Christmas: Presence, not presents

I awake Christmas Eve morning agitated, anxious, jittery. The holiday weekend has begun; I have family and friends to look forward to, yet I am nervous out of habit. I feel punch-drunk from the brutal exchange of expectations from Christmases past, and trod dutifully back for another beating.

My pen and journal have helped calm my restless legs each morning this week, and again I reach for them to dig beneath the current of my racing thoughts. How did I come to be so would up around Christmas each year? What messages did I ingest to make the advent of the Prince of Peace so profoundly disquieting?

I remember the ramp-up: pressure around the tree and decorations; Christmas music required on-hand to ritually trigger desired memories and affect. And then there was Christmas morning, when we finally plumb the depths under the tree, desperate for the proper blend of presents and responses to our gifts so to pique our high; only to settle, spent, afterwards into an empty ennui of wondering what gift or experience we must have missed. The whole thing invested with so much performance that we might as well be seducing santa into our beds for a one-night stand.

What is it we are looking for under the tree? Didn't our parents promise us, in December especially but also throughout the year, that if we simply behaved, Santa would take note and reward us Christmas morning? And why would they need to promise this, except that their parenting skills fell short of making an imperfect world palatable to us and, instead of accepting this human flaw and sitting with us to show one can accept such pain in the moment, they displace it to a yearly reckoning wherein a bearded intruder settles the account with gifts.

The dynamics diverge for each family, from orgiastic cheer to unwrapped cartons of cigarettes; from semblances of the family unit, to parents fractured in relationship and psychology alike. There are always variations on a theme. But, almost uniformly, we trace our parents' footsteps in an annual pilgrimage back to the tree, to exchange gifts and hope it somehow fills the void. What we are looking for, boxed up under ornaments and lights, is the love our parents were unable to give.

When we obsess over choosing the perfect gift for our loved ones - with cost and thoughtfulness matched to what they mean to us - we are trying to assuage our guilt for what we have yet again failed to offer, in time or patience or care throughout the year. Contrast this to the gift God gave to us on the same holiday: nothing but his naked, vulnerable, dependent self.

The baby in the manger came with no frills, inside jokes, or utilitarian purpose. He came simply to be with us. He offered himself in purest form, with no adornments. How often do we think ourselves alone inadequate, our presence insufficient if we fall short in the number or value of gifts we put forth? Though we see in the wise men's frankincense and myrrh that a gift of simple presence may inspire an appreciative response that has material aspects, these cannot substitute for the real thing. Both the bible and our own hearts remind of us this, every Christmas morning.

The revolutionary statement Christ made in his first simple moments on Earth applies not just to Christmas, but all year round; at every moment we can stop and be with each other, with our children, remembering that Emmanuel means God With Us. Every day we are threatened with openings to intimacy, with the possibility of eye contact, of showing something true on our face. But not often enough do we accept God's first gift to us - the gift of coming alongside us, being ready for us without an agenda, of affirming we are enough, just as we are. This is the gift that can settle us down. That can end the ache of unrequited love that is chased throughout generations. This is the gift we have been looking for from our parents all along.

Each Christmas, we gather in the dead of winter, starved of presence, craving presents. This Christmas, let us follow God, and simply give ourselves.


Merry Christmas everybody. Please be introduced to this wonderful and a propos track from my friends at Church of the Beloved:

"our gift is not what we can do but who we are."
http://belovedschurch.org/hope/given.php

Is it the 'homo' or the 'sexuality'?

The problem I have with public issues of sexuality:

I recoil from liberal discourse on the topic

but am not conventionally conservative

I feel uncomfortable with the focus on gay rights

but not because I am against them

and I am anti-abortion

but don't feel it is my place to step in to protect unborn babies

but is rather to mourn, and perhaps to speak from my heart, where God gives me opportunity

But moreover, I am angered by the assumption

that I must "have" a position on these topics

These particularly political issues

are raised against a backdrop of non-controversial,

commonplace obscenity

in every commercial, movie and television plot;

there is a dominant discourse in which sexuality occupies center stage

in the sphere of human relations

while I feel that it should rather be something respected, treated as sacred,

and respectfully hidden from view.

Our kids should be well-protected from their parents' sexuality

and friends and neighbors should not be exposed to sexually-suggestive behavior of couples

Rather, we should be able to relate in human ways, from places of our heart

And sexuality should be expressed, celebrated, privately - so it does not need to be repressed

But simply kept in the bounds God designed it to be

We are an oversexed culture

We have no bearing about how to solve the problems of gay rights and abortion

But perhaps we can see that these "problems" are created when sexuality itself leaves the bedroom

And parades on the street

The trend toward everybody's sexuality

Being everybody's business

Creates the problems we cannot solve

The liberal emphasis on liberating sexuality

is one ingredient to the problem;

The conservative audacity to violate what God relegated to the privacy of couples, and committed communities at best,

is the other, reactionary at best.

Both are to blame, and neither is right

More modesty is needed all around,

built on humility

of our own confusion, flawedness, and brokenness

Adam and Eve's problem, recorded in the bible

should be suggestive enough

that we all are going to be confused around sex

None of us has the place to parade sex around,

Neither our personal sexuality, nor our positions on it.

Parents, humbled by their own struggles, and helped by God,

should introduce children to what they need to know, when the time is right

Couples should further explore sexuality together

Only when already committed to each other for life

And seek guidance from elders, and other committed couples,

Once sex has been put in its proper place:

Not the central issue, not an issue on its own,

but one mysterious dimension of human relationship and existence

of which our proper and most healthy priorities and boundaries

have already lovingly been described by God

God's way of treating each other, regarding each other,

Checking ourselves and living in obedience to Him

Must be the first and far more important emphasis,

and aspect of life to be explored and practiced

long before anything about sex is discussed or explored

This is the only way out of the mess

This is the only hope for surviving the confusion

Our particular brokenness must be discovered, confessed, allowed to convict,

and shared in living relationship with God

and then we will be shown what to do with the rest

Afterthought:

Churches should boldly address impropriety, or the desacralization of sex

But only in the context of their charge of shepherding their flocks,

Not as a weapon to wield in general, irresponsibly, doing the same damage

as the impersonal, generalized liberal portrayal of sex.

Letter to Bishop: what leads me to respond

The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God,

thou wilt not despise.

Ps 51:17

2 - what leads me to respond

I laid in an empty room of a recently-rented apartment, forty miles from any friends or family.

Instead of furniture, there was the sound of frogs croaking in the backyard pool. My body pulsed with over-exertion from the walk upstairs. I laughed. Even if I had wanted to continue working the breakneck pace of the past three years, my body wouldn't allow it.

Instead of blessings, I counted the wonderful elegance with which things had been taken away from me: Six weeks before, my car and belongings were stolen. The day following, our approaching wedding canceled by my fiancee. Meanwhile, the progressive deterioration of my health that had started nine months earlier. The tapering of calls from concerned friends and family removed any obligation toward them. The utter comprehensiveness of loss felt strangely beautiful. I felt my body pulse and buzz, and peaceably readied myself for death.

Hmm, God reminded me. Hmm, there was one thing that hadn't been taken away, but had been strangely supported where things might easily have failed: the letter for scholarship money covering my expenses; the lucky securing of the last available campus apartment in my price range. God was opening one door, only one, while all others quietly shut on rooms full of death. I saw a singular beacon of light beaming through the decay.

"All things come of thee, o Lord." And when only one thing is given, there is little question remaining about what God has created for us. From this stark and unforgettable experience in mid-June of 2005, my priorities were clearly laid out for me. All things involved in bringing and sustaining me at Harvard, and which God had waiting for me there, were the focus of my life. Everything else could be left for dead.

In that beacon of light, God built for me a bridge past a life that otherwise had ended. On the other side of that bridge, now, I am His alone, and every action or decision gets weighed in consideration of the work He has shown as laid out for me. Some involves long-range goals and academic projects; other work involves daily devotionals of ministering to individuals for whom God has found me. As surely as I can tell, one of those acts is unashamedly declaring myself a servant through Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit of the One True God. With or without ordination, when I remember this, my energy is restored to keep on living. If ever I become sidetracked, death begins to set in again.

My early struggles as an acolyte against hesitant sermons or stultified congregations first awakened my passion for work within the church. This led to crises at each major life-path decision that did not honor what felt like the call to Seminary. After college, responses to a desperate letter to all the pastors who had mentored me through my life assured me that when the call was true, I would be able to answer it without anxiety. Meanwhile, I pragmatically challenged the idea that a young man, practically untouched by tragedy or the complexity of adult life and relationships, could have anything to offer a congregation. Secretly, privately, I welcomed such growth experiences into my life.

The crash of two jet airplanes into the World Trade Center while I slept in New York preceded by two months the discovery in my blood of a fatal and unknown disease. In three months, doctors finally confirmed that the source of my profound debilitation, my 14-hour nights of sleep, and my layoff and relocation back to Seattle was a rare bone marrow disorder known as Aplastic Anemia. For the next three years, I found dependence on my family, practices of yoga and Eastern healing, and a long conversation with God about what I was doing wrong, or how much I should even take responsibility for my illness and its healing.

Ironically � some would say � stories from the Bible became more accessible to me from my yoga practices than through Church itself. Through experiencing and learning to live within the laws of energy, I found principles quoted by Jesus and experiences of the Apostles in Acts to be for the first time understandable. Over a period of months, every sermon and reading delivered at Bethany Community Church in Greenlake recapitulated a lesson I had experienced in the yoga studio, just the week before. I began to accept that the One True God was working in all the world, and was recognizable by faithful people through many vocabularies.

The quality of worship exploded tremendously for me while practicing yoga! At pastors' prompting, I knew now how to let go of my doubt and resistance, and trustfully welcome the Spirit in through my brain, my heart, my complete body as an opening to faith and renewal. Suddenly, there was no need to question or wait for the proof from God about how to know or believe in Him truly. I knew plainly from those feelings of grace, deep cleansing, assurance, and inspiration that I encountered at every service! What before had been a vague affinity for church buildings, community, and attendance now showed herself to be the Holy Spirit, who had been working through my numbed body and brain all along!

With thankfulness, I had no doubt any longer about taking up the gauntlet to investigate a call to ministry. What remained unsolved were only minor questions about the church or denomination to facilitate the inquest. With fond amazement at the workings of God, I found that God had actually placed me in the right church over 16 years earlier; that my mother's best friend, who had lovingly saved me from a near-crisis by taking me into her home, had recently been ordained as a Priest in the Episcopal Church, and that one of the newest Episcopal congregations in Seattle turned out to be the first church I have ever felt was a home to me. It is no exaggeration to say that the church home at COTA feels as much like a family as the two beautiful families who raised me and nursed me through my sickness.

To answer more briefly: I can never say to know for sure the scope of God's plans or vision through the actions He takes in the world and our personal lives. Yet I answer my congregation's call to ministry because, to the best of my ability to discern, God has plans for me in this role, and has seemed to be preparing me for it quite intensively over the past seven years. I accept it happily because it may be the only thing for which He keeps me alive.

I answer the call to ministry in sober acknowledgment of the challenges facing the church today. Echoes of political struggles destabilize our polity, and a new generation addicted to stimulus, proof, and mistrust finds less of value among church offerings. Firsthand work managing yoga studios has shown me what people will pay for tangible improvements to their physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being. Consistent with my experience, my God-given vision involves creating safe and sane ways to incorporate body-mind practices into liturgies, so we may better minister to societies for whom the disconnection of their souls from God is intimately related to sedentary lifestyles, distraction, and a disconnection between their minds and their bodies; and between the lives they deeply long to create in harmony with the Spirit and what they successfully realize.

Sincerely,

Andrew Varyu

5 Jan. 2006

Prepared for Bishop of the Episcopalian Diocese of Olympia

Statement from Aspirant to Postulancy Andrew R Varyu

Submitted Epiphany, 2006

A Better Bride...

re: A Better Bride

Thanks Andy,
ever since yesterday I am getting cetain kind of giggle at the thought
of loving God in that way,
like a challenge is being presented. Get's the fire going ya know.
and of course you can use my letter.

I must admit I feel the sense of divine femanine and am humbled and
opened to new feelings and opportunities. But still, I retreat back to
thinking of God as the mean parent, and me trying to be all I can be
for that image and also more so rebelling against it.
As I was reading that I kept thinking what courage it was taking to
love God this way, actually there are parts of me saying "you can't
love God that way, it's wrong!"

But there is a more tender part that is also longs to have that
relationship, actually tears are coming up and that presence of knowing
is coming up as I write this, how could a person offer this and yet I'm
so convinced that that is where I will find it, maybe I need to aproach
Jesus as a soon to be lover. Once again courage comes to mind....




A Better Bride

I am getting married tomorrow.

The suits are bought. Date is set. One year ago I started paying off the ring. Each payment, each month, I have readied myself deeper to be merged, to shed the solitary freedom into which I was born, and to let my life join with another. I have readied myself, and my soul has expanded to encompass a broader two.

Three weeks ago, my fiancée called it off.

But still, I am getting married tomorrow.

I have found a New Bride.

See, I was ready to be married. My soul had expanded, and was ready to be stretched further by the negotiations of partnership. Upon the cancellation, my heart plummeted, threatening to pull the fabric of space-time back to a collapsed grimace of torture and self-agony. The void was built of absence, within my ready-to grow soul. Rather than return, I decided to fill that void.

I found a New Bride.

In the next two weeks, I had two propositions. Both, from outsiders, urgently needing citizenship. One has a child. One is a loner. Both, the substance of fantasy: two of the most stunning, fabulously sexy women I have ever seen. One Japanese-Hawaiian. The other, a Romanian who looks and sounds Italian and is called Argentina.

So which did I choose?

Neither:

I found myself a Better Bride

Tomorrow I am going to Church. I will walk in, silently. The room will quiet; I will ready myself. And after the processional, my Bride will enter. Down the aisle. Step by step. I have been preparing, for a long time. She will take Her place next to me. We will begin Our vows.

Tomorrow, I marry God.

* * *

When I text message God, I don’t have to wait for Her to get back to me.

Or worry that my message is obsequious, intrusive. Her response is instantaneous, and She’s always glad to hear from me.

I am not alone driving home anymore. My New Bride is with me. The moment I drift lost in my own little world, I look over and there She is, hand on my arm. Reassuring, knowing. That when we get home, we are going to make mad, passionate love.

The thrill of marriage is in the sharing. Someone who will excite at the discoveries I made, the wonders I find. I celebrate Scrubbing Bubbles^(TM), and any new products or methods that make cleaning the bathroom that much quicker and easier, and more likely to get done. I think my partner at the time had a hard time sharing my excitement. But my Bride is right there, knowing just how cool it is.

If She tells me to slow down, take a rest, She doesn’t do this from a judging distance. She has sidled next to me, and I rest my head.

God can feel the depth of the music I found, tune into the layers of syncopation, mastering, genius of my new CD. The value is not lost on Her. She’s right there with me.

God has Her own shit going on, a life outside our marriage. And she’s dedicated, involved. She gets her shit done in a day. But she’s got it under control. She fixes it to be home when I pull in, if she wasn’t already working with me. She helps me take a load off, then we share about our day.

She’s confident, but realistic, about how things went. And some days, it wasn’t the greatest. But I believe in what She’s doing. And when She’s preoccupied with the pain and suffering that slipped into the world that day, we cry together on the kitchen floor.

She doesn’t do the laundry for me. But better, She does it with me. She helps me see the joy of sharing every step of the path.

And She knows how I like to be touched. With warmth, confidence. She could pleasure me – and Sometimes she does. But in Her touch there is love, which warms through my flesh and heals my soul. Every night from now on, we will share deep, warm, luscious kisses.

Someday, to keep me fresh and alive, She will invite another woman to share our bed. She’s not a jealous Lover, so long as I’m keeping Her first. So she will find a beautiful, amazing lover to come and soak up some of the Love We share, and together we will have an incredible threesome.

There is no predicting what life will be like. What fates will draw us, and where. But I am enraptured, enthralled, and I will follow Her anywhere. This is a soul-connection, felt from before time. We will never die. For every death helps me shed and merge closer to Her. Every shredding of body, or rending of soul. The more I bleed, the more openings there are for Her to cover, wash. I fear not death, when I will patiently, finally dissolve. Her cup, with me, runneth over.

Cross V. Glory

theology of the cross

vs.

Theology of Glory

i know nothing of this historic church debate except that it exists, relayed to me by my an erstwhile theology major. Supposedly theologians have argued over the centuries between which better depicts Jesus' cosmic triumph. To my thinking, it seems each aspect is needed to help us in different times: the cross when we have pain or struggles, Glory when we are faced with the dangerous ordinariness of everyday.

cross:

loss, tragedy, brokenness

Glory:

praise, thanksgiving, celebration, everyday worship

cross:

strength when the chips are down,

toughing it through the tough times,

the power not to give up.

Glory:

the power to forge ahead on faith,

to have no regrets,

to believe in the path God has you on now.

cross:

reconciling pain

through the larger picture of grace

Glory:

reconciling the mundane

through the larger picture of grace

cross:

will serve me if I find back home she has not

left a note on my door...

Glory:

can serve me now, before I go home,

remembering God is with me

even if she isn't.

A Job moment

I’m passing out fliers.

What is this, the 15^th day in a row?

Door to door, up at four AM.

Why aren’t I feeling any better?

Usually I feel the energy by now. Body moving. Mood improving

Today I’m getting worse.

My skin hurts.

If this is the way it is, I may have to quit.

But I can’t quit.

I have nowhere to go.

I have no purpose outside this, not yet.

I'm not strong enough yet..

I’d sit on my ass again, body not moving, trying to dream up a job that means something to me.

When I was lying at home, searching, my condition got worse. My mind got worse.

I was losing hope in the world.

I know if my hope dries up, my spirit will give up.

Like happened in New York, before I got this disease.

That’s like the path to death.

This means something to me.

If I give up on it,

I’ll get worse,

I’ll probably need that transplant.

Maybe I’ll die.

Probably.

But I can’t stay. This will kill me. 17 hour days.

I’m stressed.

My acne is so bad I can’t turn my head to check the blind spot in the car.

I’m supposed to be learning how to take care of myself.

Why the fuck does this have to be so hard?

I’m angry. Fucking Angry. Damnit, why’s it so hard!

Wait. Who am I angry at? My boss?

No, he’s here, too. Around the corner, dropping a flier on the newspaper.

Even he doesn’t like this. He’s in some pain, too.

But we need more calls. So we drop more fliers.

Otherwise, we have to shut our doors.

I agree, this has to be done.

Wait - God. That’s it. I’m pissed at God.

God gave me this disease. He gave me this situation.

He gave me this yoga, this job as a way to heal myself.

He made it this hard.

It’s no one in the world. No one to blame.

This is my life.

God made it this way.

Fuck, my skin!

The shirt against my shoulders hurts my acne.

I feel the nodules getting inflamed, below the surface.

So many they push together now.

My skin is not flexible, it’s a sheath.

I’m stiff. I can’t move my neck to look to the side. I have to turn from the waist.

It hurt to put my head on the pillow last night.

I had to peel my open sores from the pillowcase this morning.

FUCK!

That’s right. I’m pissed. I’m pissed at YOU, God.

That’s right. I’m angry, and I don’t want to hear about it.

(…This feels good. I’m strong when I’m angry…)

Wait – can you be pissed at God? Is that against the rules?

Do you always have to be thankful?

…?

Job. Job did it. Job got pissed at God.

That’s right, Job was the good God-loving man.

He didn’t complain when God fucked him over. He just kept taking it, and taking it.

He said why me, but he never blamed God.

Finally some dude

came and told him

he wasn’t going about it the right way.

He needed to address God, “and let the waters flow” or something like that.

So he let God have it.

And that’s when God talked back.

If Job can do it, I can do it.

Yeah, I’m pissed God. You know it.

Don’t even come near me with any grace.

You just sit there and take it, cause I’ve about had enough.

I’m angry at you.

…At least right now. Soon enough, I know I’ll have to address you with a real question.

Like Job did.

But not yet.

I like being angry.

At least for a little bit.

Five more houses, maybe.

Five more houses, then I’ll see what you got.

…

….

…..

……

…….

Allright God, why me? Why does it have to be so hard?

Why do you put me through this? Why do you give me an almost impossible situation?

Rock and a hard place.

Either way, I feel like I’ll die. I really think so.

Why does it have to be this hard. Why does it have to—

-because you are meant for greater things.

you will do much more than this.

but you must grow stronger, first.

you are growing through this –

...

whoa.

..

…

….

Wow.

That makes sense.

Was that really God?

Wow, that really makes sense. I have to be here now. I will grow stronger.

Later, I will be capable of so much more.

Through pushing myself a little,

here and now.

Without this challenge, I would be at home wasting away. Literally.

It's a gift from God.

It’s all a gift from God.

The job, and the disease.

The rock and the hard place.

Without these boulders, I wouldn't have found the strong message from... God.

..

...

This isn’t so bad out here. The sun is shining.

And my back – it started feeling better.

Whoa, it feels good to relax. I’ve been holding onto a lot of stress.

It feels good to let it go.

It sure is pretty out here.

…..