The streets of the Tender-Nob tonight are swarmed with tourists, late night groceries shoppers, and the general crazy that makes up what is San Francisco. Taking a break from my homework take a few minutes to look out the window and people watch out the window from the Mezzanine Floor of the City Center Hostel on the corner of Ellis and Larkin. I wonder about the lives of those who are passing on the streets. How long have they been here? Are they on a European Holiday? What do they do to make it in this City? I wonder about their story in order to escape mine at the moment but realize that if I don't recap my story these past three weeks in some sort of medium I might just snap and become apart of the population that makes up the homeless/crazy demographic (No joke, I'm starting to contemplate the correlation of these variables in this city considering that housing is the worst it has been according to locals).
I moved up here three weeks ago. The deposit to my apartment was made months ago. I move up only to find out that I can't move in because we are still waiting for the Certificate of Occupancy. The owner of the apartment says he will pick it up when it ready. Time passes, no word. A relative of my subletting landlord goes by the apartment to check on it to find that someone has freshly moved in. Three weeks have passed since I've moved up here. All I know as of now is that owner of the apartment (a women-the executor of her parents estate) was flying from Hawaii to San Francisco to fix her brother's (the guy my landlord and I have been dealing with) legal mistake. No word since last week on what's going on. In the meantime, I'm living out of my bag from Oakland to Pittsburg, from the Downtown Hostel to the Inner Richmond District, and now here.
This weekend I will head back to Pittsburg to stay with my friends Kat and Andrew (Bakersfield friends from the good ol' Grace Episcopal days). Then after that? I have no fucking clue.
I had major study plans today in the morning and this evening, but when I woke up I couldn't bring myself get it together. I traversed up Larkin to Grace Cathedral where I lit a unde the giant Spanish crucifix, and just let God have it (mind you, not that God needed to be reminded of my plight, but more for my own spiritual/mental health). I made observation that despite these three weeks I still have this slight hope inside and I'm losing at holding on to it. I lost it. I cried. I picked myself up. Walked the labrynth, attended Noon Eucharist, then made my way back to get ready for class.
I finished my English assignments, I can't bring myself to finish my Prep/Stats homework. Luckily, its actually due tomorrow at Midnight.
Last year my joke I was telling everyone something along the lines of, If I can make it Europe for a month on $1000 then moving and living in San Francisco should be a easy as Pachbel's Cannon. Little did I know that my backpacking skills would actually come in handy. Living out of a bag, being resourceful with food money, and doing my best to evaluate the smartness of where I'm staying. The obvious difference being I was going home at some point. I am home now. Well, "home."
Don't get me wrong. On the flip side of things I love this city. I love that there is music almost everywhere I go. The top of every hill is a vantage point (I'm pretty sure I can see Berkley from the College). And, well...I can tell when I'm getting checked out. Rephrase. I'm getting checked out, period (no, really, its never happened before). I love my classes, instructors, material, and that we are talking about thingswhich faculty at Bakersfield College would have never discussed in class. I love how the churches up here offer so much in ministry and variety in worship. I am home. I just wish I were settled.
This weekend I plan on doing some major catch up in my classes. The plan is to solidify what I've learned and get at least two class meetings ahead in readings and assignments. Getting ahead is the name of the game because at this point I've got to start thinking about being proactive about what I'm actually going to do in the meantime. I need to look into the probability transfering my Edwards job up here, or see if my old boss can take me on in her store in San Leandro. I need to see if I can borrow a grand or so and see if that can get me by in housing for a month until my student loans are approved. In theory, you would think I would know whats going on with this apartment a month from now and can plan from there. I just need to get a plan rolling and find a place to temporarily (longer than my usual 5 days per place so far...) get settled.
I've always said that I believed that while God's presence is always fully present in our lives, God's presence is most felt when we are at our most vulnerable. I affirmed this Europe, and I'm doing my best to affirm it now. I'm not going to lie, I've felt like my prayers have been going straight to voice mail on this. I guess my other task this weekend is to try and find how to hold on to that small sliver of hope that I have.
I'm homeless, I've been accosted by a crazy man. Now, all I need is for my bike to get stollen and I think I can pass as a true local.
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Confirming my faith: how I ended up in the Episcopal Church
As the designated "youth guy" in my parish, preparing the teenagers for baptism and confirmations falls under my jurisdiction. As I've been refreshing myself on the Hebrew Covenants, Church History, the Bible (pretty much Christianity in a nutshell 101) ect, I've been reflecting on my own Confirmation a few years back, and my journey leading to it.
Before I even start there, I have to give a shout-out to my friend Mike. After months of going to youth service on Wednesdays at Canyon Hills, he was the only one to ever say hi, and introduce himself, and sit with me, and be my friend. I haven't seen him in years, but I am still thankful for those early years of friendship. Us gays gots to stick together!
Even though I can pull off the "Cradle Episcopalian", I must confess my roots go back to the Assemblies of God. My Mother raised me several different non-denominational Charismatic-type churches, but after she fell out with a congregation, I was sent with my Grandmother, and most of my childhood recollections in faith take me back to First Assembly, where just about three generations of my family prior had worshiped. One of my Grandmother's Bible's has it on record where I first "received Jesus in to his heart and put his trust in his Savior". I remember it well. It was a Kid's Crusade type night. I was about seven. I had knowledge of Jesus and his dying on the cross from an earlier age from my other churches, without question I considered it true. I had scrapped my knee pretty bad, and I asked the pastor to pray that God would heal it. Right after Pastor Pete lead me in the "Sinner's Prayer". Now, I have a lot to say about potential misguidance of the "Sinner's Prayer", and I of course did not have the St. Paul Conversion Experience which seems to be so stressed in that wing of Christianity, but I will consider that the first moment I considered myself as Christian.
When I was a kid, I would not shut up about the dude. I remember so clearly once at school I was feeling sick and laying down in the infirmary. Another kid came in and we started talking. I thought Jesus was way cooler than the fact that we were out of class. The kid wasn't having it, and my missionary attempts were put to a halt when the office lady said I was obviously well and needed to go back to class. Oh, the injustice I felt!
In sixth grade, for whatever reason I have yet to inquire on, my Mother and Grandmother thought I should try a different summer camp. They send me on the bus with Canyon Hills. I was terrified. None of my Sunday School mates were there and we were going to camp which I had no familiarity with. It ended up being okay, and since my Mother and I had not been to church together in ages, I suggested we started going to Canyon Hills. She agreed, and we did...for a month. We quickly became Chriesters (Christmas-Easter Christians).
It wasn't until the spring of my 8th grade year, I went to Camp Keep. My cabin counselor was an exchange student from Germany. Looking back, I honestly think it was a mixture of his strong faith, and the fact that I had no idea that the raging and changing hormones in a 12 year-old gay kid where making me crush on him, which instantly inspired me. I had a conversion experience, I found the faith which has been tossed aside. As soon as I came back from camp the only thing I wanted was to be baptized. So, I went back to Canyon Hills that Wednesday, I actually went to the high school group, and since I looked older, I passed off as a Freshman. Lo and behold, a sign from above, Baptisms were being done that Sunday. I signed up, and on Sunday, February 13 2000, I found myself being dunked in a jacuzzi like basin, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
I was involved in the church throughout high school. Singing in choir, and playing cello on Sundays, going out of town to camps, conventions, and the yearly Fine Arts Festival. It wasn't until my senior year and summer before college that Canyon Hills lost its appeal. The pastor and his family had a monopoly on the congregation, it was almost a family business. Worship services were staged to be "spirit led". Flashy lights. Unneeded cameras doing close ups of people in worship. It was the most pathetic attempt at being a mega-church that I had ever seen. So, I returned to First Assembly with attempts to get closer to my family who still attended there, and recover from all excitement at Canyon Hills.
The tides turned five months later. I somehow received a catalog from the National Cathedral. While flipping through it, I came across the Anglican Rosary. I was instantly intrigued. I researched, and made on up of my own. I grew to love the prayers, the Jesus Prayer, Trisagion, and Gloria Patri. I would sneak it in and use it during services at First Assembly. It is easy to conclude that my first introduction to liturgy and contemplation.
Now, my girlfriend at the time and I had been together for almost 4 years, I thought it would be best if she and I started attending church together. She was raised more-or-less in the United Methodists tradition, and I was starting to question the unquestionableness of the fundamentalists. The First Sunday of Lent in 2005, we walked into the contemporary service at St. Luke's Episcopal (now affiliated with the Anglican Church in North America). There were only a handful of people there. I instantly recognized prayers from the rosary. I loved the pomp and circumstance of it all. I was there to stay. I experienced God in the Eucharist.
One of the reasons why I was initially attracted to the Episcopal Church was how open it is. It was my first year in college. When I was questioned on issues which related to my faith, I wanted to give a real answer. I did not want to give some sort of no-questions-asked sort of answer. This could be potentially offensive, and I don't apologize for it. When a person believes something which is contrary to what the natural world tells us, the answer almost makes excuses for God, rather than promote God through the use of intellect. I knew what I had been trained to say when I had studied Fundamentalism Apologetics, and those were answers which I wasn't comfortable with giving. This left me to come up with the answers myself, and the Episcopal Church gave me room to do so.
I served as an acolyte, and played bass guitar in the contemporary service. I wanted more than anything to be an official Episcopalian. In October of 2006, on St Luke's Sunday, and the day we celebrated the congregation's 50th year, Bishop Schofield placed his hands on my head, asked for God's blessing, and slapped me ever-so gently on my left cheek. I was confirmed.
What happens next is a major turning point in life, I will greatly condense the story by saying I came out, and Paige and I broke up. I emotionally took a year off from life to come to terms with my sexuality, and reconcile it with my faith. It was without a doubt the worst year of my life. For a time, I felt so guilty for receiving communion and wasn't sure if I had the same faith I had the year prior, so I stopped going for a time. Since I was heavy into meditation at the time, I almost made a conversion to Hinduism (my friend Sandra says there is no difference, I would still like my bells, incense, and shrines...she had a point). I slowly recovered my faith, I knew I was gay, and that God's love would never be irreconcilable. I had to discern whether or not the call to celibacy included me, but that would come in time. I resumed my activities at church.
At that time, the Episcopal Church in the area was very conservative. I loved my congregation, but knew I could never come out. There were, and still other parts of me, so that did not matter as much to me. I figured one day I would move on to an Episcopal Church elsewhere that would include me. All that changed when the Bishop announced that the diocese would cease to be affiliated with the Episcopal Church over the issues of Biblical interpretation, ordination of women to the priesthood, and inclusion of gays and lesbians.
It was a sad time. I tried to be involved with St. Luke's and the local Remain Episcopal group (now Grace Episcopal), but in the end I left St. Lukes (the Sunday one of my priests made a very nasty remark about my involvement with the "heretics"), and remained Episcopal.
One could say the spiritual life could be a series of conversions and confirmations. Of course, God see's his Church as we are, potentially good and potentially bad, but in need of guidance and salvation, and God see's us and accepts us as we are created. But on our end, we are still working on it, confirming our faith that we will be brought to the full conversion to be more Christ-like. In the sacrament of Confirmation, a person accepts and professes to their faith as an adult. The first of many confirmations to come.
Before I even start there, I have to give a shout-out to my friend Mike. After months of going to youth service on Wednesdays at Canyon Hills, he was the only one to ever say hi, and introduce himself, and sit with me, and be my friend. I haven't seen him in years, but I am still thankful for those early years of friendship. Us gays gots to stick together!
Even though I can pull off the "Cradle Episcopalian", I must confess my roots go back to the Assemblies of God. My Mother raised me several different non-denominational Charismatic-type churches, but after she fell out with a congregation, I was sent with my Grandmother, and most of my childhood recollections in faith take me back to First Assembly, where just about three generations of my family prior had worshiped. One of my Grandmother's Bible's has it on record where I first "received Jesus in to his heart and put his trust in his Savior". I remember it well. It was a Kid's Crusade type night. I was about seven. I had knowledge of Jesus and his dying on the cross from an earlier age from my other churches, without question I considered it true. I had scrapped my knee pretty bad, and I asked the pastor to pray that God would heal it. Right after Pastor Pete lead me in the "Sinner's Prayer". Now, I have a lot to say about potential misguidance of the "Sinner's Prayer", and I of course did not have the St. Paul Conversion Experience which seems to be so stressed in that wing of Christianity, but I will consider that the first moment I considered myself as Christian.
When I was a kid, I would not shut up about the dude. I remember so clearly once at school I was feeling sick and laying down in the infirmary. Another kid came in and we started talking. I thought Jesus was way cooler than the fact that we were out of class. The kid wasn't having it, and my missionary attempts were put to a halt when the office lady said I was obviously well and needed to go back to class. Oh, the injustice I felt!
In sixth grade, for whatever reason I have yet to inquire on, my Mother and Grandmother thought I should try a different summer camp. They send me on the bus with Canyon Hills. I was terrified. None of my Sunday School mates were there and we were going to camp which I had no familiarity with. It ended up being okay, and since my Mother and I had not been to church together in ages, I suggested we started going to Canyon Hills. She agreed, and we did...for a month. We quickly became Chriesters (Christmas-Easter Christians).
It wasn't until the spring of my 8th grade year, I went to Camp Keep. My cabin counselor was an exchange student from Germany. Looking back, I honestly think it was a mixture of his strong faith, and the fact that I had no idea that the raging and changing hormones in a 12 year-old gay kid where making me crush on him, which instantly inspired me. I had a conversion experience, I found the faith which has been tossed aside. As soon as I came back from camp the only thing I wanted was to be baptized. So, I went back to Canyon Hills that Wednesday, I actually went to the high school group, and since I looked older, I passed off as a Freshman. Lo and behold, a sign from above, Baptisms were being done that Sunday. I signed up, and on Sunday, February 13 2000, I found myself being dunked in a jacuzzi like basin, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
I was involved in the church throughout high school. Singing in choir, and playing cello on Sundays, going out of town to camps, conventions, and the yearly Fine Arts Festival. It wasn't until my senior year and summer before college that Canyon Hills lost its appeal. The pastor and his family had a monopoly on the congregation, it was almost a family business. Worship services were staged to be "spirit led". Flashy lights. Unneeded cameras doing close ups of people in worship. It was the most pathetic attempt at being a mega-church that I had ever seen. So, I returned to First Assembly with attempts to get closer to my family who still attended there, and recover from all excitement at Canyon Hills.
The tides turned five months later. I somehow received a catalog from the National Cathedral. While flipping through it, I came across the Anglican Rosary. I was instantly intrigued. I researched, and made on up of my own. I grew to love the prayers, the Jesus Prayer, Trisagion, and Gloria Patri. I would sneak it in and use it during services at First Assembly. It is easy to conclude that my first introduction to liturgy and contemplation.
Now, my girlfriend at the time and I had been together for almost 4 years, I thought it would be best if she and I started attending church together. She was raised more-or-less in the United Methodists tradition, and I was starting to question the unquestionableness of the fundamentalists. The First Sunday of Lent in 2005, we walked into the contemporary service at St. Luke's Episcopal (now affiliated with the Anglican Church in North America). There were only a handful of people there. I instantly recognized prayers from the rosary. I loved the pomp and circumstance of it all. I was there to stay. I experienced God in the Eucharist.
One of the reasons why I was initially attracted to the Episcopal Church was how open it is. It was my first year in college. When I was questioned on issues which related to my faith, I wanted to give a real answer. I did not want to give some sort of no-questions-asked sort of answer. This could be potentially offensive, and I don't apologize for it. When a person believes something which is contrary to what the natural world tells us, the answer almost makes excuses for God, rather than promote God through the use of intellect. I knew what I had been trained to say when I had studied Fundamentalism Apologetics, and those were answers which I wasn't comfortable with giving. This left me to come up with the answers myself, and the Episcopal Church gave me room to do so.
I served as an acolyte, and played bass guitar in the contemporary service. I wanted more than anything to be an official Episcopalian. In October of 2006, on St Luke's Sunday, and the day we celebrated the congregation's 50th year, Bishop Schofield placed his hands on my head, asked for God's blessing, and slapped me ever-so gently on my left cheek. I was confirmed.
What happens next is a major turning point in life, I will greatly condense the story by saying I came out, and Paige and I broke up. I emotionally took a year off from life to come to terms with my sexuality, and reconcile it with my faith. It was without a doubt the worst year of my life. For a time, I felt so guilty for receiving communion and wasn't sure if I had the same faith I had the year prior, so I stopped going for a time. Since I was heavy into meditation at the time, I almost made a conversion to Hinduism (my friend Sandra says there is no difference, I would still like my bells, incense, and shrines...she had a point). I slowly recovered my faith, I knew I was gay, and that God's love would never be irreconcilable. I had to discern whether or not the call to celibacy included me, but that would come in time. I resumed my activities at church.
At that time, the Episcopal Church in the area was very conservative. I loved my congregation, but knew I could never come out. There were, and still other parts of me, so that did not matter as much to me. I figured one day I would move on to an Episcopal Church elsewhere that would include me. All that changed when the Bishop announced that the diocese would cease to be affiliated with the Episcopal Church over the issues of Biblical interpretation, ordination of women to the priesthood, and inclusion of gays and lesbians.
It was a sad time. I tried to be involved with St. Luke's and the local Remain Episcopal group (now Grace Episcopal), but in the end I left St. Lukes (the Sunday one of my priests made a very nasty remark about my involvement with the "heretics"), and remained Episcopal.
One could say the spiritual life could be a series of conversions and confirmations. Of course, God see's his Church as we are, potentially good and potentially bad, but in need of guidance and salvation, and God see's us and accepts us as we are created. But on our end, we are still working on it, confirming our faith that we will be brought to the full conversion to be more Christ-like. In the sacrament of Confirmation, a person accepts and professes to their faith as an adult. The first of many confirmations to come.
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