So last night was it! The opening of The Hunger Games. I was excited as could be about seeing this movie. A couple weeks ago I had an unfortunate and happily resolved illness which basically gave me a week to read through the whole trilogy. I know, I know, I came to the Games late – my friend Peter has been raving about the trilogy for years. The three books are a compelling, political, thrilling look at a dystopian not-too-distant future that seems all too possible. Why just last night as we were leaving the theater, my friends and I were confronted with this response to the Occupy Wall Street protesters in Union Square:

The books paint a deep and meaningful picture of a world gone horribly wrong in a society not far off from where we are right now. Reading these books, I was constantly reminded of some of my favorite Margaret Atwood novels, e.g. The Handmaid’s Tale and Oryx and Crake. In short, I loved The Hunger Games Trilogy.

Unfortunately, I didn’t love the movie. Believe me, I wanted to. And in general, I’m a fairly easy-going guy with book adaptations. I really want to like things, and I have a huge suspension of disbelief capacity. I did think the movie was a lot of fun. It looked great. The music was beautiful. The costumes and makeup were terrific. My favorite addition to the movie was the emphasis on the backstage machinations of the Gamemakers. Watching them add and remove elements of the Game on their 3D multitouch interface highlighted the disconnect between the citizens of the Capitol and the real human children dying for the Capitol’s entertainment.

The problem, of course, is that it wasn’t as good as the book. I mean, what movie ever is? Is that even fair to say?

My complaints about the movie independent of the book are small. First and foremost was Peeta’s hair. I know he’s supposed to be blond, but that dye job was awful, down to his eyebrows. I would rather him just have kept his own hair color. It’s not as if that were relevant to the story. Also, I thought too many of the shots were close and cut too quickly. I get that that emphasizes the speed and the action, but I longed for more expansive shots. (I agree with my good friend Stacy on that 100%.)

As far as comparing the book to the movie, I wish they would have done a lot of things differently. I loved the fun poked at the accent of the Capitol in the book. So why is Effie the only one with an accent? And if District 12 is essentially Appalachia, why do all its denizens sound like well-polished newscasters? This would have added so much to it from my point of view.

I also wish they would have kept the Mayor’s family in the story. I know there’s only so much time, but the Mockingjay pin just doesn’t have the gravity it’s supposed to without that whole backstory.

And really, that’s what’s missing from the movie overall: backstory. I was so moved by the backstory in the books, and most of it didn’t make it into the movie. I’m not a filmmaker, so I don’t know how they could have done it. It was already long for many audiences at around two and a half hours. As it stands, though, it doesn’t feel as three dimensional to me as the book did.

Don’t get me wrong. The movie is loads of fun. I will go and see all the sequels on opening night. I will buy merchandise. And I will tell everyone to go see it. It is 100% worth seeing. But it’s good, not great.

I would love to hear your comments below.

Addendum: I forgot about one whole aspect of the movie I wanted to talk about – the “love story”. The strangest part of watching this movie was hearing the audience laugh out loud every time there was some romantic interaction between Peeta and Katniss and then laugh even harder when they would cut to shots of Gale back in District 12. Clearly in the book this is not an occasion for laughter, and I doubt the filmmakers intended for them to elicit titters, but the audience was practically slapping its knees every time it happened. I’m pretty sure Stacy, who commented below experienced this same thing when she saw it, but she attributed this, I think, to having watched it with an audience full of Tweens. I, however, saw it in a theater full of 20- and 30-something New Yorkers, and they laughed all the same.

If you’re friends with me on Facebook, you probably already know that I’m obsessed with the Empire State Building. I am sometimes struck dumb by it. On the occasion of this picture, I was on the phone with my good friend Micah Matthias discussing his wedding while I walked down 6th Avenue. I looked up. I stopped and asked Micah if I could call him back. He obliged. After I took a few pictures, I called him back. He asked what had happened. I sheepishly told him. Fortunately, Micah loves me enough to forgive my little oddities, and he laughed along with me! What friends I am blessed to have! And what a glorious city with its graceful Empire State Building!

For a few years now, I have considered myself under the umbrella of Radically Inclusive Christian. Sometimes I veer more toward Universalist, and sometimes I lean back hard into my Catholic upbringing. These shifts in my sails sometimes vex me, but more often than not they give me succor, because I know that know matter what way the wind is blowing, I am carried always in the everlasting arms of my ever-loving God.

We’re having a heat wave… a tropical heat wave!

The summer time seems to be here already, even though the Summer Solstice isn’t for a couple of weeks still. For me, personally, it’s harder to operate when I’m hot than when I’m cold. I don’t know why that is, but a chilly winter day just means an extra sweater or coat, but a really hot, humid day just leaves me sweaty and drained.

I have found that the best way to escape from the heat is to be of service. Hot is hot, but a lot of it is in my mind thinking about how hot it is, hearing the meteorologist talk about it, seeing the icon on my Weather Bug App showing a little cactus, listening to my 4th Graders complain about walking up and down the stairs. So, in the face of all those things, I try to keep my heart and my ears open and look for opportunities to be of service.

Need some suggestions?

• Help someone carry the baby’s stroller up or down those subway steps.
• Volunteer to take a picture for some tourists struggling to hold their phone at arm’s length for a self-portrait.
• Ask someone gazing quizzically at a city map if they need help.
• Carry some nuts, granola, fruit, or extra bottles of water in your bag to give away to people who are hungry or thirsty.
• Read Brian Murphy’s “A Menu of Small Things” for more.

Do you have other suggestions? Please contact me on twitter or comment below. I would love to hear from you.

Before I go, I have one other suggestion: don’t tell anyone what you did! It’s difficult not to talk about it, but I find it’s more rewarding when it’s something I have kept between God and me.

And finally, here’s a song, in case you want to revel in the heat: The Lovin’ Spoonful’s “Summer in the City.”

So, despite my best intentions, I’m a pretty sinful person. on the surface, it wouldn’t seem like that, but I covet, judge, envy, and more with the best of them.

Lately, it’s been bad. So, I asked my spiritual advisor what actions I could take that would help relieve me of this bondage of self that keeps me separate and isolated. He gave me a pretty radical idea: every time I judge someone, envy them, or covet their things he suggested that I bless them instead. Oh, and here’s the really radical part. He said I don’t even have to believe it, but just take the action over and over again. And guess what? It is working! All day long, whenever one of my self-centered thoughts came up, I directed a blessing at the person instead. (Just to be clear, this is all happening only within my mind and heart.)

I could not believe the results! After one day, I am left with a measure of relief that is pretty significant … believe me, it is tedious going around all day judging, envying, and coveting. I received some measure of freedom. And this allowed me to build stronger relationships with the people I interacted with throughout the day.

What a joy! It let me feel like I was participating in the Kingdom on Earth as it is in Heaven.

I’m going to try to keep this up.

Any thoughts from you?

According to Sister Carol’s Advent Devotional, this is the third week of Advent. What? The third week? How did that happen? I, for one, have been so busy for the first two weeks of Advent with rehearsals, performances, concerts, and meetings, that I feel like I have already been through Christmas. In the midst of it I was lamenting the notion that I’d be done with all the hoopla Saturday when I attended the glorious Voices of Ascension Christmas Concert at the Church of St. Mary the Virgin on 46th Street. You see, I’m the kind of person who likes to be busy. I keep my schedule packed and I’m on the move from the moment I leave the house in the morning until I lay my head on the pillow at night.

Then, at some point on Sunday I stopped to breathe. I had been worried that I wasn’t going to have anything to “do” for the last two weeks of Advent, and then I realized that’s how it is supposed to be. Advent is a period of waiting, of expectancy. And so now, rehearsals and concerts complete, I wait. I am expectant. I don’t really know what I’m expecting. I think I’m supposed to say “the baby Jesus” or “to be born anew through the Lord’s incarnation” or something like that, but I don’t really know. For the next two weeks I’m just going to try to stay out of the way and wait.

Two things that help me along in this waiting are Sister Carol’s Advent Devotional which I suggest everyone pick up. If you don’t have one already, you can get it at the switchboard or you can even just click on the Marble website (Marble Advent Page) to find each day’s reading. The other thing is a book that Ken Dake, Marble’s Director of Music, gave me called “Bread of Angels,” by Barbara Brown Taylor. This book is a collection of her sermons, each chapter 5-7 pages long. It makes a perfect retreat from the world and gives me something to center on for awhile. It helps me to wait.
Will you wait with me? I’d love to hear what it is you do to stay present and expectant during this hectic season. Email me, if you’d like at matthewbeams@gmail.com.

This was one of the first blogs I wrote, requested by the folks at Presbyterian Welcome. What an honor! Find the original post and check out their blog here.

I do some volunteering with an organization called Soulforce NYC, http://www.sfnyc.org/, which desires reconciliation between LGBT folks and anti-gay and anti-transgender religious traditions. For the past few months we have been visiting a church in Sunset Park, Brooklyn where the pastor has a history of making anti-gay remarks and writing anti-gay tracts. We contacted the church and let them know we’d be coming to worship and fellowship with them and hoped to open a dialogue with them. Preparing for these visits, we train using the principles of non-violence as outlined by Gandhi and the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. We support each other and pray together. We discuss openness and reconciliation. We go in a small group. And we believe that it is God’s Will that we should reconcile. And yet, on the day it was my turn to visit the church, I was nervous to go.

Micah, Peter, and I met on Sunday morning and traveled to Brooklyn together, arriving at the church shortly before the service started. We stood out as visitors to the church, as most church-folk know who are the regulars and who are the visitors. We were greeted warmly and welcomed. We chose where to sit and entered our row, and my heart was pounding.

The opening music started, and it sounded great. The band played worship and praise songs and we all started singing and worshiping together. As we stood there, a young teenager took a seat in the row ahead of us, and Micah, Peter, and I all looked at each other. Surely this boy was queer! I didn’t know him, nor did I speak with him, but he just reminded me of myself at that age, struggling with the intersection of faith and my own beginning understanding of myself as a gay person. Micah and Peter had a similar impression. I felt strengthened. Maybe God had seated us all here in proximity to be a witness to each other. As the music continued on for some time I felt at ease. The Holy Spirit was moving through this sanctuary, and I felt God’s presence all around me. I wasn’t surprised, because of course God is everywhere, but I was relieved of some of the anxiety I brought with me.

Then the sermon started. One of the bishop’s associates preached that Sunday and the theme of his sermon was “Deception leads to Disobedience, which leads to Disease, and then to Despair.” Wow! As he picked and chose verses from the Bible to support his claims, my relief dissipated. Where was God’s Grace? Where was Love? Where was Mercy? It was not in this sermon. As a 37-year-old man I can look back at my life and see where I have deceived myself, or allowed myself to be deceived by the trappings of life or the lure of the quick-fix. I can see how that deception lead me to disobey my own personal morals and even to fail to be the man God called me to be in those instances. I can see how that led to physical, mental, and spiritual “dis-ease.” And often that led me to feel despair. As a 37-year-old man, who has found God’s Grace and Mercy, I can look at that without judgment for myself and see how that did not fit into God’s plan for me. But as I looked at the teenager sitting in front of me, knowing the message of exclusion that is preached at this church, I couldn’t help but be sad for what message he was hearing. Was he hearing that being gay was the Deception? Did he believe that “the Deceiver” was tempting him into this “homosexual death-style” (as the Bishop of the church has called it)? How would he reconcile Jesus’ command to “Love one another,” Jesus’ acceptance of all those who had not been welcomed, with this message of condemnation and judgment?

When the sermon was over, the music began again, but I could not find the peace and relief in it that I found at the beginning of the service. I tried to lose myself in the music, to let the Holy Spirit enter my heart and relieve me of the bondage of self that this sermon had cast upon me. Eventually I relaxed and gave thanks to God for all that is good and for the opportunity to be here and be a witness of God’s love for all people.

As the music slowed down, the Bishop started asking questions of the congregation. He asked who wanted Jesus to enter into their hearts in a new way today, and I raised my hand. Now I grew up Catholic, and I currently attend Marble Collegiate Church http://www.marblechurch.org/, so I didn’t realize that raising my hand to this meant they were going to ask me up to the altar call! The Bishop said, I see a hand back there and called me up to the altar. I quickly put my hand down and kept singing, hoping no one had noticed. A few minutes later, a woman from the church came to my aisle and invited me up front. I politely declined, and she let me be. As the Bishop kept calling people to the altar, I thought of all the ways the Holy Spirit has worked in me, ways too many to name in this post. The Bishop kept speaking, and I kept praying. The Bishop spoke of the healing available to all of us through Jesus Christ. I can’t know what the Bishop was referring too, or if he had any agenda, but I believe, regardless of his platform, agenda, or theology, that his intentions are true, that he is a man of God who wants to bring people closer to God. And so, before I knew what was happening, my feet were walking down the row of chairs and up the center to the aisle to the altar. There was a flurry of cheers and applause from the people behind me who had seen me raise my hand and then put it down. As I approached the altar, I felt fear coming back into me. What am I doing up here? Who do I think I am? What if they …? What if …? What if …? But I trusted in the Lord and stood my ground. As I listened to the people around me I heard real pain, real joy, real love, real faith. Finally, the Bishop, himself, approached me and asked me if anyone had prayed with me yet. I told him no. He asked my name and how did I want Jesus to heal me. I told him who I was and what was on my heart, and he asked if he could hug me. In that embrace I felt a man deeply committed to Christ, a human being filled with all the same feelings as any other human being. He laid hands on my forehead and we prayed. His prayers were gracious and generous and without any judgment. I believe that both the Bishop and I were healed that day.

After the service, Peter, Micah and I broke bread (delicious baked ziti and salad) in the church basement with members of the congregation, just as was being done in churches all across the world. People thanked us for attending and invited us back. We thanked them for their hospitality and promised we’d return. I know that I was changed by my visit to this church, and I believe that the church was changed by our visit as well.

As we left, we passed a group of boys standing on the steps outside the church; among them was the boy who sat in front of us during the service. We said goodbye and as we walked away, he turned and quickly waved at us before going back to his friends. Who knows what kind of impact we made that day?

This was originally posted on the Sanctuary Collective blog as a response to my first Inspiration and Meditation, “Some thoughts on prayer, and a prayer challenge to you”.

Hello, Sanctuary Collective. So, in February I wrote passionately about my prayer life and my challenge to you to pray every day with me. It was my intention to write back to you the first Monday in March and report back on whether or not I had successfully met my own 30-day prayer challenge. Well, you know what they say about good intentions, right? So, here it is, the middle of May, and I am finally writing again, and this time it’s with a revelation I’ve had about prayer. This is going to sound heretical, but I realized over the course of my practicing that there is such a thing as too much prayer. Yes, I said it. Too. Much. Prayer.

Let me be clear about this, what started happening to me over the course of my month of prayer was that I started praying all the time for and during all kinds of things. Something good happened? Prayer. Something bad happened? Prayer. Joy? Prayer. Anxiety? Prayer. Prayer? Prayer. Phew!  At this same time I was having a lot of anxiety about my new job. I teach 4^th Grade, and every day is a new adventure, to put it mildly. Oftentimes I woke up in the middle of the night, thinking about lesson plans, discipline, etc. So naturally, since I was in this intense period of daily prayer, I figured that praying at all those moments was the thing to do. In retrospect, it wasn’t.  Or at least not the kind of praying that I was doing, which involved me saying, either out loud or in my head, lots of words. I would lie in bed, filled with anxiety, asking God to take the anxiety away, praying for the needs of others, giving glory to God, or saying some of my favorite memorized prayers – the Lord’s Prayer, the Hail Mary, the Prayer of St. Francis. Nothing would work. The anxiety would heighten, the doubt would increase. Sounds pretty awful, right? It was. I should have blogged about it.

One night, I decided “To Hell with this! I’m not going to pray, I’m just going to clear my mind and lie here.” I had a moment of guilt about this, but as I intentionally cleared my mind and lay on my bed, the anxiety passed and I fell into a deep, restful sleep. I tried this for a few days in a row. I didn’t pray all these grand prayers before I went to sleep at night or when I awoke in the middle of the night and two things happened. One, I fell right back into a restful sleep when I did awaken, and two, I stopped waking up in the middle of the night! Again, I was still having a little guilt about this, as it seemed to be the opposite of praying and felt a little bit like I was turning away from conscious contact with God, and that I was benefitting from it.

Sometime over that week, I was reminded about a story I was told about Mother Theresa, whose life, works, faith, and doubt inspire me incredibly. According to the story, Mother Theresa was asked what sort of prayers she said daily. She said she didn’t “say” prayers daily. The interviewer asked her what she did when she prayed, and she said, “I listen.” The interviewer, thinking he was going to get a good quote out of her, asked, “Ah, so what does God say to you when you’re listening?” And Mother Theresa replied, “God doesn’t say anything. God listens.”

And so now, when I go to sleep at night, I turn off the radio, I turn off the music, I turn it all off, and I listen. I listen to God. I listen for the still, small voice. I have yet to hear it. Instead, what I hear is God listening.

December 10, 2008 was the 60th anniversary of the U.N.‘s Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR). In conjunction with this I stood in a rally, along with members from Dignity/NewYork and DignityUSA outside St. Patrick’s Cathedral to protest the Vatican’s opposition to a European Union resolution being introduced to the UN that would urge all nations to abolish laws that make it illegal to be gay.

There are currently 70 nations in the world in which it is illegal simply to be LGBT. In 12 of those countries a person can be executed for being gay. Why would the Vatican oppose this? Oppose! Not even step out of the argument, but to actually speak out in opposition to the rights and lives of human beings is the opposite of the teachings of Jesus Christ.

I grew up Roman Catholic in a town in New Jersey where I actually had a relatively good experience. When I was in 9th grade I went on a retreat with my church youth group during which the pastor came to hear confession. You know how retreats are—they break down barriers—and I somehow felt safe enough to confess my sin of homosexuality to my pastor. Shockingly, he told me that, while he knew the church’s teaching stated that it was a sin to act on homosexuality, he believed that God created us each of as we are and that I should not be afraid or ashamed of being gay. Then we moved on to my more mundane sins. It was liberating and freeing, but of course, The Church told otherwise, so I didn’t feel completely absolved.

Over the course of my life I drifted away from church and didn’t really come back to the fold until a couple of years ago. Now I attend a big Protestant church in NYC that is not just accepting but affirming of LGBT people (http://www.marblechurch.org) and my journey as a follower of Christ has amazed me, strengthened me, confused me, empowered me, and wrecked me. As I feel called to follow in the footsteps of Jesus, I find myself looking at my actions in a whole new light. This is difficult stuff.

So, back to Wednesday. My roommate, Ryan, and I went to the rally in front of St. Pat’s not knowing what it would be like or what would be happening. A small but dedicated group of us (25?) were corralled in a rectangle on the sidewalk in front of the statue of Atlas at Rockefeller Center across from the cathedral. What I found was a group of passionate and devout catholics who love Jesus and love humanity. We held signs, took pictures, talked with passersby and prayed aloud and in our hearts. I was moved by the love these men and women shared for each other, for Jesus Christ, and for the Church. The response of the passersby was heartening: thumbs up, “good jobs!”, photos and high-fives. Only one person stopped by to complain about what we were doing.

I wondered while standing there on this unseasonably warm day (the rain also managed to stop the entire time we were standing out there) what impact this would have, if any. I wondered who would get the message. I wondered why I’m still passionate about fighting for LGBT equality at my age … isn’t this something for the youth? After the rally, my roommate and I went to see the film Milk and all my questions were answered. Harvey Milk didn’t even begin his life of activism until he was older than I am. In the movie he receives phone calls from teenagers in places far away who have seen his picture or read his story in the newspaper and who were given hope by the message he carried. Well on Wednesday, December 10, a small group of us stood outside the gates of the church and carried a message to all the world who passed by on their way to see that symbol of Christ’s Birth, the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, or the windows on 5th Ave. Our message is simple “Would Jesus Discriminate?” and “Gay people deserve Equality and Justice.”

I think about those blond-haired, blue-eyed Midwestern families whose children furtively glanced at our signs while their parents shooed them along. I think about the young, proud LGBT teens who walked by and smiled and waved. I think about the quiet, thoughtful seniors who stopped to take it all in and I know that what we did that day touched somone. What we did made a difference in one person’s journey. We may not have inspired the Vatican to change their stance—yet—but we left people with Hope.

Yours,
Matt Beams