Here's an update to a previous post. As I was finishing up my Ember Letter, I got a call that some very significant progress had been made toward my ordination. A logjam has broken open at diocesan headquarters and a whole bunch of water is flowing downstream again. Good news. Very good news. Now, I'm still probably about two years from being ordained, but yesterday afternoon it was going to be never if something didn't change. I'm rewriting the heck out of my Ember Letter (today is the last of the Ember Days for Spring so I'm not late yet, technically), but I'm not going to edit my previous post on this topic. It was true at the time, and it has a date stamp on it. Thanks to everyone who has supported me thusfar. It's not over yet, but I wanted to take a moment's breather and say that.

OK my friends. Those of you who know me even a little bit are aware that I love (at least) two things-God and popular culture. You also know that I rarely get the two confused. But what will I do when they get confused for me? I've been following this story for a while now, many months to be exact, but it's starting to leak out into the popular media, and I don't want to seem like one of the last to know. And readers of St. Jerome's Library shouldn't be either.

Mel Gibson is making a movie. (That's not the news.) The movie is called The Passion and is a retelling of the story of Jesus' last days. In a twist destined to have me standing in line for longer that I did to see Star Wars Special Edition (though it certainly won't be necessary), the film is being shot entirely in Aramaic and Latin, and will not be subtitled. Gibson feels that people know the story and that it will have more emotional impact if it is shown "raw" rather than filtered through any modern language.

Oh my goodness. This film is going to be great-assuming anyone gets to see it. There are persistent rumors that the film will get distribution, will not get distribution, will be bad, or will be opposed by the Catholic Church.

What! A film about Jesus that will closely follow the Bible will be opposed by the Church? That's right. There's some question about whether or not the film will be Orthodox... or perhaps it will be too Orthodox. See, Mel Gibson is a Catholic, but not a Roman Catholic. He's a big supporter and follower of the traditionalist Catholic movement, which opposes most of the reforms of the Second Vatican Council. For example, his church in Los Angeles doesn't have the Tridentine Mass occasionally, as many churches do. It is an exclusively Latin church. And so on.

Check out this story in the New York Times last Sunday called Is the Pope Catholic...Enough? (a free registration will be required).

Whereas I would theoretically love to find that people are covering church disputes from hundreds of years ago in the New York Times, I'm not sure this is a good idea. In the popular press, these theological disputes could represent people of faith, and especially the people who work with them professionally, in a pretty bad light. It might make it look like we want to argue about ancient languages (or in ancient languages) while people starve around the world. This article even mentions Gibson's traditional Catholicism in the same breath as Richard Gere's Buddhism and Madonna's devotion to the Kabala. (I don't mean that these stars are not serious about their religions. I mean only to point out that the popular media treat religion as a "trendy" topic which can have waves of influence and popularity-like Rosie O'Donnell, or the Grammys.)

I'll sure have more to say about this movie and the issues surrounding it as time goes on and we get closer to its release next year. But until then, Mel Gibson is making a movie about Jesus in Aramaic and Latin. It's like they're reading my mind.

Here in the church, we are in the middle of the "Ember Days." These are the quarterly days set aside to pray for the ministry of the church and its members. For those of us who are along the path toward ordination, it is also the time when we write to our ordinary about our progress and where we are at in our faith journey. These letters can be pretty intimate, since they are an excellent opportunity to reflect on where we're at with someone we're sure has an interest. Here's a short excerpt from mine, reflecting on a recent and acute challenge.

"It’s very exciting to think that for the next Ember period, I’ll have met [my discernment committee], and will have a lot to write in this space." That's a quote from my last Ember letter to you. You might imagine that I would be pretty upset about the lack of progress we are able to make along this road, I know I would. And sometimes, it's true. But, I am trying to remember what St. Ignatius teaches about wanting earthly rewards. He reminds us that we shouldn't seek them. They are snares from the Enemy and are vain distractions from what should be our singular focus—praising and serving God.

And that's what's causing the problem these days. I really have freed myself from the embarrassment of graduating from the seminary and not being ordained like my classmates. I'm not even bothered anymore by having to correct people who call me "Reverend." But I am still angry that I cannot serve the church the way I am called. I see the state that the church is in, and how much my gifts could help achieve its goals. And it just makes me sad to know that the church doesn't even yet see me well enough to mourn with me while we work through this important discernment process together.

And yet, hope springs eternal. Perhaps it's just the warmer weather and the melting snow, but I hold out hope that progress will be made before this summer's Ember Days. And of course, I am consoled by the ministry I have been able to do here at PCG. As the Ember days scripture says, "Do you not say, ‘Four months more, then comes the harvest’? But I tell you, look around you, and see how the fields are ripe for harvesting. The reaper is already receiving wages and is gathering fruit for eternal life, so that sower and reaper may rejoice together."

Back into the fields, then, for me. I have much work to do, and many ways to praise God while I do it.

I once heard a well known scholar described as someone who "never had a thought he didn't publish." Well, as a writer myself, I can say for sure that it isn't true. Whenever you set down to work on a project there is always something extra, something left over, at least one good thought that has to go unpublished – until now. Through the miracle of blog technology, there is now somewhere for those outtakes to go, a place where good ideas get a second chance. So, without further ado, here is an outtake from my St. Ignatius presentation.

One of the most basic features of Ignatian spirituality is the idea of "indifference." Ignatius believed that the one and only purpose of our life on earth is to praise God, and thereby to save our souls. Whenever we do anything, we should do it "for the greater glory of God." What that should be, though, Ignatius has no idea. The spiritual exercises are, in essence, a way of determining which of the various options we have is the one that would bring the greatest glory to "His Divine Majesty." God alone will reveal what we should do. We need only remain open to God's call, and to prayerfully discern it.

In the sixteenth century, there was a definite hierarchy to society, both secular and religious. Ignatius believed that priesthood was a "better" state than being married. But he didn't think that everyone should be a priest. God calls some to matrimony, and these people would bring greater glory to the creator through their families than by doing anything else. Likewise, Ignatius taught that actual economic poverty is closer to Christ than riches. But those who are called to temporal wealth should use what they have been given as best they can. We must remain indifferent to these various states, preferring neither one, nor the other. We should not endeavor to achieve wealth, or long life, or professional success as ends in and of themselves, but only as responses to an authentically perceived call of the "Heavenly King."

It's a difficult concept to grasp, and one that is even more difficult to live out. Putting Ignatian indifference into practice requires two very demanding attitudes. The first is constant discernment of spirits so as to know what to do. The second is a carefully studied balance, which allows maximum freedom to glorify God as instructed. It can be a little disorienting to people surrounding the Ignatian, and even the Ignatian at times. But I like it. There is a lot of peace to be found in trusting God to show the way, and a lot of energy to be found in doing God's will, especially when you aren't wasting energy fighting for your own (or the Enemy's own) desires.

Ignatian indifference. Take it or leave it—as God commands you.

Sorry for yesterday's silence (or, more accurately, yesterday's pithy quote which took up space instead of leaving some silence). It was a strange day, and I didn't have anything to contribute. I'm working on something for later today, but I wanted to get a posting in saying that I will have more soon. Just as an aside, I want to say that I am posting this note from my newly wireless laptop during a lull in a meeting. The person I'm meeting with is talking on the phone. This is such a big bonus for my productivity. It's pretty cool here in the future.

It is better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to open it and remove all doubt. - Mark Twain

Last night the youth group I co-lead at church had its monthly dinner, and we watched a movie together. The film, Matewan, was chosen by our associate rector, who is leaving soon to take over a parish of his own. It concerns a union organizer who gets involved with a coal strike in the town of Matewan, WV during the early 20's. He thought that it would be a good way to deliver his good-bye message, about faith, and social justice, and solidarity between people. I enjoyed it the first time I saw it, but this time was special as well.

There is one scene that is always difficult for me to watch. In this scene, the Stone Mountain Mining Company's evil hired muscle have captured a union man who has been stealing coal to heat the strike camp. They force him to reveal the names of his fellow conspirators. He names five names. They murder him anyway with a straight razor. After his death, they learn that the names he gave are all men who died in mining accidents years before. It's hard enough to think about the treachery of the hired goons, and the surprising faithfulness of the murdered union man. But this time, there was an additional twist. Our priest wisely warned the assembled youth that a rather gruesome scene was upcoming, in case they wanted to turn away. Several did. But some of those who did not were unhappy since the promised "gruesome scene" wasn't as graphic as they imagined. In fact the violence isn't in the blood, but in the hearts of the men who are able to do such a thing.

I'm not going to make this an essay about how kids today are all inured to graphic violence. Instead I'm going to make a comment about how, for some reason, we've lost the ability to see the horror in the way we treat each other. I've read, seen, and enjoyed my share of horror fiction and true crime, and that's always the part that frightens me the most. It's the quotidian evil that is the most terrifying. When the ordinary gets out of hand, that's when things get really scary.

I've wanted to read The Devil in the White City, the double biography of famous architect Daniel Burnham and H.H. Holmes, America's first urban predatory serial killer who stalked Chicago's Columbian Exposition. The influx of tourists covered Holmes' murder spree, and if it hadn't been for an effort to fraudulently claim some insurance money, he and his "murder house" would never have been uncovered.

We've been talking about community lately, and this is, I suppose, tangentially related. The Matewan murders and those of H.H. Holmes were horrible because they happened within a context of dehumanized others. It happens every day, and my youth group couldn't see it. That's what worries me more than anything else.

One thing I've been learning about blogs is that they are a lot like being at a big dinner party during the cocktail hour. Someone will post a provocative statement and others will pick up on it through the comments, or perhaps by posting a thing on their own blog. Each blog is a different conversation centered on a different opinion-haver, but many have the same people in them, and it's possible to "overhear" what's going on in other places and have them influence the conversation you are hosting.

Anyway, lately there has been a conversation going on over on some other blogs I follow (notably AKMA and Trevor, though Laura has picked it up, too) on the question of community—what it means and how we should understand it. I've posted some small comments on these other blogs, but here is my thought. Why do we restrict ourselves to small, self-marginalized communities?

Some of these blogs have only 20 or so regular readers. St. Jerome's library has even fewer just at present. But because they are small, we seem big. We are able to perceive our own influence and therefore feel good about our ability to interact with the world. The good part of all this is that the aggregate power of this larger community will be able to affect the next larger scale group. At least, that's the way I understand James Luther Adams and his concept of "voluntary associations."

But sometimes we don't make it easy for these voluntary communities to take their place in larger society. Indeed, sometimes we actively impede it. The other day we had a visiting priest at our church that had done some wonderful work with alternative worship. He said to us that his working group's motto had been, "If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much space." He smiled as he said this. We did, too. But, over the last week that saying has been gnawing at the edges of my brain. I've been trying to have a thought about it, and I wasn't sure what it was. But it's coming to me now.

On the net, there's almost a veneration of the marginalized, the tiny, the secret, the exclusive. I got into the internet early, and I remember very well the disdain we all had for those who came after us. We openly wept for those who wouldn't know the protocol to cross the BITNET gateway, and therefore gain access to more networks. I knew people who were on THE WELL in the early days and clung to their e-mail addresses like nobles sitting in their castles as their land was sold off around them. I know people who are still proud of their numerical Compuserve addresses, even though they are a complete nightmare to remember and use compared to what we have now. All in the name of being able to say "I was here first."

The internet has brought together lots of small communities into one somewhat less small community, it's true. You don't have to read Dan Savage long to realize that. But, there's still a fierce pride in that smallness. To some extent, people want to live in these small communities.

This is almost exactly the opposite philosophy that I have at work. We try to take people who are not used to having political influence (that is, people of faith, especially moderate and liberal people of faith, who find their influence being overshadowed by the religious right) and return their voices to them through the miracle of aggregation. I got hired to bring the power of the net to bear on this organizational task. I love it. It's God's own work to bring people together and remind them that they are part of something larger, and I, for one, am getting increasingly unhappy with the self-exclusion that many people seem to find so satisfying and comfortable.

Because I know many other religious people will be reading this, I want to say that monasticism is all well and good, but that's not my calling. I don't mean that no one should withdraw from larger communities or that it isn’t a valid path to God. I'm just saying that I shouldn't, and I’m finding in the internet mentality a veneration of the exclusive that I find counter-intuitive at best, and counter-productive at worst, given the task God has set before me.

"If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much space," indeed! That's our space! That is land God promised to our ancestors, and to us. Be fruitful and multiply! Fill the earth and guide it! Amen.