Religion & Spirituality
The Son Also Rises
From his desk in a radio broadcast booth at Rancho Capistrano's Spiritual Growth Center, the Rev. Robert A. Schuller chats pleasantly with a nutritionist about eating healthful food. He's talking, not about loaves and fishes, but about oats and grains.
The son of the world's most popular televangelist is expounding on his cholesterol count and about living life "full like a bright glowing candle." To be sick and arthritic or destined for a 20-year stint in a nursing home, he notes, "is the wrong way to go."
The Boy from the Other Side
From her linoleum throne on the rec room floor, Yang Neang fans her infant great-granddaughter. At first, it's hard to believe the old woman is possessed.
While the baby sleeps on the floor beside her, the beloved matriarch contentedly chews betel nuts and hurls the juice into a makeshift spittoon. She spits with guttural gusto and smiles, an expression that reveals a mouthful of blackened teeth.
They Call Him Blue Sky Bear
Within the impenetrable prison walls of the Iron Circle Nation, a bonfire blazes in ferocious splendor. At the rim of its circular pit, an inmate blesses a lava rock, raising it above his head in prayer to the heavens.
Seven barefoot men stripped to boxer shorts stand solemnly before an altar of willow branches adorned with the feathers of hawks and owls and eagles. A man with a tribute to his mother tattooed to his chest uses a match to light the sage that has been stuffed into the cavity of a buffalo skull.
Who is Rinpoche?
The compact man in the tailored suit laughs easily from a gilded Victorian chair in his stately Boulder home. He expounds on philosophy, art, business, horses, politics, sushi bars--the gamut of conversational residue from an Oxford education.
The setting is elegant, majestic, a mixture of ornate Japanese and formal English. Yet, even in this diverse setting, the atmosphere is disquieting. Silent attendant are ever present. One suddenly appears with a crystal highball glass of sake; another delivers a capsule of medication in a jeweled pillbox nestled on a silver serving tray draped in linen.
Brian Delvaux defies Catholic convention. He's a single parent who shares custody of his two children with his ex-wife. He wears jeans, drives a Toyota, schleps his kids to McDonald's, runs a household, has a girlfriend. Nothing unusual. It is his job title that causes the startled looks, the puzzled - and disbelieving - expressions. Father Delvaux is a full-fledged, full-time, practicing Catholic priest.
He is a leader in a quiet revolution, a soft-spoken but passionate renegade who had the audacity to part with the formidable Roman Catholic Church and form his own. Last year he opened the Good Shepherd American Catholic Church in Lakewood. It is a part of the steadily growing independent Catholic community, a group of autonomous congregations which have marked differences with the teachings of the Roman Catholic Church but are rooted in the same beliefs and worship.