the cassandra pages

Bright Faces of Hope, and a Long Uphill Road Ahead

The first two Native-American women. First two Muslim women. First Somali-American, a former refugee. Youngest woman ever, a Latina. First black female congresswoman from her state...They are the hope for me today: the brown female faces of those who won seats in the U.S. House of Representatives, along with many white women who also won races, and the first gay male state governor. These are the faces of the future — though their majority power may be very far away, beyond my lifetime even.

When I look at the map, the polarization is depressingly clear, and I can’t even feel smug about Quebec being better, after our last election. It was just the same: most of the rural, homogeneous French-Canadian areas went conservative, while the diverse metropolitan areas (chiefly Montreal) were solidly progressive. The real question in so many places today seems to be: do you want someone who will actually work for the things that benefit all people, or do you want someone who looks like you, expresses the same fears, and wants to go back to the past?

There were a lot of “firsts” yesterday. That’s very significant, though it made me simultaneously weep with happiness at seeing those faces, and rage that it’s taken so long and come with such a hard fight –- which will, of course, have to continue. And I'm not naive. These are modest gains, and even a Democratically-controlled House will, at best, create a stalemate with the executive branch and Senate, that will of course be blamed for blocking legislation and starting investigations. I'm appalled at the support this president still enjoys, and in some parts of the country, it seems more solid than ever, with a looming possibility of re-election in 2020.

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Looking at the Senate and House electoral maps today caused me to reflect on the election of Gene Robinson, the first openly gay bishop in the Episcopal Church of the United States, ten years ago. The church’s polity is set up the same way as Congress, with a House of Bishops, one from each diocese, and a much larger body made up of lay delegates and clergy, equally represented by four of each from every diocese. In every single step toward inclusivity — allowing the ordination of the first black priest, the first woman, the first openly gay priest, and then bishops in each of those categories — the House of Deputies voted positively years before the House of Bishops did, and in exactly that order: blacks, women, gay. And of course, representation in the House of Deputies was itself reflective of that diversity long before there were black, female, and gay bishops. But it did happen. The people in the churches elected the delegates and changed those bodies; the lay delegates pushed the clergy to be more progressive, and eventually even the House of Bishops changed. It's inevitable, but it took a long, long time even in one of the most progressive religious denominations in the United States. Ten years later, however, a great deal has changed in attitudes toward homosexuality in the general population, friends and colleagues, and forced them to confront a choice between love or rejection of real people. We should see this as an indication that change is absolutely possible.

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I've been on the side of immigrants and non-whites all my life, and especially so since marrying into an Arab/Armenian immigrant family, with multiple personal histories of genocide and narrow escapes from persecution to begin life again in new places. Twelve years of being a Canadian-American, and having opportunities to travel, especially in Latin America, have only made me MORE sympathetic and more identified with migrants and refugees. I’m grateful for my life experiences and fervently wish I could share them with a lot more people, because I think if you don’t live it, or have very close relationships with people who do, it’s hard to really get it. Thus, the map we keep seeing, and the fears that keep being exploited.

Besides this endemic hatred of "the other", the environment is the other issue that creates ongoing despair for me. There is so little time, and so little will on the parts of governments -- in fact I believe we've already passed a critical window where reversal was possible.  So much of what I have valued and loved about the Earth is in danger of being lost forever. To me, this is the fundamental issue of our time, and even here in Quebec, where many people say they do care about the natural world and live close to it, the new government feels it is not important, and secondary to economic concerns. How shortsighted can we be?

Today is a day to rejoice in a first step back from the precipice Trump's presidency has placed us in. Frankly, though, we can't let up for a minute. 

An Ordination, and Some Memories

The clerical procession

Last Sunday, three of my friends were ordained at our cathedral: one to the diaconate, and two to the priesthood. I was in the loft, singing with the choir, and had a bird's-eye view of the processions and the proceedings (but unfortunately, only my camera phone in my pocket.)

An ordination is a momentous occasion, representing and celebrating many years of discernment, struggle, study, training and preparation. In liturgical traditions such as ours, the ordinand is taking solemn vows and receiving permission to do particular tasks. Deacons (the Greek word means "servant", "minister", or "messanger") are the church's eyes and ears and hands in the world; they also preach and assist at the mass. In most cases being ordained a deacon is the first step toward becoming a priest, which happens after another year, though some people feel called to the diaconate itself as a profession. In the case of priests, ordination means being able to perform all the sacraments such as baptism and marriage, and particularly, to "say mass" or celebrate the Eucharist.

I've known a lot of priests as good friends, and had a number of friends who have become priests during the time I've known them. Following and writing about Gene Robinson's journey from priest to his ordination as bishop gave me an additional window into the deeply personal journey this unusual and difficult path entails. Nobody takes it lightly, and an ordination always feels moving to me.

The candidate for deacon kneels alone at the altar.

The friends who were ordained on Sunday included a woman who is our present assistant at the cathedral, and two men, both of whom are openly gay and in committed relationships. Although such ordinations have been going on for some time in the U.S., this was the first ordination of an openly gay, non-celibate candidate to the priesthood in our diocese. Last year, when he was ordained a deacon, people rose and objected at the point in the service where the bishop asks if anyone feels there is "an impediment." This year, the bishop read a letter of objection he had received, but no one stood up in person , and the bishop calmly proceeded. When the ordinations were finished and the new deacon and priests presented, the congregation warmly applauded for many minutes; most of us have been involved in this struggle for years, and we recognized the moment for what it was.

The clergy gather to lay hands on the candidates for priesthood at the moment of ordination.

As I watched and listened and sang, I thought back to the time when there were no women priests -- in my childhood, women were not even allowed to read the lessons or to serve on the vestry. I thought of Gene Robinson's ordination, and his appearance at this cathedral for our first "OutMass" a year later -- of how packed it was, of the tears in the eyes of people who had never dared hope they would be accepted by a church because of their sexual orientation; men and women who had been shamed and rejected by the Roman Catholic church and denied communion, and community; people who had not taken communion for decades but did so that day as they listened, some weeping, to an openly gay bishop tell them they were loved by God just as they were, for that is how they had been created. That may have been the day, I think, that our bishop made the courageous decision to stand behind the ordination of gay men and women in our diocese, and soon formally accepted the candidacy of one of the men who was ordained last Sunday.

Bishop Gene Robinson preaches at the first OutMass, Christ Church Cathedral, Montreal, in the summer of 2006

For the most part, I feel the church and most congregations in North America, at least, are moving on. In England, there's still a huge and ridiculous debate over whether women are qualified to be bishops, and in other parts of the world the church still upholds laws that demonize and persecute homosexuals. Gene Robinson was utterly alone in the Anglican Communion for a number of years but now is no longer the only openly gay bishop to be elected. (He's also retiring this year.) The Catholic church is still embroiled in scandals over predatory, pedophile priests who did incalculable damage to children, and yet refuses to budge on the issues of ordaining women, or allowing priests to marry. I'm glad my denomination is less stuck, and tries to act with integrity, even as the church's relevance wanes, and glad I've been able to play a small part in the ongoing struggle for equality for all people.