly-scrubbed Mormon boy. He was breathtaking. When he smiled, my heart just melted! His voice was so gentle, so full of love. How could a family or a church reject a boy like that?

I happen to be a Christian, too, but I've been blessed by being Episcopalian my whole life, where gays are tolerated and accepted by most ministers and members. At the same time, I've had gay friends from other denominations who've been kicked out of their homes, excommunicated, shunned, forced to endure exorcisms, sent to clinics to be "cured," and other atrocities, all in the name of a religion that has as its primary tenant "Love." If they reject a person God made gay, how is that loving God with their whole heart and soul? If they persecute someone for being gay, how is that loving their neighbor like themselves? It just makes me so very, very sad.

While officially categorized as a "gay movie, Latter Days could equally be grouped with Christian movies or love stories. It's certainly one of the finest "gay" movies I've ever watched, and I highly recommend it to all gays, Mormons (and all Christians), and their families and friends. There are some sex scenes which are quite romantic and hot, but tamer than what one might see on a Queer as Folk episode, so keep that in mind when you are showing it to family members. This is a movie that needs to be seen, and needs to be made available to older Christian teenagers who may be struggling with their sexuality and their faith.

And be sure to bring a big box of Kleenex.

Sleepy Sundays

My sleep cycles have been all out of kilter this weekend, with me sleepless last night until 4 a.m., so when one friend called me at 9:20 to go to the 10 o'clock Latin Mass at St. Matthew's, I sleepily had to decline, since it would take longer than 40 minutes to shower, dress, and walk downtown to the cathedral. Then, Robert contacted me and insisted on going to the 11:15 at St. Paul's K Street, and that was an hour and a half and only three blocks away, so I didn't really have any excuse not to go; thus, away we went.

This was an exciting Sunday at St. Paul's, since the cute new curate was there for his first Mass. He seems to be an interesting sort, average height and slightly built, and I noticed in his bio he went to Yale Divinity School, so I suppose he's not stupid. He was the celebrant today, so I got to hear him chant and he did ok (we need to work a bit on his incensations). Next week, I think, he'll be giving his first sermon, so that will be interesting, especially since the rector is always such an entertaining preacher.

Even though I'd passed on the Latin Mass at St. Matthew's, I got my dose of it at St. Paul's, since the choral Mass setting was the Latin Missa quinti toni super "Pilons pilons lorge" by Roland de Lassus (1530—1594), and the two anthems were both sung in Latin, Hans Leo Hassler's "Cantate Domino" for the offertory and Everett Titcomb's "O sacrum convivium" for communion. The Psalm setting was the Anglican chant by Alan Gray. Hymns were Cwm Rhondda, Monk's Gate, and Langham, plus a non-hymnal insert I didn't know, Spes Mundi written in the 1950's by Healey Willan with words (Hope of the world, thou Christ of great compassion) by Georgia Harkness.

Going to church can be useful

I almost didn't go to church this morning. I had plans to meet a friend at the Metro stop, go to Mass at St. Paul's, and then go to a nice champagne brunch in Georgetown, but I got a cancellation email this morning. Almost went back to bed, but I went ahead and got dressed and wandered out, but instead of St. Paul's, I ended up at St. Stephen's, the bowling alley church.

The new pastor popped in to give a "talk" instead of the homily, and he looked adorable in his new red sash. Yesterday, the local pointy-hat held an investiture ceremony for the ten new monsignors from the Archdiocese of Washington, and His Eminence presented them each with their red sashes. A few days before he died, John Paul II had signed a papal honors list which elevated the pastor and the others to the rank of "monsignor," which is an honor usually reserved for distinguished, older priests (the pastor is actually younger than me!!). The new pastor has created quite a stir in the parish since his arrival three months ago. He's tall, slender, youthfully handsome, with salt and pepper hair, dark eyes, and a big smile, and quite a number of the parish ladies and girls (and not just a few guys!) get all giggly and shy when talking to him. I find him to be interestingly soft-spoken and self-effacing, but he's apparently politically well-connected, and served a previous tour as the private secretary to His Eminence, so my guess is this guy is on the fast track to a bishopric.

Anyway, I can't quite ever decide what to make of the music program here. They have a young organist who improvises well (though rather too often) and does what he can with their antiquated, decrepit organ (hence their million dollar campaign to build a new Spanish style pipe organ), but he seems to be quite the little prima donna. They have a tiny "Schola Cantorum" choir which sings the 11 a.m. high Mass, and they attempt a wide variety of literature, but they probably should either increase their numbers or simplify their musical choices. I get the impression the organist is either Episcopalian or came from an Episcopal church, cause his hymn selections are strongly Anglican, and he seldom programs traditional Catholic hymns or, thankfully, post-Vatican II trash music. He likes to mix his Mass settings, though, plays the familiar Proulx A Community Mass segments way too slowly, does the Gloria as verses with congregational antiphon (I hate that!), and he has the choir sing too many plainsong chants for introit, offertorio, and communio. He does a hymn with organ improv between each verse for the offertory instead of a proper anthem, and then at communion, he has the plainsong chant, then an insipid bad Catholic responsorial hymn, and then he tries to insert a full length communion motet, usually something from the Anglican canon.

I liked today's communion motet, "And I Saw a New Heaven," by the early 20th century Brit Edgar Bainton—it's on the list of anthems to be sung at my funeral. The text is taken from the Book of Revelations, and I especially like the ending section where the tenors introduce the concluding theme, "And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." Hearing it sung this morning gave me some hope; while their ensemble was really too small to do the piece, I'm convinced now that it can be done well with as few as 16 or maybe even 12 singers.

Alas, if only my other desired funeral anthem, C.H.H. Parry's "I Was Glad When They Said unto Me," could be done with less than 32. Of course, what I really want would be the "Inneggiamo" chorus from Mascagni's Cavalleria Rusticana and the "Pilgrim's Chorus" from Wagner's Tannhäuser, but I know that's not going to happen because it will take at least four dozen excellent singers, and that's probably impossible to pull together at the last minute for a funeral.

Anyway, this afternoon I got into another discussion with a friend whining about another blog entry I wrote today featuring an opera cape I'd love to get for Christmas. This friend, mind you, is from an affluent and socially prominent old family, but he persists in this faux-egalitarianism and a general refusal to dress properly for social events such as operas, formal cocktail parties, weddings, etc. In the past, we've had little disputes about whether or not I'll go with him to operas and nice restaurants if he insists on wearing blue jeans and t-shirts all the time, and he rants and raves about my "elitism" and "snobbery" and "presumptuousness" because I think there's a time and a place for blue jeans and other occasions which demand suits or even tuxedos. Well, I'm glad I went to church this morning, because the gospel reading for this morning gave me Biblical authority for the concept of appropriate dress.

In Matthew 22:1-14, Jesus tells the parable of the king who gave a wedding feast for his son, but the invited guests refused to come. So, the king sent his servants out to invite whomever they could find on the streets to come to the wedding feast. Now, let me start quoting: "But when the king came in to meet the guests, he saw a man there not dressed in a wedding garment. The king said to him, 'My friend, how is it that you came in here without a wedding garment?' But he was reduced to silence. Then the king said to his attendants, 'Bind his hands and feet, and cast him into the darkness outside, where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.’ "

Therefore, when I tell my friends to dress for church, dress for nice restaurants, dress for the opera, and dress for my dinner parties, I say it with Biblical authority, from the lips of Jesus himself.

Aren't you glad I went to church this morning?

God's vengeance and other Saturday news

Finally, the big news in Washington revolved around the heavy tropical storm rains Friday and Saturday, wherein we got about seven inches of rain. The same two days, the "D.C. Festival" was scheduled to take place on the National Mall. The D.C. Festival was a $3.4 million Evangelical Christian gathering which they've been planning for two years, and for which they've not only raised the money here, but involved some 900 area churches in promotion. Over 100,000 people were expected to attend. Well, as of last night, official estimates were that only a little over 5,000 people showed up. Festival leaders were quoted in this morning's Washington Post as being "perplexed that the Lord would allow this rain to come and despite all our prayers, it's still coming." Well, I know what happened.

Tropical Storm Tammy is God's vengeance against anti-gay, anti-love Evangelical Christians in metropolitan Washington, D.C.

The poor turnout certainly says a lot about the fair-weather Christians in D.C., Maryland, and Virginia. But, what I found most shocking was the vast amount of money being spent on this two day-long revival meeting: $3.4 million for 100,000 people, or a planned expenditure of $34 per person, but, with actual attendance figures, they spent $680 per person. Admission was free, too! How I would love to have a budget of $34 per person for the many church services I've planned, played or sung! And $680 per person? Wow! No wonder the Evangelicals are such a force in this country, if they are spending that kind of money on entertainment at church services. But, alas, could they not spend that money not on yet another bad Christian contemporary rock band or a televangelist's mansion but maybe on feeding the poor or something?

Sunday on Lafayette Square

This morning I got up early to go to church at St. John's Episcopal in Lafayette Square, across the street from the White House, where I met up with the handsome and erudite Robert, with whom I've been chatting on line for a year starting back when he was at the university in Fayetteville and I was in Tulsa before either of us moved to D.C. Below, you can see him standing in the "President's Pew" in the church.

It was, alas, a second-string Sunday, as the rector was out of town and we were stuck with two priestesses. The priestess who was the celebrant always reminds me of a consumption patient, and when she would bless the congregation, she did it with such a limp arm I feared she would not have the strength to finish the sign of the cross. Another priestess preached. The message was ok, but she needs to come to one of my speech classes to work on her enunciation and elocution.

The music was a little odd. The offertory anthem was "King Jesus hath a garden," a Dutch folk song arranged by the contemporary Brit Stephen Cleobury. It was an interesting piece, but the director was going for too light of a sound, it seemed at though his tenors were having to sing in their falsettos, and noone quite got to the pizzazz or oomph of the anthem to let it go anywhere. The communion motet was "Jesu, the very thought of thee," by the Victorian composer Edward Bairstow. Hymns were Westminster Abbey; In Babilone; Jesus, meine Zuversicht; and Deus tuorum militum. After the communion motet, they tried to get the congregation to sing some of that dreadful Taizé music, the chant In God alone, but I only heard one woman in the congregation attempting it, and it was painful hearing her dissonant birdlike voice chirping alone. I wish they would give up on the Taizé crap. The psalm antiphon was a setting using the melody from Picardy, but I don't know whose Anglican chant the choir used for the verses. St. John's is rather low church, so most of the Ordinary wasn't sung, and the priestess didn't chant a thing. They did a weak Robert Powell setting of the Sanctus, and for the Gloria, they did this hideous little antiphon with choral verses by Carl Haywood from his Mass for Grace which sounded like a Blues-y, syncopated, lounge act. Somes they try too hard at this church to be ecumenical.