I am in awe of M, who gave up another career to enter the seminary several years ago. I couldn't really see the other three new priests clearly, but I think he was not the only one of that approximate age. I'm not saying it isn't noteworthy to do something like this right out of college, but making a profound change later in life strikes a particular chord with me. So seeing M achieve this, and seeing the joy and solemnity and sacredness all mingled together in the room, was pretty special.

The service was held at St. Paul's, a huge cathedral in Oakland. (It surely seats several thousand, but I couldn't tell more specifically.) They had a diocese choir, which was able to fill the place, and brass and percussion and of course organ. The pulpit is large, and good thing -- I think there were at least 75 people involved in this service (though not all at once, mostly).

I am not fluent in the high-church Roman Catholic mass (Wikipedia helped some), but this appeared to be most of a mass with a substantial ceremony occupying the center portion. During the ordination ceremony Bishop Zubick (the local bishop) spoke individually (but publicly) to each of the new priests, adding a personal touch that showed that he knows them. (I understand that when he came to Pittsburgh he declined the usual bishoply residence and asked for an apartment at the seminary instead.) Two of the four are returning to their school in Rome for graduate studies in the fall; the other two (including M) begin local assignments in a couple weeks. These assignments were given out during the ceremony; I had assumed that the priests knew in advance where they were being sent, but it turned out they learned when we did. I guess it reinforces that pledge they had each made to serve the church and the bishop no matter what. (It didn't actually say "no matter what", but there were words of some gravity.)

The mechanics of running this service were interesting. It was very smooth, and while most religious services are not on this scale, there's stuff to learn here for people running smaller ones. I'm going to talk about that first, and then I'll go into the geeking (for those who are still reading :-) ).

( service mechanics )

( geeking )

Do you think it constitutes observance to sing Christian music? If so, how do you feel about Christians singing/playing music of the Judaic tradition?

Also, at what point did you start feeling uncomfortable about singing Christian music? Did you ever discuss this with your rabbi?

These questions deserve an answer that isn't buried in comments. (And anyway, it may get too long for that. Err, who am I kidding -- it will get too long for that. :-) )

( Read more... )

At torah study we talked about the direct contact that Moshe had with God (when God would descend on the mishkan and speak to him). The rabbi pointed out that we tend to not make a big deal about this -- "oh yeah, God talked to Moshe" as opposed to getting excited about it. Why are we so blase about it? The Christians he spent the last month would have been all over that sort of thing with excitement, he said. (I pointed out that compared to the revelation at Sinai, this is less dramatic. It doesn't happen out in public and it doesn't involve the whole people. We tend to focus on the immanance and pure power of that moment with the whole people.)

This led to a discussion of the transcendant versus immanent God, with my rabbi speculating that the Christians he's met seem to be much more focused on an immanent God, while he (personally) is more comfortable with a transcendant God. (Yes, of course it's some of each, but different people are comfortable with different divisions.) Most of the Christians in his group were happy to talk about their direct, personal relationships with God; most Jews, in his experience, are uncomfortable doing that. (We might or might not have such relationships, but we don't tend so much to talk about them.)

I think there is a structural issue there, at least when you talk about lay people. (Not so much clergy, I hope.) Christianity is a religion, and if you're part of the community it's because you're part of the religion. You can assume a high degree of agreement on basic theological principles. But Judaism is also a people, and there are quite a few people who identify as Jewish but don't believe in God, or don't share your understanding of what God wants or how to relate to him. They are part of the community for other reasons. So if you find yourself talking theology with the guy sitting next to you at the annual meeting, the odds are somewhat lower that you'll share core beliefs, especially in liberal congregations. In other words, the density of religious feeling in the congregation is lower.

When it came time for the ice-breaker question in the service, he asked us to share a significant religious moment from our childhoods. (He initially said a Jewish moment, then realized not everyone grew up Jewish.) People talked about all sorts of things -- seders, other family moments, b'nei mitzvah, camp, and other things. I said something to the effect that all of my significant religious experiences from childhood were negative so I wouldn't talk about those, but that the talmud states that a convert is like a newborn so I'm free to talk about anything Jewish. This got a big laugh, and when I was done the rabbi said something like "we'll all be here for you to help you through your adolescence; these are difficult years, but I'm sure you'll pull through". It's nice to have a rabbi with a sense of humor. :-) By the way, I talked about reading torah -- and it was actually the second time I read, not the first, that I really, really felt a connection with it.

Pacing is not one of the associate rabbi's strengths, so when he left at a bit after 10, we were just getting to Barchu. (Usually we start the torah service around 10:15.) I took over the service and tried to expedite, choosing shorter melodies and skipping optional readings and stuff like that, but we were still running pretty late. (It's hard to make up that much time in kriat shema and t'filah, after all.) Unfortunately, this week's torah reader didn't realize that we were running so late, so she didn't abbreviate the d'var she'd prepared or otherwise expedite. She was also kind of nervous, and seeing people leave partway through her part of the service probably didn't help. I feel for her. I talked with her some after the service, but I also need to send a note to the mailing list about tricks for keeping a service on track. I'm not perfect either, of course, but I seem to have picked up some hints by observing my rabbi. And maybe I need to get a clock for the room.

Sunday afternoon we went to my niece's graduation party. The balance of guests was not what I expected. I was assuming there would be a flock of 17-year-olds and a smattering of folks our age, mostly relatives. As it turned out, the kids were all migrating among many parties, so at any given time the adults outnumbered the kids by, oh, 5 to 1 or so. (Graduation was Friday night, so this was probably the prime party weekend.)

Many of the adults were from the church choir (my father and Kim both sing in it). I noticed that most of the choir members were wearing red, so I asked my father about it. Sunday was Penticost, which I suppose I could have worked out on my own if I'd thought about it, and there is a tradition of wearing red for the holiday. (I think the reason had something to do with an association between the holy spirit and fire, but I didn't quite catch it. Education welcome.) I'm glad that the red shirt I pulled out of the drawer that morning had a spot of something on it (so it went to the laundry pile). I would have given an incorrect impression without meaning to. I much prefer that my incorrect impressions be planned. :-)

I found myself in the uncomfortable position of balancing kashrut concerns against being kind to my family. They went out of their way to make sure none of the side dishes contained dairy so I could eat the meat, when I would have preferred to stick to the dairy/veggie dishes instead. (They also made sure to put meat and cheese cold cuts on different platters, segregate the ham from the turkey, and so on.) I could see that I was going to upset my mother if I didn't eat the meat, though, so I did.

(I'll eat meat meals in my parents' home, and for that matter in my friends' homes, so long as the basics are observed (species, no dairy, etc). I want to be able to eat with my family and friends. In a situation where there's a variety of food, both meat and non-, however, I'll avoid the meat. Most parties are like that, for example.)

Sunday evening we had a lovely dinner with Ralph and Lori (mmm, brownies!) and then played a new-to-us card game that I've forgotten the name of. It was entertaining, whatever it was. It involves cards in rows and columns where you rotate cards to try to make edge patterns line up; if you do that you get to remove cards, which have point values. (The object is to maximize points.) There are enough unusual conditions to make the game interesting while not being so many to be hard to track. Most card games with individualized cards fall down on the latter point for me -- Magic, Illuminati, Chez whatever, etc.

Sometime during the evening it rained, which I didn't think much of at the time. I was surprised to come home to a dark house. Fortunately, we knew where the flashlights, candles, and mechanical alarm clock were, so this was not as inconvenient as it might have been. Pity I can't read by candlelight, though, but it was late enough that this wasn't a real hardship.

Panasonic scores points for at least one model of VCR. I'd noticed before that after brief power outages I had to reset the clock but the programming wasn't lost. A five-hour outage is more than the backup can handle, apparently, so this time the programming was lost -- and the VCR told me that in big letters on the screen. Definite UI points there for warning me that they'd violated an expectation I might have had. (Mind, I was going to check anyway, but still...)

She got married several years ago to Daniel, so since then the visits have included him -- and, now that I'm married, also Dani. She and Daniel are both committed Christians (specific denomination unknown to me -- they just say "Christian", and I haven't pressed it). Daniel seems like a nice person, though we don't know each other that well.

Last night we had them out for dinner, and Daniel and I got into an annoying argument about religion. (He started it.) I thought we were having one of those intellectual-style arguments where you're looking at facts and logic, but it became apparent that he was having an argument about faith and belief, and then wouldn't take hints that this was Not A Good Idea. Once I figured out what was going on I tried to change the subject and eventually just stopped responding, but even that did not get through to him. Eventually Lori told him to stop and Dani was able to redirect the conversation. I felt like a bad host, though I can't help feeling that I also had a bad guest. (I should clarify that I like Daniel, at the basic social level that we've achieved thus far. I was kind of surprised by this.)

( the rest of the story )