Of God and Jellyfish

All right, we do many things well down here. Friendships, for example—we have wonderful friends. Oh, and family—also very big. And nobody has ever said we can’t dance, much less party.

But it has to be said: we’re behind in a few areas. Which is why I’ve been rubbing my eyes, this morning, trying to figure out the hoopla accompanying what is a major triumph for LGBT folks—the passage in the Senate of Puerto Rico of a law prohibiting discrimination based on homosexuality in employment, housing, public places, businesses and public transportation.

Does this seem a little 80’s?

Well, it was the topic of morning radio, both yesterday and today, which may be why the essential weirdness of it all seemed greater than perhaps it is—I was half asleep when mulling it all.

Consider, for example, the senator whose vote was seen as crucial. She only voted in favor if the phrase “real or perceived” after the word “homosexuality” was removed.  Why? What was her objection? Is it OK to discriminate a perceived homosexual but not a real one? Oh, and another senator popped in to the debate—would couples be forced to demonstrate in a court of law that they were truly homosexual, not perceivedly homosexual?

Then we have the religious leaders—all of whom are saying words like the following:

Respetamos los derechos de la comunidad gay y lesbiana, pero nosotros entendemos que esto es un comienzo. No ha perdido nadie aquí. Esto es una batalla y la vamos a seguir. Entendemos que esto va a llegar a que sea el pueblo el que decida en un referéndum nacional”, dijo Robert Gómez, obispo de la Iglesia Evangélica Jesucristo Fuente de Amor.

OK—short translation:

We respect the rights of the gay and lesbian community, BUT (knew that word was coming, didn’t you?) we believe this is a beginning. Nothing has been lost here. It’s a battle that we will follow. We believe this is going to come to a referendum and that the people will decide, said Robert Gómez, bishop of the Jesus Christ Fountain of Love Evangelical Church.

Well, Robert Gómez, bishop of the Jesus Christ Fountain of Love Evangelical Church, I’m not sure how much respect I have for you. Oh, and by the way, did you get to be “bishop” without taking a class or two of church history? Because there was a time when you guys were not too popular, and might not have fared so well in a referendum.

I don’t get it—this absolute love we have for these crazy Evangelical churches and their loopy ministers. All of my students at Wal-Mart were incredibly devout—even now I wince when I’m on Facebook and wade through the syrupy pastel messages of unconditional love from you-know-whom. All of the students also knew someone who was gay—someone they loved and would do anything for. Oh, and someone they would ardently defend, were he or she actively persecuted.

That said, it was almost a relief to come upon an actual Catholic, though what has become of the Catholic Church recently is terrifying. (I heard Whitney Houston blaring out of a 17^th century church recently….)

It’s the blurring of the lines between religion, entertainment, and commerce that gets me. Consider, for example, La Iglesia Fuente de Agua Viva, which in fact you will consider, if you make a left turn leaving the airport. Because soon you’ll come upon an enormous tower, called La Torre de Oración, or The Prayer Tower. Here—have a look…..  

The exterior is impressive, but really, it’s the interior that stands out. On entering, after the half mile walk through the parking lot—and no, I’m not exaggerating—you are immediately confronted with shops. Shops selling religious items, candles, books. Oh, but also there is a popcorn stand, and little rides for the kids. It is, in short, not much different from Plaza las Américas.

Oh, but wait until you go in to the Sala de Adoración, or the Worship Hall—you’re in the largest space—oh forget it, just look at the picture below… 

Oh, and pews? Nah, let's get comfortable because we're gonna be here for hours, and besides, where to put the popcorn? So we have movie theater seats. And this is just one part of the building, which also houses a radio station as well as a TV station. Because the Fuente has splashed over into Florida, as well. So it nice—you can be connected at all times.

Fussy readers may be wondering about the theological underpinnings of it all, and here I can help, since it was explained to me a decade ago. I remembered it for its startling lack of imagination—hold on, you’re gonna be swept off your feet. Right—so let me present it as a play:

(The scene is the stage of the Sala de Oración. The Reverend Otoniel Font steps out, visible only on the large screen behind him. He extends his arms and looks heavenward….)

Reverend Otoniel: “God wants you to be rich. He wants me to be rich, he wants you to be rich, he wants everyone to be rich. Here’s my wife—honey, come out and show them what you bought at Cartier’s on our most recent trip to Paris, where we stayed in the penthouse of the Paris Ritz!”

(The Reverendess Omayra Font steps forward, wearing a diamond necklace. The diamonds are as big as ice cubes. The crowd roars approval! The Reverendess looks adoringly at her husband!)

Reverend Otoniel: “And how much did that necklace cost!”

Reverendess Omayra: “Who knows! If ya gotta ask, you can't afford 'em!”

(The reverend paces the stage, animatedly telling his story.)

Reverend: “Don’t think we always had money. There were times, right out of college, that I didn’t have money for lunch. We were living check to check, and I hated the thought that Omayra might have to work. But there didn’t seem any way out. One day, I entered a church, began to cry, and then to pray. I asked God for help, and he told me, ‘as much as you give me, as much shall I reward thee!’ And I realized, the secret to wealth was to give, give, give as much as you can to spread the word of God and to allow him to spread his wealth on you. And from that day on….”

Yes, Dear Reader—it’s the oldest song a religious huckster ever sang. And it seemed, for a time, to be working. The church built a Bible Museum, they commissioned an architectural firm to design a huge campus, they got into debt, and then, last October, declared bankruptcy.

Or rather, their two corporations did. So my bank is out 15 million bucks to these idiots, and I, through the bank’s outrageous fees and miniscule interest rates, am paying for it all. In the meantime, the Reverends Font are continuing their message: homosexuality is made, not born, and comes directly from, yes…

…Satan.

Take a look, finally, at the clip below. But first, let me assure you…

God really, really, REALLY wants you to be rich!   

The Case Against Cardinal Ratzinger

I had read about it in my days at Wal-Mart, when I spent a lot of time on the Internet, ostensibly cruising for articles for the students to read, really just killing time. Everybody could see the train hurtling towards us, and most of us were tied with fear to the tracks. I would run through the office at class-time, rounding up the students, who promised to come to class, and variably did. It left a lot of time for reading.

So I had stumbled across the Minnesota lawyer, Jeff Anderson, who has made it his business—in both senses—to represent victims of sexual abuse. And today, he’s telling, via CNN, the next pope the sensible steps that need to be taken to protect kids from their priests.

Anderson, of course, comes at the question with—if not bias—at least a definite point of view. But even so, I was surprised by this statement:

He issued Vatican orders directing cardinals, archbishops and bishops to keep credibly accused priests in ministry, to move them to a different parish or to keep them in the priesthood because they were too young, too infirm or their removal would cause too much scandal for the church.

Well, that’s pretty strong. The question, of course, is whether it’s true.

Short answer—yes.

The church’s own evidence hangs them.

The paper trail begins in 1981, when the Church of the Good Shepherd writes a letter to the then head of the Sacred Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (strongly thought about omitting capitals, as well as putting in quotes…) concerning a priest who wants out. Seems he had—remember that old demon?—a dominant, and very Catholic mother, who pushed her kid into the seminary, and then gloated about and basked in it in social circles.

The son, Stephen Kiesle, had a curious habit. It was almost impossible, the letter states, to get him to do stuff like visit the sick, counsel families or individuals, or any of the other little jobs that priests are supposed to do. Instead, he wants to…

…do I have to finish that sentence?

Right, so he was working in the CCD program with children and teens. But curiously, it’s only mentioned in the sixth paragraph that he’s committed some “improprieties” with the kids.

Two weeks later, the Diocese of Oakland writes, also recommending that the priest request for dispensation from his holy vow of becoming a priest. In this letter, the same “improper” behaviors are mentioned, as well as the fact that they were publicized and attracted great attention.

A month later, the bishop writes to the pope, and for the first time drops the news—in 1978 he was arrested and charged with “having sex with at least six young men between the ages of eleven and thirteen.”

Young men? How about teenagers, minimally, if not children?

So Kiesle fights nails and teeth (uñas y dientes) to clear his name, right? Wrong—“like Jesus,” he decides not to answer the charges against him, and pleads nolo contendere. So he’s given a three-year suspended sentence, and told to go into therapy.

Remember—there’s no evidence that anyone writes to the Vatican in 1978 with this news that has been so widely reported. The diocese first writes—apparently—when Kiesle decides he wants out.

Well then, the letters send the Vatican into a fluster of activity, right?

You’re not batting too high, today. In November, the Vatican writes back, asking for documents, but not, if my aged Latin serves me, anything more than ordination papers and the like.

Well, it’s a new year, 1982—four years after his conviction—and nothing is happening. John Cummins, Bishop of Oakland, writes first in February, then in September.

No response. Oh, except that in an interoffice memo it seems that the Vatican did write, saying that the “matter would be addressed at the appropriate time.” More damning, the Vatican apparently has received the case of the sexual abuse filed against Kiesle, which Oakland had sent on July 15, 1983.

So it’s another new year and Cummins writes again, mentioning the case and asking for “any information you can give.”

For eighteen months, nothing happens. Then Cummins writes directly to Ratzinger—who had, you remember, requested those documents four years ago—asking what’s up. And in November of 1985—eight years after Kiesle’s conviction, four years after the matter was brought to the attention of the Vatican—Ratzinger writes back:

Most Excellent Bishop

Having received your letter of September 13 of this year, regarding the matter of the removal from all priestly burdens pertaining to Rev. Stephen Miller Kiesle in your diocese, it is my duty to share with you the following:

This court, although it regards the arguments presented in favor of removal in this case to be of grave significance, nevertheless deems it necessary to consider the good of the Universal Church together with that of the petitioner, and it is also unable to make light of the detriment that granting the dispensation can provoke with the community of Christ's faithful, particularly regarding the young age of the petitioner.

It is necessary for this Congregation to submit incidents of this sort to very careful consideration, which necessitates a longer period of time.

In the meantime your Excellency must not fail to provide the petitioner with as much paternal care as possible and in addition to explain to same the rationale of this court, which is accustomed to proceed keeping the common good especially before its eyes.

Let me take this occasion to convey sentiments of the highest regard always to you.

Your most Reverend Excellency

Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger

(Text of 1985 Letter From Future Pope Benedict)

Following is the text of a November 1985 letter in Latin signed by then-Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger to Oakland Bishop John S. Cummins. It was translated for The Associated Press by Thomas Habinek, chairman of the University of Southern California Classics Department.

Well, the boys in Oakland are scratching their heads over this one, but as an interoffice memo in the diocese states, it seems that “they (the Vatican) are basically going to sit on it until Steve gets quite a bit older.” So what to do?

Let me not make the same mistake as Ratzinger.

And that is, you ask?

Lose sight of the fact that we’re talking about kids. The good of the Universal Church is considered, his Excellency mustn’t be lacking in giving a child molester “pastoral care,” the common good is invoked, but none of them can get it into their heads—we got a priest fucking around with kids.

Oh, wait—finally someone does. And guess what? It’s a woman.

Who doesn’t write so much as snort and snarl.

She tries to be civil: “I need to inform you of my concern that a convicted child molester is currently the youth ministry coordinator at St. Joseph’s Parish in Pinole.”

She loses it, however, when she considers that she has been waving the red flag for eight months, and now Steve is planning his participation for Youth Day NEXT YEAR (her caps, not mine). 

Finally, in 1987, Kiesle was defrocked. In 2002, he was again arrested and charged with 13 counts of child molestation. In 2004, he was again arrested, and convicted to 6 years for a molestation in 1995.

He’s now living as a registered sex offender in Walnut Creek.

The Dead Finger

Readers of this blog know about it. Last May, as we were celebrating the second anniversary of Franny’s death, someone put her finger on the test button of the smoke alarm.

Recap—the Zanas had come out and brought food. The talk turned to mystical matters—how Bess always associates her mother with deer, and how, in speaking with her sister about this, she went to the window, to pull up the shades. “Wouldn’t it be weird,” said Bess, “if there were a deer…”

Don’t have to tell you. There wasn’t one.

There were fourteen.

And that’s when, in the Acres, the smoke alarm went off. And of course, there was no smoke in the house.

I took the damn thing outside, where there was a strong breeze.

Wouldn’t stop….

I finally took the battery out. And apparently unwilling to violate too many natural laws, Franny relented. Then the Morning Glories held their affair, to which they graciously invited us! Well, no Newhouse cannot NOT have the last word.

In this case, it was 17 minutes of Beethoven, the Heiliger Dankgesang. It, like Winterreise six months previously, had been haunting me. 

Well, that put an end to THAT party. Not much you can do after that. So I took a walk with Cheryl, our hosts cleaned up Franny’s house, and they departed. “Wow,” said  Eric, “wonder what an outsider would have thought of that.”

And then, an outsider turned the porch light off.

Wondering why I bothered, I went out to examine the empty porch.

(For a fuller account of the whole affair, as well as a wonderful performance of the Dankgesang, click here….)

Well, well—I knew about the dead hand (or thought I did), but the dead finger?  Because this morning, the Schumann I had decided on for the daily trot wasn’t to Franny’s liking.

She changed it to the Brahms’ Piano Concerto number two. 

Well, it was either the stupid shuffle button or the dead finger. But here’s the deal.

She wants Brahms? She gets Brahms.

And it was curiously appropriate. Because the second pregnancy began with another Brahms’ piano concerto. The first, of course—there are only two.

The first pregnancy ended with her death, which spawned a book. The second pregnancy ended with my death, and set off the writer. And now, in the curiously jumbled way things happen, Franny is born again, for the ten or ten thousand people who may read about her.

She’s out there stirring around—no more jangling for her!

I wrote, some paragraphs up (can’t be back…), that I knew about the dead hand. Seems I didn’t—thefreedictionary.com defines it thus:

dead hand

n.

1. The ever-present, oppressive influence of past events: "Psychotherapy explores the ways in which the past has shaped people, and how its dead hand continues to deform their lives" (James S. Gordon).

2. Mortmain

[Middle English dede hond, translation of Old French mortemain or Medieval Latin manus mortua, mortmain.]

Well, I knew the first definition, but what’s the skinny on the “mortmain?”

mortmain [ˈmɔːtˌmeɪn]

n

(Law) Law the state or condition of lands, buildings, etc., held inalienably, as by an ecclesiastical or other corporation

[from Old French mortemain, from Medieval Latin mortua manus dead hand, inalienable ownership]

Collins English Dictionary – Complete and Unabridged © HarperCollins Publishers 1991, 1994, 1998, 2000, 2003

mortmain

transfer or ownership of real property in perpetuity, as transfer to or ownership by a corporate body like a school, college, or church.

See also: Property and Ownership

This makes dim sense to me. Looked it up, further, and got an interesting account of the struggle in medieval times of property between the Church and State. 

But I was hot and sweaty, exhausted as much by the trot as the labor of two pregnancies. Plus the Brahms was washing through my brain, still. I decided to skip any further investigation of the dead hand, or mortmain.

I’ll take the dead finger instead….