I used to only do recommendations on Wednesdays, but I’ve had some pretty spectacular stuff lately, so I have to share.

Mountain Dew Kickstarter

Only 80 calories for a tallboy, and it’s orange juice mixed with Mountain Dew. You cannot go wrong here. It’s what Mountain Dew LiveWire would be if it were good. Plus, it’s got a little more caffeine than regular soda, so if you are known for mainlining soda to keep awake, this is a good one. Things like this are invaluable for me, because most of the time, I do not slam caffeine. I just keep the bus from going under 50.

Gansito

It’s a Mexican pastry by a company called Marinela. Think Twinkie dipped in chocolate with both creme and strawberries in the middle. I could seriously say goodbye to every Twinkie on the planet but they would have to pry Gansito from my cold dead hands.

Pepino Limon Gatorade

Even my three-year-old friend likes it. Beat that with a stick. BTW, Pepino is Spanish for cucumber. Just thought I’d warn you up front. I told Josie that it was cucumber, and she said, “but CUCUMBERS ARE SWEET!” I let her taste it, and I was SHOCKED.

St. Arnold’s Root Beer

I haven’t had a St. Arnold’s root beer for like, 20 years, but I was in the store looking for something to share with Aaron and it jumped out at me. My everyday favorite root beer is Diet Barq’s, but there is nothing like hand-crafted, with a foamy head so you get a mustache. I have really bad acid reflux, so I don’t drink alcohol much at all but I still want to feel festive, damnit! This fits the bill better than anything, because even beer lovers will go, “SHIT! You have St. ARNOLD’S???? WHERE?” It’s my neighbor Robert’s favorite treat, too. He buys a six pack and hides them all over the house so he doesn’t drink them all at once. He just finds them. This actually isn’t a bad plan………….

Morning Joe

A few years ago, Starbucks took a page from Ben & Jerry and named a coffee after Joe Scarborough, the morning commentator on MSNBC. I enjoy Joe (as much as I can given our politics, anyway), so I bought a bag. Holy Jebus is it good. They discontinued it and I have been mourning ever since. Cut to Saturday, where I was shopping in Foodarama of all places, and they had it. I only bought one bag, but if money had been no object I would have cleaned them out. It’s the kind of coffee I like- strong so it doesn’t need anything. It is perfect as is.

The Redeye at Starbucks

The redeye is really simple. Just coffee with an extra shot of espresso. I’m putting it here because it’s an off-menu, and all coffee places call it something different. In Portland, it’s a shot in the dark or a wizard jump. I enjoy it so much that I do not get anything else at Starbucks, which works in my favor because I am a very cheap date. In the morning, all I want is coffee. In the afternoon, I do not switch orders. I still just want some coffee, and no, I don’t want any whip on it. Plus, I hate Pike’s Place. I hate it so much. It is McDonald’s level and you’re paying what seems like eight dollars for it. The espresso fixes the taste a little……. Saying this because Howard in all of his infinite wisdom has decided we’re not allowed to have bold pick after noon. Yes, I know you can get a pour-over. I don’t want to wait and it’s not as strong.

Letting Someone Else Drive

Baby, what do you want to listen to? I don’t even care because I am playing Candy Crush Soda Saga….. all the way there.

Once Argo and I were in a fight and she said that I felt I had the right to say anything I wanted in the way that I wanted and other people had that same right. It was such a great line that it has stayed in my mind and I have plagiarized it over and over (thanks, schweetha’at). She’s right. People DO have the right to say whatever they want, and I was being a jerk by stopping her and trying to head her off at the pass. The take home message was that I needed to be a better listener and stop talking. In a lot of ways, I have.

I went after a bigot (Wayne LaPierre) on Facebook today, and someone chewed me out over it. Here’s the Facebook post, and the comments (because I don’t know this guy…. not my friend…. all my shit is public, etc.).

Let me translate for you. “I don’t like ni**ers in the White House, but this is the only political way I know how to say it. I am not educated enough to know what I am talking about, but even though I have run out of things to say, I have not stopped talking.” We need to get these people out of politics. Their time is so over. “Demographically symbolic?” Eat a dick.

Here’s the comment where I got upset:

I don’t think the additional commentary is needed. The man’s stand on their own. He feels Obama only got elected for symbolic reasons and that is the reason some voted for him but some people also were mad at Republicans and wanted a change and some just liked him regardless of his race which is actually mixed anyway. It was not an appropriate statement to make but your added “translation” is also not needed. People are smart enough to “read between the lines.”

I’m sure they are, but here’s my reply to that one after sending him a quick comment saying he had the right to think whatever he wanted:

I thought more about your comment, Steve, and the fact that you explained to me why my opinion was wrong is part of the problem. I have the right to say whatever I want, and so do you. The fact that you need to mansplain why I was wrong says so much more about you than it does about me.

And in closing, my final quote on that thread:

There are just things I will no longer tolerate, like Meryl Streep. I will not tolerate my leaders seeing color. I will not tolerate my leaders seeing gender or sexual orientation. I will not tolerate our leaders thinking one American life is worth more than another.

As you well know, I like a black girl. I constantly feel a loss as to how to react to her because I don’t want to be wrong. I want to hold her while she cries about innocent people being gunned down by the police for no evident reason. I want to be her ally, and I don’t even know where to start. Maybe that is the purpose of interracial relationships in the first place. You don’t see inequality until you live it. Sexual orientation is one thing. If I am in danger, I know not to say anything and I use the pronoun game LIKE A BOSS. But there’s no hiding black and white. All I can do is pray that I start to see evidence of white privilege and DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.

Because I have the right to say whatever I want, as long as I’m also willing to listen. You cannot imagine how much painstaking patience this takes for me, as I am so good with patience to begin with (that was a lie…. I repent).

Thanks again, Argo. I am so much smarter when I can just rip you off verbatim. The tip is in the mail.

I was married to Dana for seven years and change. I was married to Kathleen for 11 months. During both of those divorces, I learned things that you just don’t learn without going through it. When Kathleen left me, I was a grand total of 24 years old. Now I’m almost 38. My perspective is quite a bit different now than it was then. I wish I could say that the same principles apply, but they do not. Age is everything when it comes to all-out change.

1. In the South, they sell you this line of crap that some man is going to show up and complete your whole life, and he is going to be your one true love. Southern lesbians are not immune to this fairy tale, so when I got divorced the first time around, I thought there would never be anybody else for me…. ever. At 38, I know that there are lots of people out there that would gladly have me as a significant other. It’s only a matter of finding them and not scaring them off within a few months. I am deep and intense, and then you pull back a layer and I am deeper and more intense. Women LOVE me until they find out I’m exhausting. And that’s something you only learn with age….. pretty sure I have given Dana, Argo, and Aaron their share of grey hairs as well.
2. I am quieter than I’ve ever been. I don’t generally leave my house. When Argo asked if she needed a restraining order, I laughed to myself and thought, “she is greatly overestimating my desire to drive to the airport. Has she BEEN to Bush lately?” For those of you thinking that I could just drive, you really haven’t been paying attention. I tend to like being alone with my thoughts, because I have so many of them that people get tired of the sound of my voice. I, however, do not. I think I’m a riot. Divorce is a chance for me to spend time with me, and I have turned out to like me a lot. Who cares if other people don’t? My happiness radiates from within, not without. Divorcing at 38 doesn’t make me feel incomplete, as in “I must have a partner to survive!”
3. Her crap is always going to be at your house. She doesn’t want it back. She will NEVER come and get it, ok? Stop trying.
4. The more you get to know yourself, the more you’ll like being divorced. Divorce means never having to compromise on anything, and it needs to be that way for a while. Marriage is hard, hard work. Take a break. Have a Coke and a smile.
5. The more you can let go of the relationship with the ex, the more problems you will find with it, because you do not have on the rose-colored glasses of romance anymore. For instance, Dana was telling me to pick up the kitchen or something like that and I was like, “whoa. Boundary. You do not get to tell me how to run my kitchen.” Had it been any other room in the house, I wouldn’t have cared. Horn in on my kitchen, and I will end you…. or at least, you might wish I had. It’s my KITCHEN. My lifeblood. See? Not having to compromise is a beautiful thing.
6. Divorce is a chance to pick back up with all those friends you dumped while you were cocooning. Case in point: I got to go back to Argo and tell her that I was sorry I dumped a bale of hay on her. She joked back. I am not hoping that we will ever be as close, but it feels good after pushing her away b/c I was worried about my relationship with Dana to think that she’s not leaving. If I can relax, she can, and it feels good to have someone with history with both of us to be able to understand at least half of the 85 sides to the story…. and that’s not even recent. That’s been her day in and day out dedication to letters and smiles over the past two years, not the past two days. Also, Aaron has walked with me EVERY DAY during this process, and I couldn’t have gotten through it without him. He holds me when I cry, and that is worth more to me than gold. He is the big brother I never had, even though he’s younger. I just call him my big brother because he, like everyone else, is taller than me. If there’s anything positive about this divorce, even though I have to reduce Dana’s place at the table, she’s still there…. and so are Argo and Aaron, even when I’ve been a complete tool to all of them. It’s like they all understand this whole long-term friendship thing a hell of a lot better than I do.
7. The difference between being 24 and 37 is that with your friends, recovery time is a lot faster. You’ve walked this path before, and it is familiar. Maybe it shouldn’t be, but marriages only work out half the time. Why should gay people have any better luck than straights?
8. At 37, I do not feel pressure to get remarried in the slightest. You will not meet me in a gay bar (I don’t THINK), nor will you meet me at speed dating or singles night. I am far more likely to date the pizza girl, because she has three things going for her: 1) Right off the bat, I know she is employed. 2) I also know that she drives. 3.) She already knows where I live. If that fails, I picture myself running into a woman accidentally… it wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did. I would rather have happily ever after in a serendipitous way than to go out looking for it. I’m old. I can stand on my own two feet. That only comes with age, too.
9. Alternatively, dating is a lot more fun and realistic. We know we’re too old to be fresh. We know we have our own quirks. The best we can do is hope they line up.
10. I have also found that being single is the best way for me to work on religion and spirituality. I can lock myself in my office for HOURS, which to me is the equivalent of workaholic. That does not go over well in marriage; I know I certainly hated those tendencies in Dana, but I hated them less when I was just as consumed as she was because I could understand it differently. If I’m writing a post, you just have to wait. Period.
11. When I go out, I do not have to communicate with anyone else. Coordinating schedules is hard for me. I’m terrible with time and I tend to get lost in the moment……….. and I want it that way. I’m probably walking and thinking (I do my best thinking while mobile). I don’t want to talk to you. I really don’t.
12. I am a writer, which presents challenges in a relationship.  I want to be in the middle of the action so I can write about it later. This has led me to do some pretty brave and stupid things, but I am a better writer because of it. I became a better writer by “staking out,” hiding back, and just observing what’s in front of me. Having a partner with me interrupts my flow… yet another thing I would have not known without spending time single.
13. Who says you have to have a date other people to begin dating? Why not date yourself? Why do you have to have an invitation to do things? I don’t. If I want to go to the beach, I just go. I walk and talk to myself and create inner worlds that may or may not collide with reality. I can’t do that in front of other people…. even with Argo, it was only in black and white, letters sent through the air that taught me as much about myself as I hope it taught her… for better or for worse. However, I never would have gotten to where I am now without inviting myself into my own silence, and not waiting for Dana or my friends to dictate what that looks like for me.
14. I will close with a Tony Robbins quote- “you learn more when you’re pondering, not when you’re partying.” Never has this been more true for me than right now.

So, evangelicals. Does this sound like “gay” divorce to you? Maybe we should just call it what it is…. divorce. No pretenses. It sucks all the way around…………..

if you let it.

I have realized that in the entire time I have been preaching to you from this web site, we’ve never prayed the pastoral prayer that I pray in church right before I get up to speak.

Creator God,

Take our minds and think with them, take my lips and speak with them, take our hearts and set them on fire for You. And if I can’t reach reach these people with my words, push me out of the way and speak it in spite of me.

Amen

I prayed the pastoral prayer with you because it is entirely at issue in the Gospel today. John chooses to focus on Thomas, the twin, because he is the one that has trouble pushing himself out of the way and believing despite his unbelief (Lord, I believe… help my unbelief. -Mark 9:24). However, Thomas does not start out that way. When the heat started to mount, the all the disciples wanted to get the hell out of Dodge (and by that I mean Judea) immediately. Thomas becomes the rat dog with the big ego in the situation (my personal favorite) and says confidently, “which way did they go? Let’s kill ’em all. No room for error, baby.” Whether he actually meant his zeal (and I am just paraphrasing here) is up for debate. When I think of my friends being in danger, the first thing I want to do is run toward it. I have had many soldier friends over my lifetime that if they’d called me from Afghanistan or Iraq and said it was bad they would have had trouble convincing me to stay stateside. I am not trained to do a damn thing, I am 120 pounds soaking wet, but I guess if someone’s knees being bitten counts as “fighting the good fight,” then I’m all in.

And here we find Thomas, ready to step up for Jesus (Onward Christian solllllldiers…..). As I watch the scene in my mind, I can only see me. I can only see the “lead the charge into hell” that Thomas wants, because he’s the mechanic. It’s black or it’s white. They’re destroyed or they’re not. It is as if Thomas isn’t even listening to Jesus, and taking off in a direction completely counter to what Jesus intended. I mean, we’re still on soft power, right? Does this look like soft power to you?

I don’t know about you, but I get to that place A LOT. As an empath, I can feel pain from miles away and I just want to DO SOMETHING, but that is not what my friends would even expect or encourage. It is because of this that I choose to believe Thomas wasn’t being serious. He was offering Jesus what he had- himself. He didn’t have money. He didn’t really have prestige (a follower of Jesus, but not yet a popular preacher in his own right). He didn’t really have anything except a thirst for serving in a way that was concrete…. because that’s what mechanics do.

Jesus is off in his own little world, but not intentionally. He is preparing for who he needs to be and the direction he needs to take. Thomas is the kind of nerd that takes care of the books. I am not saying he actually kept the books for Jesus’ ministry, only that his personality type would have fit in well there…. Ditto for system administration. But you notice, that doesn’t affect his faith in Jesus or his preaching ability. Let’s stop for a moment and address how hard it is for a pragmatic follower to believe in anything, much less a new church that was just taking off with a leader that was kind of known as a nutbag around town.

So you can see his personality straight out… surprising.

Are there times when you get to that place? Does your belief in the concrete system of government and religion stop you from seeing the mysticism that pervades our understanding of each other? As I have said many times, the reflection on the divine is more important than the divine itself. It does not change God to be worshiped and glorified, but it WILL change you.

Perhaps that is where Thomas’ mind resides as he says these words in John 14:5: Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way? Thomas is looking for a concrete answer that doesn’t exist. How do you translate heaven and earth to someone who knows it conceptually but has no intellectual understanding of it? Jesus certainly couldn’t. That’s because there is no intellectual understanding of heaven. It is my guess that as an INFJ, the best Jesus could do with Thomas is to let him do what he needed to do. Jesus wanted Thomas as a follower, but at the same time, I think they would have had a contemptuous relationship (eisegesis: engaged). As I have said before, Jesus and I are the same personality type…… and when I think clearly, the people in my life that I have struggled with the most are the people who cannot live in the abstract. Ever. It’s just not done. I can imagine Jesus’ frustration as he is trying to tell them what he knows, and if you’re hearing it for the first time and you have a pocket protector and a shirt that looks like graph paper, of course you want to touch Jesus’ wounds. You want to examine every inch. You want to comb him like Trapper John and Hawkeye before they hit the still.

Again, if you’re looking for the heart of Jesus, you’ve found him. Jesus doesn’t chastise Thomas for his unbelief. To the contrary, it’s kind of like his attitude is “okay, Thomas…. do what you gotta do.” In my head, it’s like he’s playing operation and I’m waiting for Jesus’ nose to light up (you’re welcome). When Thomas is satisfied, he goes on to tour India, preaching the Gospel, and is now its patron saint.

It has been said that every good sermon starts in Jerusalem and ends in New York, or vice versa. It was Harry Emerson Fosdick, pastor at Riverside Church, who said this the first time… and if it’s true, we have landed at La Guardia.

When are we so hell-bent on seeing details that we miss what’s right in front of us? When does our “mechanic” personality take over so that emotion drains and the autonomic system that gets us up and makes our lunches and cleans the house and sets the timer for the coffee the next morning takes over and we just walk, busily along, until the thought of spiritual enlightenment is for other people. We walk away in the interest of Same. it’s not what we want, but it is what we do. It is not reaching for our better angels, but letting them sit where they are.

If you are in this place, hear the first letter of John to Ephesus. The setup is that there are “antichrists” preaching a version of Christianity where Jesus did not bodily resurrect, but metaphysically. John is trying like hell to keep his church together, and is afraid of the possible fracture:

We declare to you what was from the beginning, what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands, concerning the word of life– this life was revealed, and we have seen it and testify to it, and declare to you the eternal life that was with the Father and was revealed to us– we declare to you what we have seen and heard so that you also may have fellowship with us; and truly our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. We are writing these things so that our joy may be complete.

He is begging to be heard by other factions in Judaism. YOU CAN STOP LOOKING NOW. WE FOUND HIM. I choose to believe that is because John, as a Gnostic, could not see God. He could feel God, empathy from miles away (or at least, miles UP). He wasn’t preaching to mechanics, either.

John has the ability to touch the hem of Jesus’ garment in his mind’s eye and be healed. It does not take John facts to believe that if you get your ego out of the way and trust in a divine thread that networks us all, you will reap its benefits. He believes that the way to do this is to believe that Jesus is the Christ, and his words will absolutely enrich your life if you take them seriously.

But what about the mechanics? Where do they fit if God is all this touchy-feely stuff? According to John, touch Jesus all you want. Put your finger in the hole in his side- honey badger don’t care. If that’s what you need to believe, I’m all for it. The Dude abides. Eventually, though. There’s a leap. New shit comes to light, and Thomas jumps up in recognition.

The mechanic made good when he stopped looking with his eyes, and in effect, that is what we are asked to do. We are called to carry on Christ’s messages of love, forgiveness, and breathing through that whole retribution thing. We are called to live those messages because Jesus has blessed those who don’t believe as well (Jesus said to him (Thomas), Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.).

My guess is that Jesus wants to offer an invitation, and see who shows up.

Are you in? Bring Jell-o.

Today has just been red letter. I haven’t done anything special. I just feel good, for possibly the first time in days. Pain is manageable with Aleve and Tylenol (even without rheumatoid I hurt from being a computer geek). Dana apologized for leading me on, and I was surprisingly okay with it. Although before she left last night, I broke down in front of her and said, “I’m not sure my dream will happen without you.” She assured me that it would, but I’m losing a partner in ministry and that is not a small deal to me. However, at the same time, being a member of Dana’s family has sucked for so long that I’m done. It has always been the one of me against the three of them, and calling them out on their family dysfunction did NOT go well for me. I would say that Dana is glad that she and her parents are closer now, and I’m sorry it took me going thermonuclear for her to get it, but her parents will NEVER see that our fight led to something good. I will always be an intruder, and to be let go from that hook is glorious. I told one of my friends that I’d have to win a Pullitzer before they were happy. She said they’d find something wrong with that, too.

I agree, and that’s all that needs to be said about that, because I am happy today and I am not going to ruin that for myself by thinking about relationships that are ending. I’d rather think about relationships that are beginning. Auna has been in Austin all week training for her job at UT (admissions counselor at the Houston office), and we haven’t seen each other in at least a couple of weeks. I’m really looking forward to actually getting to know each other on the ground, because we chat a lot, but it’s different when she’s in front of me (of course). As I have said before, she sings around the house and it makes me blush with joy, because when I was a kid, Diane told me that one of her good memories of Jeri was sitting in a field, singing to her. I thought to myself that the only thing I wanted was for someone to sing to me, too.

When I got the Pie Jesu solo at Bridgeport, I finally knew that I was the one who was supposed to sing to someone else. Now it’s duet time. Because seriously. We both sing and we don’t sing together? That is on the redic and unacceptable. I honestly think that we have the capability to do things like “Take Me As I Am” from Rent, because that wouldn’t be stereotypical at all. Speaking of “Take Me,” OMG Lea Michele and Amber Riley. Do not even bother with the Broadway recording, because Lea and Amber connect like two wizarding wands.

But back to relationships.

I got to tease Argo today.

Progress.

I have shaken myself into my smallest place and trying to react with grace and peace. I knew I was flipping the fuck out in a way that I never have before, and I even thought that I might have a medical problem that was undiagnosed because surely I could go back to normal at some point, right?

I was sitting in the bathtub, staring at my hands, knowing I saw arthropathy and wondering what to do about it. I didn’t want to go to the doctor right away. I had to sit with it mentally. What if I have an autoimmune disease?

Fucking ironic, that’s what.

I need Auna, desperately, in a friend kind of way. If she kisses me, or vice versa, I think it would be the kiss of a lifetime, or at least Top 5. We’ve been flirting FOREVER, and when I called her out on her bullshit, she stopped doing it. She’s part of my heart, and she knows it. In fact, yesterday she told me, “you ought to write about your love for me some more.”

Greedy.

However, I love it. I just need Auna to be Auna in the world. Her smile lifts me up when I am weak, and I certainly am right now. I am waiting on bloods to come back for fucking rheumatoid arthritis, which I noticed myself and diagnosed myself and just tried to take in the enormity of the life change I would undergo. The little things she does in my life make a big difference. For instance, she sends me the sentences that stick with her on “Stories.” Getting an attaboy from Auna is my favorite thing. Her favorite line is one of mine, and I have been saying it for YEARS: “when you’re an interracial couple in Texas, no one will even notice you’re gay.” The thing that I love about Auna is that she takes my writing seriously. We have conversations about Stories/craft, and it feels so much better to have it recognized as real. Plenty of people have given me donations and kudos, but it feels different coming from someone who has become part of my extended family of friends.

That being said, I diagnosed myself and then it scared the shit out of me when I was right. It’s starting in my fingers. It may not be rheumatoid, but it is something. I also have sugar, protein, and blood in my urine.

I am telling you all this because maybe there’s a medical reason I’ve been such a tool lately. It doesn’t excuse my behavior, but I hope it sheds some context. I hope it also proves that I am a somewhat normal person having a normal reaction in context with what I’m dealing with. If it’s rheumatoid, I will have to have very expensive IV therapy. There’s all kinds of stuff that work for people so that they can function, but it’s still scary to have to go for infusions.

Maybe I am worrying for nothing, but I don’t think so. I’m just glad that I have a GREAT doctor- Jacob Harrison at Legacy Community Health Services on Mapleridge. I am putting his info here because I think he is one of the kindest and smartest people I’ve ever met. Please go and see him. He deserves to have a large practice and patients that make him laugh.

I do.

I took a personality test today, and for the very first time ever, I came up as INFP. I laughed so hard I farted. To me, this is like saying “you aren’t as much of an asshole today as you usually are” (P being “Perceiving” and J being “Judging……..”).

Progress.

Here’s the best conversation I’ve had in 20 years- with a friend I lovingly call “Handsome Johnny,” because that was his nickname at the pub where we worked in Portland. The setup is that he has been abundant with his compliments all along, and I needed to TELL him how much they meant. Here is what happened.

Leslie: I just wanted to express my deep gratitude for you. You make me believe in myself when I can’t.

Handsome Johnny: Well, you deserve good things. You’re awesome, and frankly, the most Christian Christian I’ve ever met. You actually mirror what the gospel said; love, tolerance, acceptance, forgiveness. All these things are so easily cast aside by people who claim to ascribe to these principals on a daily basis. It’s sad, really truly heartbreaking. I think the reason people are distancing themselves from the church is because there are too many Phelps and Robertsons and not enough Lanagans. But, despite my lack of faith, or perhaps because of it, I understand the absolute necessity of it in society. But ONLY when executed properly, as you do. It’s not about control, or hate, or doctrine. THAT is what people forget, I think. Or not, my finger is so off the pulse of society.

---

I am human. I fall short of these ideals all the time, particularly when I am angry. But the reason I do this, the only reason, is that people can see me in real time. They can learn from my mistakes in real time. I am human enough to admit that I don’t know everything, that my ego is too big for my rat dog body, and I need help from other people to get along in society even though I try my dead level best to isolate so much you’ll forget I’m here.

But then there are these moments, like the one here, where I realize that being human and doing things wrong is just life. My story is no worse or no better than anyone else’s… the only thing that makes it distinct is that it’s mine.

And every time I get feedback, I realize that’s not even true. My words are mine alone to reflect upon and better myself, but they matter to other people. After it leaves my body, it becomes a slice of time that other people grab, because maybe that slice of time matches up with theirs.

We’re all on the journey. Thanks be to God for showing me through this web site how far I’ve come, and how far I still have to go.

And most of all, Fanagans, thank you for walking this path with me. Knowing that you listen MATTERS TO ME. I don’t feel alone, ever. You are the ones for whom I would gladly get a towel and some water to wash your feet, even though it’s kind of gross.

James: Hey, I like your latest blog

Me: That’s because you’re in it, aren’t you?

James: Honestly I just do a text search for James on every blog, I’m that fucking shallow.

Auna, meet Hipster James. You’ll have to meet him next, because along with Hipster Aaron, you’ve got the whole posse.

Auna gets to meet Hipster James because when I told her I was sad, she sent me a picture of her cleavage.

We are going so slow that I haven’t touched her. I haven’t kissed her. I haven’t anything. But at the same time, I’m going to keep that picture.

Because my day looks better already.

Here is why there is no way on earth that I will trust Dana with anything ever again. The final break took from last night to this morning, because I realized that I was worth more than what she was handing down. She’s kissed me on the mouth. She has relaxed into my arms and called it good. She has said that she doesn’t know what she wants, and that it’s going to take time to figure it all out. I have alternatively been the world’s best pussywhipped bitch and its psycho ex simultaneously, because I want to please her…. and I tried right up until I realized it was time to stop, because it was a goal just out of my reach, and would be from now on. I get frustrated and angry when I realize how much work I have put into this relationship since we’ve split, because I didn’t want to give Dana and I more to work through later in reconciliation/mediation. For instance, yesterday she had to make cakes for the Easter lunch she attended. She left the kitchen in a total wreck, so I cleaned up, ran the dishwasher, made dinner, put the rest up for her lunch the next day, and cleaned the kitchen again. Keep in mind that I am at HER new house, doing these things for her while she’s partying with other people and I am waiting in her living room like a five dollar hooker. I am not the toy. I am the wife. I will never be your toy, no matter how much you want to chew on it, capiche? I do the things that you’re supposed to do in a relationship to let someone know you love them on the ground. Last night, as she was talking to her parents, I realized that I wanted to be someone’s girlfriend, not their dirty little secret that they hide from their parents.

Now I know that she never planned to go to reconciliation counseling at all. It was a nice idea while it lasted. But she does love my family, and she doesn’t see what anger and resentment it creates in me for her to go along with them like nothing has changed. I told her that when her mom and dad started calling me, then I might be okay with it. My parents have poured out love and whatever else it is that Dana needs during this time. Dana’s parents haven’t even dropped me a note to say they’re sorry. To worry about that loss is unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but only reinforces to me how ill-fitting the clothes of their family were for me. I am so tired of being the friend and family Dana needs while she tells people that there’s no hope for us as a couple anymore. If she has told you that in the last week or so, please know that she said it after standing in front of my house kissing me for ten minutes on the sidewalk where the whole neighborhood could see………… but you couldn’t.

I figured out what a line of bullshit this was- the one where I have ALL the problems- last night, when I was sitting next to Dana on the couch as she told her mother that we were starting to enjoy each other’s company. Her mother said, “but you’re not tempted to get back together, are you?” Or something equally pejorative. Dana said, “it’s not an issue.” Her mother said, “are you sure?” It’s clear to me that Dana is trying to tell her mother something that I cannot hear, and I know what it is. I just can’t express it. I stood up, put on my shoes, gathered my things, and left. I know that what she really wants to say is something along the lines of “I’m just appeasing the crazy lady.” I am so tired of it. She hasn’t gotten a single psych visit since our fistfight, and so I would rather focus on all the healing work I’ve done to try and reverse the damage that I’ve caused on my own. Dana is not a direction. Dana is a distraction. I can love her all day, every day, and our relationship will never get any better. This is because she thinks that I should just be able to let everything roll off and just be buddies. I felt like Dana was falling down on the job and had nothing to give me in terms of an equal relationship, because the power balance was skewed toward me as the breadwinner. Dana feels like she got sick and I pulled away from her when she needed me the most. I know that feeling just as well as she does, and so I pose another question to all of you, including her… when was the last time you tried to help a depressed person? Did anything you say make a difference? Did any action that you did convince them to feel better, or even just get dressed a little faster? I didn’t have any luck, and the tighter I got with Argo, the less I felt like a nagging wife who couldn’t stand that her partner would smile for everyone else but her…. because smiles are only for people who don’t know her that well. The smile is her mask every bit as it is mine. I know that place, I have it eroded into my skin from the flow of many emotional rivers. When I stopped being seen as loving and attentive and started being seen as the enemy who wouldn’t go away and leave her alone and stop nagging her to get up and do something, I did go away. I found someone else, but it was never meant to lead to anything but clean friendship. If I have a favorite moment with Argo, it was that she stated clearly that she wasn’t afraid to take the risk to get close to me, knowing how complicated I am and loving me through it, anyway. The other moment is her saying, “I guess we both have different ways to be in this relationship, and that isn’t wrong.” She said she didn’t know what else to say; I told her that it was the best thing she could have said EVER, because it didn’t fix anything. It just gave me room to be me. My thought process was, “ok. She doesn’t love you. Can you handle it?” I just rolled my eyes at myself and thought, “if I had a nickel for every girl I’d ever loved who didn’t love me back, I would have been able to buy a couple of Buccee’s by now. I do romantic from far away really well. It’s kinda my jam.” Why did I not think of falling in love online before? I mean, much easier to be Cyrano De Bergerac and hide in the bushes than ever have to face blending our personalities on the ground.

However, I hate that Dana thinks my love for Argo is somehow subtracting love from her…. that I don’t have enough love inside me to love them both. They occupy completely different parts of my brain; it’s not even really the same language. Because what Argo only knows in words, Dana knows in kissed boo-boos and dried tears. Love is on the ground just as much as it is in the cloud, and even though I know that I did wrong by letting someone else into my inner sanctum besides Dana, I can’t help but think that this situation wouldn’t have existed if Argo existed on the ground for me as well. I am sure she does somewhere- just not to me. Then, it would have been easier to see if I really was as terrible as Dana says, or if she also plays a role in trying to isolate me from people who love me as much as she does and to Dana, love became a competitive sport. Because why CAN’T they love me the same amount? They love me DIFFERENT. Dana took something sacred in my life and helped me to feel much dirtier about it than I did on my own, which was unsurprisingly, given my history, a lot. Because of Dana’s depression, I felt so guilty, and some of the things that I felt guilty about weren’t even based in reality. They were based in Dana’s perception.

I have no doubt that the romantic feelings for Argo will fade and in time, whether we’re in contact or not, I will be able to forgive myself for all the ways I used and abused her white, pure mother-love. I also have no doubt that I will forgive myself for thinking that I need to rid myself of so much shame and disgust, because I was not acting OUT. I was being true to my nature. My nature as an INFJ, whether it is in a romantic relationship or a platonic one, is that I only have one or two, and those people are a party to my inner world that no one else is. If they write a Gospel about me, I hope that they call Aaron and James the ones I loved, because they are with me even unto death. See Jesus? I DO pay attention when you talk. 😛 This is good, because my world is catching on fire and I didn’t do anything to put it out.

I couldn’t get roommates to move in with me, so I am trying to get ready to move before the end of the month, and I just found out that they’re going to be showing the house. So all the work that Dana has been promising to do and still hasn’t done is piling on my head and I don’t even care anymore. I would rather be homeless and friendless than have the woman I love toy with my heart like that. Then, just to add insult to injury, Dana started talking about her big 40th birthday party where all her friends are going to come and I’m not. I don’t care if Dana moves on. I just need her to fucking DO IT. I should have known not to call her, that I was still too upset from yesterday to even think about seeing her today, but I needed help more than I needed isolation and I chanced it. I was such an idiot in that moment, because I’d forgotten just how wounded and small it had made me feel to hear Dana’s life moving on without me while she was still pulling my heartstrings in a minor chord.

Resurrection happens in the middle of the mess.

One of my theological idols growing up was a priest in Houston called Laurence Gipson. Not only was he a gifted preacher, he had the delivery of a well-practiced NPR host. He took then criticism over the same ego issues as me- he wanted to implement his own vision, and to his parishioners, it came across as St. Martin’s being a shrine to whom they ended up calling “St. Larry the Lesser.” [Editor’s Note: I nearly asphyxiated by thinking that I am Lesser the Larry. I was three or four before I realized that Wal-Mart was not specifically made for me, because it says right on the front of the store We Sell for Less.] I was in his corner, because in some ways, I understood him…. or at least, I was in his corner until I was 18, in a relationship with one of the popular girls at school, and found out he had nothing for me.

I wrote him an e-mail that talked about leaving church with my bulletin all covered with no whitespace because I would sit there literally trying to transcribe his sermons in the days before podcasts. I wrote him an e-mail talking about how he changed my preaching style, that it was okay to be a nerd in the pulpit and I just needed to be who I am. If I am on a road, and I am walking you down it, you’ll pick up speed if you want to. You’ll finish my sermons with your own thoughts about the text instead of mine. That things will be better if I let people follow me instead of trying to cater everything to what everyone else wants, because you cannot vision by committee (well, you can, but then you end up implementing lots of very adequate ideas and no real outstanding or untested ones). In this e-mail, I showed him my theological heart…

and the reply talked about my homosexuality and how he just couldn’t in good conscience be an open and welcoming priest because he didn’t believe that I should get married, much less ordained.

For the second time in three years and change, I was rejected by the establishment. First it was the Methodists, then the Episcopalians. Over the time since, the Episcopalians have made great strides. Methodists, keep working on it.

Larry tried to get St. Martin’s to leave the Episcopal church, and even in Houston, that did not go well for him. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we? I think it says much more about Larry than anything that he’s not there anymore and I am.

Resurrection happens in the middle of the mess.

---

My funniest story from St. Martin’s is that when I was a kid, President Bush (41) was serving coffee at the Easter breakfast before church. As I told him, “I’m a Democrat, but I’ve never met a president.” Of course I did not have the classic Ainsley Hayes reaction…. “does it have to be THIS president?” My tactic was to swallow scalding coffee at a rate faster than known to God and man so that he would have to come to my table for refills about every three minutes. I burned my throat so bad I could hardly talk, but at the same time, I got more time with a former sitting President than all the rest of the parishioners combined. 😉

Over the past week or so, I have sat at my computer with tears running down my face because I’d never studied Isaiah before. If you look closely, it is like reading Jesus’ baby book. It is uncanny how well Isaiah knew a man that he knew he’d never meet, but could see his outline everywhere he went. It is interesting to note that Jesus would have studied Isaiah as well, and whether he recognized himself is debatable. I don’t know what made Jesus know inside that he was the Messiah, but I know what it feels like to know the decision has been made, and how scary it is to live there.

I would never in a million years claim that I was the Messiah of anything (I can cook, but not THAT well). However, I have had the dream of being a preacher since I was a kid, and life did not get any better for me until I accepted the call that God whispered into my crib; my mobile swung in God’s breath alone. Even as a child, I knew I was meant to do this. I just didn’t know how. As I have mentioned before, I grew up as a child of the Texas Annual Conference. That meant I got to sit in the gallery and learn just how little I meant to them in person. I don’t remember crying. I remember going inside myself and ruminating with grief, anger, and a pinpoint of light for my dad who tried to make things right and failed, not because of who he is, but because of who THEY are. But this is what I know for sure. I have the capability to fundraise. I have the capability to preach. I have the capability to serve God in every way they would want me to, as long as I never have sex again. If that seems like a fair deal to you, I wonder why so few have signed up?

It took a big personal tragedy and resurrection on my own before I realized that I did not have to drop everything and do something else in order to preach. I have that space right here, and I really like using it. It’s kind of like the pensieve for my theological thoughts, because people rarely come up to me and say, “explain God. Go.” This way, people can read my words at their own pace, and I do not have to worry about putting a sign in the sanctuary that says, “please refrain from texting until sermon begins.” Although I totally would. Maybe I need one for my office. I am decking it out in sacrelicious crap. The sheer amount of cheap Jesus shit available on the market is frightening, but it makes me laugh like a hyena, so it’s got that going for it. I also love that in my neighborhood, it is relatively cheap to have Jesus, the Virgin, AND Selena all airbrushed on the hood of my car (in Corpus Christi, that IS the Trinity. Dios te bendiga [God bless you].). My bathroom is decorated with those candles you see with Jesus and the saints with these apathetic expressions. There’s one near the toilet where Jesus is clearly saying, “I am so over this.” I have loved Jesus kitsch since I was a kid, because I think he would both be outraged AND amused. The candle only cost me a dollar, Jesus. Settle down now. And see, now that I’ve told Jesus to settle down, I feel a peace washing over me that I cannot explain, I just know it’s there.

So you see, I am a different person than when I just sorta accepted Christ, but I didn’t really LIVE IT, even though it is better for me. As I have mentioned before, I have sensory overload A LOT. The only thing I can do for it is isolate so that there is little enough stimulation that I can take it all in. The life Jesus describes is perfect for the ADHD soul, because anyone who has it will recognize that being “on” and trying to act like a normal person is just not going to work, because people are going to notice that you aren’t like other people right off the bat (and most likely punish you for it). I have come to believe that this is why ADHD kids were separated from the rest of their peers when I was in school. In some ways, I wish I had been diagnosed with ADHD as a child, because I think that being in a smaller room with fewer kids would have raised my grades tremendously. During kindergarten and first grade at Parker Elementary in Galveston, we had an open floor plan. For most people, this worked well. For me, it was torture every day because I could hear, feel, and empathize with the whole school, instead of just the 20-30 in my classroom. Again, sensory overload, and the reason I isolate. I should have realized this early on, and come to think of it, I did. I am an old soul. I knew that I was messed up, but couldn’t put my finger on it. Turns out, I was just being who I am in the world, which conflicted with my ability to focus on my own schoolwork to an ENORMOUS degree.

I stayed in regular classes and struggled through, because even though I am way above average on standardized testing, keeping my homework together in one folder (and, well, let’s not kid ourselves, not forgetting to do it) wasn’t going to happen without divine intervention. I didn’t have it then.

But I do now.

Walking the Bible has literally taught me how to solve my own problems. I realized that if I started the seed for St. James online, eventually it might translate into a brick and mortar building…. “clicks and bricks for the modern church.” As I was telling Dana, my perfect life is to be pastor of a small church so that I could continue to be the presence I am on the web without compromising my ability to pastor on the ground.

And that is where my real life coincides with the readings for Easter. This is not meant to be a confessional Easter sermon. I am providing context for the mental space I was in as I was reading, because that affects my exegesis and eisegesis just as much as reading other people’s commentary on the same scripture. Isolating has allowed me to work in a much more orderly fashion, because I am only concentrating on myself and my reaction to what’s in front of me. I am not putting out so many fires, because I do not open myself to receive them… occlumency at it’s finest, even though I did not go to Hogwarts (Incidentally, in terms of character development, I am a cross between Luna and Hermione, because Portland). Protecting my mind from intruders in an invaluable skill, because without it, I will do everything for others and forget that I am salting my own ground.

I have taken many, many Meyers-Briggs personality tests, and on every one of them, I come out with INFJ. I am the same personality type as he is. I do not think this gives me extra insight into the text. I believe it gives me a better-than-average educated guess as to what he was thinking as he reacted to everything around him. I understand his occlumency. I understand his isolation. I understand him being warm and personable and yet so introverted that he needs time alone to prepare for it.

So for me, the eisegesis is thinking that Jesus struggles in the same way I do. He is caught between two worlds, heaven and earth. I understand this more every day, because I see it as no different than my relationship with my partner and my relationship with the Fanagans. On the ground and in the cloud. I actually have Argo to thank for that, because without her, I wouldn’t have been able understand exactly how Jesus struggled to communicate both with God and with his followers. It is as transparent as a well-made window pane as we approach the Garden of Gethsemane.

You don’t get to see Jesus. Have some wine.

You don’t get to see Jesus as he sweats blood. You don’t get to see Jesus as he cries. You don’t get to see Jesus and pray with him. You can pray for him on your own, even though his fucking defensive line that was supposed to protect him literally fell asleep on the job. It is one of those things that as a pastor would make me come unglued. Surely they had coffee or tea to help them. If coffee is what it takes for my defensive line, there is no bean too expensive. What will it take to protect my silence in the way that Peter failed? Hear the words of Jesus through Matthew 26:36-46:

Then Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to them, “Sit here while I go over there and pray.” He took Peter and the two sons of Zebedee along with him, and he began to be sorrowful and troubled. Then he said to them, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.”

Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”

Then he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. “Couldn’t you men keep watch with me for one hour?” he asked Peter. “Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

He went away a second time and prayed, “My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done.”

When he came back, he again found them sleeping, because their eyes were heavy. So he left them and went away once more and prayed the third time, saying the same thing.

Then he returned to the disciples and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and resting? Look, the hour has come, and the Son of Man is delivered into the hands of sinners. Rise! Let us go! Here comes my betrayer!”

The magnitude of his thought process astounds me into silence, and I am rarely speechless. I haven’t looked at this pericope in years, and new things have jumped out at me since I have stopped denying my personality and trying to make it fit with others. Jesus and I both have a personality type that is only found in one percent of the population. Argo once said that I am the most intense personality she’s ever seen, and she thought SHE was complicated. My inner world makes me one with God, if that makes any sense at all. I thrive on doing exactly what Jesus did… say to people, “sit here while I go over there.” Jesus needed to talk to himself, but he did not want to be interrupted. He needed Peter, John and James to just be a quiet presence in the garden, telling the people walking by that “this seat is taken.” Hard to do when you’re asleep. I want to call them all sorts of names, but Jesus will not let me. He says it all worked out okay, and I can just chillax.

I have a hard time chillaxing when I think about what a bastard Peter is all the way through Good Friday and Holy Saturday. When Jesus begins his trial, Peter is watching and taking everything in, but he doesn’t face it with bravery. He thinks he’s going to be next, and starts running in fear, even to the point of denying that he was a follower of Jesus so that there would be no reason for the authorities to arrest him in the first place. I see his thought process, and my J kicks in. Of course I judge Peter. In a lot of ways, we are so much alike…. and this is just a wild guess, but I am thinking that I probably have a few Fanagans that live this way, too.

When the going gets tough, sometimes we gather into ourselves to avoid the heat of punishment, because we all have a face that we hide away forever…. what happens when we take them out and show ourselves what we’ve done? It is in these moments that I truly can forgive Peter and move on from his acting like a total jackass to Jesus. It’s not like Jesus didn’t warn them this would be hard. A LOT. Ohhhhh, Peter. How you became The Rock is beyond me, but Jesus saw something in you that honestly, I don’t. You professed with your words and denied with your actions, which is exactly why I wasn’t right with God and had to sit with it for a long time. Still sitting with it. When I have rid myself of my shame, maybe things will be different between you and me. Right now, though, you’re at the top of my shit list.

It’s a good thing I said, “right now,” because the longer I delve into the Gospel, I realize that it wasn’t necessarily Jesus’ resurrection to have. I mean, Jesus is awash in symbolism for going through bodily resurrection, but it means nothing if we do not earn resurrection metaphorically ourselves. It is Jesus that teaches us this, day by day, starting with Peter.

Are you capable of this level of forgiveness? Ben Witherington III suggests that “John [Editor’s Note: Gospel writer] has the threefold restoration take place in a setting similar to where the threefold denial did. It’s like revisiting the scene of the crime, only this time getting it right.” In Greek, the love that Peter has for Jesus is “philia,” which translates to brotherly love, which he attests to three separate times.

It is the “bromance” version of resurrection, and it happened while Jesus was still on earth. Peter goes from the last to the first, because in a rarely used pericope, Jesus says that he allowed Satan to test Peter before he trusted him to found the new church. I do not necessarily think this to be unwise. In my allegorical imagery, I can picture Gene Wilder as Willie Wonka telling Charlie Bucket that he’d won the keys to the kingdom simply by taking what he stole and bringing it back, confessing his shame at taking something. Charlie did something wrong. Charlie was forgiven. When that happened, the world opened up bigger than it had before.

How can we extrapolate that into real life? I think the answer lies in our reaction to the story. Are you going to let Jesus resurrect you the way he resurrected his followers before he died? If you think that resurrection doesn’t happen in real life, you are reeeeeeeally not paying attention. People resurrect themselves after tragedy all the time.

• People die.
• People divorce.
• People move.
• People take new jobs.
• People have complications in labor with their kids.
• People watch innocents die at the hands of the state, just like Jesus.

If we can’t be resurrected in situations like this, it’s not Jesus’ problem. It’s our own fear and shame allowing us to cut ourselves off from the things that would help us rebuild.

So I ask you, Fanagans…. who’s resurrection was it?

If you didn’t say all of us, perhaps you need a resurrection now. Let me know how it goes. If Peter can be redeemed in all of his little boy shame, there is nothing that we can’t do for ourselves.

Happy Easter. Go have some ham.

Dana is getting cable/internet this morning, and she asked me to lock it down for her the moment the cable guy left. I told Aaron that was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard her say to me. I take personal pride in locking down routers, because when we lived in Portland, there was a hacker that lived across the outdoor hallway from me and I had him run all sorts of attacks on me to see if my passphrase was secure. He told me that I’d done the best job possible…. make a passphrase that took several days to decrypt. He just gave up. I’m thinking something along the lines of “th1s 1s not your free internet connection, Jackass!” Also, have to think of a good name for the SSID. Mine is “Leslie’s House of Chang.” This is because the first time I went shopping for a rice cooker, Dana was with me at Fred Meyer. She picked one up and it made, like 16 cups of rice at once. I said, “Dana. I need a rice cooker, not “LESLIE’S HOUSE OF CHANG.” Dana laughed so hard that she sat down on the bottom shelf to laugh, and then slid onto the floor from there.

She wants to take my old one, “Maison du Chats.” It’s sentimental to me, but the people for whom it is sentimental are long gone, so why not regift? I think it fits better with Dana’s personality than mine. I have learned since giving Dodger to Dana that I am not really a cat person. I tried to be a cat person for a really long time. All my girlfriends have had cats, etc. But there came a point at which my preppy clothes looked like ASS all the time because of all the cat fur I’d have to take off to get them presentable. No ma’amela, Pamela. I love Aaron’s cat (Josie named her Blackalicious), because she is barely above kitten age and is just the biggest ass clown you can possibly imagine. She constantly bites off more than she can chew, and it makes me root for her because she goes up against impossible odds all day long because she thinks she’s so much bigger than she is……………… #prayingonthespaces It reminds me of me because I often think I am bigger than I am and bite off more than I can chew and then recede into myself… when just like for Blackalicious, things will turn out so much better for me if I just wait to grow a little bit.

I’m not really a dog person, either, but I am more of a dog person than a cat person. I didn’t find this out about myself until I lived alone for a long time. Having a dog got me out of the house. Having a dog got me to meet my neighbors. Having a dog made it where I didn’t have an excuse to isolate. She was a rat terrier crossed with a dauchsund, Betty. Everyone that reads her name that met her will sigh for a moment and say, “I miss Betty,” because that’s what they do in front of me. When Betty and I lived together, I was the Rhoda.

And that is how I became an expert at Network Security. Apparently, all you need is a really strong passphrase and a dog, because it depends on what kind of network you’re trying to join.

Sitting in my own Good Friday, just like I said I would. I’m at my desk, alone, thinking of the things I’ve done, and the things I have left undone. That line from the Book of Common Prayer is so damn handy, because it covers the sin of omission, which is every bit the sin that occurred due to my own inattention.

Apt, eh?

This is not something that I can go through with someone else. This is the part where I am safe to let the tears fall in my own empty house, the product of the breakdown between Dana and me, and yet, not entirely unwelcome. Through my own narcissism, I aided greatly in the destruction of my marriage, and if that’s not Good Friday, then I don’t know what is.

I know that there is a resurrection and forgiveness coming, but we aren’t there yet. We’re not even to the beginning of Return of the Jedi. We are lost in the end of The Empire Strikes Back. It ends on a down note for a purpose. We’re meant to reflect on just how much deep shit the crew of the Millennium Falcon is in, 12 parsecs or not.

The Kessel Run is an 18-parsec route. When are we guilty of trying to make it in 12? When are we guilty of rushing so hard toward a goal that we forget the importance of the journey? Are we talking about Jesus’ last 24 hours, or are we talking about Jesus on the cross, as if that is the only thing that matters this weekend?

I have said before that Jesus’ crucifixion was not based on one event, but a series of many. The crucifixion is just the last thing that happened on that Friday, but it is not the last thing that happened. What happened is that his friends came to his rescue, even in death. My friend Stephanie reminded me that it was a big friggin’ deal for Joseph of Arimathea to ask for Jesus’ body in the first place.

What are you willing to do for your friends that you wouldn’t do for other people? How do they know that they are supported and loved? Do you get lost in your own narcissism because you stop seeing your problems through the lens of a wider world? When has your ego become the stone on which you trip, ass over teakettle into a wall with a bruised face and elbow? When has your ego become the thing that your friends dread, because they do not see themselves as part of your equation?

What. Have. You. Done?

What have you left undone?

To fix it is your choice.

I used to belong to a group of clergywomen that gave each other questions every Friday for publication. I am not ordained, but I got to join, anyway. Here is a look back at the questions I answered about Holy Week back in the day…………………………… #prayingonthespaces

From the RevGalBlogPals:

Well, the Clergy Superbowl is almost upon us, and so, I offer up this Friday Five (with apologies for the irreverent title):

1. Will this Sunday be Palms only, Passion only, or hyphenated?

The Episcopalians are awash in the pageantry of The Passion. There are hour and a half long services for Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and a vigil that lasts from the Good Friday service at noon until the Easter Vigil the next night. For this reason, I wish that Palm Sunday could just be Palm Sunday. Believe me when I tell you that all of the Passion bases are covered.

Unfortunately, the Episcopal Church is also fond of the Palm/Passion Super Combo. It’s Palm, it’s Passion… It’s Palm, It’s Passion… It’s two, TWO services in ONE!

So you enter into the church with palm fronds and festivities, then you leave feeling like someone kicked you really hard in the gut. Or at least, I do. Crucifixion is messy. It’s hard to deal with. Besides it being very bloody, if you have a close relationship with God, it’s like seeing one of your friends get murdered… and in fact, some churches like to capitalize on that fact. My friend Paul used to the lead trumpet player at First Baptist Church, and he said that Palm/Passion Sunday was the worst day of his life, because in their version, it took Jesus eight minutes to die. Eight minutes of screaming, grunting, terrifying little children.

I am grateful that my church keeps me mindful of Jesus’ pain and suffering, but would, under no circumstances, show a movie or make a dramatic reenactment just to drive home a point.

They seem to have hit the nail on the head in terms of balance. Oh, God. I am going to hell.

As one of my former pastors used to say, “suffering is not a competitive sport. Jesus isn’t special because he suffered more than us. He’s special because he suffered with us.”

It’s true. I get the same feeling on Palm/Passion Sunday that I do when walking through a Holocaust museum, reading about the civilian casualties in Iraq, wondering why Pol Pot was able to murder millions of Cambodians unchecked while we went after Saddam Hussein instead…

2. Maundy Thursday Footwashing: Discuss.

First of all, ew. I know it’s symbolic, but it’s also a little bit gross. I just thank God that in this day and age, no one has to wash someone’s feet that’s just walked fifty miles barefoot through the sand.

That being said, I don’t have a huge problem with it or anything. At Trinity in Portland, I had a problem with the way it was executed, though. The altar guild was put in charge of washing everyone’s feet, and they all wore these special outfits (red aprons, black clothes, etc.) to do it in. To me, it took away all the symbolism of the mighty washing the feet of the meek, because in my perfect little world, the mighty and the meek look exactly the same. They don’t stand out in bright red, anyway.

3. Share a particularly meaningful Good Friday worship experience.

I’ve had issues with Good Friday since having the holy shit scared out of me in adolescence. I would rather just hide under the bed until the Great Vigil (see bonus question). Because of this, I try to emotionally disconnect and focus on the ritual and the music. If you skip the Good Friday service, you’re missing out on some of the great minor hymns, dark chords bordering on jazz dissonance in the choir anthems, and the wonderful feeling to be found in performing them.

Maybe someday I’ll make my peace with Good Friday, and let it be more a day of remembrance than fear.

4. Easter Sunrise Services–choose one:

a) “Resurrection tradition par excellence!”
b) “Eh. As long as it’s sunrise with coffee, I can live with it.”
c) “[Yawn] Can’t Jesus stay in the tomb just five more minutes, Mom?!?”

I don’t feel very stongly about this issue… or maybe I do, since I’ve only been to one sunrise service in my entire life, and my dad preached them for the first 17 years of my life.

5. Complete this sentence: It just isn’t Easter without…

Dana.

Dana made me laugh so hard that I almost wet myself when I went to lunch at her house for the first time, which was, in fact, Easter 2003.

The funniest thing was that she didn’t mean to make me laugh, and I think she might have even been a little offended that I laughed, but come on. When you hear what I laughed about, you’ll laugh, too.

Dana’s family has LAMB for Easter. It’s a tradition. Apparently, lots and lots of people have LAMB for Easter. I did not know this.

Perhaps Easter lunch should *actually* be roast lamb, fava beans, and a nice chianti.

And yes, it is not lost on me that communion is Jesus’ body and blood as well. Transubstantiation isn’t any less disgusting an idea when thought of literally, either.

But then again, with communion there are no leftover Jesus sandwiches.

Bonus: Any Easter Vigil aficionados out there? Please share.

I attended my first Easter Vigil service when I was in the choir at Trinity Cathedral in Portland. There are no adjectives to adequately describe my joy when suddenly, in the middle of the service, all the lights went on at the same time and IT WAS EASTER! It’s magnificent, it restores my faith in humanity. The only thing that’s wrong with the Great Easter Vigil is that it kind of makes waking up the next morning and going to church anti-climactic… especially as a choir member, who won’t get home until well after midnight and will have to be back at the church by 8:00 at the latest.

That’s barely enough time to put the Peeps™ in the microwave.