Veepstakes

With Obama set to announce at any moment, VP speculation is rampant. I certainly don't know who either of them will pick, but I do have my preferences. I'll admit some of those preferences are rational and some are not.

On Obama's side, I would certainly be heartened with a pro-life pick. For a party that has put NARAL front and center and rubbished good folks like the senior Mr. Casey, any lean in a more moral direction would be significant to me. At the moment only Gov. Kaine fits that description, however imperfectly. He doesn't have much experience, but I'd almost be willing to overlook that. Even slighter pro-life leanings can be found in Sen. Bayh, like myself a blue-dog, and Sen. Biden. Bayh strikes me as a rather safe, uninteresting fellow. His record is not perfect, but I don't think he'd do much harm. Biden is more problematic. He's a goodly fellow, with one of the best records on foreign policy, but he seems to suffer from perennial foot-in-mouth disease. And he has a long legislative record to plumb and attack. Gov. Sebellius has a good bi-partisan record, in a conservative state no less. But her recent pro-choice moves have really hit me the wrong way. And do we really need another liberal Catholic out there for the conservative bishops to deny communion to? (Do we, Sen. Biden?) Besides, in her stump speeches for Obama she has struck me to be about as interesting as stale wonder bread.

Then of course there's Hillary. I would have been seriously disappointed with this pick a month ago. I've long felt that this country needs to move beyond the partisan bickering and sexual indiscretions of the 90s, if that's even possible. Half the country, after all, hates her guts. But as the campaign has gotten nastier (just look at today), it has begun to look more and more like her milieu. She's got blue-collar, blue-dog credentials, a modicum of experience, and she's a fighter. Right now those are all looking like things Barack needs. She's got enough baggage to fill a container ship, and I'm already not looking forward to all the clips the right will run of her sliming Obama (which they'll undoubtedly run whether she's the running mate or not), but the country knows her and even the right respects her.

Personally, I'm still hoping it will somehow be a shocker, like the junior Casey or Hagel. And my biggest dream of all, Colin Powell. The only problem with him is that he should be at the top of the ticket. But he's never really wanted the job. Which is why he has always been perfect for it, a true Cincinnatus. As I like to say - Always give the Ring to Hobbits. Only give power to those who don't really want it. For the moment, it's Kaine and Bayh who are looking the most hobbitish.

On McCain's side it's much easier. I'm not sure I like any of them. I will be really disappointed if he picks someone like Romney, who I think is a shiftless, partisan hack. Though Giuliani's stock has risen with me in recent days, how could I abide a pro-choice Republican. That's like my worst nightmare. Mr. "a Noun, a Verb, and 9/11" just won't do. Joe Lieberman is certainly with me on many issues, but something distresses me about his fixation on the war. Even conservative commentators are saying why would we support a VP nominee who agrees with us on only one thing, the war. I certainly appreciate the long friendship he has had with McCain, a fellow maverick if you will. But it seems like he is willing to betray his entire party just over a difference on Iraq, the only major thing he agrees with the Republicans on. Perhaps that's true bi-partisanship, true character, but I just don't know. I really don't know enough about some of the others like Pawlenty and Jindal. They seem rather untested, and would diminish McCain's arguments about Obama's inexperience. At this point McCain is going to have to really impress me. A good, reforming maverick like Palin or a grand old statesman like Lugar would go a long way. (And so far the only speculation about Lugar has been for Obama). And then of course there's the Huckster. I actually like Huckabee a great deal. His folksy charm, aversion to mudslinging, and authentic faithfulness are really quite winsome. His policies in Arkansas were a mixed bag, but I don't think I would be disappointed. Of course, I don't think he has a snowball's chance in Arizona.

It's all going to be interesting. Maybe we'll all be surprised.

Politics

I have tried writing about the election several times over the last week, but each time I am held back by the question of how much to disclose my own political leanings. It is a complicated question that I have tried to answer several times. I have wrestled heavily with the notions of objectivity and bias, with my own political history and that of my family, and with what my own political philosophy and policy positions actually are. Each time my writings descend into incoherence and finally end with the merciful application of the delete button. I think this is in part due to the fact that my political thinking is really all over the map.

I come from a long line of blue-collar, blue-dog, conservative Christian, FDR Democrats. Though I am less blue-collar than my grandparents were (my parents managed to bring us into the ranks of what Marx referred to as the petit-bourgeoisie), that description still fits in many ways. The problem is that conservative Christian FDR Democrats aren't supposed to exist any more, and I find myself increasingly isolated. I'm pro-life but think it's an incredibly difficult issue to legislate. I think organized labor has gone off the rails, but that unions are essentially good. I am an environmentalist, but I still love to drive my old clunker around the state, and I am concerned about undue burdens on property owners. I love the spotted owl; I also love things made out of redwood. I think that Communism was a massive failure, based on good intentions but fatally flawed. I think Capitalism has been a great success, but it tends to leave people out and promotes a culture of greed and self-interest. I am not convinced that supply side economics helps anyone but the most wealthy. I don't see why a sensible balance of free market and regulation can't work. I never knew what to think of the Iraq war, and frankly I don't now. I think it is an absolute scandal that bin Laden is at large seven years later, but I'm grateful we haven't been successfully attacked again. I think that the Democrats have too often maligned and misunderstood the Christian faith, but that the Republicans have too often thought they owned it and have co-opted it for their own purposes. I have never been fond of George. I am quite fond of Laura. I believe the U.S. is the greatest country in the world, but that we should celebrate it with honor and humility.

Some consider all of this schizophrenic. At least one of my mentors thinks I'm a conservative Republican in the making. But I think I'd never be more than a hated RINO. I don't think either party really has what I'm looking for. But in a two-party system being an "independent" doesn't make much sense to me. Sure it sends a message that party system is broken, which it certainly is, but I'd like to vote in the primaries and keep tabs on what the party of my forebears is up to. So for the moment I'm content to remain a hated Blue-Dog.

The irony as I write this is that it reminds me of the position I am in with the Episcopal Church. I don't like what has gone on in TEC, but I'm also suspicious of the Network in general and the secession movement in particular. So until my diocese goes totally overboard, or God calls me to another ecclesiastical body, I'm content to remain in Church of my forebears. And believe me, Anglican partisans think this is schizophrenia, too.

Huzzah!

Day 17 seems to have been the last of it. I've been improving steadily for the last 3 days or so, but I was a bit nervous Sunday morning. In the end I had voice enough to sing and to read the intercessions. There is still an occasional rogue cough here and there, but it looks like I've got this thing licked. And this morning, which would have been Day 18, I could only imagine my little antibodies marching in grand review and parading the virus through the streets in chains, as joyous lung cells threw a ticker-tape parade . Salve victor!

Time will tell how long The Alta Californian survives its founding cause. I didn't sleep well last night, for an entirely different reason, so there you go.

Saddleback

Watched the live broadcast of the forum this afternoon. It was an interesting event. Senator McCain did much better than I thought he would. In many ways the questions were much better suited to his positions. The abortion, gay marriage, and faith-based initiative questions, for example were very simple for him to be able to answer. Overall he was open and straightforward, but he continues to lose me on most key issues. Senator Obama had a harder time of it, in my view. By the very nature of his political philosophy he was forced to offer more thoughtful, more nuanced answers on the very same questions, and often in a somewhat unsatisfactory manner. He seems to have a harder time with this format. So inspiring in prepared remarks on the stump, it is much more of a struggle him to formulate good responses on the fly, even when he has really good answers in mind.

It is not the conventional wisdom, but I think this will all give McCain the advantage in the debates. But we'll see, McCain's candor occasionally gets him in trouble, and some of his answers come off as politically artificial. For example, Pastor Warren's first question. The wisest people McCain knows are General Petraeus and Meg Whitman? How convenient. ("The military and big-business", my father muttered). For Obama it was his grandmother. How very human...and non-political. So we'll see.

I'll be posting more about the election in the coming days, in part just to flesh out my own thoughts on politics and the politics of this particular moment. As with other aspects of my life, my politics defy easy description. And at this hour, I don't even want to try.

I stand corrected. The CW emerging is that McCain did triumph at Saddleback, and that this is evidence that he just may rule the debates.

8

Looks like master Phelps has done it. What he has done has been remarkable, inspiring, and just plain fun to watch. Kudos to him, and to masters Peirsol, Hansen, and Lezak for sharing in it.

Holy Lip-Synching

Reading up on the Beijing lip-synching scandal, I was reminded that, once, long ago in middle school, I myself was once the voice behind the face.

I attended a conservative Lutheran school in the SF Bay Area (yes, there are Christian conservatives in the Bay Area, if you know where to find them), and every year the school would exhibit an "operetta", a musical production based on some biblical story or theme. I myself starred once, first as Moses, and later as the narrator for a version of the Book of Esther. But not before I was the back-up singer for one of my classmates. He was bright and a decent actor, but didn't have much of a voice. My best friend and I were called upon to sing his solo pieces. I honestly don't remember if he lip-synched it. There was no attempt to hide us per se, but we were positioned over in a corner, where only the back few rows of audience could see us. Back then, and even in retrospect now, it was kind of fun. And how could I say no to such a call....the story was Jonah. Besides, I later went to star, despite being an ugly duckling Episcopalian. I hope Lin Miaoke and Yang Peiyi are both able to look beyond the kerfuffle and enjoy it as much as I did.

Speaking of singing, I had an interesting experience in church last Sunday. Among the other casualties of this bronchitis has been my voice, both speaking and singing. (Things are finally beginning to improve on Day 14). I've been able to rasp along in conversation, but my singing voice was, and still is, almost completely gone. There's nothing I love quite so much as hymn singing, to join with God's people, in unity and harmony, lifting our praises to the Most High. So I thought it would be an agony to stand there in silence, so I opened the hymnal and whispered along. What happened was remarkable (So much so, it has taken me four days to process it). I'm so used to the resonance of my own voice as I sing. Without it, I was better able to enjoy the singing, and through it the heart of worship of the rest of the congregation. Yet by whispering, I was engaged in heart and mind with the content of the praises being sung. It was as if my 'still small voice' resonated with the 'still small voice' of the Lord (Since the Transfiguration, I've been reflecting on the life and ministry of Elijah - who saw that sometimes God comes not in the tempest, but in the whisper). The effect was a profound sense of the presence of the Holy Spirit in our worship, and of the joy and delight God takes even in our whispered praises.

I am still working this out in my mind, because there was even more there. I felt the sensation that through our worship we were being poured out as an oblation to God. As my friend Peregrinator has previously observed, in the Eucharist our offerings and oblations, imperfect as the offering of Cain, are taken by God and through the sacrifice of Jesus, become the true offering of Abel, for Christ is the New Abel, just as He is the New Adam. Our meager bread and wine become the Body of Christ, just as our meager selves become the Body of Christ. God took our offerings of praise, even my raspy, whispered praise, and joined it with the sacrifice of Christ to create a perfect act of praise and offering. I don't know if any of this makes sense. There is simply so much going on in the Eucharist, it overwhelms me sometimes.

I am often complimented for my singing voice (if I do say so myself), but I may whisper my hymns more often. I guess something good came from this pesky cold, after all.

Day 11

All morning and afternoon I felt better. Then suddenly, on the way home from work, it was back with a vengeance. This is getting tiresome.

On the upside, it's been awfully fun watching young master Phelps make history. That race last night was stunning. I don't think the French shall be taunting us for a second time, if you know what I mean. Whose father smells of elderberries, now?

Five years later

Had the mixed pleasure of helping to host a dinner party this evening. I say "mixed" because it was a charming bunch of people from my father's Episcopal congregation, but it was bad timing for me, considering this was Day 10 of Cough Fest 2008. (When I learned that Bernie Mac died of pneumonia, I ran to my medical references to check my symptoms).

In any case about halfway through hors d'oeuvres (or as I like to call them, "horse dove-reez"), the conversation turned to the recent Lambeth Conference, and from there quickly to the personage of one Rt. Rev. V. Gene Robinson. Episcopalians are a civilized folk by nature, but nothing breaks down that nature faster than talk of the Bishop of New Hampshire. The topic held for the better part of half an hour, despite the attempts of several people, including myself, to change the subject. I won't go into great detail, except to say that it ran the course of most such discussions: justice, Leviticus, shellfish, Paul, genetics, misogyny, the authority of scripture, catholic process, American hubris, and a local hero/villain Otis Charles. Remarkably enough, 5 years later and we are still stuck in this feedback loop. It's as if the entire Anglican world has hit a rut, and we are all just spinning our wheels, hoping that something will break one way or another. The fascinating thing to me is that most of the people in that room desperately wanted to talk about something else. Some didn't think it proper to talk controversy at a social function. Many were simply tired of talking about it after 5 years. But the conversation just wouldn't die. As soon as it seemed to have run its course, someone would inject one more comment, and it would start all over again. It was almost humorous, but in a very tragic sort of way. I find it incredibly frustrating, simply because I think that the right questions are not being asked, and very few people, on either side of the argument, are really looking at the consequences of what they are saying. I may write at some point about what I think those questions should be and what those consequences are, but for the moment I am just as tired by this as anyone.

On the bright side, the pesto was particularly good, and the tomatoes were a hit.

8/8/08, as it was.

Whatever else you might say about the Beijing games, the opening ceremony was simply spectacular. Every two years I watch the Olympics and wonder how those ceremonies could possibly get better, and every two years they do. Armed with such a wealth of culture and history, the Chinese simply outdid themselves. Vancouver and London have a hard act to follow.

I didn't get a good chance to say this yesterday, but it was 8/8/08. This was particularly significant for me....because it happened to be Day 8 of this wretched, blog-inducing cold. Which I guess makes today Day 9. Cough, hack, ugh!

What's in a name?

So, why "The Alta Californian"?

The name actually says a great deal about me, my love for history and geography, my interest in politics and the media, and my love for God and His Church.

The greatest portion of my life so far has occurred within a set of somewhat distinct boundaries encompassing the beautiful country known as Northern California. The geography of my normal reality stretches from the Pacific coastline to the mountains just beyond Reno, Nevada (I have traveled beyond those mountains, but it has always been on a particularly grand adventure, a special occasion). North/South those boundaries are a bit more porous. I rarely travel beyond the Rogue River Valley of Oregon to the north (unless, again, it is a special adventure). South is most complicated of all. Most of my life has been spent north of a line running from about Santa Cruz northeast to about Modesto, east by southeast below Yosemite to Bishop, in the Owens Valley. In the past 8 years, since I have had family living in Southern California, I have ventured south of that line more than ever before. But now that most of that family has returned to the north, I suspect that boundary will gradually harden again.

I love to travel. It is my favorite thing in the world. I have lived briefly on the East Coast, spent a summer in the South, spent a winter on the Northern Plains, and traipsed about most of the country in between. Travels have taken me about Canada, to England, France, Switzerland, the Netherlands, Italy and Honduras. I dearly hope to add Israel and Jordan to that list by the middle of next year. But my life, as I have known it has been here, in upper California, what locals just a bit further north call the Northstate. The glistening peaks of the Sierra Nevada are my mountains, the tumultuous waters of the Pacific crash against my coast, the fragrant vines of Napa grow in my valley, the towering redwoods are my redwoods, and that beautiful city by the bay will always be my city. Alta California, as the Spanish called it (as opposed to "Baja California") is my California. It is not the pride of ownership that makes me say this, it is the pride of having roots in a place, of embracing its beauty, of loving its people, of knowing and being nurtured by such a beautiful land. Wally Stegner, eat your heart out.

The geography of California is very dear to me, and so is its history. "Alta", meaning "Upper" or "Northern" California, comes, of course, from the history of the Golden State. The Spanish had begun exploring the region as early as the 1530s, but colonization had not begun in earnest until the turn of the 18th century. By the dawn of the 19th century, a far flung chain of missions spread up the coast as far as San Francisco. At about the time Lewis & Clark were exploring the Northwest for the young United States, the Spanish split their Pacific colony into northern "Alta California" and southern "Baja California", in an attempt to make it easier to manage. They had little success, and in 1821 formally lost it in the Mexican Revolution. The Mexicans were no match for the ambitions of the United States, and in 1847, Alta California became simply California. The old name did not go away entirely. I actually take the name of my blog directly from one of California's earliest American journalistic enterprises.

The Alta California was a newspaper published in San Francisco from 1849 until about 1891. Also known as The Alta Californian, the paper was one of the earliest periodicals published on the West Coast. Its roots lay even further back, with the California Star, the first newspaper ever printed in San Francisco, in 1847. The Star was begun by Sam Brannan, a gold rush renaissance man who went on to found a town very dear to my heart, Calistoga. When the gold rush began in 1849, Brannan sold the Star. The new owners merged it with another early paper to form The Alta California. For the next four decades it was one of the most prominent newspapers in the West. I first encountered it in college, amidst a research project on frontier perceptions of international news. My research ended up focusing on the 1857 Sepoy Rebellion in British Imperial India, and coverage it received in The Alta California.

So there you have it, California, the Gold Rush, the late 19th century, American journalism and politics. So many of my interests wrapped up in one name.

There is an added bonus, in that "Alta California" roughly corresponds to "Northern California". In my professional and spiritual life, the boundaries of my normal existence are the people and polity of the Episcopal Diocese of Northern California. I may talk more about this in another post, but I am a third generation Episcopalian, albeit a rather eclectic and idiosyncratic one. And at this moment God has blessed me with the opportunity to work for the Church of my birth, in an administrative capacity. As such I try to keep my mind on things higher, things upper, in short, things "alta".

Time will tell if it is an appropriate name, but for now I think it rather suits me.

The Transfiguration

Luke 9:28-36
About eight days after Jesus had foretold his death and resurrection, Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, "Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah"--not knowing what he said. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, "This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!" When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.

The Transfiguration has always been one of my favorite stories in the life of Jesus. The Lord taken up and shown for the dazzling person of the Trinity that He is. How lucky the favored three (Peter, James, and John) were! How often would we like to see a vision just so! The theological implications of this moment are, of course, quite rich. And most sermons usually end up focusing on Peter's misquided reaction. But the thing I have always found most interesting and moving about this moment is the presence of Moses. The presense of Moses and Elijah on the mount personify (some would say symbolize, but I think it is more significant than mere symbolism) the fulfillment of the covenant history of God and his people in Jesus. Moses and Elijah, the Law and Prophets, brought together by the incarnate Lord. Moses and Elijah, whose missions on earth were never quite fulfilled. Moses, remember, whose life was all about freeing God's people from bondage and establishing them as a covenant people in the promised land, ruled by God's Law, walks up the mountain and is taken and buried by God. Elijah, tasked with speaking truth to a people who had wandered away from covenant, is carried into heaven by the chariot of fire. Neither dies in the conventional sense. Each leaves their task unfinished. Moses cannot enter the promised land. God's people do not heed Elijah and set themselves a course that leads, eventually, to destruction and exile. The task of covenant, of New Creation in God, can never be completed by our own merits. But standing there on the mount of Transfiguration, Moses and Elijah see that New Creation emerging in Jesus. In Him the law will be fulfilled, through Him will the Covenant be renewed and New Creation born.

And if that is not enough there is even more, for there stands Moses. His life had been dedicated to bringing Israel to the promised land, only to be denied entry to it for his behavior by the waters of Meribah. Rather than speaking to the rock, and giving God due credit. Moses strikes the rock, and essentially takes credit himself ("What, do I have to give you water now? Ingrates!"). This has often been cited by atheists and liberal theologians as yet one more example of the capricious violence of the Old Testament God. I can see why. If anyone had a right to be frustrated it was Moses. God had freed them, saved them again and again, given them everything they needed. But again and again God's people complained, it's not enough. I think Moses was justifiably pissed at Meribah. But he took credit for what God had done, and that's never kosher (as it were). Condemned to die and not enter the promised land. Yet here he is, on the mount of Transfiguration, which by tradition is Mt. Tabor or possibly Mt. Hermon, both inside the Promised Land. By the incarnation and sacrifice of Jesus are all sins forgiven, even that of Moses. Now I know this is before the Resurrection, so I haven't fully worked out the theological implications of this, but I still find it incredibly significant that Moses here stands, in the promised land, next to the one who will set all things to rights and inaugurate the Kingdom of God.

O God, who on the holy mount revealed to chosen witnesses your well-beloved Son, wonderfully transfigured, in raiment white and glistening: Mercifully grant that we, being delivered from the disquietude of this world, may by faith behold the King in his beauty; who with you, O Father, and you, O Holy Spirit, lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Why?

At the outset of any blogging enterprise lies the fundamental question: Why? Why do this? Why put my thoughts out for the world to see, galk at, attack, even rally around? Will anyone care? Will anyone even read? If the latter answers are no, why bother? Just to collect my own thoughts? If the answers are yes, then this whole thing is a different matter. But either way, is this not just an exercise in vanity?

Many bloggers try to tackle these issues head on, early on, with some sort of ontological exposition. I find most such explanations rather unsatisfactory and usually self-indulgent. Which could explain why many ignore those questions completely and launch into their e-careers. Ironically I find the lack of any stated purpose to be equally unsatisfying.

I have no easy answers, but I do feel compelled to say something. I don't know if anyone will read, or find it interesting. And I don't know if this is a useful way to collect and express my own thoughts. I can only describe what brings me to this place. The short answer to that "what" is simple: insomnia. I am five days into a bout of bronchitis...a late summer cold in short. It is remarkable what one thinks about as one lay awake, sometimes for hours on end, rousted by one's own coughing. I found myself composing mental essays on everything from the election to the Lambeth Conference, the geography of 19th century California to the problems with the Pelagian heresy. Obama, McCain, blogs, bishops, the media, the fires, the lost colony of Roanoke, the real landing place of Sir Francis Drake, whether I should take a vacation this year, and where I would go, all swirling around in my head. Laying there in the dark, swimming in a sea of disordered thought, the answer became clear, I simply must start a blog.

Insomnia....I wonder how many other blogs began in just this way.

Now mind you I have been tempted to start a blog many times before. When our Episcopal Diocese elected its current bishop two years ago, I actually thought about liveblogging the convention, as was common at the time in dioceses like Tennessee. But church savvy folk will know that things were interesting in Tennessee. They were downright dull in Northern California. But I knew things the general public did not, and the siren song of blogging was very strong indeed. Despite the lure of inside knowledge, despite the encouragement of folks like my brother, I have spent quite a bit of time resisting the temptation. It has been a rather easy temptation to resist. I spend much of my time reading other people's blogs and even commenting on some. But in the past few months the wear and tear of comment-sections has begun to take a toll on me. So much petty partisanship, be it over the election or the state of the Episcopal Church. So much time spent scoring cheap points, excoriating one's opponents. It is so taxing that I have almost completely given up making comments, or even seriously reading them. Even now I am almost talking myself out of this enterprise.

But as my insomnia has laid bare, I simply have too much roaming about my head. Too many ideas, too many loose neurons. Perhaps putting them out in a log, even a weblog, will put them in some order. And perhaps my friends and friends yet unmet will join me in dialog on some of them. Still it could be a risky venture. I have seen blogs rise and fall with great rapidity. I read somewhere recently that the average blog lasts less than three months, and has virtually no readership. That is a destiny I think I will embrace, if it comes, for then at least my cold will be gone and I'll be getting proper sleep. So, appropriately on this day, the Feast of the Transfiguration, I find myself changed, from an observer to a participant, from a commenter to a poster.

Besides, I have really too much time on my hands, and this will serve as a distraction. Frankly, I give myself a month.