What heaven sounds like

Take ten minutes and listen to this motet by Thomas Tallis. Forty voices, no instruments. The words are below in Latin, and begin with “I have never put my hope in another, God of Israel”. Nice moments at 2:14, 2:33, 4:55, and 7:25.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Spem in alium numquam habui praeter in te

Deus Israel

qui irasceris

et propitius eris

et omnia peccata hominum in tribulatione dimittis

Domine Deus

Creator coeli et terrae

respice humilitatem nostram.

Gender dyslexia

I’m sure everyone has heard the story about the “man” who is pregnant, so I’ll not reiterate it here (it was on Oprah yesterday. Shut up! I was sick on the couch. It was either Miss Thang or Montel Williams. In retrospect, stabbing myself in the scalp with a fork would have been more entertaining).

Anyway, it got me to thinking about the gender thing. As I’ve mentioned before, we’re not finding out the gender of bebe. This has less to do with gender politics than it does with our desire to simply wait and have the surprise, but (can I be honest, dear reader?? go right ahead, speaketh the ever-so-magnanimous internet) it is driving me crazy.

It’s not the anticipation, or the romantic musing while sorting crocheted baby socks and knitting heirloom swaddling blankets (cause, you know, I’m all home ec up in hee-yah). It’s the planning of the whole thing. And yes, I know, I always said I wasn’t one of those. You know, the moms who come prepared with the plastic bags for the wipeouts, the cute diapering sets, and the pacifier holders. The ones who use those special hangers to identify 0-3 month clothing from 3-6 month clothing. Ye exalted beacons of preparedness that have the nonspill snack cups and car seat protectors (in colors coordinating with their cute Britax pattern).

I have to (gulp) eat my words. It DOES bother me (hanging head in PC shame), this not-knowing! And I have to ask myself if I have subtle, hidden gender issues lying at the root of all this. Though we are buying cute things for the baby in blue, green, and yellow, I’m not quite so evolved as to buy rosy pink and puffed sleeves, because Dear Lord, what if it’s a HE? And what if we irrevocably screw with some essential part of his manhood (see my posting on circumcision- *ehem*) by dressing him in pink? And what will people think??? And am I supposed to care???

So just how important is this gender dyslexia? Oprah would have us believe that the acceptance and praise of a relationship where the “man” is carrying the child is an indication of how far we have progressed as a species. So should I be OK with “Diva in training” on the front of my son’s pink onesie? Or should I be throwing out those purple socks in fear that he will, some day, suffer from this very-PC-though-somewhat-confusing ambiguity?

*Sigh*. I need a donut. Or a fork to the scalp.

To bris or not to bris, part 2

What shall I talk about today? Oh, yeah! How about penii and sharp tools?

I had a conversation yesterday with one of my friends (Hey, E!) about circumcision. As a subject very infrequently mentioned in my circles, it was a pleasure to have another’s viewpoint on the matter. I was surprised, however, at E’s strong feelings about circumcision, especially coming from someone who has considered conversion to orthodox Judaism, which is ALL FOR the bris- it’s actually a mandate in those circles.

The basic argument (which has apparently only become an argument in the US recently) is that the procedure of removing or cutting of some or all of the foreskin of a male baby is medically unnecessary. Though some studies have shown that there are medical benefits to the procedure (for those of us who live in Sub-Saharan Africa), they seem to be under scrutiny and fairly inconclusive. The other side of the argument would be religious, social, or as a matter of aesthetics.

So as a circumcised penis isn’t any more attractive to me than an uncircumcised one (let’s be honest, are any of them that awe-inspiring??), the only reasons to go ahead with a circumcision I can think of would be social or religious. So what are the social reasons- that people might look down on him because of the presence of foreskin? There was actually a guy I went to college with who had the fame of being “Un”. Whenever anyone mentioned him in anything more than passing, the comment would always surface- “well, you know he’s not circumcised, right?” As if it had anything to do with the kind of person he was or his contribution to the world in general. From Wikipedia I learn that only 30% of the males on this planet are circumcised, and that in places like England, where the practice isn’t covered by insurance, the incidence is less than one percent.

So… how about religious? As a practicing, protestant Christian I’m not bound by Jewish law- Romans, in fact, deals with this very issue, in the context of works versus faith. Paul says, “Circumcision has value if you observe the law, but if you break the law, you have become as though you had not been circumcised…a man is not a Jew if he is only one outwardly, nor is circumcision merely outward and physical. No, a man is a Jew if he is one inwardly; and circumcision is circumcision of the heart, by the Spirit, not by the written code…for we maintain that a man is justified by faith apart from observing the law…” (from Romans Ch. 2 and 3). Obviously he’s dealing with a very specific culture here- the growing, Jewish-founded church was telling people they had to be circumcised to be Christian, and he’s arguing that it’s not by observing the law that one is a Christian, but by faith in Christ.

Interestingly, one of my friend’s arguments was the religious one- but from a different angle: why would God give us these parts if we’re supposed to cut them off? True, but you may as well ask why we cut our hair or shave our legs. It goes back to the social and aesthetic reasons, which I’m not sure are completely justified, as I mentioned.

So I can’t say I’ve come to any conclusion about it, though I kind of feel like I should. I’m not one to follow the whole “it’s culturally accepted” argument, and it seems like a barbaric process (see the entry on Wikipedia), even with the presence of pain medication for the infant. Any ideas from those of you who have, unlike me, given this any serious thought??

Nothing like a discussion on penises to start your day…

Incensed with incense, or, the Latino Catholic in America

Being what the Catholic church calls a  “mixed couple”, R (Catholic) and I (Protestant) split our time between two churches. This weekend is, as you can imagine, quite the juggling act (as any mixed marriage would be)- Maundy Thursday in his, Good Friday in mine, Saturday Vigil in his, Easter Sunday in mine.  While dizzying in some respects, the opportunity to experience the same event through both traditions is (so far) enlightening, humbling, and moving.

I just wish we could turn off the ice cream machine.

See, the service at R’s church, which is in Spanish (R and I are both native speakers) is held not in the glorious gilded sanctuary of the Catholic church,  but in what appears to be a converted cafeteria/gym. We sit on plastic chairs in lines, and the altar is one of those gym stages with curtains around it. The ice cream machine hums in the corner next to the stack of brown folded tables. This shouldn’t bother me, I am sure- especially considering that my own church meets in a converted gym, the only remaining remnants of which are those folding basketball hoops, tethered to the walls. What bothers me is that this church’s Latino congregation (jeans, hair wet from the shower, and callused hands) worship in the gym, while the fur-wearing, jewelled, ”American” worshippers are in the main sanctuary. And the masses don’t coincide in their times- which means many times the main sanctuary is empty as Latino hymns echo through the corridors.

There’s got to be a reason for this. R says that I should ask the priest- a young guy, no older than I am, with a welcoming smile and kind eyes. I doubt he’s been there long enough to question anything- about a year. Maybe it’s tradition. Maybe the Latino congregant feels more comfortable in that kind of an environment- but I don’t want to follow that logic to its inevitable conclusion. Maybe it’s a scheduling thing….maybe…maybe…

Last night, as, having arrived late, we waited until  the procession entered the gym, I watched the priest as he prepared himself for the service, surrounded by one of those high school trophy cases, the corridor to the bathroom, and several brown folding tables. His white and gold vestments were partially obscured by the smoke from the incense, which wafted back from the acolytes, a few paces ahead. I wondered if he ever asked himself the same question, whether it even crossed his mind to reflect on this. Whether he ever thought about the cars from his congregation, parked at a distance from the gym, because all the other spaces near the church were usually taken by the “other” congregation.

And I wonder if this is the experience of the Latino worshipper here in America, this unconscious segregation, this overlooking of the obvious. I wonder if there’s reasoning behind the divided congregation. Is there an iceberg here, or am I imagining things?

As the incense parted and we took our seats, I grasped R’s hand as if to shut out the observations I was making. This divide that we live daily is something we have chosen, something crucial to who we are as a couple, indicative of who we are. Icebergs abound for us, and this is OK, because we’re committed to engaging them. I just wonder if the jewelled passengers in the first class cabins are aware of the sleeping lookout in the crow’s nest.

Maundy on my mind

The partially shaven cat my sister brought home from the vet. Imagine a cat with no pants on and you’ve basically got the image.

The large, veiled Muslim computer whiz here at work who wears Adidas and floats around the lab.

My daughter’s singing “in Spanish”- sounding something like “fala- chila- mashini- cocooooooo”….

The way my mood seems to lighten whenever it gets above 65 degrees.

COBRA for the two months I’m not officially teaching at my school this summer. To the tune of $2000. I’m NOT working- that’s the whole point! Where do they think people come up with this kind of money??? I’m not a trust-fund baby, either.

Crocus-es. Croci. Multiple crocus. You know, that flower that’s pushing up through the pinestraw everywhere.

What is it about Easter that makes us fly into a tailspin of buying fluffy, beribboned, or otherwise glittery and spangled things? Some disturbing connection with fecundity?

The noise the frogs make in the drainage ditch behind my house.

How many times in your life have you used the word “maundy”?