What to Do on Soul-Sucking Days

When I woke up this morning it was still dark at 6 a.m. and a light rain was falling when I let Lucky out. Like most golden retrievers, he never minds the rain. I went back to bed, but it was pouring and gray out when I woke up again around 8 a.m.

I was in my car and pulling away just before 10 a.m. when church school starts, driving in the pouring rain. Peter, who also teaches Sunday School, calls it "soul-sucking" weather that keeps you from feeling anything remotely spiritual.

Sometimes, though, all it takes is going through the motions to start to feel that sense of God's presence. It's a word or a phrase that captures your attention and reminds you why you go out on these horrible windy and rainy days to praise God and to seek fellowship with others.

During the coffee hour, I was surrounded by the people whose care and prayers have made all of the difference to me in the past year. We chatted about the upcoming St. Nicholas Fair and the Battle of the Bands, which earned $1,000 for the Food Pantry. Everyone asked about Andy's health.

The weather hasn't improved since church, and since we live on the Long Island Sound, the wind whips around the house and the waves incessantly roar on a day like today. Tonight we'll light the fire in the fireplace, and we'll feel the warmth of the flames. God's love is like that warmth on a cold, windy, rainy day. It keeps you in comfort and safety, regardless of how the world may seem at times. That's what I remember on a day like today -- and my soul stays put.

Aborigine Wisdom Gives 'Australia' Appeal

The film Australia has an epic quality to recommend it as a holiday film this year, but it fails to live up to its promise as having the richness and universal storyline that would make you want to see it more than once.

The best aspect of the Australia film is its story thread on the history of the Aborigine people, who were persecuted for their "savage" ways as much as for the color of their skin. One of the main characters is a mixed breed Aborigine child -- a "creamy" as they called them -- who becomes unofficially adopted by the wife of the ranch owner who is killed at the beginning of the film.

(Spoiler Alert) In terms of spirituality, the Aborigine "magic" or medicine man exhibits the qualities of a holy person who has reverence for the earth and all of the people and creatures on it. No where is this more apparent than near the end of the film when the medicine man, ironically nicknamed "King George" watches the destruction of the city by Japanese bombers as he magically survives the bombing of the jail where he is being held.

Not surprisingly, the Anglican clergy and the church do not fare well in their portrayal as an extension of the political system of the era, placing mixed breed children in separate schools far away from their families where they can get the "blackness" taken out of them. The only redeeming person is a priest who helps to save the children near the end of the film.

Nicole Kidman, frankly, is not quite believable in her role and Hugh Jackman, in spite of his rugged appearance, is barely believable as a drover who drives the cattle to market. Some of the cattle driving scenes are a bit difficult to buy. Worst of all, the screenplay seems to have been written by committee -- it's an English class comedy, a cattle-driving Western, a World War II romance and a political statement against racism all rolled into one. The historical Aborigine storyline, fortunately, survived in spite of this.

In his favor, the director Baz Luhrman (also of the incredible Moulin Rouge) does know how to find the beauty even in the most parched of landscapes, and the story carries you along in spite of its convoluted plot and over-the-top villian.

Thank You Jesus, Thank You Lord

Prayers have never been my strong suit as a spiritual person. All of that asking and pleading, praising and forgiving. Some people can say amazingly eloquent prayers on the fly. It is a gift.

As for me, I'm more of a person of few words when it comes to the matters that mean the most. Maybe that's one of the reasons the Episcopal Church was appealing to me -- no improvised prayers!

So when I was asked in advance to give grace this Thanksgiving in a gathering of friends, I knew I would have to write it down to feel comfortable saying it. I mean, c'mon, it's kind of like public speaking. And if it was to be genuine, I would have to think about it.

The first thing I did was go to Google to see what was out there, just for guidance sake. There were 543,000 entries for "thanksgiving prayer" along, not to mention more if you type in "Thanksgiving blessing" or "Thanksgiving toast." Prayers from every religion, practically, were represented. One of the strangest entries was a reading of a poem by William S. Burroughs, that was profane and horrible, a satire of thanksgiving. Pass.

One of the funniest scenes in the film Meet the Parents is when Greg, the guest, is asked to give grace. As a non-practicing Jew, he is completely flummoxed by the request, and improves with lines from the George Harrison song, "Day by Day."

Not wanting to be like Greg, and running out of time because there are too many prayers to consider in the Google line-up, I decided to check out a book I have on Thomas Jefferson, a founding father, to see what he had to say. He wasn't the most religious person, but he was a patriot and a man of great principle. Ironically, I found that the one prayer attributed to him was not written by him, but came from the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer. Here's how it goes:

"Almighty God, Who has given us this good land for our heritage; We humbly beseech thee that we may always prove ourselves a people mindful of Thy favor and glad to do Thy will.

"Bless our land with honorable ministry, sound learning, and pure manners. Save us from violence, discord, and confusion, from pride and arrogance, and from every evil way. Defend our liberties, and fashion into one united people, the multitude brought hither out of many kindreds and tongues. Endow with Thy spirit of wisdom those whom in Thy name we entrust the authority of government, that there may be justice and peace at home, and that through obedience to Thy law, we may show forth Thy praise among the nations of the earth.

In time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness, and in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in Thee to fail; all of which we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

Works for me.

U2Charist Fills Church With Music, Spirit

We did it.

Saturday night my church hosted Long Island's first U2Charist, a service featuring the music of the band U2. It was one of the most uplifting experiences I've ever had in church, and though I may not be in Northport to see one again, I know that it is the beginning of something wonderful for Trinity.

Not only was the church close to full, the attendees brought so much food for the food pantry that it was overflowing the baskets.

Fr. Weaver gave a stirring sermon. The band and the singers were phenomenal. Everyone felt the spirit. Who could ask for more in a service?

Afterward, people came in force to the reception for the food, drink and to watch U2 videos shown from our new projector. The only snafu was that the new projection screen had not arrived in time, but someone found an old smaller one and we were in business.

More commentary and photos to come...

Prize Winner Story Shows Value of Faith in Survival

Last year when I saw the film The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio, I met a the character of Evelyn Ryan, a strong woman who maintained a positive attitude under extremely trying circumstances -- raising 10 kids and enduring a raging alcoholic husband while trying to keep her family fed by winning advertising contests. The true story was based on a book written by her daughter.

The film got little attention when it was released in 2005, but it did win a Satellite Award from the international press. Actress Julianne Moore played the mother with incredible empathy and humor; Woody Harrelson played a terrific drunken fool.

Tonight when my book club gathered to talk about the book, I became even more impressed with Evelyn when we shared stories about our own mothers -- and how much the world has changed for women in the past 50 years. It's hard to recapture the spirit of the conversation, but suffice it to say that the struggle to keep an identity and follow your dream continues for many women, though it appears that the daughters of our members have a much better shot at achieving it than any of the previous generations.

To me, the most stunning aspect of Evelyn's achievement of winning so many contests, however, was that she appeared to win when the family was teetering on the brink of disaster as though she willed it to happen. In the climactic scene, her children were praying together for her to win a major contest so that their house wouldn't be foreclosed on, and the family split up. The day they were set to move, the Dr. Pepper Company called and told her she had won first prize out of millions of entries. This all falls in line with ideas set forth in the Bible, The Field and yes, even The Secret.

In our reading group, the personal details in the book touched off a round of funny stories. Evelyn's girdle was worn out, so she had to piece together parts of other ones and iron them so that they melted into one. The stench of burning rubber when they got home from school meant to her kids that someone from one of the corporate sponsors of the contests was coming to interview her as a finalist. All of our book club members had girdle, garter belt and other unpleasant female garb memories to share. Since I'm slightly younger, I don't recall that bit of struggle.

Pat's story topped them all. A former TWA stewardess, she said that not only were they all required to wear girdles -- their male supervisor had to check to be sure they had them on before a flight by snapping them!

Which makes me wonder if maybe burning girdles, rather than bras, should have been the symbol of women's liberation.

Book Explains Anti-Gay Bias in Cultural Context

The anti-gay sentiment that has become so prominent in many fundamentalist churches has never made much sense to me, other than as an excuse to enforce the propagation of the species by insisting that everyone marry someone of the opposite gender. I view it as a denial of reality -- or an expression of fear.

While there are many New York women who lament the fact that all of the good men are either gay or taken, I doubt that any of them would want their gay male friends to go back to the dark recesses of the closet. (Photos of Chicago and Seattle protests from TheFrisky.com)

Aside from procreation, though, the only other references in the Bible that were familiar to me about homosexuality were in connection with the 600 some-odd ancient Jewish laws in the Old Testament, most of which we do not adhere to today. Also the infamous episode at Sodom and Gommorah, places where the debauched did not discriminate between having sex with men or women, and were so depraved that they grabbed people in the street and raped them in wine-sodden orgies.

Not exactly the loving relationships associated with the gay male couples or lesbians we've come to know in the media or through friendships or other associations. Anyone who has asked knows, too, that it's not a choice, as some Christian groups seem to believe. Gay people are born that way -- physically and eventually psychologically, once they've accepted their natural state.

Today, reading the book How the Bible Became the Bible: The Politics, Power Struggles and Beliefs That Shaped The Contents of the Bible, I think I finally learned about the passages that give anti-gay groups their ammunition.

The book, written by Donald L. O'Dell, a former United Presbyterian minister with a master's from Princeton Theological Seminary, tackles the cultural and political contexts of the various sections of the Bible. The Old Testament, for instance, was written by six different people or groups -- the Yahwist (referred to God as Yahwe), the Elohist, the Deuteronomic Reformers, the priestly writers, David's court historian and the major prophets. The New Testament was written by a variety of people and later edited by various sects. He explains that just as historical accounts are influenced by perspective, the Bible is influenced by the cultural biases of the writers in a particular era, and later, the groups involved in disseminating the writings. And so, context is everything, yet we have none of it when we sit down and read through the Bible as a single book.

The events of history during the New Testament era help explain Paul's rant. The book describes how the Roman Empire brought law and order, valued by the Jews, who also felt threatened by the cultural influence of Greece and the city-state structure. In this vein, Paul wrote to early Jewish Christians not to be like the Greeks, whose big cities were known for hedonism, homosexuality and prostitution. (It's rather similar to small town Bible Belters looking at Manhattan as Gomorrah.) O'Dell points out, however, that only about 1% of the population were the idle rich, "who had the time and money to indulge themselves." Even so, the disciple Paul railed against the culture as indicative of the values of all Greeks.

"Homosexuality had been feared by the Israelites -- not so much because it was a sin against God, but because it was a threat to their idea of eternal life through the ancestry of their loins. The same kind of 'threat' could be said for Greco-Roman laws that governed marriage; divorce; the cultural significance of foods, festivals and family meals; the public role of women; attire; and attendance at public baths and athletic events. We can see this same kind of threat when we look at the great influx of immigrants to American cities like Boston, New York City, and Philadelphia. Immigrants had 'quarters' that were identified with them and they could identify with: Italians, Polish, and Irish. Normally, local ethnic churches maintained the 'native' customs -- foods, dress, language, piety, honor...," O'Dell writes.

O'Dell explains that Paul was "desperately trying to maintain his authority" over his far-flung flocks at the expense of the Greek culture.

Based on that analysis, the current Christians' disproportionate reaction against gay rights and gay marriage seems more appropriate to the kind of horrifying debauchery seen in Sodom. The anti-birth control Mormons in California began a crusade in Proposition 8, rallying enough votes to put the California ruling that gays have equal rights to marry in jeopardy. About 2% of Mormons were against Proposition 8 -- I salute them.

It's sad that people of faith want to inflict their cultural values on everyone, when in fact they have nothing to do with God's laws. What's even worse is that there are groups that actually believe they can retrain gay people to be straight, as though this were an option. It's called repression, nothing more.

Many years ago I babysat a 2-year-old boy who was adopted by a late middle-aged couple after years of waiting for a child. It became clear within minutes that this boy was gay. Not only did he want to wear his mother's nightgown, but he was obsessed with Beauty in the Beauty and the Beast Disney movie. His effeminate behavior, obviously, was not a choice at the age of 2. The most heartbreaking thing about it, though, was that his adoptive father could not accept this, while his adoptive mother could. It caused a rift in their marriage that did not heal.

As long as members of society -- especially entities like churches which are supposed to show compassion -- reject people for not fitting their societal "norms," gay people will be wronged by certain people who claim to be righteous. There is hope, however, that other voices will be heard this time. One of the first groups to file a motion to overturn Proposition 8 was a coalition of churches.

Even though homophobes can claim Christianity is against gay people due to a flawed interpretation of one apostle's writings, if they followed Jesus' example of embracing the tax collectors, the prostitutes and the downtrodden, then they would find the compassion to see the truth.

Bond on Steroids, Plus Some Wholesome Fare

Prior to seeing the much-anticipated new James Bond film, I read only one review in Newsday, in which the reviewer called it "silly" because of its over-the-top darkness, and complained that he didn't "get" the title. This did not daunt me, since I often find myself in disagreement with the New York area reviewers.

As a sequel, the title makes perfect sense, providing you have an inkling of the meaning of the words quantum and solace. To put it succinctly, Bond lost the love of his life in the previous film, and in its follow-up, he gets an atomic level of solace or comfort from his revenge. While I liked the title for its clarity and uniqueness, I found the film had less of either than it should have. Based on the story line, I would have named it Quantum of Bourne, since Bond in this film was much more the outsider even in his own organization, and acts as a Bourne-like killing machine.

There's always so much to watch and ponder in the Bond films that I never feel cheated, but I was deeply disappointed at the lack of humor. One laugh in the entire film doesn't cut it for a character that is meant to be witty and urbane. The Bond in this film was unrecognizeable.

Yet...still...the film has action enough for five films, with pulse-pounding car chase scenes and a chase through Siena, Italy during the Palio horserace that makes it seem more harrowing than it already is. Daniel Craig is my favorite Bond, but I hope the next script gives him some of the lines that made Sean Connery his pre-eminent predecessor.

On the opposite end of the entertainment spectrum, Andy and I were graciously invited to see a local production of the musical chestnut "State Fair," with a cast of at least 50 people, including kids dressed as chicks. The concept of Long Islanders singing about their pigs and corn and the glory of the State Fair was quite humorous to me, definitely requiring a bit of fantasy on the part of the participants.

Andy noted that it was unlikely that any of the people in the room had been to a state fair, let alone one in Iowa, but for a brief shining afternoon, we were all denizens of the family farm, happy to spend a few hours on the midway with our corny, good-natured neighbors, singing about love, family and the good things in life -- which don't change much whether you're from the city, country or the ends of the earth.

Lake George Weekend for Last Hurrah

It rained most of last Saturday, and it rained all day today, a week later. Fall is almost at its nadir, with leaves blown down, sodden and heavy, the skies mostly gray.

Last weekend I went to Lake George with my roadtrip buddies for the last weekend of the year before the cottages owned by Susan's family close up for the season. The rustic pine log houses with two bedrooms and all the amenities, overlook the lake, which is at the foot of the Adirondack Mountains. It's a gorgeous view from the porch, which is most of what we took in while there, aside from a dinner trip to a lakeside restaurant, where all we could see were lights on the water.

We played Trivial Pursuit and watched old and new Saturday Night Live episodes and argued about politics. My two conservative Republican friends have been in a foul mood since the election. I couldn't help but laugh out loud when the Saturday Night Live Weekend Update opened tonight with the words, "Now that Barack Obama has been elected, we won't hear the word nucular for at least four years." My last word on the election last weekend was that if I had to hear W mispronounce the word for eight years, they could at least be good sports about losing this time.

There's something a bit melancholy about the end of fall that goes beyond the change of the seasons. The air is filled with the scent of decay and the sense that all that is lovely and green will sucuumb and be barren for a long time. It's a transition I used to enjoy when I was a college student, because it meant the end of the semester was near and I would see my family again soon and relax and enjoy the Christmas holidays. As I got older, it just signified the impending chill and silence of winter. I hate winter.

Last Sunday we shopped an antique shops, picking through the keepsakes of past generations. We bought our own little treasures and gifts for our families. I purchased a pair of artistic earrings made of tiny slices of lacquered pine cones that come from the area. We drove home down the Taconic Parkway, which has breathtaking views, and ate a late lunch at the Taconic Diner, which is famous for its giant neon chief's head. We got home late, tired, and ready to return to our schedules with a slightly fresh perspective.

This week I made it known to all of our friends that Andy and I are moving to Arizona in less than a month, and we will start a new journey in our lives. It's a season of purging and reorganizing, packing and resettling. It's my last fall in New York, where I've lived longer than anywhere else. We are moving for opportunity and for Andy's health, since the effects of the rapidly changing weather patterns here increase his chronic pain practically every few days.

Tonight we went to Elijah Churchill's restaurant and pub to hear a friend's duo play and see our mutual friends. The place is named after the first recipient of the Purple Heart, and he got it from fighting a Revolutionary War battle at Fort Salonga, which used to stand about a block away from our current home. My friend Judy asked me how I felt about leaving. It hasn't really sunk in, but I am sure that what I will miss most are my friends, not this place. However, since my best friend is Andy, I will be traveling in good company.

On Debra Winger & Other Movie Thoughts

Maybe you could call them chick flicks, but the theme of overcoming poverty and racism in The Secret Life of Bees and overcoming addiction in Rachel Getting Married gives them a universal appeal. Certainly the audiences were about 50-50, gender-wise, when I saw the films over the past few weeks.

Bees the book was selected by my book club several years ago after it built an audience on "buzz," so to speak. We loved the relationships between the runaway girl, Lily, played by Dakotah Fanning, her black caretaker, played by Jennifer Hudson, and the women who took them and who ran the honey business. Come to think of it, addiction played a role in this film, too, since Lily's father, played by Paul Bettany, is a violent drunk.

The film changed some of the storyline to make it a tad more PC and to make the main character more realistic, I think. Also, the black women -- played by Queen Latifah, Alicia Keys and Sophie Okonido --were less ethnic in their behavior than those in the book. That aside, the film lived up to the spirit of the book.

I saw the film before Jennifer Hudson's mother, brother and nephew were killed, so I wasn't biased by sympathy when I whispered to my husband in the theater that night that she was the real star of the film. She has that rare, indefinable something that keeps you riveted on her whenever she's on the screen. It's an odd comparison, but it's the same je ne sais quoi that Audrey Hepburn had that made her equally lovable and fascinating. I saw Breakfast at Tiffany's with three girlfriends the other night and, as always, it was a delightful film because of her character. I couldn't imagine anyone else in that role.

Rachel Getting Married was a tough film for many people to take because of the rawness of the character Kimmie -- played by Anne Hathaway -- and the emotions that she elicited. Hathaway had said in an interview I caught on TV that she wanted a challenging character that went against the good girl type with perfect hair that she usually plays. In Rachel, she even wears a shiner for the last third of the film.
If I went by the opinions of a large group of people in their 60s who were chatting outside of the Cinema Arts screening room post-film, I'd say it was "horrible," and "boring" and "too much." Somehow, though, I felt the humanity of the very flawed main character, and I even had a sense of empathy for her, since it was obvious she would be burdened with herself for many years to come. And yes, I did dislike her intensely at moments during the film, but I think she was believable.

It made me think of someone who I dated for a time who was a "friend of Bill." He had told me that the worst thing about being sober was not trying to make amends or dealing with the shame of his behavior. The hardest part was changing who he was, since his whole identity had been built around being the fun guy at parties. His nickname had been "Lips," since he had a habit of staring at people's lips when he was really drunk, otherwise he was unable to concentrate on what they were saying.

The most shocking moment in the film was when Debra Winger appeared as the suffering mother of the bride and the substance-challenged Kimmie. It's been so many years since I've seen her on the screen, it was like bumping into an old friend -- and yet another actress with that certain something. Boy did she deliver! Never afraid to play sick (Terms of Endearment) or unattractive, (Cannery Row) she played a character whose anger and fear are just below the surface. It was great to see her again.

Time to Pause, Give Thanks

Thanksgiving came early this year.

Today a lot of people are celebrating the election of a leader who we believe has restored hope in this country in the real American dream -- and no, it is not owning a house. We are sharing a moment of joy that finally we might have a chance to see something significant and important happen in our lifetimes, something that is greater than all of the mud-slinging, dirty tricks and smear campaigns that have dominated politics over the past several years.

Barack Obama's victory speech last night brought tears to the eyes of many people for whom the election did not mean anything on a personal basis. Instead, it was the recognition that something momentous occurred in terms of democracy, and we believed for a fleeting moment that our votes did make a difference. (Front pages from around the world.)

Yesterday when I voted, I stood in a line for 40 minutes at a polling place where I'd never had to wait more than 10 minutes in previous elections. All around me, neighbors were greeting each other, mothers, fathers, grandparents and children waited with a sense of anticipation as people cast their ballots. I saw my friend Jane, who was excited about the vote. I saw Ken, who I used to work with, volunteering as an election worker. I saw Maggie, who was taking her daughter with her to vote. People were buying Obama cookies (giant blue hearts with his image on them) at the Copenhagen Bakery, where the owner and his wife are a mixed race couple with five children, who I am sure were very interested in the election.

Today, I got an email message from my friend in Poland and his wife, who had been certain that McCain would win. They were congratulating me on Obama's success, as though I were a part of it. In a small way, I guess I am. Obama won the Long Island vote 2 to 1, and half of Long Island used to be a Republican stronghold.

Although many on the Christian Right were disappointed last night by Obama's win, I hope that they listened to McCain's extremely gracious concession speech and are now or soon will be ready give their support to him. I couldn't have said it any better than McCain when he said, "Godspeed." Obama will need all the help he can get.