i struggled out of bed this morning for daily eucharist. i haven't been to the table in several weeks. take that as you will. but when i arrived @St. Gert's [yes, a couple minutes late], i found the doors locked. this was a queer moment - how to start the day? this is the kind of thing that a sunday-goer would know - it was probably in the bulletin. but i am not a sunday-goer, not right now. i usually celebrate the day of rest in queer time and space [you know, taking a reprieve from the dissonance]. although, the last time i attended family brunch was on a sunday, with david + G + Sophia [hmmm].
i miss david.
and the only reason breakfast might be canceled is because it is the fourth of july. a queer moment in deed, when the Church puts national holiday before liturgy, substituted for the pseudo-turgies of back yard bbq's, pass-times, and fireworks. These are the rituals of the American Dream, the eschaton, whether you come to the table or not.
and perhaps us american queers have some things to give thanks for this year, some new purchases from this brand of liberty - civil unions and marriage equality legislation, DADT, more public sympathy for the deaths of our young people. however, on this, the day of our independence, maybe we should ask ourselves what those purchases mean - are we simply taking out stock in the American Dream, adding queers to the pie crust without rethinking the recipe? or are we reflecting on our potential to transform unjust social institutions, including marriage and military?
what rings in my ears today is the rendition of our national anthem that i heard at the Chicago Force's season opener. quarterback, Samantha Grisafe with her gentle strum on the ukulele and the gritty melancholy of her voice plucked the heart strings of my patriotism. i looked out at the line of her teammates in their tackle pads and uniforms, their pride and allegiance, and i thought, this is possible, here, in this nation, in this moment, and i was glad.
but the tires of our parade floats are still being slashed, we are still being bashed under the golden arches, in plain sight, no less, and we are still uninvited to the table. but i go anyway, except when the doors are locked [hmm]. i go in the shadows of the morning, when people don't ask questions, or stare, or make us a cause, or think we should have one, or lament our struggles.
in the morning, people just pray, together - well, except today, america's independence day.
i miss david.
