Obama-Hajj: 2 Million People, Maybe More

Did you know that the Hajj is not the only annual religious event to draw pilgrims in the millions?

I hadn't thought about this much, until December. The Hajj was much on my mind then, when I opened up the Washington Post and read this article about 5 million Catholics converging on the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico City to pay their respects to the Virgin.

I had no idea. I had been thinking of the Hajj as a singular event, unique to Islam in its power to draw literally millions of people into one particular space to pay respects. The Virgin pilgrimage in Mexcio proves the Hajj is not alone -- and when I gave it some thought, I could come up with two more pilgrimages drawing such great numbers of believers: millions of Hindus flocking to bathe in the Ganges on Mauni Amavasya (it'll be next Monday this year), and millions of Shiites making the pilgrimage to Karbala, in Iraq, on Ashura.

Despite the trend of American evangelical mega-churches servicing tens of thousands at a time on Sunday mornings, I could come up with no religious holidays here in the United States with the power to draw a crowd of millions ...

... which brings me to today.

I got up early this morning to join a couple million of my fellow American citizens in marking the ascendancy of Barack Obama to the presidency of the United States -- an event not without its insistent religious overtones, whether it counts as a true pilgrimage or not.

The Obamas, of course, began their day with prayer, as is customary, at St. John's Episcopal Church across the street from the White House. (They worshiped at the 19th Street Baptist Church two days ago, on Sunday.)

I started my day with neither prayer nor church attendance (and I was busy on Sunday with other pursuits besides church).

As it happened, I started my day with a very quick shower, before cooking a breakfast of eggs and tomatoes with a side of veggie sausage for my houseguests. We were 15-strong in my three-bedroom apartment, with my housemates and I providing temporary lodging for pilgrims from Chicago, Brooklyn, and Raleigh-Durham.

At 8:15, I left the house with two of my guests to meet three other friends and move as a unit of six down to take our place on the National Mall. We had aimed for a medium-close vantage point, but after finding checkpoints blocked twice, we eventually settled for a very-far-away vantage point and took up a nice spot near the World War II Memorial, about a mile away from the actual event, but close to a large Jumbotron and loudspeaker.

Nearby stood four religious protestors holding signs.

"The Wages of Sin is Death," read one sign. "Trust Jesus," read another. A third sign quoted a very lengthy passage from 2 Chronicles about nations turning to God to receive blessing, and fourth man held no sign but wore an electric-blue T-shirt stretched tightly over his enormous belly, with a printed message inviting the reader to "Ask me why you're going to Hell."

The fat man and the sign-bearers took turns with a megaphone informing one and all why we are going to Hell -- whether we had asked them about it or not. When the megaphone wasn't being directed toward the crowd to inform us of our sins (focusing on the usual suspects, of course: gays, feminists, abortionists, atheists), it was directed toward the heavens to invoke the wrath of god.

Moments after the blue-shirt man had called on God via megaphone, the second invocation of the day began to be pronounced -- this time from the dais of the inauguration.

As is well-known, Obama chose to invite Pastor Rick Warren, the evangelical preacher famous for his solid support of California's Prop 8 (as well as his self-help book and his mission creep toward more traditionally liberal issues like poverty and AIDS), to offer a prayer to God before his swearing-in.

When Pastor Warren's face appeared on on the Jumbotron, I discovered with surprise that I had to turn my back. I had not planned ahead to do this, but to face the screen, and give him the same attentiveness I had given to Dianne Feinstein or Aretha Franklin or Joe Biden or John Paul Stevens would have felt like an untruth to me.

So, I wheeled silently around and turned my face upwards and saw bare brown branches criss-crossing a perfect blue sky. Nobody else within my view chose to do this, and I avoided looking into their faces, preferring to trace the branches and mull over the content of Warren's prayer. I noticed that others nearby chose also to react to Pastor Warren in various ways, such as cheering when he announced that Jesus had changed his life, or chanting along with the Bible verses.

One of my friends later remarked that she found the invocation to be "ecumenical." (I disagree.) Another stated that Warren had offered up a number of "surprisingly good lines." Fair enough: Warren did offer that his god is "loving to everyone," allowed that the country is not united by "religion" but by "freedom," and called for "civility in our attitudes even when we disagree." Fine. All very nice sentiments.

For what it's worth, I think a simple back-turn does represent "civility of attitude even in disagreement," and also I do deeply disagree with Warren's presence as part of the program.

I disagree with Warren's anti-gay attitudes -- no doubt about it -- and found it quite disappointing that after the Election Day combination of the Prop 8 catastrophe with the Obama win, that Obama chose to repeat that unhappy combo on his Inauguration Day.

Yet even more than I disagree with Warren's views on gay relationships, I deeply disagree with such an invocation of god at all at a governmental function.

Warren opened his prayer by calling out to "Almighty God," whom he addressed as "our Father." He suggested that "all nations, all people" will "stand accountable" before his god on a day of judgment. And he closed his prayer by making sure that it was signed, sealed, and delivered in the name of Jesus -- in not one, but four languages -- before quoting the words of Jesus as recorded in the book of Matthew, in the form of the Lord's Prayer.

That's not very ecumenical to me (not all Christians believe in Judgment Day, or stick to the old-school "Father" formulation), and beyond ecumenism it certainly does not take into account the interfaith pluralism that comprises America -- much less acknowledge those of us who follow no religion at all.

Obama, it must be noted, did indeed acknowledge this pluralism in his own speech, when he declared that "We are a nation of Muslims and Christians, Jews and Hindus -- and non-believers." And yet even that, to me, did not go far enough. We are a nation of Buddhists and Taoists and Wiccans and Zoroastrians and practitioners of the spiritual traditions of America's indigenous people -- as well as many variations and combinations of these, and more.

Furthermore, I would remind our wonderful new president that "atheist" is not a bad word. Atheists and agnostics and humanists and secularists and ethical rationalists need not be defined in relative opposition to what he thinks we are not ("believers"), not least because most of us, most likely, believe in quite a lot. (The word "atheist" is helpfully very precise about what it is we do not believe.)

I do happen to believe, like Rick Warren, in civility even in disagreement. I also believe, like Rick Warren, that commitment to freedom is more essential to the preservation of the American union than commitment to religion. And though I do not believe in heaven, I do not begrudge the poetic sentiments behind Warren's suggestion that Dr. King (who did believe in heaven, probably) is looking down with approval from above on today's inauguration; I'd simply express such respect for an ancestor with different language.

In 2013, when Obama is elected to his second term, I would challenge him to remember that he chose three Christians to pray over his first inauguration (Revs. Gene Robinson and Joseph Lowry, in addition to Warren), to the exclusion of literally all other faiths. And I would suggest that if he is comfortable with the invocation of "Y'Shua" at his inauguration, then he should be comfortable with the invocation of Allah, or the Four Corners, or any one in the pantheon of Hindu gods and goddesses: Lakshmi, Saraswati, Brahma, Hanuman, or any of the others.

And if he's not comfortable with those other invocations, then I've no doubt that an upstanding atheist -- perhaps a member of a local Ethical Society -- would be more than happy to oblige him by writing some appropriate remarks that invoke no deity at all, before respectfully making the pilgrimage.

Navaratri (Thank you, India.)

Navaratri, a nine-day Hindu celebration of various manifestations of the Divine Mother, began last Tuesday, triggered by the same new moon that ended Ramadan and began the Jewish New Year. There's no way I can deny that I felt my heart leap when I first discovered that this holiday is meant to honor the goddesses.

I grew up with a Father God. This Father God has a Son, who lived and walked upon the Earth inside a male body. I have even met Christians who will insist that the Holy Ghost is male, meaning that the entire Trinity can be considered -- apparently -- as just a big all-male three-way, with the unmistakable understanding that THERE IS NOTHING FEMALE ABOUT THE CHRISTIAN GOD. Period.

So, after a month of focus on the Father God of Islam... and his male prophet... and the male-dominated worship spaces at the mosques, the sense of relief and balance that Navaratri might bring felt exciting to me.

Navaratri spends nine days and nights honoring the sacred embodiment of creative and feminine energy -- Shakti.

The holiday is divided into three parts, with three nights apiece devoted to a different goddess, each of whom represents a different facet of Shakti’s divine feminine power. The three first days and nights go to Durga, a fierce warrior goddess, consort of Shiva, and the mother of Ganesha. She rides a tiger and slays demons. The second three go to Lakshmi, consort of Vishnu, and giver of physical wealth. She is also closely associated with the upcoming holiday of Diwali. The final three nights belong to Saraswati, consort of Brahma, supreme goddess of wisdom and the arts. She is often depicted as a river, or as connected to rivers or water.

When I set about finding a Navaratri celebration in my area, I quickly learned that all of the Hindu temples are in the suburbs. I found two temples from which to choose, as well as one Hindu organization planning Navaratri celebrations for various school and university auditoriums in Maryland and Virginia. I was leaning toward a Saturday night celebration at a university, when I discovered an afternoon concert planned for 1PM at the Sri Siva Vishnu Temple in suburban Maryland.

The flyer I found announced that Vijayalakshmy Subramaniam would be providing vocals, with Avaneeswaram Vinu on violin and Shertalai Ananthakrishnanan on mridangam, a type of South Indian drum.

Perfect, I thought. If gay men know how to do anything worshipful, it's how to revere female vocalists as the incarnation of goddesses. So, I will go listen to Vijayalakshmy Subramaniam sing. It will be a good excuse for me to show up at the Hindu temple for the first time, and it will connect to the theme of the holiday. Perhaps I will consider attendance at the concert to be my worship of Saraswati, and her connection to music and the arts.

Instead of biking, I chose to rent a Zipcar for the 17-mile trip.

The Sri Siva Vishnu Temple is located on a winding two-lane road accessed from a much larger suburban artery lined with strip malls, fast food, and gas stations. It is tucked away on this largely residential street behind some trees, much less obvious from the road than the houses behind their flat lawns. A sign in the full parking lot directed overflow traffic to park at the nearby Greek Orthodox church.

I did this, and then walked back to the temple on the shoulder of the road.

The temple is all white, with red doors. The basement of the temple isn't visible at the first approach, but can be accessed via a descent to the parking lot behind the building. From the front, a pedestrian can walk directly on top of this basement, onto a wide walkway with stone railings that encircles the main floor. On top of this, five tall, white, tapered peaks, inlaid with figures and carvings, set the building apart as a special kind of gathering place.

As I walked up to the walkway by the temple, I saw a sign that stated: "NO smoking, NO alcohol, and NO non-veg on premises. This includes parking lot."

The main entrance to the temple was in the rear, up a set of tall stairs from the parking lot, with the already elevated walkway around the temple leading directly to the main door. Outdoor cubbies clearly meant for shoes lined the walkway, so I shed my shoes and socks before going inside, though I missed the foot-washing station just inside the door.

The lobby just inside the front vestibule spanned the width of the temple. To the right, the walls were lined with shrines. In front of me, archways opened into the primary worship space. To the left was a small store with books and DVDs and incense, and next to the racks of retail goods stood a man behind a counter with a money box. I asked if I should buy concert tickets through him, and he directed me down a staircase to the basement.

The smell of curry grew stronger as I descended, and downstairs I found a tableau not that different from the basement of the church I grew up in. A lower-level lobby sat beneath the upstairs lobby, with doors opening into classrooms, restrooms, and a fellowship area connected via a serving window to a kitchen. Here, families sat together eating lunch from styrofoam plates.

Next to the fellowship area, doors opened into an auditorium filled with plastic blue chairs facing a stage draped with rust- and saffron-colored cloths. A chest-high goddess statue with four arms and a raised leg stood to the side of the stage.

It was here that I paid my $15 for the concert and took a seat.

When the musicians entered, they took their places on a low platform at the center of the stage set with three microphones. Vijayalakshmy Subramaniam sat cross-legged at the central microphone and faced the audience. She wore an orange and green sari, a large, bright red bindi, and a gold necklace, with her hair pulled into a loose knot behind her neck. Her male accompanists, both in kurtas, one grey, and one rust-colored, sat on either side of her and faced each other.

Without comment to the audience, Vijayalakshmy Subramaniam then proceeded to sing ragas for three hours without a break. She acknowledged applause with a namaste, but otherwise did not appear to respond to the crowd. Often, I found myself with my eyes closed, transported by the music to a place where blanking out my mind was easy. Sometimes, the more upbeat songs made me want to dance, though I noticed the audience remained mostly motionless, and I noticed that Vijayalakshmy Subramaniam herself limited her movements to keeping the beat with one hand slapping against her thigh. Less often, but frequently enough to notice it, I grew bored, with the unfamiliar words to the songs blending together and starting to sound "all the same" to my ignorant ears. At the two-and-a-half hour mark, I had to step out to phone the car company to extend my reservation.

At 4PM, a barefoot, bald man in a blue shirt and grey slacks took to the stage to announce that the concert must end, because some women needed to prepare the basement auditorium for another use later in the evening.

The man heaped praise upon Vijayalakshmy Subramaniam, three times calling her voice "melifluous." He was right. She was beautiful and entrancing. (If we have art, why do we need religion?)

"I hope you noticed how our musician today chose her ragas based on our season of Navaratri," the man said, though his thick accent and frequent use of long proper names made his speech difficult for me to follow. "Especially, I noticed her focus on Lakshmi, since today is one of her days."

The man took a few moments to praise the three goddesses of Navaratri for their gifts, and reminded us all that the primary Trinity of Hinduism -- Brahma, Shiva, and Vishnu -- are nothing without their female consorts. He focused especially on the relationship between Vishnu and Lakshmi, since it was Lakshmi's day, and gave an example pulled from contemporary headlines.

"Just look at what's happening in our country now, with the economy melting down to nothing," the man said. "But what can the Protector do… what can Vishnu do to protect us without money? And where do we turn when the problem is with money? To Lakshmi."

Then a male priest in traditional dress with a grey topknot of hair and a red bindi entered the stage with a giant silver platter of fruits. The man in the blue shirt explained that the priest would now offer a traditional blessing to the musicians to thank them for their appearance today.

The priest offered his blessing, while each of the musicians touched a finger to a substance apparently pooled on the platter and rubbed the finger along their skin, around their necks and behind their ears. Then, each member of the musical Trinity selected a fruit, and took a bite.

The audience was leaving, so I went upstairs to check out the main worship space, before the reservation on my car ran out.