Image provided by: University of Oregon Libraries; Eugene, OR
About Just out. (Portland, OR) 1983-2013 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 18, 1998)
Continued from the cover ‘S p ir it u a l it y I N F O R M S MY WHOLE L IF E ’ +HË FAI+H he Rev. Frodo Okulam begins her days with spiritual rituals. b y W i l l O ’ B ryan a n d P a t r i c k C o l l i n s • p h o t o s b y L in d a K l i e w e r “When 1 get up in the morning,” says Okulam, “ I’m smudging and lighting my candles. That’s how my day begins, that’s how it ends.” At no moment in between does the spirituality end. “ Basically my spirituality informs my whole life,” Okulam observes. “Every thing that 1 do should have a spiritual basis— and pretty much does.” Okulam ’s life wasn’t always touched by the G od dess, as she refers to her deity. She recalls going to Methodist Sunday school as a child hut being fascinated mostly by lessons about other religions. Her earliest, most sincere form of spiritu ality, says Okulam, was communing with nature. “My early spirituality was based on nature, talking to trees,” she explains. She needed something more, though, when she began to discover her sexu ality. “It was very clear from early on that there was something different about my sexuality,” remembers Okulam, telling how discov Above: Jerry D eas; below: Henry Miller (left) and Rick Hernandez ering her queemess at the possible, is this: How can you be a Mormon and age of 12 in the late 1960s made her suicidal. queer? She credits the Goddess with saving her: “I joined as an adult, out of personal convic “The Goddess intervened. It was definitely a tions,” says Hernandez. He and Miller have female voice. She said, ‘I made you for a reason been partners for 13 years now; Miller, in fact, and I have plans for you.’ It wasn’t a thought I played the organ for his lover’s confirmation ser would’ve had myself.” vice. “The mission leader had a gay son, so he peaking with Rick Hernandez and Those plans may have had a lot to do with Henry Miller can give you a case of was very sympathetic,” Hernandez explains. spirituality, as that’s where so much of Okulam’s “ But most of the people at the service didn’t spiritual whiplash. Back and forth life today lies. She’s a coordinator at SisterSpir- they go, embracing religious and political con know I was gay.” it, a group dedicated to celebrating women’s That was years ago, in a conservative enclave spirituality; an ordained Metropolitan Commu tradictions as fragile as a porcelain statue of a saint. The question, held under wraps as long as north of San Diego. Now the two live in North nity Church pastor; and Wiccan high priestess. “The label I use most often is ‘women’s spiri tuality,’ ” she explains. “I worship the Goddess. I say I’m a Christian pagan or a pagan Christian. Then there’s Wicca. They all apply.” This union of religions wasn’t always so easy for Okulam to orchestrate. “When I first came to M CC, ;here were a lot of people who said, ‘This pagan shouldn’t be in this church,’ ” Oku lam recalls with a laugh. She adds that she has no conflict between her paganism and her Christianity, but concedes, “You have to take the patriarchy out of it for there not to be a con flict.” For Okulam, there are pressing reasons to introduce mainstream spirituality to less ortho dox spirituality. “Nature, spirituality, the whole ‘New Age’ thing is becoming more important,” she says. “If the mainstream traditions get it, maybe we’ll be able to rescue the planet from ecological destruction.” To that end, Okulam continues on her path to improving her own spiritual life and at least one obvious method: Confesses Okulam, “I’m trying to talk to trees more.” ‘ IT R E A L L Y I S LIFE SAVING’ east Portland and are active in a group known as Affirmation, an international, volunteer-led effort for queer Mormons that sponsors monthly activities. The group has existed for 21 years, and 200 people attended its 20th annual confer ence, held Labor Day weekend in Portland. “The church has no comment about us," says Miller, who was bom into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and considers it a part of his social and cul tural heritage, even though he and Hernandez no longer attend services. “They’re hoping we will go away." But Affirmation, it becomes clear after speak ing with these two, is here to stay. “The church is part of your everyday life, and when they threaten to cut that off because you’re queer, that’s a bad place to be,” says Hernandez. “When people start won dering how long they can keep up the charade, they can come to Affirmation, a safe place where for the first time ever they can articulate their feelings and think about making choic es for themselves while being honest and respect ed. Here, they know they won’t lose their communi- . ty. *» Miller couldn’t agree more. “For many people, Affirmation is the first place they are able to ask questions and really think about the answers for themselves,” he says, adding that he struggled trying to figure out how to live outside the box drawn by the Mormons. “A lot of people are ready to commit suicide, but then they come here and discover that they’re not alone. In that way, it really is life saving.” ‘T h e b r i d g e BETW EEN THE CHURCH AND THE HURTING C a th o lic ’ HP®* he Catholic Church conjures lots of emotions. Champion of the planet’s impoverished masses on one hand, powerful condemner of homosexual sex, birth control, and blasphemous art on the other. The Catholic Church may be hard to pin down definitively, but one thing’s certain: It’s not going away. Neither is Jerry Deas. Deas, who lives in Portland, is the national secretary of Dignity U S A , a group of gay Catholics with more than 3,000 members in 75 chapters. “ Dignity hasn’t been welcomed in church circles,” admits Deas. “ But it does provide a bridge for individuals.... We become the bridge between the church and the hurting Catholic.” Continued on page 19