Celebrating St. Brigit in the Divine Office Today

Let us pray, O Lord our God, Who, through thine Only-begotten Son, didst cause thy blessed hand-maid Bridget to see certain things . . . .

which are naturally known not on earth but in heaven . . . .

grant unto us thy servants at her motherly prayers, to be one day blessed for ever in the vision of thine eternal glory.

In my mind at this point, my entry into the 'wandering' monastic life (and no less 'real', 'true' or 'monastic' than the cloistered life I discovery) and my path toward priesthood, the two entertwined, feels to me a powerful combination--much like a wizard, druid and healer all in one. But the magic is much more subtle than i though. As I descend into the blessed fullness, may my physical circumstances not be forgotten. Let me resolve to fulfill my commitments to this physical life be borne joyfully, although at times they are heavy, and at other times merely wearying. Even when light, they are like a pressure that keeps sub-zero water from freezing, that keeps super-heated water from boiling. Necessary, but uncomfortable.

O god. Yes. This mortal frame is your temple. I will tend it and care for it as long as i can. and when the time to shed it for that celestial temple, i will leave it regretfully, wistfully, but joyfully. And yet, perhaps there shall be no shedding at all . . . . .

My tradition is "Sethian". Frankly, I never could get what it was all about--I mean, I had read some of the literature and my Bishop explained it to me, but it sounded just like one more complicated myth, and I felt myself to be rather through with complicated myths---i already have one as a Catholic.

But, after my experiences of the past two weeks, I am beginning to understand that the Sethian myth is a reality. A power reality on a particular level. I have seen things that before would have overwhelmed me. And now, now I have been embraced . . . . Well, read up and do your own prayer and you'll see. This is "arreton", as the Greeks say.

Patroness of Sex Abuse Victims

Sister Mary MacKillop will be canonized (by the Roman Church) this month for her extraordinary efforts helping the poor and founding a religious order under tough circumstances, but her experience dealing with sexual abuse is propelling followers to anoint her as the patron saint of sexual abuse victims. Since the abuse happened in the church it makes her life story connect with victims and helps represent the modern day struggle that leaders are engaged in overcoming and extricating abuse out of the church.

Sister Mary MacKillop exposed a Catholic priest of sex abuse in a parish in Australia in 1870. After she revealed that children were being abused by Father Patrick Keating in a nearby parish, she was excommunicated from the church.

Humiliated by the accusation, Father Keating took revenge on Sister MacKillop as she was officially excommunicated, banished from the church and denied sacrament, by Bishop Sheil, a friend of Father Keating. Sister MacKillop’s revelation came at a time in the church’s history when church leaders did not want to hear the truth and face the problem of abuse in the church. As a result, it was easier to punish Sister MacKillop, with contempt and strong opposition that eventually resulted in her excommunication.

With Sister MacKillop’s recent canonization, victims of sex abuse, their friends and families now can pray to her for reconciliation and healing. Sister MacKillop has clearly shown an understanding of the pain and suffering they endured. The church’s decision to canonize Sister MacKillop shows a great deal of hope and healing for the church and victims of sexual abuse. The decision also shows the necessity of addressing and preventing the crimes of abuse head on, and the wisdom showed by the church in it’s ability to recognize and atone for its mistakes.

Sister MacKillop inspires us with a life that was heroic, full and holy. Her story illustrates a remarkable life: she established an Australian religious order, taught children, worked with the poor and lived a holy life. She stood up for victims of abuse, when the price to pay was so dear, membership to the church that she loved.

I spent a wonderful time with my family celebrating my mom's big birthday ending in a "zero." It was great seeing folks, many of whom I had not seen in 20-plus years.

The only thing about the whole trip that was slightly difficult was that when it was just the family together in a small, private extra party, no one mentioned my ordination or Valentinian path, my seminary experience, nada (and I did bring it up just a tad to test the waters). It was a non-topic; completely ignored. (Of course, I didn't think it was necessary or appropriate to fling this on friends of the family that we have minimal contact with---this was about mom's 70th after all, not about me).

Well, I'm grateful that my sister and parents support me. But the rest of the family thinks i am going straight to hell--the "do-not-pass-go-do-not-collect-$200" variety. It's as though my gnostic status is even more 'odious' than my cousin's open homosexuality, which for some of my family is at least a talking point.

Well. All the better. Now perhaps I can identify with the Jesu just a tad more. Well, I shouldn't even say that--at least all my family still talks to me--some of my family won't even TALK to my cousin. I hadn't thought about that possibility, which I presume some of our brethern do and have experienced.

Well. Something to think about.

Why hast thou, Lord, come to me?

Why hast thou chosen me to sit in thy courts?

Others more noble and deserving wait outside, petition in hand.

But I sit on a cushion at thy right hand, favored.

I shall remain silent in thy presence.

for even as in every moment that the psalms of the great king are in my mouth,

so is the jesu evoked, his presence invited---

unlike before, he rushes to me.

like a storm and a terror he is with me; closer than my skin to my flesh.

he is here, in his wonerful, terrible being.

how can his body be described?

how can this world, this universe of being all held into one body human be put into words?

he is awful in his beauty, eyes like flashing swords, arms like mountains high.

chest as the bones of the earth.

i rush to stay with him, but fear and worship his touch.

how can the g-d be this way?

and there is no escape.

'fear not, my love, for there is no other way . . . . "

Clare of Assisi Parish

I'm so pleased to introduce the newest Gnostic Christian community in the Bay Area (one of only a handful). Clare of Assisi Parish is right now a web-site and the promise of many, many of my friends to get involved in a thriving Gnostic Christian parish. We'll see where we take it!!

http://clareofassisi.webs.com/

Lately, my visions have been coming back to me. So in addition to the wondrous, fullness of ecstatic darkness, visions like those of two years are coming back, but shorter, more focused, more intense, more fleeting. I chose this picture really just because i like it. But, in a way, it captures the divine 'flirtation' with us. S/he hides behind many masks. It is up to us to ask for the dance, and perhaps, be bold, and gently pull the mask aside.

So much enjoying the Divine Office now that I am using the pre-Tritentine midieval version without the 'revisions' (cutting) that took place over time. I can see now why the cuts were made. Reading the Psalms in an adventure, and doesn't present a unified front, so to speak, on who/what God is all about. And that would be a good thing. Reading the Plasms is highly conducive to a Gnostic perspective on Christian or even Jewish spirituality, I think. We are forced to rethink in nearly every verse just what God is to us now--what was "He" then--what is this all about? We can take none of it literally--it is all on the emotive level. The experiential level. There is no doctrine here. It is almost anti-doctrinal in my view. If you wan to read it, you must be open to every emotion--and every emotion all at once. Sometimes I wonder just why they are written they way they are. Almost like an exercise for bringing certain students to a certain place. And, of course, that is the way they have been used these last millenia. But it is a challenge to get in 7 prayer times a day. I haven't managed it yet.

The Canticle of Habakkuk

This was in the the readings for Laudes this a.m. (I use the pre-Tridentine midieval version).

LOVE IT!

Habakkuk, 3:2-19

Lord, I have heard your fame! Lord, I have seen you work! In our times, let it live again! In our times, make it known! But in your anger, be sure you remember how to be merciful!
God comes forth from Theman, the Holy One, from Mount Pharan. His majesty drapes all the heavens; the earth overflows with his glory! His splendor bursts forth like daylight: rays shoot forth from his hands where he conceals his power!
Before him goes the plague; fever travels in his wake. Suddenly he stops short: he makes the earth tremble; he looks about: he makes the nations shudder! Then, the eternal mountains collapse; the age-old hills dissolve along his ancient path.
I've seen the tents of Chusan leveled by terror, the pavilions of Madian paralyzed by fear.
Is it against the rivers, Lord, that your anger blazes forth, or is your fury aimed at the sea, that you ride astride your steeds, that you drive your victory chariots?
You draw your bow; with arrows you fill your quiver!
Into streaming torrents you split the earth; the mountains catch sight of you, and it puts them in a trance; torrential rains break forth, and the deep lets its roar be heard, stretches forth its hands.
The sun and the moon dare not come out; they flee before the brilliance of your arrows, at the flash of your gleaming lance! In a rage you survey the earth, with wrath you overwhelm the nations.
You came forth to save your people, to save your anointed; you have destroyed the house of the wicked, stripping its foundations right down to bare rock.
With your swords you have run through the leaders of the warriors who stormed at us, driving us off with their shouts of glee, as if, in their dens, they were going to devour some poor wretch.
You marched through the sea on your steeds, mid the churning of the deep. I have heard it, and my heart pounds; at the sound of it, my lips quiver. Decay gnaws at my bones, and my legs give way beneath me.
Quietly, I wait for the day of trouble that will come upon the people who assail us.
For the fig tree will never again blossom, nor will there be any fruit to glean from the vines; the olive crop will fail, and the fields will stop giving food; the sheep will disappear from the fold, and the herd will not be found in the stables.
As for me, I will boast about the Lord, I will delight in God my saviour!
The Lord, my Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the doe's, able to rise far above the heights.Glory: Both now: -->
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: Both now and forever, and unto ages of ages, amen.

I called my Bishop today, ahead of schedule for our weekly meeting. How can it be true that the weight of my ordination as Minister can be such a weight upon me--I haven't even DONE anything yet. I was treated to his friendly laugh. He had been wondering when I would call.

"As all brother who have come this way before . . . ."

Thanks be to G-d that all I need to is let the pain work its way through. There is nothing I need do but suffer. Suffering is easy.

a pedestal of ebony seven inches high.

i sit on a cushion of ermine black.

my shift, cassock and surplice like midnight.

my chador, my turban caps, my veil, darker than night.

i am secure on my throne; a celestial body immovable.

to my left and to my right, silent, transparent orbs immense, enclosing super-worlds obscured.

i mediate. my body the conduit. 50 to the 100 to the 100 gigawatts flow through me

like unruffled air.

when i awake from my trance, i spin, i vomit, i wish to die.

only Myself to comfort me.

Today is the day. I'll be ordained as a Minister in the UCA. "Minister" for us is slightly more than Deacon, slightly less than priest (meaning I have all powers other than absolution and eucharist). I am so excited. It is a solemn day, a joyous day, a day that will be celebrated by myself and my Bishop alone. My friends do know, but this will very much be a private event. I feel in some ways sad because of this, in some ways relieved, in some ways pleased. It is a holy thing and almost I feel it SHOULDN'T be seen by anyone.

Well. Now a new life opens up for me. Of course, the LIFE is one that is lived regardless of vocation, etc.; I know that. But still, for me, it is a fulfillment of my personal identity, an event of such great existential import. I don't mean to be 'collecting' titles or 'states' or 'statuses', but still it is a vocation that is important for me and life-long. I have been soldier, lawyer, now Minister, and eventually priest. I feel very complete, but of course, not 'safe'.

As I shared with my Bishop, who agreed with me, the life of Holy Orders does not bring 'greater salvation', a 'better shot at eternity' or some sort of 'spiritual safety zone'. Quite the reverse, rather. I am far more vulnerable now than ever in my life--both from the vocation itself, from my own internal struggles, and from without. Thanks be to G-d that I have two spiritual directors, and perhaps a third, that are helping to keep me on track.

My only wish is that my family truly understood what this means to me, or could feel joy for me. I feel a little cheated: were I taking orders in a church with a greater official member roster, perhaps i would get more encouragement; at least people would be able to understand what the heck i am doing. As it is, few truly approve and fewer understand what I am doing. The scripture comes to mind: "The Sone of Man has nowhere to lay his head." Ain't it the truth. At least I can give thanks that I live in a land and a time where I am free from overt persecution. And I do know that I am, in reality, joining the ranks of all the priests of all time and of all over the world. So I am in good company, and a host of forefathers and foremothers stand with me.

My blessings to all on this day, and all your prayers are humbly solicited.

p

El Shaddai, the Almighty: (Shad) nourisher/many-breasted one, and destroyer (Shadad).

May blessing fall from me like the very holy breasts of G-d, full of the milk of love, blessing, power and fecundity. And, like the mighty Athena, her breasts bared, may I also be the destroyer of evil, of ignorance, of the enemies of light.

May the holy light that suffuses me shine forth like a mighty beacon: yea! those who will be saved shall be saved and made whole. yea! those who are destined for destruction, may it be swift like the blessing of a quick and clean death by the golden sword of the Holy One of the two mountains.

For my fingers are the very rays of the Sun. My arms raised are the pillars of the earth. My mind the sum of all galaxies. There are giants in the land. Lo! Giants! And I am the giant-slayer. I am the mother/nourisher/vessel. I am the fecundating power of G-d. There are no barriers before me. Gorges I cross not--no! I command them to meet and I walk across in a single step! Mountains crumble into the sea. Valleys are raised up. Oceans cover the damned. Springs, sweet, everlasting, nourish the fields of the righteous.

I am Leviathan. I am the Light-Bearer, I am the beast of the Holy Woods. Come! Seek knowledge and life, and ye shall die, but Lo! Live! But anew, the old life like after-birth--eat and be nourished. And let blessings rains down from you. It is so easy! Like releasing the loins after a sleep of 7 days. Like a cloud to bursting pricked by the holy finger of G-d.

May torrents fall, may waters rise! Rise! I dare not look upon my self. Nay! I neither touch my face or any part of myself for my holiness is for all, but not for myself.

I have become a gravity well; a depression in space-time. Those who are destined to shall fall into my orbit and be made whole. Once they realize their own g-dhead, they shall spin gently out, to become galaxies of their own. May the blessing of all good creatures, of heaven, sky, water, earth and fire, descend and remain on all of us for all time; the one time; now; the eternal YES; the eteral NOW; the eternal CRY.

For I cannot die. I cannot die for I have already died so many times I have lost count. There is only the thinnest of tissue paper wrapping the G-d/life/power/blessing. And even it has tears through which you can see the Shekina.

Fear not! Put your finger in my side, my hands, my feet. You shall be destroyed/healed. You shall be slain/suckled. Do you still not see! Are your eyes so loathe to open? Behold! I stand at the door and knock!

Behold! Do you not see that this door exists only in your imagination!? Do you not see that already I have burned away your house and all possessions?! You stand naked before me! The waters are rising, will you take my hand?! The earth is falling into the pit--will you not sit on my shoulders?!

All the heavens await your return---will you tarry in your own filth!? Be clean I say! I shall wipe you clean as an infant. Your skin, scarred, mutilated, dry as ash, wrinkled and thick and callused as an elephant's ass--you shall be made into the fragrant, chubby, irresistible flesh of a babe. Cleaned. Fed. Giggling. See you now?! All life is laughter! All pain is illusion!?

Be ye born! Be ye raised up! Shine as the stars! As the sun! May your own breasts bloom. And may you feed a mighty nation!

And let your sword, forever sharp, forever clean, forever perfect, forever bared, slay one thousand at your left and ten thousand at your right.

For we are all warrior men/women. We suckle a babe in one arm, and hold a sword aloft in another, and the reins of the chariot we need not for the horses obey our very thoughts. Our chariots, golden, fire, alabaster, holy fire, shall ride over the bones of our enemies. The righteous, the righteous, once in rags, once bone-thin, shall be stuffed, shall rest on pillows of down, shall live in palaces of light and marble.

O G-d!!!!!!!!!! All things are! All things are not! May even the bottom of my toes be holy. May my body be converted into your eternal light--each inch! perfection! Melt away the fat--the fat of my gluttony, of body and mind and spirit. Let there remain a perfect warrior.

Aleph. Lam. Mim. Sod.