The Greatest Ad Ever Told?

Today’s gospel and sermon were about giving thanks to God for what we have. It’s a pretty standard Christian lesson, in my opinion, and not really one that requires a whole lot of discussion. It’s just one of those givens.

The gospel story that was used was from Luke. It told the tale of the ten lepers that asked Jesus for healing. Jesus instructed them to go to the priests and they’ll be cured (in Jesus’ time, only the priests can decide whether or not someone has leprosy). Naturally they’re all cured on their way to the priest. Only one man comes back to thank Jesus and praise God, the other nine continue on to be declared cured by the priests. Jesus wonders were the other nine are but tells the one that came back that his faith has made him well.

So the moral of the story is to be thankful for God’s blessings. I’m more interested in the set-up of the sermon and another contrast to the Catholic Church.

The priest started the sermon by first saying that the story of the ten lepers was only told in Luke – not in Matthew or Mark. (Matthew and Mark do tell the more famous story of the sole leper that Jesus healed.) He then goes on to say that, like modern day advertisers, the writers of the gospel understood the importance of numbers…

The curing of a leper was only attributed to one man in the Old Testament – the great prophet Elisha. So the fact that Matthew, Mark, and Luke all attributed this miracle to Jesus was another way of tying him to the ancient prophets and kings, strengthen their case for Jesus as Messiah. Luke, however, took it a step further and said Elisha only cured one leper – Jesus cured TEN.

To hear the priest describe it as smart advertising was…refreshing.

Smart advertising doesn’t necessarily mean it was a false story – it was just a way to acknowledge that, at the end of the day, no matter what happened, these gospels were written by men that were trying to start a movement. History shows us that the gospel of Luke wasn’t written by the Apostle Luke. It was written by someone who was trying to compile the account of several texts and provide a single history, probably around 100AD. Whereas a lot of it was based on existing gospels and other texts, we sort of have to understand that some of it was, in fact, embellished.

Did the priest say that, exactly? No…but it was certainly subtly implied.

Even being subtly implied, we’re talking about something no Catholic Church that I’ve ever been to has ever even acknowledged – that the gospels were written by men and it’s not the literal interpretation of events that matters – it’s the message behind it.

It was a great sermon. I hung on every word mainly because it wasn’t about listening and following – it was about understanding and applying.

I have to say, I’m enjoying my return to the Church so far. I’m starting to feel like an Episcopalian.

Faith in the Plan

I was a little bit late to church today. It was odd – I really thought I was making good time but by the time I parked my car I was already five minutes late and since I only had two bucks on my I had to get money out of the ATM.

It happens, I guess. I just hate being late for mass after only three weeks in…

I’m starting to get comfortable with the church. I’m singing a bit louder and turning to the right pages in the prayer book in a timely fashion. I’m starting to fit in.

Speaking of fitting…today’s gospel and sermon were spot on. It was all about how having faith in God’s plan will allow you to do more than you ever imagined you could do and, in turn, God will use the labors of your work as he always intended to. It’s a powerful theory, one that resonates with another one of my big insecurities.

Back in college I started noticing something – stuff just goes my way. I’m not bragging here. It’s actually this freakish thing in my life where solutions don’t just present themselves; they wrap themselves up and overnight deliver themselves to my doorstep. Robin has noticed it and she’s called it “freaky” on several occasions.

Sometimes it’s big things. There was this one point in my life when I was hurting for cash and by a series of occurrences I obtain an over-twenty-grand cash infusion which got me out of my bind and financed the early stages of Postcards. And it’s small things. I’m out driving with only a permit and pull an illegal u-turn; I’m in danger of a five-year delay on my license. A cop pulls me over but lets me go the moment he walks to my car, saying he got a call he needed to answer.

Maybe taken on its own, stuff like that isn’t a big deal. But it honestly happens all of the time – it’s been happening since college.

It’s what got me to start praying in college, honestly. My prayers sounded like this, “Lord, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this but thanks!”

And I think it’s gotten me pretty far. I’m well taken care of at my day job. I take on too many projects, let some slack, and it’s always the ones that I focus on that turn into more money. The comic gig has been a dream come true. There are so many people trying for a little bit of anything – I edited two books that came out through Random House this year.

And every night I’d lay down in bed and say, “Lord, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this but thanks!”

I’ve always felt like there was some sort of plan. Like the road was being cleared for me and I was lunging forward, moving towards something. Now I’m approaching thirty and I’m starting to wonder when God will collect his dividends. Did I fall out of favor? Do something wrong? Miss an opportunity I was supposed to take? In other words, did I no longer deserve the added attention it felt like I was getting?

But reflecting on the sermon I realized that for all I know I’m currently doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. Maybe there already is some benefit being gained from my work. No matter what, I’m not sitting back and doing nothing. I’m doing the most I can with what God has given me and I’ll just keep doing it – it’s going to fit into the plan.

I just have to have faith. When I pray at night, I just need to say, “Thanks.” It’s not a matter of what I deserve; it’s a matter of what I’m doing because it’s what I’m supposed to do.

I like the philosophy, I’m going to try and realign myself. It might sound stiff but I think it’s a great example of the free will we all have. I can do the minimum, or I can do the most I can with the gifts I have. That’s a big choice to make, and maybe it’s what really defines Good People. The ones who accomplish beyond even their own expectations. Whether you believe God benefits or not from your accomplishments is irrelevant; shouldn’t you want to be the best you can be no matter what?

Becoming Charitable

I did some research and found a charity that I wanted to volunteer with – the Northern Virginia AIDS Ministry. I actually worked with them last year; I adopted a family through them for Christmas. I talked to some representatives from the agency at the Arlington County Fair this year and decided to look into what programs them have. I’m applying for their mentor program but I also offered to help out with their other programs, as well.

The mentoring thing makes sense. It’s a good use of my time. I could go two ways. On one hand, I’m a mathematician by day. I have a Masters. I could easily work with a kid that likes science or math, no problem. On the other hand, I’m a comic book and graphic novel editor by night. A pretty successful editor, too, I’d say. I could help a kid that likes to write and/or draw. Take him (or her) to the comic shop, go to museums, and maybe make a mini comic. The latter sounds like more fun, but the former would be more practical. Let’s face it, I’d love to quit my day job but I don’t see it happening anytime soon…

Anyway, NOVAM is just a perfect fit. I’ve had quite a bit of experience with HIV and AIDS before. There were two early deaths in my family – one that I actually just found out about recently, my Uncle’s sister. I was young when she died, however, and the disease was new so it makes sense that I didn’t know the full story until now. I learned a distant cousin died from HIV-related complications after-the-fact, as well, and even then it was very hush-hush in the family.

My cousin Steven was the first one that we rallied behind, as a family. I was sixteen at the time, he was eleven. He received a bad blood transfusion as a kid that came back in a bad way. We had about six months with him before he passed on and we tried our hardest to make it a good six months. He got to meet his hero, Arnold Schwarzenegger – I really couldn’t top that. I mainly brought him comics and I was there for his brother RJ all the way, I think he appreciated that. He was such a loving kid – loved his family so much. His love was infectious – we pulled ourselves closer. It’s kind of amazing how something so tragic could bring the whole family together like it did.

My Uncle Alex also died from HIV-related complications. He was a heroine user when he was younger but he moved out to Arizona, got cleaned up, started a family, and became the very definition of a Good Man. His past caught up with him, however. It wasn’t fair at all. I didn’t know it was HIV until after he died. I was so upset that no-one told me until I realized that hardly anyone knew. My dad, I believe, was the only one of his siblings to know. My dad told me Uncle Alex didn’t want anyone to know unless they asked. He didn’t want anyone to worry about him. Everyone knows the life he lived, if they really wanted to know about his disease they’d ask. It was such a powerful thing – realizing that someone would be so selfless that he’d voluntarily live with an awful illness and not let anyone else shoulder some of his grief. I try to get sympathy when I have a cold, I couldn’t even fathom my uncle’s decision (but I could certainly appreciate it).

I did some AIDS-oriented volunteering in college. I worked in a soup kitchen for individuals infected with HIV. I also volunteered for an HIV-centric “Meals on Wheels” program. A couple of AIDS walks and then last year with NOVAM. But, as discussed in my last post, it’s time to do more. I really hope it works out.

Charity

Today’s mass revolved around charity, for the most part. The gospel was the story of the rich man and Lazarus. Lazarus hung around the rich man’s table, waiting for crumbs, and the rich man ignored him. Only the dogs paid attention to Lazarus, licking his sores and making him as comfortable as he could be. Both men die and Lazarus goes to heaven, the rich man to hell. The rich man begs Abraham to allow Lazarus to quench his thirst, since the flames are torturing him. Abraham refuses, saying that the rich man’s actions on earth caused a chasm to form between him and Lazarus in the afterlife, and the luxuries he had on earth will never be available to him in Hell. The rich man then asked Abraham to at least send Lazarus back and warn his brothers of their fate if they don’t shape up. Abraham tells him that his brothers are ignoring the words of Moses and the prophets, there’s no way they’ll listen to the words of Lazarus, even if he was to rise from the dead.

Money is something I’ve always struggled with in my faith and the sermon really brought some of my own concerns home. The thing is, I’m not rich. I don’t get to travel whenever I want, wherever I want. If I want something, I need to save for it. When a large expense comes my way, it causes stress and planning in order to deal with it. I don’t have “extra” money.

But I don’t want for much, either. I live comfortably. I have a spacious apartment on the metro, something a lot of folks can’t afford. I have the large-screen plasma TV and an HD hook-up to go with it. We have four computers in the house. I recently took an extended trip to Italy. I have a brand new car. We shop at Whole Foods, not Giant. If Robin and I want to try a new posh restaurant we make a reservation for the coming weekend; dinner and drinks will run us over a hundred dollars sometimes.

We’re not rich, but we’re living above middle class right now. And the sermon reminded us that anything above the bare-minimum cost of living is excess. That even if we’re not rich, we’re not poor, and there are people who need what we have to spare.

The sermon came at the right time. On Saturday I started cataloging every penny I spent. I plan on doing this indefinitely, just to see how wasteful I can be and try to rectify the problem. I want to do better things with my money, I always have, and when I have the money to spare, I do charitable things with it. But I rarely have the money to spare and that’s because I’m wasteful with what I do have.

Take this weekend, for instance. I didn’t really do much but you can track my spending through my little notebook. On Saturday I drove out to Vienna to meet with some friends of mine. On the way, I stopped at CVS to purchase a notepad I could use to track my spending. The cheapest one was 99-cents but it was spiral bound – I figured that would be inconveniencing in the event I wanted to slip the notepad in my back pocket. I bought a mini-marble notebook for $1.67. In essence, I started my day by wasting 68-cents.

I met my friend at the coffee shop and had two cappuccinos and a muffin for $9. On the way home I stopped at CVS to purchase a new gym lock. I always forget the combinations to my locks so I bought one that allowed me to set the combination – instead of paying six bucks for the standard lock I paid $10.49 for a fancier one. My only other purchase was a case of beer for my friend’s party - $22.72. So for a day where I did nothing but drink some coffee and go to a friend’s house I spent $43.88.

On Sunday I started my day by getting a coffee and a muffin for $4. I gave $8 to the church because that was all the cash I had on me besides a twenty…and yes, that’s an important point. I had lunch at Panera that was 9-dollars and change but I put the change into their collection box…so, $10. A dollar for parking at the mall where Panera was (I was working there since I tend to get distracted at home). Then I went to Dr. Dremo’s to hang with some friends and ended up spending $22 on dinner and drinks. So, a day where I went to church and then out with some friends cost me $45 dollars.

Between the two largely uneventful days I spent $88.88. 8-dollars and change of which went to charity. Ten percent is not that bad…but where did the rest of the money go? Beer…food when I had food at home. Two purchases that I spent extra on for convenience. How often do I say “I wish I could help” only because I’m wasteful?

I hope I keep up with this exercise – I hope I can manage to shame myself into being wiser and more giving with the blessings I have. Granted, shame probably shouldn’t be a motivator but it often acts as a nice little kick in the ass when you need one.

The priest made a great observation during her sermon. God doesn’t hate the rich. It was very fitting that Abraham was the one talking to the rich man as Abraham was himself rich. But he was righteous – he did the right thing with what he had. The Godly thing.

Honestly – I don’t think I can live much lower than the level I’m living at now. Yeah, you can strip away the extra spending but then you have money that should be saved for my future and, most importantly, for my eventual kids’ futures. I’m engaged, I will be married, I will have kids – living a life of borderline poverty will put more strain on the system than the good I could do for others…

But I have time. My time is valuable, it’s worth something. I need to start doing something with it. Volunteering somewhere that helps people. I can be charitable with my money when I have excess, but I can be charitable with my time on a weekly basis.

So that’s my new project. That’s what I need to do. During the sermon, the priest recommended we spend our time getting to the root of the problem, helping people defeat poverty by helping people change. Giving them the tools and opportunities they need to improve their own situations. I know I have the skills to do that. I could tutor. I could mentor. I have skills that are hard to find and I can offer help to those who’ll benefit from them. And I’m going to find the best way to do that and I’ll try as hard as I can to do the most with what God has given me.

I’ll start looking into groups tomorrow. I’ll keep you all posted, of course.

First Mass

I attended the 11:15 mass at St. George’s on Sunday. It was a humble little 100-year-old church. The first thing I noticed was how sparsely decorated it was. The Catholic Church I attended back in Brooklyn, St. Stephen’s, sported stained-glass windows on every wall, a frescoed ceiling, a huge pipe organ that rested on the balcony, large statues of Mary, Joseph, and St. Michael (as well as other pieces that are slipping my mind at the moment) to accompany the thirteen stations of the cross statuettes, candles and flowers everywhere, and an altar that displayed a large crucifix attached to what I remember being a towering marble faux-castle, of sorts. And this was one of the tamer Catholic Churches I’ve been to.

St. George’s had some stained glass and a single crucifix hanging over the altar (sans Jesus) and that was it. I liked that, honestly. I even remember as kid believing that it was hypocritical of the faith to promote humility and altruism yet have a church packed with costly and meaningless decorations. The money spent on the altar of my old church alone probably could have fed a large family for five years. I understand most of the stuff is donated, but you’d think someone at the parish would say, “Why don’t you put this money towards ________.” I think the physical appearance of my childhood Church was my very first bone of contention with Catholicism.

Another thing I noticed was the instant acceptance. There were priests at the door greeting people as they walked in. I was an altar boy at St. Stephens – I remember how it went there. We waited for the priest to come down from the rectory, usually a couple of minutes before mass actually started. Then we walked to the altar and it was only after the mass that the priest greeted the congregation.

I think this is important…St. George’s made me feel welcomed right from the start. It also helped that every pew had a take-home “Welcome to St. George’s” pamphlet. It gave an overview of the church and the upcoming schedule. It even had a tear-out in it that was to be filled out by the folks that were new to the church so that the congregation got to know you.

I felt welcomed and it felt nice.

The next thing I noticed was the female priest. I expected this but it was still a shock to me. Again, it was nice to see – just different, that’s all. The collection of clergy folks could be considered a crew. In St. Stephen’s there was the priest, the reader, and three alter boys for every mass (not including Christmas, Easter, etc). St. George’s seemed to have a reverend, two priests, a choir, several acolytes, and probably other people but they all flew by so fast.

The singing…wow, the singing. The choir sounded great. But the congregation – they sang. In the Catholic Church, I find we usually don’t sing in the angelic “praise Jesus” sense. We sort of chant rhythmically but solemnly. It’s the Catholic guilt thing, I guess – Jesus died for us so there’s no reason to be happy in his house. The Episcopal Church felt like Jesus died for us so that we can be happy in his house. It was a stark difference.

We sang a lot. I sang along as well, finding confidence in my voice as the mass went on. The entire service, hymns, prayers, and routines, were laid out in the weekly pamphlet, once again allowing a newbie to stay on track.

There were other little differences – like the fact that we all knelt at the altar to receive communion and the wine didn’t seem to be an option (I never took the wine in Catholic mass). Also, during the thanksgiving and Eucharist portion of the mass, kneeling was optional. You could choose to stand. I stood, only because I was never allowed to before.

And then there was the sermon. It was based on Sunday’s gospel story, the parable of the Unrighteous Steward. Every sermon I have ever seen (and I’ve seen a lot) consisted of the priest talking about what today’s gospel story means. “In today’s gospel, we heard about ________. The story is meant to ________.” That’s it. That’s what it means – it’s gospel. The reverend’s sermon, however, started with him saying that there are SO MANY DIFFERENT interpretations of the Unrighteous Steward. He then quotes different religious texts that give different meanings to the parable. After all of that, he proceeds to tell us what he BELIEVES the parable is telling us.

This open-mindedness and acceptance of the fact that our interpretations of the bible are just that – interpretations – really opened my eyes to something I’ve been missing from organized religion in the past. It was brought home even further when, during the sermon, the reverend says that God wants us to be childlike and innocent but he also wants us to know when to be critical, free-thinking, and shrewd. That might not seem like a big deal to a lot of you, but in my earlier church-going days I was never encouraged to be “free thinking and critical.” I was just told to believe and accept.

He went on in his sermon to tell us that we need to use our skills and means within this modern world to spread the word of God. I found it funny that I already decided to blog about my experiences.

There was more singing and the mass was over. I left…I wanted to introduce myself to the reverend since I talked to him over email but I didn’t really see him. I didn’t feel comfortable introducing myself to the other priests at the exit. I don’t know why but it was certainly a fault of mine and not their’s. I did feel good walking towards my car and reflecting on my experience. I even felt good during most of the drive home. But before returning home there was this overwhelming sadness inside me, brought about by nothing at all. I don’t know what I expected, and I don’t know how I got to where I was, but it took an hour to shake it.

I don’t have anything else to say on that at the moment. We’ll see how next Sunday’s mass goes. There was a young adult get-together at Whitlow’s this Thursday but I don’t feel like going for some reason…I don’t know why. Honestly, I’m sort of feeling like I need a partner in this. I know I’m not going to have one, not yet, at least, but it’s a tough thing to try to jump into on your own. It’s funny – I started this because I was feeling lost and now I feel even more lost. It’ll turn around, I’m sure, I just need to give it time.

Before the Mass

My father’s family was Episcopalian. I was baptized into the Catholic Church; I imagine that was my mom’s idea. I received first Communion, became an alter boy, went through religious instructions, and I was Confirmed. And then I basically stopped going to church.

High School was my atheist phase. God didn’t exist in high school. Science was God. It wasn’t until I started studying real science in college that I started changing my tune. I was a biomedical engineering student in undergrad. It’s easy to take high school physics and say God is a crutch for the weak-willed and small-minded but when you take a physiology class and a statistics class the same semester you start to see things differently.

I ended up studying math in grad school. I am anal about probabilities. If someone tells me flipping a coin is fifty/fifty I respond, “In a closed system, of course.” If I can’t even accept the probability that there’s a fifty-percent chance heads will come up, there is no way I’m going to accept the probability that the science I’ve studied, how perfectly everything works together, has happened by chance from the very beginning. I started viewing God as an architect and an alchemist. My existence is the result of an unfathomably long experiment and I’m ok with that.

Then where, as a good Catholic boy, does Jesus Christ come in? That’s always one I’ve struggled with. Historical religion has always been a bit of a hobby of mine. I’ve taken historical religion courses in college, read a bunch of books, and attend seminars and lectures at the Smithsonian almost every semester. I’ve yet to meet a historian that has denied Jesus’ existence. There are varying stances on his historical significance and teachings but I’ve heard very few historians ever say, “Jesus is a fiction.”

Throughout college I started adopting a more philosophical approach to Jesus. If you can sort through the noise in the New Testament and try to find Jesus’ underlying message, it’s not a bad set of rules to follow. Whether or not you believe Jesus was the “Son of God” and following him will get you into Heaven (if you believe in a Heaven) should be irrelevant – in this case, it’s really the means that matter, not the ends.

So where am I now? I’ve made day trips back to the Catholic Church over the past few years. As much as I like the concept of Christianity as a private philosophical and spiritual undertaking I can’t deny the fact that I like community, too. I also can’t deny the fact that I sometimes feel lost – not in the sense that I’m this sinning, evil liberal wandering around sowing destruction but in the sense that I’ve wandered too far from a comfortable spiritual center. I believe in karma, after all, and sometimes I feel like I get a bit too into myself – I take way too much without giving much back. I don’t like being in that place – even if it has negligible impact on the people around me it’s not good for the big picture.

So that’s where I feel like I’ve been lately. Lost. I’ve had a lot of good things come my way. The family has never been stronger, I have a wonderful fiancée, I keep going further and further in the day job, I’m forming tighter friendships everyday, and I recently sold my first book. And I think about what I’ve given back…certainly not enough. I feel like I’m in need of guidance and direction and, for the first time in quite a while, I’m feeling a strong pull back to the Church.

But I can’t go back to Catholicism. The hypocrisy and lack of acceptance that’s inherent to the Catholic Church is soul-crushing. Acceptance with open arms provided you agree to adopt every belief, provided you look down with pity on the ones that don’t line-up, is something I can never see myself subscribing to ever again. I was having a discussion with a friend recently who was artificially inseminated due to problems getting pregnant. She’s a Catholic, and she wants her child to be baptized Catholic, but she has to lie to the Church because they frown on alternate methods of conception. I don’t want a church that I feel the need to lie to because they’re trying to apply a 2000-year-old road map to every issue facing our modern society. I want a church that’s accepting and understanding…isn’t that what Jesus was, after all?

So this Sunday I come full circle and make my first trip to the Episcopal Church. I say “full circle” because, as mentioned, my father’s side of the family was Episcopalian. I remember going to masses with my Grandmother when she would baby-sit me. My cousin Luis and I would go down into the basement with the other kids and color and paint while learning about parables and why it’s important that we help others. Meanwhile, we’d hear the congregation upstairs, singing their hearts out – it was an amazing thing to hear, even as a kid.

As a lapsed-Catholic I always joked that the Episcopal Church (any Anglican Church, really) was Catholic Light. “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Catholic.” But now, as an adult looking for a spiritual and philosophical community, isn’t that what I should be after? I should be looking for a community that focuses on helping everyone – not just other Anglicans or even Christians. A community that doesn’t bog itself down with stories of fire and brimstone told by a bible-thumping priest. One where I can hold some of my beliefs that are contrary to the Church and not necessarily feel like I’m evil. Impure. A Sinner. One where a mother can baptize her child and not have to hide the fact that this perfect little baby was conceived in an "unholy" way. That this child wasn’t part of God’s Will.

Sure, maybe my faith in the Episcopal Church is a bit too strong right now. After all, I haven’t even attended mass yet. I communicated with the reverend at the church I’ll be attending but that’s really it. I guess that’s why I’m documenting this. Religion, and Christianity in particular, is sort of a hotbed subject for my generation. All we see are the evangelicals and extremists. We rarely focus on the center – the people just trying to find their way. The people looking for guidance and community. Will I find what I’m looking for? I have no idea. I’d like to think so. But, at any rate, I think it’s important to document my attempts and be as open and honest as I possibly can. Make no mistake…I’m not going to just attend mass; I can (and do) pray at home. I’m going to try and get involved in the Church. What that means and where it takes me I have no idea, but I hope to shine some sort of light on it for you all as it becomes clearer to me. I think it’s important, for my own development and to hopefully provide you all with some insight into the non-newsworthy Christian.

I’m sure you’ll hear from me on Sunday.