So I write this as I am killing time waiting to leave for the airport. This is the last night in my parents home. Ever. (At least, this is likely.) It is likely my last night living in British Columbia. I may visit again, but realistically, I must face the fact that I may be currently spending my final night living in the province I grew up in--the province I love.
It is strange considering this. This has been my home, the place where my heart has resided. Until this evening I have had a key for this house on my key ring since before I ever moved away. And now it is gone (given, appropriately, to my brother-in-law who was lacking a key). Right now, if I were not tired and on the tail end of tipsy, I would be as I was earlier: very anxious and afraid, scared to consider cutting myself off from this anchor to life and reality. And yet I'm entering into the great unknown, this thing I have long sought for. Perhaps it is only right to fear that which is good for us. Or perhaps it is this deep-set acedia within me, which despises my current place, whatever that may be. But this is where I am, and this is what I am doing. Tomorrow we will be in Toronto, and then in ten days we will be on another continent altogether. This is what we have longed for, and now, by the grace of God, we are there.
31 December 2010
20 December 2010
Watashiwa... dare?
Tonight I am writing without purpose. Well, that is not strictly true, but I am writing without a purpose currently clear to me.
I have just finished my first of two long work days and the penultimate of a very long work "week". Earlier today I had the good fortune to work with one of my agnostic colleagues, but also sadly one of the only people out here that I can have good, religious discussion with. That is probably my biggest sorrow of living here: while there are many religious people everywhere I look, few of them are educated in theology, let alone a more Catholic theology. And so all stimulating theological discussion that is not with my wife is with an agnostic colleague.
Living here has put me in a strange place where almost everyone I know is either familiar and comfortable with my religion but does not know my struggles with gender and sexuality, or they know these struggles but are not able to talk about my religion (either from lack of familiarity or lack of comfort). When I was in Toronto, I was blessed with friends who were both comfortable and familiar with both aspects of me (inasmuch as I had recognised the gender-aspect, anyway), and I miss this endlessly. What's more is I do not know if I will be able to have this when we move to England, or if I will again be in the company of people who can accept part of me, but not the other part.
I remember one occasion where a friend told me that she quite liked me, except she wished I could separate my religion from who I am day-to-day. And the fact that anyone could--or even would--do this surprised me. I cannot divide my religion from who I am without ceasing to be who I am. This does not mean I spend all of my time talking about God, but it does mean that my worldview is always shaped by my beliefs in and about God and His role and the role of the Church in the world. More and more I am finding that by keeping my feminine aspects hidden and suppressed, I am attempting to do exactly what my friend asked, except instead of doing it to religion, I am doing it to who God made me. And truly, to deny God's creation can only end in tragedy.
As our time here winds to an end I look forward to a brief respite wherein I will be with friends who accept and understand my struggles, and after that I enter into the unknown where I will have to find ways to allow both to be evident in who I am: neither flaunting who I am nor hiding it.
(My apologies for going on about the same things, and my future apologies for probably doing so again before overly long.)
I have just finished my first of two long work days and the penultimate of a very long work "week". Earlier today I had the good fortune to work with one of my agnostic colleagues, but also sadly one of the only people out here that I can have good, religious discussion with. That is probably my biggest sorrow of living here: while there are many religious people everywhere I look, few of them are educated in theology, let alone a more Catholic theology. And so all stimulating theological discussion that is not with my wife is with an agnostic colleague.
Living here has put me in a strange place where almost everyone I know is either familiar and comfortable with my religion but does not know my struggles with gender and sexuality, or they know these struggles but are not able to talk about my religion (either from lack of familiarity or lack of comfort). When I was in Toronto, I was blessed with friends who were both comfortable and familiar with both aspects of me (inasmuch as I had recognised the gender-aspect, anyway), and I miss this endlessly. What's more is I do not know if I will be able to have this when we move to England, or if I will again be in the company of people who can accept part of me, but not the other part.
I remember one occasion where a friend told me that she quite liked me, except she wished I could separate my religion from who I am day-to-day. And the fact that anyone could--or even would--do this surprised me. I cannot divide my religion from who I am without ceasing to be who I am. This does not mean I spend all of my time talking about God, but it does mean that my worldview is always shaped by my beliefs in and about God and His role and the role of the Church in the world. More and more I am finding that by keeping my feminine aspects hidden and suppressed, I am attempting to do exactly what my friend asked, except instead of doing it to religion, I am doing it to who God made me. And truly, to deny God's creation can only end in tragedy.
As our time here winds to an end I look forward to a brief respite wherein I will be with friends who accept and understand my struggles, and after that I enter into the unknown where I will have to find ways to allow both to be evident in who I am: neither flaunting who I am nor hiding it.
(My apologies for going on about the same things, and my future apologies for probably doing so again before overly long.)
12 December 2010
Briefly Touching In
I've been meaning to post on this for a while, and I am not doing so at the moment, but I really love participating in Orthodox Christian vespers. Perhaps it is the prayers for the Queen, perhaps it is praying with people who understand icons, I do not know. But there is something that I find incredibly comfortable about their vespers.
14 November 2010
Between the Denominations
This evening I went to church with my family at the Mennonite Brethren church I attended for many years. It was a very strange feeling, sitting down before the service. They have recently renovated the sanctuary and it is not entirely complete, but it now has comfier, theatre seats, and the large baptismal tank is no longer there. Further, there is no cross or any other religious imagery. In effect, it has the look of an auditorium. The other part that felt strange was the lack of liturgy. I have become so used to a liturgical setting and bad music that when presented with no liturgy and good music I feel out of place.
I think what I find strangest, though, is that in some ways I have no home in any church anymore. For years I attended this church and loved it and that was my home. When anyone told me it didn't feel like church, I didn't understand what they meant. And the I began attending Mass and later became Catholic, but on some level I still pine for the challenging sermons and the passionate music that I remember (and indeed enjoyed, this evening). And so I do not feel entirely at home there because I feel unchallenged and there is a bit less of an emphasis on challenging people. Perhaps the term I am looking for is "comfortable". Now, certainly not all priests keep to safe and comfortable approaches, but more than not, I find, do.
I wonder if I will ever find a home in a church again, or if I am meant to always feel this sense of isolation or diaspora (but if diaspora, to what?).
I think what I find strangest, though, is that in some ways I have no home in any church anymore. For years I attended this church and loved it and that was my home. When anyone told me it didn't feel like church, I didn't understand what they meant. And the I began attending Mass and later became Catholic, but on some level I still pine for the challenging sermons and the passionate music that I remember (and indeed enjoyed, this evening). And so I do not feel entirely at home there because I feel unchallenged and there is a bit less of an emphasis on challenging people. Perhaps the term I am looking for is "comfortable". Now, certainly not all priests keep to safe and comfortable approaches, but more than not, I find, do.
I wonder if I will ever find a home in a church again, or if I am meant to always feel this sense of isolation or diaspora (but if diaspora, to what?).
11 November 2010
Lest We Forget
Tomorrow, 11 November, is probably the most important secular holiday on my calendar. And I say this as someone who generally identifies as a pacifist. And a pacifist who insists upon wearing a blood red poppy.
Some may find it odd that I feel more patriotic on Remembrance Day than I do on Canada Day, but I'm not sure how odd that sounds to a Canadian. In fact, I see far more poppies leading up to Remembrance Day than I ever see Canadian flags around Canada day. For me, this is a day when we remember the horrors of war, and that is something that a white poppy can never represent to me. It's a day when we remember all those who died, all the blood that flooded the fields and valleys of Europe, because of war. This is not an argument against the notion of a just war, but it does recall the price of all war, be it just or not. And while no war since the First and Second World Wars has seen so many killed, both military and civilian, every war is a type of those wars. Every war sees unnecessary death, sorrow, and tragedy.
And it is in memory of those who have died, necessarily or unnecessarily, that I wear a red poppy. Because I remember the price of war. And it is for them that I stand in silent memory at 11am on 11 November.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
--John McCrae, 1915
Some may find it odd that I feel more patriotic on Remembrance Day than I do on Canada Day, but I'm not sure how odd that sounds to a Canadian. In fact, I see far more poppies leading up to Remembrance Day than I ever see Canadian flags around Canada day. For me, this is a day when we remember the horrors of war, and that is something that a white poppy can never represent to me. It's a day when we remember all those who died, all the blood that flooded the fields and valleys of Europe, because of war. This is not an argument against the notion of a just war, but it does recall the price of all war, be it just or not. And while no war since the First and Second World Wars has seen so many killed, both military and civilian, every war is a type of those wars. Every war sees unnecessary death, sorrow, and tragedy.
And it is in memory of those who have died, necessarily or unnecessarily, that I wear a red poppy. Because I remember the price of war. And it is for them that I stand in silent memory at 11am on 11 November.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
--John McCrae, 1915
06 November 2010
To Whom Shall I Go?
Tonight as I struggle with an insomnia empowered with guilt, I stumbled across a comment on a friend's blog concerning why this person remains with the Catholic Church, despite feeling unwelcome and seeing all the awful things done by Her of late: I have no where else to go. As it says in the Gospel, "Then Jesus said to the twelve: Will you also go away? And Simon Peter answered him: Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life" (John 6.67-68).
These words strike me deeply, especially on dark nights such as this. To whom shall I go? I hurt and ache inside and I tear at my heart and bury it in ashes because I am disgusted by my inability to keep from sinning gravely. And yet, anytime something tries to suggest that the problem is the Catholic Church for putting so much emphasis upon mortal sin, my whole being cries out, "But where else can I go but to the light?" It is the light which burns me and humiliates me, because in the light I can see my ugliness. But it is only in the light that I have any hope of healing and forgiveness.
It is also in the light that I fear those things that I am told to be sinful, but which I am not convinced actually are. Can I view my confusion around gender in the light? It is easier to avoid the feeling of shame and to even feel pride in it while I keep to the shadows, not considering the light. But again, how can I keep away from that which makes me whole? And so I must face the light in this awkward and confused form and it's embarrassing and (hopefully?) humiliating. How can I hope to be forgiven my sins when I suspect that this is who I am? a creature seemingly made contrary to what is right? It would be easier if I were normal and without feminine inclination. Then all I would have to deal with is the struggle with sin that is common to all people. But to tell myself that this femininity is sinful... all I can do is try my best to serve God and hope that I am not judged too harshly for failing to reject it from my being.
And that is really what it comes down to. Despite the horror of my sin, despite the terror of not rejecting what may be a horrible sin, to whom shall I go? thou hast the words of eternal life.
These words strike me deeply, especially on dark nights such as this. To whom shall I go? I hurt and ache inside and I tear at my heart and bury it in ashes because I am disgusted by my inability to keep from sinning gravely. And yet, anytime something tries to suggest that the problem is the Catholic Church for putting so much emphasis upon mortal sin, my whole being cries out, "But where else can I go but to the light?" It is the light which burns me and humiliates me, because in the light I can see my ugliness. But it is only in the light that I have any hope of healing and forgiveness.
It is also in the light that I fear those things that I am told to be sinful, but which I am not convinced actually are. Can I view my confusion around gender in the light? It is easier to avoid the feeling of shame and to even feel pride in it while I keep to the shadows, not considering the light. But again, how can I keep away from that which makes me whole? And so I must face the light in this awkward and confused form and it's embarrassing and (hopefully?) humiliating. How can I hope to be forgiven my sins when I suspect that this is who I am? a creature seemingly made contrary to what is right? It would be easier if I were normal and without feminine inclination. Then all I would have to deal with is the struggle with sin that is common to all people. But to tell myself that this femininity is sinful... all I can do is try my best to serve God and hope that I am not judged too harshly for failing to reject it from my being.
And that is really what it comes down to. Despite the horror of my sin, despite the terror of not rejecting what may be a horrible sin, to whom shall I go? thou hast the words of eternal life.
12 October 2010
On the Decline and Fall of Languages
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-11304255
This is an issue of particular interest to me as a one-time student of Linguistics. One of the classes I took was about revitalizing dying languages and the attitude of the professor and of the class was very much one which assumed that the death of a language is a Bad Thing. And to a certain degree, I agree with them that the linguistic imperialism we have been seeing for the past age--either as an accident of the building of empires or as a result of post-war globalisation--is detrimental. With the death of any language comes the death of a unique expression of culture, for no translation can ever fully grasp the nuances and delicacies of any given language. This is an issue with which anyone who has ever needed to translate any work is familiar and which we all bemoan.
That said, there is the flip side that I usually see where not only is language death a Bad Thing, it is a Bad Thing To Be Prevented At All Costs. This leads to a tone of discussion where we should be saving the language despite its speakers. It is a kind of denial of the life, evolution, and death of languages, calling people to rage, rage against the dying of the light. But is it really in the interests of the speakers that we say this, that we insist upon their preservation of their grandparents' language? I suspect that it is more a dragonish desire to hoard linguistic gold that drives it. For many of these people, they just do not see the relevance of the old language, for good or for ill, and so they stick to the majority language.
What I think is more useful is an emphasis upon developing grammars of dying languages--a kind of linguistic headstone, as it were. Where people wish to bring their language back (think Welsh or Hebrew, for example, as remarkable success stories), give them the opportunity. But where people simply do not care, perhaps it is better to let the language die in dignity. Write a grammar of it, so that the world may know what was there, and let it settle into its old age and pass into the shadows of graduate studies.
This is an issue of particular interest to me as a one-time student of Linguistics. One of the classes I took was about revitalizing dying languages and the attitude of the professor and of the class was very much one which assumed that the death of a language is a Bad Thing. And to a certain degree, I agree with them that the linguistic imperialism we have been seeing for the past age--either as an accident of the building of empires or as a result of post-war globalisation--is detrimental. With the death of any language comes the death of a unique expression of culture, for no translation can ever fully grasp the nuances and delicacies of any given language. This is an issue with which anyone who has ever needed to translate any work is familiar and which we all bemoan.
That said, there is the flip side that I usually see where not only is language death a Bad Thing, it is a Bad Thing To Be Prevented At All Costs. This leads to a tone of discussion where we should be saving the language despite its speakers. It is a kind of denial of the life, evolution, and death of languages, calling people to rage, rage against the dying of the light. But is it really in the interests of the speakers that we say this, that we insist upon their preservation of their grandparents' language? I suspect that it is more a dragonish desire to hoard linguistic gold that drives it. For many of these people, they just do not see the relevance of the old language, for good or for ill, and so they stick to the majority language.
What I think is more useful is an emphasis upon developing grammars of dying languages--a kind of linguistic headstone, as it were. Where people wish to bring their language back (think Welsh or Hebrew, for example, as remarkable success stories), give them the opportunity. But where people simply do not care, perhaps it is better to let the language die in dignity. Write a grammar of it, so that the world may know what was there, and let it settle into its old age and pass into the shadows of graduate studies.
02 September 2010
Fearfully and Wonderfully Made II
I should elaborate upon my last words. I do not know whether my feminine inclination is natal or something I learned/subconsciously retreated to, but I do know that it is mine and has been there as long as memory. Some may say that it is natural and to be encouraged; others may say it is natural and a product of the Fall to be discouraged; and still others may say it is a machination and principality of the devil to be obliterated or cured. More—and possibly most—importantly, this is a thing unasked for and unsought: It is a thing either given or permitted by God. That means that regardless of whether my perceived discrepancy between sex and gender is from heaven or hell, my awareness of it and struggle with it are without doubt sanctioned by heaven. My struggle with it is part of who I am and to deny its place in my life would be to deny something God has sent me.
And even while I struggle with this thing God has allowed me, I must be on guard against the risk of letting myself become self-centred, thinking only of my struggle and not of others. Because I am confused and lost as to who I am and whether it is okay to indulge in it or not. And it is tempting to become so caught up in this confusion and struggle with identity that I forget to put others first, that I forget humility, that I forget charity. In all of this I am reminded of the Peace Prayer of Saint Francis. No matter my confusion, no matter my suffering, if I can place this before all else, I will have done something good, and hopefully the good of that will shape my suffering into something good as well. And are not the things that this prayer speaks of familiar? Conflict, hatred, injury, doubt, despair, darkness, and sadness. When I am not careful, these seek to saturate my being as I suffer. And so I must place seeking a remedy for my suffering beneath offering that remedy to all whom I meet. And perhaps as I do so, God will grant me the grace to be at peace with myself, at peace in my own body, at peace with the person God has made me.
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and in dying that we are born to eternal life.
And even while I struggle with this thing God has allowed me, I must be on guard against the risk of letting myself become self-centred, thinking only of my struggle and not of others. Because I am confused and lost as to who I am and whether it is okay to indulge in it or not. And it is tempting to become so caught up in this confusion and struggle with identity that I forget to put others first, that I forget humility, that I forget charity. In all of this I am reminded of the Peace Prayer of Saint Francis. No matter my confusion, no matter my suffering, if I can place this before all else, I will have done something good, and hopefully the good of that will shape my suffering into something good as well. And are not the things that this prayer speaks of familiar? Conflict, hatred, injury, doubt, despair, darkness, and sadness. When I am not careful, these seek to saturate my being as I suffer. And so I must place seeking a remedy for my suffering beneath offering that remedy to all whom I meet. And perhaps as I do so, God will grant me the grace to be at peace with myself, at peace in my own body, at peace with the person God has made me.
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Fearfully and Wonderfully Made I
Thank-you, Lord, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. - Psalm 139:14
This is something I struggle with. By mortal eyes, while I am not repulsive, neither am I particularly well formed (although my wife would disagree). I am rather unremarkable. My mind is less trained than those whose company I keep and anyone whose is less trained cares little to nothing for academics. I am not entirely straight and also rather feminine, both in tastes and leaning, either as an accident of birth or something I unintentionally learned (nor particularly desired to learn)—and I do not know if I am just imagining it as I look back on my life and something I should therefore see razed from my being or simply an aspect of who I am. In short, I neither overly care for who I am nor am I particularly comfortable with myself. Not with my body, my mind, or my gender.
And yet I kneel before the Blessed Sacrament and see before me a lesson in humility, and a voice speaks to me reminding me that without humility we cannot love. Part of humility is seeing that God has made all things good. My spiritual father, my priest, reminds me of the words of the Psalmist, I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Who am I to be a higher court than God? Who am I to say to God, “I am made wrong”? Whether I was first made with this discrepancy of gender and sex (sometimes more apparent than others) or whether it is something which grew in the shadows unawares and unsought, only to be discovered now, first and foremost I must praise God who has made me. And I must praise Him who saw me fit to suffer for His Name's sake. And I will bless His Name who made me, for even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, He has blessed me with a companion who keeps me steady on the path.
I cannot now say whether affirming myself as I know I have been created (for physical form is notably easier to discern than the origins and development of gender) will show how I need to be purged of my feminine inclinations to be a fluid masculine and male being and participate in such a purging, or if it will pave the way for me to accept the apparent contradiction of gender and sex within me. But this I know: I am fearfully and wonderfully made; great are the works of God and let none slander anything He has made, for what He makes is good; and with all that is in me, I shall bless and praise the Name of the Lord who has made me.
This is something I struggle with. By mortal eyes, while I am not repulsive, neither am I particularly well formed (although my wife would disagree). I am rather unremarkable. My mind is less trained than those whose company I keep and anyone whose is less trained cares little to nothing for academics. I am not entirely straight and also rather feminine, both in tastes and leaning, either as an accident of birth or something I unintentionally learned (nor particularly desired to learn)—and I do not know if I am just imagining it as I look back on my life and something I should therefore see razed from my being or simply an aspect of who I am. In short, I neither overly care for who I am nor am I particularly comfortable with myself. Not with my body, my mind, or my gender.
And yet I kneel before the Blessed Sacrament and see before me a lesson in humility, and a voice speaks to me reminding me that without humility we cannot love. Part of humility is seeing that God has made all things good. My spiritual father, my priest, reminds me of the words of the Psalmist, I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Who am I to be a higher court than God? Who am I to say to God, “I am made wrong”? Whether I was first made with this discrepancy of gender and sex (sometimes more apparent than others) or whether it is something which grew in the shadows unawares and unsought, only to be discovered now, first and foremost I must praise God who has made me. And I must praise Him who saw me fit to suffer for His Name's sake. And I will bless His Name who made me, for even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, He has blessed me with a companion who keeps me steady on the path.
I cannot now say whether affirming myself as I know I have been created (for physical form is notably easier to discern than the origins and development of gender) will show how I need to be purged of my feminine inclinations to be a fluid masculine and male being and participate in such a purging, or if it will pave the way for me to accept the apparent contradiction of gender and sex within me. But this I know: I am fearfully and wonderfully made; great are the works of God and let none slander anything He has made, for what He makes is good; and with all that is in me, I shall bless and praise the Name of the Lord who has made me.
31 August 2010
Oops?
So after a MAJOR hiatus, I hope I'm returning.
Just so's you know, I'm probably going to shift this blog over to etinarcadiaego.blogspot.com in a week's time (assuming that I can figure out how to do so). Also, for those few who may be reading this, I would like to direct your attention to an excellent blog discussing homosexuality and Catholicism and Orthodoxy. The Homodox Confessions is very well written and approaches the topic in a necessarily delicate and thorough manner.
EDIT: Silly me forgetting to check to see if it was already taken. Well, it'll be changed to something before long.
EDIT the SECOND: Eh, whatever. I'll take what risks there may be by leaving it.
Just so's you know, I'm probably going to shift this blog over to etinarcadiaego.blogspot.com in a week's time (assuming that I can figure out how to do so). Also, for those few who may be reading this, I would like to direct your attention to an excellent blog discussing homosexuality and Catholicism and Orthodoxy. The Homodox Confessions is very well written and approaches the topic in a necessarily delicate and thorough manner.
EDIT: Silly me forgetting to check to see if it was already taken. Well, it'll be changed to something before long.
EDIT the SECOND: Eh, whatever. I'll take what risks there may be by leaving it.
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