From the Archives: The Yes Chronicles. Part 1: Introduction.

The iconic Yes logo, designed by Roger Dean.
Source: logodatabases.com.

The following several posts come from a website I created way back in 2001, in honor of my favorite band, then and now: Yes.

Some of the writing makes me cringe 17 years later, but I feel it's good enough to live on. That Roger Daltrey (yes, that Roger Daltrey) was given some of my text to speak as narrator of the Yesspeak biographical DVD is testament to the quality of at least some of the prose, I guess. 

I pulled down my site, called The Yes Chronicles, years ago. But thanks to the Wayback Machine, which does its part to make sure that nothing published to the internet ever dies, I was able to find archived copies of my reviews. Another site, Yes in the Press -- which appears not to have been updated for about 11 years now -- also saved the reviews. I notice in the introductory blurb that the keeper of Yes in the Press attempted to contact me with no success. I'm not sure what happened, but if that person stumbles across this blog -- hello, it's me. 

All text is original from 2001, with only updates for new reviews. Links have been updated where possible. Happy reading.

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"Yes is a band that does not like to look at the horizon; it likes to try to see
over it."
-- Alan White

"The challenge was to do something individual, not observing rules."
-- Chris Squire

"Doing things that no one else does is really what Yes is all about."
-- Trevor Horn

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Yes.

What is Yes?

Yes is an idea. It's a world of polished musicianship, booming and expressive bass lines, exploratory and colorful guitar tones, creative percussion, brooding Mellotrons and churning Hammond organs and wailing synthesizers, soaring multipart vocal harmonies, often impenetrable lyrics, lush and spacious soundscapes, intricate song textures, a convergence of diverse musical styles, and otherworldly album covers.

But Yes is also an ideal -- a creative arena in which quality music comes before all else. Yes is not so much a collection of 14 musicians joining and leaving various lineups over the past 33 years as it is the music they have created. The music itself has always taken on a life larger than the band itself; the music is the band's raison d'etre.

And what kind of music is it? Well, it's hard to categorize, precisely because it attempts to defy categorization. Rock musicians at the core, many of Yes's members, past and present, have been formally trained virtuosos. That meant that they could do pop music very well if they chose to -- 90125 being the shining example -- but they were just as capable of taking their music into uncharted territory. No matter where they have taken the music, though, the one thing that's remained constant is that they have never fit the stereotype of a rock band -- those makers of three-chord, blues-based songs with trite lyrics about sex, drugs, and, well, rock 'n' roll. No, this is a world of deep thinkers and creative geniuses who just happen to like to rock, who like to smash boundaries, and who like to march to the beat of their own drummer. And, more than likely, that drummer will be playing a syncopated rhythm in 12/16 time.

Indeed, this is deep, rich, layered music, full of intricate, fussy arrangements. But it is by no means cold and calculated. Through a vibrant combination of heartfelt musical creativity and the one-of-a-kind lyrical universe of lead singer/cosmic visionary Jon Anderson, there is an inviting emotional warmth deeply rooted in Yes's best music. Where balladeers can make your eyes well with melancholy tears, rockers can make you tap your feet and dance the night away, and egghead bands like Rush can wow you with their technical prowess, Yes can do all three in the course of a single song and leave you hungering for more.

Unquestionably, the roots of Yes music are indeed in rock, even though sometimes the end result barely sounds like it. That's due to rock music often being no more than just Yes's springboard; from there the music branches off into nearly every imaginable direction: pop, jazz, classical, world music, even country. As a result, Yes music has taken many forms over the years. But the form for which it is most fondly known is the one it took in the 1970s -- a form that melted away the traditional boundaries of rock music in a manner that very few bands had attempted before. The label "progressive rock" was applied to Yes during this time, when prog was fashionable and Yes's music fit neatly into the category, but that's really too limiting of a label. The best Yes music has always transcended such boundaries and defied simple definitions. What we hear on most of those memorable '70s albums owes more to free, unbridled expression than to pre-planned artifice; what we hear is, more than anything else, a natural, organic amalgamation of each member's contributions that combined to create long, unorthodox stretches of expansive, layered music in which every musician excelled but nobody ever stepped on anybody else's feet and nobody hogged the limelight. It was pure democracy in the form of a rock band, with every member simultaneously holding the lead role and complementing the musicians around him. Add to this mix Anderson's lyrical message, which can appear to be stream-of-consciousness on the surface but often holds a deeper meaning, if you care to look for it, and the end result is truly unique. Call it "transcendent rock" or "universal rock." Or just call it Yes.

If Yes is a progressive rock band, as the charges specify, they got on the train late. The Nice, Jethro Tull, King Crimson, and really even Genesis beat them to the punch by the time Yes rolled out 1971's The Yes Album, the first Yes offering that could legitimately fit the definition of early '70s progressive rock. But where these other bands, to varying degrees, set out to create music that fit snugly into the prog category, what we hear from Yes on their early '70s albums is, simply, just the way the music came out--a result of pure, democratic, creative energy. While Yes was just doing what came naturally, the rest of the prog world seemed to be making a contrived effort to outprog each other, and later, when Yes was perceived as having redefined the genre, they all started to out-Yes each other.

Not that Yes is completely innocent in this game of one-upmanship, though: The bloated monstrosity known as Tales from Topographic Oceans was very aware of its own pompous form, and its ugly excesses helped to stereotype prog and to usher in its untimely demise. It also went further than any other Yes album in permanently affixing the "progressive" tag to Yes, which has been somewhat of a burden for the band to carry ever since, for instead of being allowed to move through a natural evolution, Yes's music suddenly had--and still has--a certain contrived expectation to live up to. The result has been music of a very uneven quality ever since 1973, by a band that seems to be in a permanent state of identity crisis. But even now, when Yes is good, it's very good, and those exceptional moments, as always, continue to come when the band is true to its music and not trying to compromise for the sake of the fans or the industry suits. When they are true to their art, they are at their best by far. And shining post-Close to the Edge moments like Relayer, Going for the One, Drama, 90125, Big Generator, and Talk have made sticking with this band all worth it.

Please understand that my reviews are not supposed to be a substitute for actually listening to the music. If you're new to Yes, I hope my reviews of their studio albums generate enough interest that you'll want to check them out for yourself. On the other hand, if you're already familiar with Yes, come on in and enjoy and reminisce with me. Who knows -- maybe I'll even offer a fresh perspective on the music that will make you want to pull out those old albums and listen to them again. You're free to agree or disagree with what I have to say here, but be forewarned that I am not a drooling fanboy. I am highly critical of some of Yes's works, and I point out shortcomings as I hear them, just as I enjoy pointing out the high-water marks that make this exercise all worth the effort.

Taken as a whole, these reviews constitute a rough history of the band, and I proceed in this manner for pragmatic reasons: All of the personnel changes, the band politics, and the outside pressures and expectations are all key to understanding why the music came out the way it did.

Enjoy!

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My rankings, best (*****) to worst (*):

Close to the Edge (1972) *****
Relayer (1974) *****
Fragile (1972) **** 1/2
The Yes Album (1971) **** 1/2
Drama (1980) ****
Talk (1994) ****
Magnification (2001) ****
Going for the One (1977) ****
Keys to Ascension 2 (1997) *** 1/2
Big Generator (1987) *** 1/2
90125 (1983) *** 1/2
The Ultimate Yes: 35th Anniversary Collection (2003) *** 1/2
Tormato (1978) ***
The Ladder (1999) ***
Keys to Ascension (1996) ***
Time and a Word (1970) ***
Yes (1969) ***
Tales from Topographic Oceans (1973) **
Open Your Eyes (1997) **
Union (1991) *

Other Yes releases include:
Yessongs (1973) -- 3-album (2-CD) set recorded live in 1972.
Yesterdays (1975) -- Reissues from Yes and Time and a Word, plus "Dear Father," a 1970 b-side, and a 1972 studio recording of Paul Simon's "America."
Yesshows (1980) -- 2-album set recorded live between 1976 and 1978.
Classic Yes (1981) -- Reissues from The Yes Album, Fragile, Close to the Edge, and Going for the One, plus previously unreleased live versions of "I've Seen All Good People" and "Roundabout" (both 1978).
9012Live: The Solos (1985) -- A companion EP to the 9012Live concert video, featuring two band performances from the video ("Hold On," "Changes") and otherwise unavailable band-member solo pieces recorded live
in 1984.
Yesyears (1991) -- 4-CD box set including reissues from all previous Yes albums but Union, plus b-sides and previously unreleased live and studio tracks.
Yesstory (1991) -- A 2-CD repackaging of Yesyears.
Highlights--The Very Best of Yes (1993) -- A single-CD best-of package, containing reissues from 1969 to 1987.
The Symphonic Music of Yes (1993) -- Renditions of several Yes songs by the London Philharmonic and English Chamber Orchestra, with Jon Anderson, Steve Howe, and Bill Bruford.
Tales from Yesterday (1995) -- A Yes tribute album by various artists, including performances by Steve Howe, Peter Banks, and Patrick Moraz.
Something's Coming (1997) -- 2-CD set; released as Beyond and Before in the United States. Previously unreleased BBC and live recordings (1969-1970) by the original lineup; includes one track ("For Everyone") previously unavailable on an official release.
Keys to Ascension Vols. 1 and 2 (1998) -- A 4-CD package combining both Keys to Ascension albums into
one release.
House of Yes: Live from the House of Blues (2000) -- A 2-CD set (also released on DVD video) chronicling Yes's performance at the House of Blues in Las Vegas, October 31, 1999.

This is far from an exhaustive list. For more information, go to the official Yes Web site, Yesworld; to Notes from the Edge; or to the Yes newsgroup, alt.music.yes.

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Unless otherwise noted, the band member quotes on these pages have been excerpted from Close to the Edge: The Story of Yes, by Chris Welch, Omnibus Press, 1999; Yesstories: Yes in Their Own Words, by Tim Morse, St. Martin's Press, 1996; Yesyears: A Retrospective, Atco Video/A*Vision Entertainment, 1991; Yes Magazine; and Notes from the Edge. Opinions expressed herein do not necessarily reflect those of the authors and/or publishers, and all copyrights remain with the authors and/or publishers.

A Personal Top 10 From Years Past: Prog-Rock Edition

In recent days, I’ve gathered together various old things I’ve written onto this blog. This one goes back nine years, to August 2009. At the company I used to work for, a group of us would share iTunes-based mixtapes, based on a monthly theme that one of us would select.  

When I put this list together, the theme for the month was simply “your 10 favorite songs.” All the good topics had been done, and by this time our mixtape club was starting to lose steam. Still, it’s fun to look at my musical views from back then. Some of them have changed, but most of them haven’t. Maybe my thoughts will inspire others to check out some of the brilliant music I talk about here. Keep in mind that these reviews were written for an audience that wasn't necessarily familiar with progressive rock. Enjoy.

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For anyone who knows my musical tastes, this list will come as no surprise. My preferred music provides an immersive experience -- it appeals to the head as much as to the feet. It creates a world for the listener to get lost in.

That doesn't mean picking 10 favorites was easy, though! Yes has locked up my top three for a long time, but after that, things get a little more complicated. Depending on my mood, tracks 4 through 10 could all change tomorrow.

Since the request was specifically for songs, a couple of instrumental tracks that otherwise might have made the cut aren't included. I also kept the focus on rock, since my top 10, in the fullest sense of the phrase, would also include some jazz and classical music. Besides, keeping the focus on rock music helped me pare down the enormous list I started with.

Finally, I'd like to thank whoever came up with this theme. I've been thinking for a long time about creating a Web page where I review my top 100 pieces of music, and/or my top 50 albums. So this gave me an excuse to make a trial run. Yes, I really am passionate about my music. That's why I make these crazy mixes every month, even if no one else ever listens to them.

Here we go, then ...

10. At the End of the Day (16:28)
Spock's Beard
From the album V (2000)

Spock's Beard is an American progressive rock band that started up in the mid-'90s. Their lead singer and songwriter has since found Jesus and embarked on a solo career, but when he was leading the Beard, he crafted some of the most tuneful and inventive music to hit the prog-rock scene in a long time.

Influenced by Gentle Giant and early Genesis -- two of the legends of '70s prog -- the Beard also had a contemporary edge that made a lot of their songs sound simply like really long mainstream pop-rock tracks. Neal Morse once called his band the "Backstreet Boys of prog." Just listen to this track and see how many delicious melodies stick in your head afterwards. That's if you don't get whipsawed along the way by all the abrupt changes in musical direction -- from a classical-lite intro to singalong arena rock, from crunchy hard rock to Latin-tinged acoustic pop. It's epic, it's scattershot, it's absolutely brilliant. I have no idea what the lyrics are about, and I don't care.

9. Supper's Ready (22:53):
a. Lover's Leap
b. The Guaranteed Eternal Sanctuary Man
c. Ikhnaton and Itsacon and Their Band of Merry Men
d. How Dare I Be So Beautiful?
e. Willow Farm
f.  Apocalypse in 9/8 (Co-Starring the Delicious Talents of Gabble Ratchet)
g. As Sure As Eggs Is Eggs (Aching Men's Feet)
Genesis
From the album Foxtrot (1972)

Before there was Phil Collins the singer, there was Phil Collins the drummer. And long before Peter Gabriel sang "Sledgehammer," he was a flute-playing hippie, prancing around onstage wrapped in bizarre rubber suits and wearing boxes on his head -- all in an attempt to dramatize the peculiar stories he wrote in his early days. This isn't "Invisible Touch" Genesis. Not even close. This is Peter Gabriel's fanciful universe, populated with intergalactic tenement landlords, ghosts popping out from musical boxes, and venomous killer hogweeds threatening to choke out the human race.

In this musical rollercoaster of a song, Peter took a strange real-life episode -- looking at his wife at home one day, he swore he saw her face change before his eyes, and he also claims he wasn't under the influence -- and he somehow fashioned it into a story of the second coming from the Book of Revelation. Along the way, we stop long enough to fight an epic battle, see Narcissus turn into a flower, and visit a peculiar farm on the English countryside, where Winston Churchill wanders around dressed in drag. "Feel your body melt -- Mum to mud to mad to Dad." Indeed. "The frog was a prince! The prince was a brick, the brick was an egg, the egg was a bird!" Hmmm. And yes, the "Apocalypse" section really is in 9/8. Come on -- this is prog!

In concert, Peter finished off this track on a few occasions by attaching himself to a set of wires and being pulled up, ascension-like, into the rafters. Must have been quite a scene to see Peter drifting off into "heaven."

8. Lemmings (11:38)
Van Der Graaf Generator
From the album Pawn Hearts (1971)

Peter Hammill was in a league all by himself back in the day. While his prog-rock songwriting contemporaries were busy weaving colorful sci-fi and fantasy yarns, Peter was more interested in exploring the human condition, in all its gritty reality. Another song on Pawn Hearts, titled "Man-Erg," reveals a man who can't escape the fact that angels and demons lurk inside all of us. We can be lovers, or we can be killers.

"Lemmings" sets off in a slightly different direction, to remind us that the better angels of our nature can win if we want them to. Our Hero sees all of his friends diving off a cliff (lemmings, you see?) out of despair over the direction humanity is heading in. ("What cause is there left but to die?") But he refuses to join in their chorus of despair. The song is a great statement in support of optimism, independent thought, and refusal to follow the crowd. As Echolyn similarly stated many years later in one of their classic songs, "It's harder to sit when everyone else is standing, to shake your head as the world just nods away." And sometimes you have to do just that.

Oh, the music here is terrific, too: Ragged, jagged, raw, and loud, full of unsettling honks and growls, as well as enough aggression and immediacy to make VDGG about the only prog band that won the admiration of the punks at the 1970s wore on.

7. The Light (15:33):
a. The Dream
b. One Man
c. Garden People
d. Looking Straight Into the Light
e. The Man in the Mountain
f.  Señor Velasco's Mystic Voodoo Love Dance
g. The Return of the Horrible Catfish Man
h. The Dream
Spock's Beard
From the album The Light (1995)

Putting two Beard tracks on here was a difficult decision. I wanted to include something from The Flower Kings, a Yes-inspired Swedish prog band that also began in the mid-'90s, or from Transatlantic, a prog supergroup that included members of Spock's Beard, The Flower Kings, Marillion, and Dream Theater.

But "The Light" won out, for a couple of reasons: (1) It's fun, and (2) I got to sing a line of this song in concert, when Neal Morse walked through the crowd and handed me the mic. For about 10 seconds, I was the lead singer of Spock's Beard. And there goes my moment of fame.

6. Starless (12:19)
King Crimson
From the album Red (1974)

Guitarist Robert Fripp decided to disband King Crimson after this album. He thought prog-rock had overstayed its welcome, and he drove the point home by going on to adopt a new-wave style in subsequent projects. In fact, when he re-formed the mighty Crimson in 1981, it sounded more like The Talking Heads than anything resembling the lumbering beast it had been in the 1970s.

But at least the '70s Crimson went out in style, as John Wetton (later of Asia) wistfully warbles his way through the tale of a man who can find only bleak despair, no matter where he turns. (Peter Hammill might have had something to say about that, one assumes.) This is a big, sad, gorgeous, epic-proportion blast of suffocating blackness. Do not play it when you're depressed.

Or if you're just in it for the music, check out the guitar solo, which is a masterstroke of musical drama. For more than four minutes, Fripp repeatedly and meticulously picks one single note at a time, slowly working his way up the fretboard, until the tension is about to explode. And then the music does explode, into a loud, brash coda of feverish fusiony goodness. Awesome. Oh, the title is a literary reference: "Starless and bible black," from Dylan Thomas' play Under Milk Wood.

5. Mei (49:33)
Echolyn
From the album Mei (2002)

Echolyn is another American outfit that got its start in the '90s. The band members refer to Mei (the album is, in fact, this one song) as a cross between Kerouac's On the Road and Dante's Inferno, and that sums up the imagery pretty well.

At its heart, this is an epic road song. A man looks through his wipers at the long highway ahead, having just left home, filled with regrets and self-doubt. At one point along his trip, there's an accident, and the car is smashed and twisted into rubble. Jolted to action, the man confronts his failings, decides to stop running, and makes the long journey back home to set things right -- but does he really go home, or is it just his ghost? Did he die in the accident? That's up to you to decide.

And there's plenty of fantastic music to take you along on the journey. Guitarist Brett Kull handles the mellower, more reflective moments, which serve as a poignant contrast to the harsh, heavy immediacy of bassist Ray Weston's confessionals that run throughout the piece. The music twists and turns just like the road our driver is traveling. And everything winds up with a soft, lovely release to let you down easily from all that came before. One way or another, our weary traveler's journey ends, and he is finally at peace. It's enough to get your eyes all misty, I dare say. I've wanted to include this in a mix for a long time, but the monthly themes that came up for our club were never quite right.

4. Echoes (23:31)
Pink Floyd
From the album Meddle (1971)

Rick Wright's single piano note doubles as an introductory sonar ping and sets the mood for this aquatic journey, which starts out nice and mellow -- with some beautiful vocal harmonizing from Wright and David Gilmour -- before sliding into a lazy blues section filled with some mighty tasty licks from Gilmour's guitar. And then night descends on the seas, and the only sounds permeating through the inky blackness are haunting whalesongs from underneath the water's surface and the squawks of predatory birds circling overheard. Eventually, the sun breaks over the horizon, and we end where we started, floating serenely off to parts unknown. Such a gorgeous piece of music, for something that was originally constructed out of 24 unrelated snippets!

3. Close to the Edge (18:43):
a. The Solid Time of Change
b. Total Mass Retain
c. I Get Up I Get Down
d. Seasons of Man
Yes
From the album Close to the Edge (1972)

I was just a normal kid, listening to normal pop music on normal radio stations. Then I heard "Owner of a Lonely Heart," when I was riding home with my dad one night in late 1983. The sampled horn blasts and synthesized drum breaks were peculiar enough to grab my attention. The singer's high-pitched voice was a curiosity. The drums were crisp. The bass line was tight. And then came the smokin' guitar solo. Sold. I had a new favorite band.

And little did I know that when I started digging into Yes' back catalog, I'd discover something that opened up the big, bad world of progressive rock to me. "Owner of a Lonely Heart" was my gateway drug to all of this crazy stuff.

When I first heard this piece, the title track of Yes' 1972 album, I was utterly floored. Gobsmacked. Lots of people have songs that changed their lives -- this was mine. It completely and irrevocably changed my relationship with music. I'd never heard anything like it before -- a frenetic lightning storm of musical cacophony swirling through the urgent three-minute intro; wordless chants stopping the musical assault dead in its tracks without warning; some of the most inventive drumming and ridiculously fantastic bass lines I've ever heard; wildly contrasting musical sections that blend seamlessly into each other; cryptic yet intriguing lyrics; and an honest-to-goodness pipe organ solo. This is a freaking insane piece of music. It blew my head off, and it still awes me, all these years later.

One cautionary note: Jon Anderson is notorious for writing lyrics based on their sound as much as for their literal definitions, so don't kill yourself trying to suss out much meaning here. If it helps, know that he modeled his lyrical vision for "Close to the Edge" after Herman Hesse's Siddhartha, the classic tale of one young man's quest for spirituality, and his realization that he has to shun the world's organized religious paths and follow his own muse to find enlightenment. Heavy stuff for rock 'n' roll, but that's why it's called progressive rock -- this stuff intentionally tried to push the boundaries and take rock music into uncharted territory.

2. Heart of the Sunrise (10:36)
Yes
From the album Fragile (1972)

When I started digging into Yes' back catalog, this was the first song to greet me. The needle of my cheap little record player met the impatient, rumbling intro, which still invokes for me a time-lapse image of the sun racing up into the morning sky. Then Chris Squire and Bill Bruford lock into a funky bass-and-drum groove that I've listened to so many times, I could play every last nuance of Bill's part in my sleep. Then the droning Mellotron chords kick in. Oh, that gorgeous Mellotron. Then the opening theme returns, followed by Jon Anderson's frail, wispy ruminations about being lost in the city -- perhaps a metaphor for feeling alone and alienated in the modern world?

From there, some of Yes' most accomplished ensemble playing unfolds. Any classical fan could appreciate all of the deft counterpoints going on here -- at one spot along the way, there are three separate melodies twisting around each other at the same time. Yet somehow, the arrangement never feels cluttered or overdone. The framed structure of the piece suggests a sonata, so there's a nice, tidy resolution at the end, as older themes are revisited and recapped, and everything closes out the same way it began. Brilliant, brilliant piece of musical craftsmanship.

1. The Gates of Delirium (21:56)
Yes
From the album Relayer (1974)

Well, this is it. This piece includes some of Yes' harshest, most ferocious musical moments, but they're contrasted beautifully with some of the most achingly gorgeous melodies my ears have ever come across. Two opposing sides prepare for war, an epic musical battle ensues for more than nine minutes, a strident victory march rings out, and then long, plaintive chords evoke the scene over the smoky battlefield, with the guns falling silent and the warring factions ultimately finding no joy in victory, as they tend to their dead and wounded.

The song's closing section is Jon Anderson's heartfelt plea for humanity to find a better way to settle its differences, and you can't help being swept up in the emotional sincerity of his delivery. Naive hippie idealism? Maybe, but you can't argue with the sentiment being expressed.

The whole thing finally resolves on a major chord, with an icy Mellotron accompanied by a glockenspiel, a misty steel guitar, and a few soft bass notes, all serving as a musical arm around the shoulder -- a reassurance that it will all be OK, that we will find a better way.

To me, the measure of a piece of music is how much it moves you -- and this one hits me in the gut every single time. A masterpiece in every sense of the word.

Broken Churches, Violent Nations, and the True Kingdom

Eric Shansby

It’s a difficult time to be a peace-loving American and a follower of Christ.

On one hand are the apologists for the Catholic church who are starting to circle the wagons.

“If you leave the church, you’re doing what Satan wants you to do.” Nice shaming of people who can’t deal with the abuse and the hypocrisy anymore. Do you also say that to battered women who want to leave their husbands?

“If you walk away, then you were never really one of us to begin with.” Ah, yes, the old No True Scotsman fallacy. It's how true believers tune out criticism. Evangelicals use that one too, to describe the backsliders in their midst. 

Bishops are pointing fingers at gay men. Other bishops are pointing fingers at the pope. The pope offers tepid apologies and asks the entire church to fast and pray, for the sins of men that the church will do nothing about.

It’s obvious at this point that nothing will change unless the church is forced to change. At a bare minimum, that means withholding money from the collection plate until the church makes it clear that it's serious about getting its act together. 

On my way to church last Sunday (not a Catholic church, mind you), I turned on the car radio. It was set to EWTN, the Catholic radio station, from a previous trip. The first thing I heard was two women discussing the consistency of cervical mucus. These were tips for how you can engage in natural family planning – because, of course, policing the use of contraception is something the church should be really worried about when its priests rape children and their superiors cover up for them. So remember, check your cervical mucus so God doesn't send you to hell for using a pill. And if you do use birth control, no communion for you – but if you’re a priest who violates a child, we’ll just move you to another parish and pay off the victims, and could you please prepare communion for Mass?

Later, there was a priest offering a prayer for people who “suffer” from same-sex attraction. He asked that God would open their eyes to the divine plans he had in mind for the union of men and women. As if gay people have a disease that can be cured with some kind of holiness pill. Since many in the church are already blaming gay men for the abuse crisis, I suppose this shouldn’t be a surprise, but it was certainly eye-opening. The church says nice things about gay people, going on about how it welcomes them into worship – but then it turns around and condemns them to a life of celibacy. Remind me again how well celibacy has worked out for your priests.

A few days later came the death of John McCain. I could never have expected the over-the-top hagiographies that liberals, of all people, would be offering for this man. The man who was the very embodiment of American militarism and imperialism, who never met a war or military intervention he didn’t like, whose policies led to the suffering and death of hundreds of thousands of human beings around the globe, who once referred to peace activists as “low-life scum.” From peace to civil liberties, McCain could be reliably counted on to be on the wrong side of every issue. If you ever wanted some kind of gauge on where to stand on a topic, all you had to do was look at where McCain and Lindsey Graham stood, and it was generally a safe bet to take the opposite view.

I think there are two things at play in the glorification of John McCain. One is that he criticized Donald Trump. So leftists are rushing in to praise him as a voice of reason in the Republican Party, I guess so they can look bipartisan, or just so they can tweak Trump. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The irony, of course, is that if McCain had succeeded in his 2008 presidential campaign, he would be remembered today not as some kind of towering hero but as the man who denied Barack Obama the presidency and foisted Sarah Palin on the nation. Political amnesia, it seems, has reached epidemic proportions.

Second, Americans have been thoroughly conditioned, for going on 17 years now, to reflexively support anything to do with the military. So McCain becomes an automatic “hero” for “serving his country.” That it was in a war Americans had no business being involved in doesn’t matter in the slightest. In this sense, we’re seeing the result of years of being told to “support the troops,” which, as Noam Chomsky once pointed out, deflects us from asking the real questions, like why are we fighting these wars in the first place?

We can’t ask those questions, because then we might discover that the idea we’re “fighting for our freedom” is a myth – that we’re actually propagandizing young men and women to put on a uniform not in defense of their country, but in pursuit of propping up American empire and appeasing the shareholders of defense contractors. The entire edifice would come crumbling down if the truth were revealed.

And so we have to prop up the nationalistic myths that keep the war machine running. Part and parcel of that process is to glorify anyone who has ever put on a uniform, which we do, by uncritically thanking everyone “for their service.” And that’s why we now have people – from the political left! – losing their minds that a flag over the White House isn’t at half-staff in honor of a warmonger. If there ever was a clearer sign of how nationalism brings out the worst tribal tendencies in human beings, and of how far to the right our entire nation has lurched politically, I have yet to see it.

As all this nonsense unfolds, I’m beginning to see the wisdom of the traditional Anabaptist view of turning one’s back on the corrupt kingdoms of this world. The kingdoms of this world don’t know peace. They know conflict and violence. They elevate their own tribe over others, based on nothing more than fictional political borders, and employ nationalistic myths to unite the populace behind them.

The Way Redux

Only in a nation that has confused Jesus with national interests could Christians make excuses for why we shouldn’t feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and welcome the stranger, but why we should pour more than $700 billion of our financial resources into making even more planes and bombs, so we can fight even more wars. (That the obscenely bloated $717 billion defense bill was named in McCain’s honor is a sadly fitting epitaph that sums up his regrettable legacy.) We’re then left trying to explain why Jesus didn’t really say what he meant. And so we filter the words of Jesus through Paul and the Old Testament, rather than the other way around, because where Paul and the Old Testament leave room for violence and judgment, subjugation and condemnation, Jesus holds us to a higher standard.

He reserved his harshest rebukes for the self-righteous religious hypocrites who laid heavy burdens on people but then refused to lift a finger to help.

He rebuked Peter for using violence in his defense, and said that all who lived by the sword will die by the sword.

He met people where they were, dining with sinners and outcasts, causing scandal among the pious religious classes as he poured out love, mercy, compassion, and forgiveness in abundance.

He said to look past an eye for an eye.

He said “blessed are the peacemakers,” not the makers of war.

He said “blessed are the merciful,” not the vengeful.

He didn’t ask his followers to avenge his death, but rather forgave those who crucified him.

These are not values consistent with the kingdoms of the world. The kingdoms of the world cannot function without violence or the threat of violence. The kingdom of God, in contrast, cannot function without love and mercy. When we try to make the kingdom of God run on the values of the kingdoms of this world, we end up distorting God and serving two masters. We take two incompatible things and try to make them compatible.

We are called to bring the kingdom of God into this world, but not by imposing God’s kingdom onto the worldly kingdoms. We are to be a people set apart, known by our love, witnessing for the values Christ wanted us to embrace, so that we can make the kingdom of God attractive to others disillusioned with the values of this world and looking for a new way to live, a new way to be.

Glorifying flags and wars, embracing nationalist myths, promoting violence. These things don’t bring us closer to the kingdom of God.

Overlooking the abuses of religious leaders in defense of an institution in desperate need of reform – that won’t bring us closer to the kingdom, either. Nor will shaming those who walk away from the corruption and choose to follow Christ elsewhere.

We have much work to do. Changing the way we look at the world isn’t easy. But we are promised that the results will be worth the effort.

So what’s stopping us?

The Church's Let-Them-Eat-Cake Moment

Dave Granlund

It saddens me to see the fallout from the church sex-abuse scandal over the past week. From bishops and far-right traditionalist groups trying to scapegoat gays, to a report from the Catholic League trying to parse the meaning of the word “rape,” to a cardinal in Mexico who says the victims should look at the skeletons in their own closets (no joke), it’s obvious that church leadership doesn’t have a clue. Even the pope, whom I generally like, took a week to release a statement, and when he did, it included asking the entire church to fast and pray – as if we should all be doing penance rather than the perpetrators.

Blaming gay men, blaming victims, blaming everyone but themselves.

What should be happening is a purge. The Vatican should be demanding the immediate resignations of anyone still in the church who took part in the abuse or helped cover it up. Instead, we’re hearing a lot of the same things we did back in 2002 – unconvincing apologies and half-hearted promises to do better. When even the best the pope can do is offer platitudes that sound like the empty "thoughts and prayers" that follow every mass shooting, it's clear that this problem is not going to go away quickly, if at all.

Indeed, the reaction so far tells me that nothing is likely to change until the church feels a financial repercussion. People will have to vote with their feet and their pocketbooks. Money talks, even in the Catholic church.

To his credit, the pope did point a finger at clericalism in the church, and that is part of the problem. Some people in church leadership act as if this is still the 12th century and the clergy are all unaccountable demi-princes with no time for the common riff-raff of the laity. If they're sorry about anything, they're only sorry the church got caught. But that's also serving as a stark reminder that the church is, inherently, a hierarchical institution that's accustomed to barking down orders from on high while the laity are supposed to blindly obey and never question their authority figures, no matter how wrong they may be. The church is not a democratic institution in which the voices of the everyday people count. It never has been, and it probably never will be. 

The church has been run by an old boys’ club for literally centuries. They look out for their own, and it’s clear that many feel themselves above reproach. The same thing happens anytime a group of men are given power over others. But you know what cleans up the back-room deals, cover-ups, and all-around secrecy and corruption of all-male clubs? Letting women in. It changes the dynamic every time. Men act differently in the presence of women. We all know this to be true. Most of the time, they act better.

The church has always maintained that it can’t ordain women because Jesus only had male disciples. The only problem is, that’s not true. Mary Magdalene was the apostle to the apostles. Women followed Jesus from town to town and at least partially funded his ministry. He treated women like equals in a time when women were literally the property of men. The early church was populated with female deacons, prophets, and hosts of house churches.

Yes, it’s true that the church venerates the Blessed Virgin Mary, but it’s notable that for Mary and all the female saints, what many seem to value the most about them is their virginity. You never hear about it if a male saint was a virgin, but it almost always comes up for the women. Meanwhile, Paul says it’s better to marry than to burn. So we end up with a dichotomy for women that values them either for their virginity, or for their ability to act as a sexual receptacle for men so that the men don’t burn with lust. But where are women valued for simply being women? Why should women with a gift for ministry be prohibited from leading a flock? Why should we not value their natural gifts for nurturing and compassion and allow those characteristics to help reshape the church?

Allowing the ordination of women won’t clean up this mess by itself, but it would be a big step in the right direction.  

Then there’s the problem of scapegoating gay priests. Far-right Catholic groups, along with a small number of bishops, have been loudly condemning a supposed “lavender mafia” in the church, in an attempt to portray the abuse problem as a homosexual problem. Polls have suggested that as many as 50% or 60% of priests are gay, so in that sense it’s not a surprise that many of the abused have been male. But to say that the abuse problem is therefore a “gay” problem is to miss the point that abuse is not about sexual gratification as much as it is about power and control. When straight men abuse girls and women, we don’t blame it on the fact that they’re heterosexual. We acknowledge that they’re abusing their power over others to get what they want. It’s no different for gay men. To be gay does not make you a predator. We can’t overlook the fact that women and little girls were abused, too, and that nuns have also complained of systemic sexual abuse.

No correlation has ever been found between homosexuality and pedophilia. Despite the persistent myth, the idea that gay men are predisposed to pedophilia is as baseless, and as bigoted, as the long-discredited racist claim that black men were predisposed to raping white women. In fact, studies show that the typical pedophile is a middle-aged married man with children. 

So why are so many boys abused? Because studies also show that pedophiles are attracted to age groups rather than to gender. So a male pedophile who may otherwise appear straight to the outside world could be just as likely to rape a boy as a girl. And in the case of the Catholic church, whom do abusive priests have more access to? Boys.

The larger issue appears to be that men with sexual problems are entering the clergy, either to gain access to children and subordinates, or to try to escape from their own urges. And that’s why I wouldn’t mind seeing the church give up its celibacy rule.

I’m not making the absurd argument that celibacy turns men into pedophiles, or that marriage cures pedophilia. What I’m saying is that without the celibacy rule, men seeking refuge from their sexual desires may not find the priesthood as welcoming of an escape any longer. It would certainly widen the field of candidates to include men who may be otherwise eminently qualified to be a priest, save for being married. And it therefore may also attract men who are more sexually balanced in the first place. It’s notable that other liturgical churches that allow their priests to marry – Orthodox, Episcopal, even Eastern Catholic – don’t deal with these sex scandals to anywhere the same degree the Roman Catholic church does.

Maybe, then, dropping the celibacy rule would create a church that’s less sexually obsessed, and that's led by men (and women) who aren’t so sexually stunted. From a practical standpoint, it would be nice if engaged and married couples could receive counseling from a priest who actually knows what married life is like. To be counseled on marriage by a celibate man is absurd at best, hypocritical at worst.

Speaking of hypocrisy, the church would do well to stop punishing people for their own personal relational choices until it cleans up its own act. Divorced? No communion. Using contraceptives? No communion. Catholic and didn’t get married before a priest? No communion. But oh, you’re a priest and you sexually abused a child? We’ll move you to another parish, and don’t forget to consecrate the Eucharist on Sunday.

"They tie up heavy burdens and lay them on men's shoulders, but they themselves are unwilling to move them with so much as a finger."

Jesus dined with sinners and didn’t withhold the bread and wine from anyone at the Last Supper. But he had a whole lot to say about hypocrites, especially religious hypocrites, and warned that it would be best for a millstone to be tied around one’s neck than to lead a child astray.

Frankly, we’re well past the point of needing to flip tables in the temple. We need nothing less than a modern Reformation.

Whether the insular, corrupt leadership of the church will do anything remains to be seen. Right now I think they’re happy to feed the antigay narrative and try to pin the whole problem on a shadowy lavender mafia. If they have a scapegoat, they don’t need to change a thing. But good luck getting that to fix the problems with the church. All it’s going to do is inflame antigay hatred while unaccountable men continue to abuse their power.

And for those in the pews who are trying to shame the people who have left the church over this issue: Stop. Please. For those for whom abuse hits home, either at the hands of a clergyman or someone in their family, they may have no choice but to leave for their own mental well-being. The combination of horrific abuse and systemic cover-up will be a bridge too far for some. Others simply aren’t going to be able to stomach the self-serving hypocrisy anymore. Everyone has a breaking point. To tell those who leave that that’s what Satan wants them to do is like telling a battered woman to stay in her marriage because her husband is still a good guy sometimes.

For those who stay, do some good. Don’t let the leadership allow this incident to blow over. Don’t allow them to scapegoat people or blame the victims. Demand more oversight, accountability, and transparency. Hold your offering from the collection basket if necessary. Be a thorn in their side until they respond.

For those who leave, I know how hard this is and how angry you are. And I don’t blame you for your decision.

Being the Church You Wish to See

The church I envision doesn't exist.

Like the Quakers, the church I envision believes in the equality of all people. Anyone can be a minister. All it requires is an openness to the continuing revelation of the Spirit, born of sitting in reverent silence and listening for the still, small voice within.

Like the Catholics, it embraces the rhythm of the liturgical seasons and doesn't shy away from sacred tradition. It pursues goodness, truth, and beauty as key to the spiritual life. It has its share of mystics and contemplatives who plumb the deeper meanings of scripture and discover an intimate connection to the divine that can't be expressed, only experienced. It possesses a rich social teaching that reminds us that it is our Christian duty to help the "least of these." It embraces the communion of saints and shows great reverence to the Blessed Virgin.

Like the Orthodox, it embraces tradition and finds itself more comfortable with mystery and less concerned with dogmatic definitions.

Like the Episcopalians, it allows men and women alike to lead their flocks, and it acknowledges that the communion table is God's, not the church's, and is therefore open to all.

Like the Anabaptists, it takes Jesus' message of nonviolent enemy-love seriously. Rather than pushing aside Jesus' challenging teachings and making excuses for why we don't have to pay attention to what he said, it puts the Sermon on the Mount front and center and assumes that Jesus actually meant what he said. It makes Jesus the lens through which we view the rest of scripture, rather than going first to Paul and the Old Testament and reducing Jesus to a creed or a ticket to heaven.

Like no mainstream church does, it seeks to raise up and exalt the Sacred Feminine, both for a culture that needs more nurturing tenderness and less heated aggression, and to restore balance to a spiritual tradition that has largely shut out women's voices. It celebrates the women of the Bible and the inspiring stories of the female saints. It exalts Mary as our spiritual mother, a model Christian, and an unsurpassed example of faith and humility. And it rediscovers the role of Sophia and her contribution to the history of the Judeo-Christian tradition.

This church, then, doesn't see God exclusively as male but also doesn't shy away from tradition in calling him Father. Yet it also actively seeks out the Mother, in Sophia, in the Holy Spirit, in the Blessed Virgin, in creation itself.

The church I envision puts Christ's words first, seeks God in contemplation, pursues peace and justice, sees Jesus in the poor and marginalized and forgotten, embraces radical nonviolence and nonresistance, raises up the sacred feminine, treats all with equality and dignity, allows men and women alike to lead, and opens its table to all who approach. 

It's open to fresh ideas and continuing revelation yet doesn't allow itself to be blown to and fro by every modern whim and innovation that comes along. 

It holds that how you act is far more important than what you say you believe, and it accordingly doesn't bury Christ under dogmas and creeds. 

It avoids the alluring trap of cheap grace and takes seriously the proclamation that faith without works is dead. 

It finds no glory in war but rather sees violence as a human failure, and believes that you can't love your enemy if you're trying to kill him. 

It puts its faith in the Kingdom of God, not the kingdoms of men, and therefore seeks to disentangle the cross from the flag and Jesus from empire. 

It doesn't worship the Bible, but rather believes that the written word forever points us toward the Living Word of God.

Most importantly, it always leads with love. Love is its eternal default.

When you can't find the church you envision, do you settle for the best you can find from the existing options, or do you start your own? That's the question of the day. If time and health were in more abundance for me, the answer would be simple. For now, it's something I need to take some time to reflect upon in prayer and contemplation.

Farewell to Rome?

As a consistent-life Catholic, I was thrilled with the news that Pope Francis has declared the death penalty inadmissible.

The church has been moving toward this stance ever since Pope John Paul II declared capital punishment unacceptable except in rare circumstances where it would be necessary to ensure public safety.

Now Francis has made part of the official catechism what his predecessor had already stated -- that the death penalty is "an attack on the inviolability and dignity of the person." That's sensible, and in line with Christian ethics. Even the worst criminal is still made in the image of God.

Sadly, and predictably, right-wing U.S. Catholics are losing their minds over this, as they do every time Francis demonstrates a spirit of Christ-like mercy. From more-Catholic-than-the-pope Raymond Arroyo, to the reliably anti-Francis extremists at OnePeterFive, the calls of heresy are running rampant. The Catholic governor of Nebraska says outright that he doesn't care what the pope declares and will continue to defend execution in his state. And he's not alone, considering a majority of American Catholics still support the death penalty, apparently proud that the United States keeps company with Islamic theocracies and Communist dictatorships in continuing the barbaric practice of killing people to show that killing is wrong.

People are actually calling Pope Francis a heretic over this announcement. That's right: Not wanting to kill people is being called heresy. Let that sink in good and deep.

And this is the crux of the heresy-hunters' argument: How dare the pope say we can't kill people?

If that's your argument, frankly, you don't get it.

You don't get "Thou shalt not kill."

You don't get that Jesus spared the life of the woman caught in adultery, who, under the law, was eligible to be stoned to death.

You don't get that he told us to love our enemies.

You don't get that he told Peter to put his sword away, for all who live by the sword will die by the sword.

You don't get that the early church, for the first few hundred years after Christ, was staunchly opposed to the taking of life in all forms.

You don't get that Jesus himself was an innocent victim of state-sanctioned capital punishment.

I hear lots of appeals to Romans 13 to explain away how it's OK for the state to kill people. Yet when it comes to abortion, which is the law of the land, these same people endlessly rail against Roe v. Wade and call for its repeal. Well, Jesus had a thing or two to say about hypocrites. Either you believe in submitting to the law or you don't. Either you support the preservation of human life or you don't.

And frankly, a lot of people who claim to be pro-life showed their hand all too clearly when they ran to the defense of the Trump administration's policy of separating immigrant children from their parents at the border, using the most dehumanizing terms imaginable for those fleeing to safety -- often as a result of our own foreign policy.

It's been said that maybe, instead of a wall, we should install a giant mirror at the border, so we can reflect on what kind of nation we've become.

But maybe the church could use a mirror, too -- not just for some of the laypeople in the pews, but for many of its leaders as well, considering the news this week of yet another sexual-abuse scandal and cover-up.

I came back to the church after the original scandal came to light, and it gave me pause about returning. Yet after assurances from higher-ups in the church that positive steps were being taken to address the scandal, rather than shuffling around priests from church to church following allegations against them, we now have the bombshell report that Cardinal Theodore McCarrick has resigned, amid allegations that he sexually abused minors and adult seminarians for decades. The New York Times reports that the church reached financial settlements with some of his abuse victims in New Jersey, which is a nice way of saying the church purchased their silence while allowing McCarrick to continue in his leadership role.

In the meantime, the Pennsylvania Supreme Court is about to release a grand jury report detailing sexual abuse charges against more than 300 priests. And that's just from six dioceses in one state. It would be naive to think the problem isn't as widespread in other dioceses around the nation and world.

Indeed, the church in Chile is dealing with its own scandal, with 70 clergy and laypeople under investigation, facing allegations of abuse from 104 potential victims.

The rot, it seems, runs deep.

And here's the thing. I don't want to hear about about how abuse in the church isn't any worse than in any other professional organization. That's not the point. The point is the church holds itself out to the world as a bastion of morality. The point is that if you represent yourself as a man of God, you have a responsibility to be a mirror of Christ to those in your flock. "Let the children come to me," Jesus said. We'd all like to think we could trust our clergy as much as we might trust our kids in the lap of the savior himself.

Of course, being human and broken, we will all stumble from time to time. But this is not just stumbling. This is the systematic, predatory abuse and violation of innocent children, by men who are trusted to be upright guardians of the faith, given cover by an institution that, until its hand was forced by public outrage, appeared more concerned about its reputation than about saving children from abuse.

I can't remember where I read it, but I'll never forget the heartbreaking story of a man who recounted looking up at a picture of Jesus on the wall of the priest's office when he was a boy, while the priest was violating him, and wondering why Jesus wasn't coming to save him.

And this is what the church was covering up for decades, to protect its own interests.

I have tried and tried to come to peace with the church and the issues I hold in tension with it. And I dearly love Pope Francis. I think he's a beautiful man of God who tries his best to reflect the love and mercy of Christ. But I'm no longer convinced he can save the church. From mean-spirited people in the pews who only care about life when it's unborn, to the unending stories of predatory clergy, I'm hanging on by a thread to the church at this point.

I was already frustrated with the church's policy on fencing off the Eucharist, and with its insistence that it will never ordain women. Now I'm having an extraordinarily hard time defending the church at all in good conscience.

If the church focused on the sage words of beautiful Catholic voices like Dorothy Day, John Dear, Henri Nouwen, Helen Prejean, Thomas Merton, and the Berrigan brothers, and on the actions of groups like Pax Christi and the Catholic Worker Movement, maybe I'd feel as if there was still something worth hanging on to. Those are the voices and groups that echo the mercy of Christ and embody the best of Catholic social teaching.

But their voices are not central to the church. To the contrary, they're pushed to the margins, while people like Arroyo, and Michael Voris at Church Militant, broadcast their fear-filled and divisive rhetoric to the masses. And far too many parishioners appear to gobble it up.

No, I am not perfect. Far from it. But how can I fellowship with people whose values run so deeply contrary to the Gospel? How can I tolerate a church whose hierarchy is infested with sexual predators, that buys silence to protect the guilty, and that tries to cover up its crimes?

Perhaps it was always too much to hope that a church that came to power by making a deal with the devil 1,700 years ago would ever truly redeem itself. Following its unholy alliance with Constantine and empire, the church went almost overnight from persecuted to persecutor, unleashing a millennium of terror in which millions were jailed, tortured, and executed for the mere "crime" of heresy, while the cross was twisted from a symbol of sacrificial love into one of imperial domination.

The church has apologized for many of its past sins, but one wonders if it truly is repentant, and if it will ever change. After all, it still holds firm to its own "just-war" policy, which, unsurprisingly, has never been used to oppose a war, but has been used many times to rationalize why this or that war was just fine to carry out. So even though the church is solidly pro-life and has taken a positive step on capital punishment, it still has a tremendous blind spot when it comes to enemy-love and the defense of life. And the corruption in its ranks, from abuse to cover-up, is nearly too much to stomach.

This is a difficult struggle for me, as I'm sure it must be for many. I was raised Catholic. Catholicism is in my blood. I love the beautiful church buildings, the rhythm of the liturgical seasons, the bells and smells, the devotions to Mary and the saints, all the deep and rich traditions. Walking into a cathedral, for me, is like walking into heaven. And I truly do love Pope Francis. I also acknowledge that the church has done a great deal of good in the world, from the establishment of schools and hospitals to its social teachings that continue to inspire many to help "the least of these" around the world.   

But I'm tired of seeing Christ buried under dogma.

I'm tired of those who are more worried about heresy-hunting, about holding the right beliefs, than they are about showing mercy and compassion to their fellow humans.

I'm tired of the legalisms.

I'm tired of seeing the hurt inflicted on people who are denied the Eucharist, and on women with a gift for ministry who are denied the opportunity to lead a flock.

I'm tired of those who are so passionate about abortion but don't seem to care about any other suffering human being.

I'm tired of those who filter Jesus through the lens of Paul and the Old Testament, rather than the other way around.

I'm tired of those who would wrap the cross in a flag, embracing imperial militarism and the worst aspects of nationalist tribalism, and fail to see their own idolatry.

I'm tired of those who, like the Nicene Creed, skip over Jesus' life and ministry and reduce him to a free ticket to heaven.

I'm tired of people who act like Paul is God and ignore the Gospels.

I just want a peace-loving, Christ-centric, truly pro-life church that does its best to live out the Sermon on the Mount. Because if Jesus' radical message of sacrificial love means nothing, then there's no reason for the church to exist. It doesn't exist so we can judge heretics or elect Republicans to enforce religion on the populace. It doesn't exist in the hopes that some kind of super-violent Rambo Jesus will come back one day, toting a machine gun to mow down the unrighteous. It exists to bring us into the Kingdom of God, where we find the Prince of Peace, a savior who is gentle and humble in heart. We can find that kingdom right here and now, in our very own hearts, if we can only drop our fear and anger and let love and mercy reign. We don't need priests or dogma for that. We only need an open heart.

I don't know what my way forward is going to look like, but I do wish Pope Francis luck. He's going to need it.