Reminders in the music

 Today I played some music after church. There's nothing inherently noteworthy about that, but it was remarkable for me. Let me explain. For the past year and a half we have been attending church services at the local Episcopal church here in town. It is a wonderful, welcoming place with amazing people who are some of the nicest, most caring people I have ever met. We have quickly become reasonably active members of the church and we could not feel more welcomed. I love our new church.

But I have a problem. I grew up Catholic. I was married in the Catholic Church. My kids were baptized in the Catholic Church. Over the years I was an altar server, an usher, a lector, a eucharistic minister, and a music minister. I even (briefly) considered the priesthood when I was in college. My Catholic roots run deep in my biological family, as well as in my married family. I have always felt like a Catholic to my core. All of which leads one to wonder "Why are you not attending the Catholic Church?"

Simply, the Catholic Church is not the place it once was, not the place it needs to be. In some places, including in our town until a few years ago, the local parish runs interference between the harsh legalism and clericalism of the Church as a whole. Those places made the Catholic Church feel like home. But in the spring of 2018, there was a change made in our local parish. Our wonderful, loving priest left and was replaced by a harsh, authoritarian, backwards-looking, imperious priest whose only goal seemed to be dismantling everything that was remotely welcoming or inclusive. The worst of our community's instincts were brought to the surface. We tried to make it work for 18 months, but when I was excluded from communion because of the way I was receiving the cup, I could do it no longer. We tried other nearby churches, even driving over 30 miles away, but they all had the same issues, more or less. In despair we tried our local Episcopal church and we immediately realized it was a good place for us. It's not a perfect fit, but it's close.

So why the existential crisis? Simply put, I know what the Catholic Church can be. I know that it can be as inclusive as our new church, because I have seen it. I know it can be loving and welcoming, because it used to be. I know it can focus on common faith and love. But I also know that the global church insists on excluding some of the people I love most in the world, either completely, in the case of my LGBTQ+ family and friends, or by marginalizing the women I love and care about. Our local church, which once mitigated that damage, now gleefully amplifies it. What was once a beautiful, holy, welcoming, warm, energetic place that I loved to be, has now become a somber, angry, isolated place. I can't even think about it without mourning what we've lost.

Which brings me (finally) to the music this morning. Our Episcopal church is very traditional in its music. I don't know whether that is unique to our local church and its predominantly older congregation, or if it is a part of the church as a whole. I appreciate it for what it is, but it doesn't really speak to me. So, this morning, I got out my guitar and a modern Catholic setting of Psalm 23 that I dearly love. As I sang it, I found myself fighting back tears. It hurt to know that the church I loved and worked in for 47 years, the church that made me understand that God truly loves everyone, the church that once gave me life, no longer wants me or my family. And it breaks my heart.

I don't believe you. I've seen the evidence.

I guess it just boils down to feeling afraid. I don't wish ill on anyone, with the possible exception of the ringleader of all this nonsense. Hating people is not really who I am.

But I know they wish ill on me. I know because I've seen it.

I've seen the defenders of gun violence after Newtown and Las Vegas and Charleston and so many others with their NRA stickers and threats to anyone who would suggest a restriction to their desire to shoot people. I've seen the cars they used to kill a woman in Charlottesville who thought like I do, who dared to say racism is bad. I've seen the weaponization of the border in order to show how much we don't want brown people in the country. I've seen them tear children from their parents and lock them in cages. I have watched them chant their hatred at members of the press whose only crime is questioning a leader they won't question. (We know how that turns out.)

I am speaking out because I know that when his supporters come for me, there will be no one left to speak up for me. To his supporters, I say I don't hate you but I fear you, because I don't believe you when you say you don't hate me and wish me no harm. I've seen what you did to those who agree with me. I know you wouldn't stop supporting him if he murdered me in the street, because I believe you would do it for him.

A gift of tears

I cry very easily these days. I’m not sure why, but I suspect it has something to do with stress and the fact that my older baby boy is just a few months away from graduating and leaving home. Today I have shed tears while watching YouTube videos, while reminiscing with my wife, and while taking a walk.

This evening, the occasion has been listening to The Indigo Girls, the self-titled album from 1989. Part of the emotion comes from feeling my age a little bit recently, as well as the realization that it has been 30 years since these songs first changed my life. It is not an exaggeration to say that their music helped make me, a small-minded small town Republican teenager, into a much more open and tolerant adult than I might have been otherwise.

It’s also true that the music of  The Indigo Girls was the soundtrack of my college years, especially of my relationship with my wife. One of my fondest memories is of listening to The Indigo Girls on my first, life-changing trip to San Francisco with Katie and her mom at Christmastime 1992. We were packed into the tiny front seat of a 1990 Nissan pickup for 700 miles, accompanied by Amy and Emily, Marc Cohn, Simon & Garfunkel, and a few other long forgotten tapes. (Remember those, kids?) My mother-in-law would have been 76 on Sunday and her absence inhabits some of my emotion as well.

The words to these songs bring my heart to the surface as well. The opening track on the album, “Closer To Fine,” is one of my favorite songs of all time. Its message of accepting life as it comes, of finding your own path without fear of getting it wrong, and of not forcing yourself into answers that don’t fit your life and circumstances only gets more poignant and appropriate as I get older. Another song, “Love’s Recovery,” could be the story of my life with Katie, particularly our sometimes rocky beginning together.

I don’t need all these reasons to tear up, of course; I do fine with all my other foibles and neuroses. However, I can’t think of a nicer way to spend an evening, crying.

Thanks for reading. I’ll try to do better next time.

Maybe it's just me...

Maybe it's just me, but I have a hard time getting worked up over how someone uses their email account. Just like, I had a hard time getting too pissed off over a guy lying because he slept with someone who wasn't his wife. Are those things problematic on some level? Certainly. Do they call into question the honesty of the people involved? To some extent. However, I know that I have sent personal emails from work and vice versa. I may have even checked my Facebook, etc. from my work computer! *gasp!* In my life, I have left information out or over-parsed words to avoid responsibility for my own errors and misbehavior. I'm not proud of these things, but they don't disqualify me from my job.

On the other hand, calling on all Americans to hate an entire religious group; making disparaging remarks about women, Muslims, Hispanics, Jews, and the disabled; encouraging torture of an even more heinous variety than what we have seen criticized over the past decade; and focusing on the pursuit of monetary gain above all else, even when it hurts others would seem to disqualify a person. If I did most of those things, I would no longer have a job. But some people are so focused on avenging a political loss from 24 years ago, they are willing to overlook the evil Racist Cheeto candidate in order to punish the Clintons for winning the 1992 election, and for reminding America that the Reagan years weren't really as super-amazing as the right wingers would have us all believe. It seems like there is an "Anyone But the Clintons" camp who are angry that they can't convince the rest of the world that the Clintons are dirty rotten scoundrels and would rather drive the country off a cliff than let the 1992 election recede into history.

But maybe that's just me.

You mad, bro?

I haven't spent much time talking about the election recently. I won't convince any of the supporters of the GOP's presumptive nominee that they are wrong, as they obviously are. And the Democratic nomination is wrapped up as well, leaving only one possible option for those of us who would like to see our country maintain its freedoms, successes, and place in the world. 

I can't believe, however, that some of my fellow Bernie supporters are seriously arguing that Hillary is just as bad as Trump. (Actually, I don't think that they are serious. I think they are pissed off.) I have never believed in a candidate's message more than I believe in Senator Sanders' message. However, I also know that Sec. Clinton (or a handful of dryer lint) would be a VASTLY better choice than the Racist Cheeto. As the Huffington Post always reminds us, the GOP nominee "regularly incites political violence and is a serial liar, rampant xenophobe, racist, misogynist and birther who has repeatedly pledged to ban all Muslims — 1.6 billion members of an entire religion — from entering the U.S."

Only once in my voting life (in 2008) have I supported a candidate in the primaries who wound up winning the nomination. Typically, I have come around to vote for the candidate I believed would do the better job, or at least would not destroy the country. There are times to cast a protest vote, and I have done so in the past; this is not one of those times. There is too much to lose as a nation if the Fascist Pumpkin Spice Latte gets elected. I only hope that my fellow Bernie fans will come around before it's too late.

Thanks for reading. I'll try to do better next time.

You belong to the night...

I'm not used to writing this often, and I wish I didn't have to now. Last week I wrote about Alan Rickman and David Bowie. Today I turn to two other losses from the last few days that hit even closer to home. Both of these gentlemen passed away on Sunday and I heard the news of their passing within minutes of each other on Monday evening; it was not a good night.

The Eagles are one of my favorite bands and Glenn Frey was an irreplaceable part of that group. He was also difficult and unreasonably demanding. And I loved his music.  "Miami Vice" was a touchstone for my generation and the songs of Glenn Frey's that were featured prominently in the show ("Smuggler's Blues" and "You Belong to the City") are two of my favorite '80s songs. Somehow singing along made the 13 year old version of me feel very cool. "The Heat is On" from "Beverly Hills Cop" is a staple of '80s oldies radio. Glenn Frey's solo career provided some high points in the soundtrack of my youth, but the Eagles were much more important. It is fashionable to trash the Eagles music. They embodied the excesses of '70s and '80s rock stars and rich people. They also happened to have some amazing music. While I readily admit that the Eagles didn't break the kind of ground that David Bowie did, I am more likely to sit down and listen to an Eagles album than I am to listen to any of Bowie's albums.  I might never have become a singer if it weren't for the Eagles. My earliest memories of music are of my dad and my Uncle Ray singing together. The songs that stick in my head from all those years ago are songs by the Eagles (even though they didn't do very many Eagles songs together) and Simon and Garfunkel. When I started playing drums in bar bands, the Eagles were a staple. The first harmonies I learned were in songs by the Eagles and the Doobie Brothers. When I started singing lead vocals, Eagles songs were some of my first solos. I love that band, even though it isn't cool. I have Eagles bootlegs from the end of their first run. I am sad I never got to see them in person.

The other gentleman is not someone you have heard of, in all likelihood. Terry Davis was a social studies teacher at Flagstaff High School from 1969-2004. When I was first hired at FHS, Mr. Davis and I shared a terribly thin wall. He was gracious and tolerant of a new teacher with classes filled with rowdy resource students. Gradually, I got better, my classes got quieter, and Mr. Davis welcomed me into the history department when I was transferred in-building in the middle of the year. He was the first person I turned to with questions about policies and procedures, etc. He also gave me advice on buying a house and putting family first. He sat around and drank coffee with me and shot the breeze. He was a consistent voice for the kids who fell through the cracks. Terry was my friend, a mentor, and a wonderful man. When he retired, I got his room. I have taught in room 718 for 12 years and, even though I may be at FHS for another 15 years, it will always be Mr. Davis's room. I loved seeing him around town with Mrs. Davis after they retired, and I will miss him very much.

Thanks for letting me share my memories and thanks for reading. I'll try to do better next time.

Ashes to Ashes

Monday morning the world woke up to news that we had lost David Bowie, a true genius. I admit that I have never been a gigantic Bowie fan, but I enjoy much of his music and I certainly recognize his importance as an innovator and trendsetter. My most indelible memory of him was as The Goblin King in "Labyrinth," which I saw in Canton, MIchigan with my cool Uncle Nelson, still one of my favorite people. My lasting impressions of the movie were 1) I was in love with Jennifer Connelly, and 2) David Bowie was the coolest guy on the planet, even when he creeped me out. I was saddened at what we lost as a culture.

This morning I heard the news that another 69-year-old Brit had passed away. My first memory of Alan Rickman is the same as almost everyone else's: "yippee ky-ay..." Alan Rickman in "Die Hard" was a classic 80s action movie baddie and I hated/loved him. Another bad guy role I loved was the Sheriff of Nottingham in that otherwise terrible Kevin Costner movie. He was wonderful as Eamon de Valera in "Michael Collins," a movie I loved but not many others saw. But the reason I shed tears when I found out about Mr. Rickman's passing was his role as Severus Snape. It is no secret that I love the Harry Potter books and Snape is the best character in the books. I loved the way he was written and completely drawn in by Rickman's performance. I am so sad that I won't get to see him in anything else. Even his interviews were wonderful.

Nothing particularly inspirational to say about all this. Cancer sucks and I am sorry that we have been cheated out of whatever else these two talented gentlemen might have produced. I'll listen to Bowie and smile, watch Snape die and cry, and be glad we got the chance to share those moments.

Thanks for reading. I'll try to do better next time.