Shortly after moving to Washington DC in August 2004, I wandered from church to church, Sunday after Sunday, never quite feeling like I fit in. In some churches, I wouldn't even make it through the entire service and would simply walk out in a fit of frustration. On the first Sunday of advent in 2005, this habit finally caught up with me. I decided the church had zero relevance to my life. About 1/3rd of the way through the sermon, I stood up and walked out. But as I walked out that day, a man not much older than I was came up to me and said "Hi, I'm new here. Do you know anything about the twenties and thirties ministry here?" I shook my head "no," and walked away.

I have found my spiritual journey through life to alternate between two phases - the first being the comfortable practice of religion, usually coinciding with times of stability, in which my beliefs were not challenged much; and the other during times of struggle, in which major life changes were taking place. It's during these latter times that I've often found myself in John Dwyer's office or seeking the counsel of friends over coffee. And not surprisingly, it's during these times that I have found my greatest spiritual growth to occur.

We have such a beautiful Gospel reading today: this last Sunday before we celebrate Christmas-the last Sunday of this wonderful, mystical season of Advent, when we all wait and watch with such anticipation for something truly miraculous to occur in our midst. What an amazing picture this Gospel reading gives us: a young woman in a dusty little town, going about her daily life, and suddenly being visited face-to-face by an angel of God! It's a pretty miraculous story.

Gus Van Sant's new movie on Harvey Milk has provided a motive for recalling my life in San Francisco during those times. Many of the parishioners here were not even born when Harvey came on the national stage.