I had a moment of panic this morning as I realized that I am less than two weeks away from the first Sunday of Advent and that I have done no preparation for the readings for lighting the Advent Wreath. And every pastor knows that even with four FULL weeks of Advent for preparation for Christmas (a rarity to have the fourth full week) from Thanksgiving to Christmas Eve feels more like four hours than four weeks. It's not just the emotional and frankly sentimental ties we have to Christmas in church (Most of which are largely only as old as the Victorian era, but that's another argument altogether) -- it's the expectations of visits to shut-ins, special gatherings, special services, special mailings and concerts. All in addition to our normal life in community.
I offer a "Longest Night", sometimes called a "Blue Christmas" service for folks who are having a hard time with the cultural emphasis on being "merry and bright" -- I've done it enough times that it's pretty well formed, but I do like to tweak it and think about ways to both make it more meaningful and ways to make it meaningful for those who might have attended before. It's one of those services that requires as much preparation if you're going to have three people in the congregation as it would if there were 300. There's the special program where the children present their Christmas program -- I don't have responsibility for any of that because I have wonderful lay leaders who take charge, but I do still carry anxiety about it. There's the weekly Advent candle service at the beginning of worship. Most years I try to create some at home resources for people to use throughout the week for Advent. No, I haven't started that, either.
My point is that it's NOVEMBER 8, and I'm already feeling like I'm behind, dreadfully behind for Christmas. And I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to get through Christmas, take vacation, and be prepared for that presentation at the end of January, by which time I will be deeply into preparation for Lent and Easter...There's sure to be snow on the ground when I'm working on the Pentecost service, which will take place Memorial Day weekend this year...
This is church life. In order to do it well, you are often out of sync with the reality of what is happening TODAY. Woe to the pastor who does not leave enough time to finish material so it can go into the mail to get to the newsletter which will go out three weeks before the event...
And yet....it is a glorious fall day outside my window. The white bell tower of our classic New England meeting house is brilliant against a clear blue sky. The leaves that survived the snow are still brilliant with color. It is a day to drink in, a day to savor, a day to let yourself be filled with gratitude and joy. Thanksgiving has long been my favorite holiday and it troubles me that it has gotten so divorced from its roots of thankfulness to the Creator for all that is. It's hard to get the committed church folks to a service of Thanksgiving, let alone a general community of folks. And I hate the way the pressures of Advent and Christmas distract me from a celebration of Thanksgiving.
On my Facebook page I've started doing Thirty Days of Gratitude for November -- a way to pause and really appreciate the things both essential and frivolous that bring beauty, joy, meaning, ease, pleasure to my day. I also received a "day book" as a gift, but it really is too small for the kind of calendar I keep. So I decided I'm making it my gratitude journal, listing the things for which I'm grateful each day throughout the coming year. Even if I'm thinking in and working on the future, I'm committing myself to living and being focused in today, even if it's only part of the day.
Thinking eschatalogically (about the end of Time or the end of Times) Christians are called to live as if the Kingdom has come in fulness, but we do it in these "not yet" times. So we live in hope. Which is really what Advent is all about anyway.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
This is MY church!
A friend shared an article from USA Today that reported that more and more Americans are "tailoring" their religion to suit themselves, leaving affiliations with congregations and denominations and even religious belief systems behind. Church shopping has become a smorgasbord of world views, ehtical standards and existential goals. To mix the metaphor, you can have one from column A, two from column B...
When I saw the thumbnail of the article I thought, "Oh! It's Sheilaism!", the term used in Robert Bellah's Habits of the Heart back in the 90's. And indeed, when I read the article, it referenced Bellah's subject, Sheila, who basically believed in herself and was a practical atheist.
Now this may be shocking, but I'm not completely sure it's a bad thing. Or rather, I'm not sure it's a completely bad thing. There's always a little something scarey about people who are SO sure of what their religion teaches (or what someone has told them it teaches) that they feel justified in dismissing the validity of other peoples' faiths, of judging people on groundless preconceptions of what they will do because of what they believe, and of consigning everyone else to the wrath of the god the judger worships. These people come in every religious system and even when they use soft language, their refusal to tolerate any truth other than their own soon becomes apparent. My way or the highway.
I don't believe that that's what religion was intended to be. Do I think it's important to know what you believe and to trust in, well, to trust in what you trust? I do. I also believe that it's important to use that as a beginning point for growth, journey, exploration. I believe that there may be some times your faith in your god will require you to rethink what you thought was unchageable. There may also be times to ask yourself about the god you believe in and whether that god is worthy of your life.
When I was a young pastor there was a woman in our church who was the very definition of a blue-haired dynamo. Well, actually her hair was pure white, but you know the kind of little old lady I mean. She had been an original Philathea Girl (that only means something to people who have been around the Northern Baptist/American Baptist Churches for a LONG time), a leader of the women's work, a former Sunday School teacher and a grand story teller. She told me several times about how she had outlasted a pastor for whom she did not care: "I was a member of this church before he came and I knew I'd be a member after he left. This is MY church!"
Now it must be said that this pastor was not a fly-by-night who was there for a year or two. He was dearly beloved by MOST of the congregation and stayed for 32 years! And she was right, she was still there 20 years after he left! But she understood that a church is about more than the pastor: it's about the relationships between the people and it's about what we put into it. Pastors can break churches, but they can't make them, they can only help the people be the church.
What Muslo-palians and Roman Baptists lack is a community of believers and it's that community that keeps us honest. It holds us accountable to what we say we believe. It challenges us about what we believe, offering a safe environment in which to ask the big questions: Who am I? Why am I here? How can I be the best me? Communities of faith offer our children the witness of other adults who believe and practice some of those same things Mom and Dad and Grandma and Grandpa do -- and the models of believers who live faith differently than in our own household but in ways that also have integrity, wholeness, holiness. There's a big difference between respecting other people's differences and the philosophy "It doesn't matter what you believe as long as you're sincere." It does matter what you believe. It matters to you. It matters to how you live in the world.
I'm becoming more and more convinced that Christians at least (the tradition in which I live) should have an ongoing lover's quarrel with the Church. We should question whether that was REALLY what Jesus intended, whether Paul really meant for the church to look like that, and how to live out the testimony of the Hebrew Scriptures in ways that are read through Christian experience. We can learn from Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist people and respectfully visit their practices to enlarge our understandings and we can allow the questions of agnostics and atheists to move us into deeper explorations of our own scriptures and our understanding of them. But you need a starting point and you need a framework within which to work. Because whether you're wandering in a wilderness or a fertile valley, it's nice to know when you've caught sight of the Promised Land and the City of God.
PS - Diana Eck has some great reflections on this and either she or Harvey Cox have written a book called Salvations which deals with some of the fundamental differences between the systems of major religions in a very helpful way. I'm just not in my library where I can access the book. Apologies.
When I saw the thumbnail of the article I thought, "Oh! It's Sheilaism!", the term used in Robert Bellah's Habits of the Heart back in the 90's. And indeed, when I read the article, it referenced Bellah's subject, Sheila, who basically believed in herself and was a practical atheist.
Now this may be shocking, but I'm not completely sure it's a bad thing. Or rather, I'm not sure it's a completely bad thing. There's always a little something scarey about people who are SO sure of what their religion teaches (or what someone has told them it teaches) that they feel justified in dismissing the validity of other peoples' faiths, of judging people on groundless preconceptions of what they will do because of what they believe, and of consigning everyone else to the wrath of the god the judger worships. These people come in every religious system and even when they use soft language, their refusal to tolerate any truth other than their own soon becomes apparent. My way or the highway.
I don't believe that that's what religion was intended to be. Do I think it's important to know what you believe and to trust in, well, to trust in what you trust? I do. I also believe that it's important to use that as a beginning point for growth, journey, exploration. I believe that there may be some times your faith in your god will require you to rethink what you thought was unchageable. There may also be times to ask yourself about the god you believe in and whether that god is worthy of your life.
When I was a young pastor there was a woman in our church who was the very definition of a blue-haired dynamo. Well, actually her hair was pure white, but you know the kind of little old lady I mean. She had been an original Philathea Girl (that only means something to people who have been around the Northern Baptist/American Baptist Churches for a LONG time), a leader of the women's work, a former Sunday School teacher and a grand story teller. She told me several times about how she had outlasted a pastor for whom she did not care: "I was a member of this church before he came and I knew I'd be a member after he left. This is MY church!"
Now it must be said that this pastor was not a fly-by-night who was there for a year or two. He was dearly beloved by MOST of the congregation and stayed for 32 years! And she was right, she was still there 20 years after he left! But she understood that a church is about more than the pastor: it's about the relationships between the people and it's about what we put into it. Pastors can break churches, but they can't make them, they can only help the people be the church.
What Muslo-palians and Roman Baptists lack is a community of believers and it's that community that keeps us honest. It holds us accountable to what we say we believe. It challenges us about what we believe, offering a safe environment in which to ask the big questions: Who am I? Why am I here? How can I be the best me? Communities of faith offer our children the witness of other adults who believe and practice some of those same things Mom and Dad and Grandma and Grandpa do -- and the models of believers who live faith differently than in our own household but in ways that also have integrity, wholeness, holiness. There's a big difference between respecting other people's differences and the philosophy "It doesn't matter what you believe as long as you're sincere." It does matter what you believe. It matters to you. It matters to how you live in the world.
I'm becoming more and more convinced that Christians at least (the tradition in which I live) should have an ongoing lover's quarrel with the Church. We should question whether that was REALLY what Jesus intended, whether Paul really meant for the church to look like that, and how to live out the testimony of the Hebrew Scriptures in ways that are read through Christian experience. We can learn from Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist people and respectfully visit their practices to enlarge our understandings and we can allow the questions of agnostics and atheists to move us into deeper explorations of our own scriptures and our understanding of them. But you need a starting point and you need a framework within which to work. Because whether you're wandering in a wilderness or a fertile valley, it's nice to know when you've caught sight of the Promised Land and the City of God.
PS - Diana Eck has some great reflections on this and either she or Harvey Cox have written a book called Salvations which deals with some of the fundamental differences between the systems of major religions in a very helpful way. I'm just not in my library where I can access the book. Apologies.
Reflections on preaching
I stepped into my pulpit with some trepidation this past Sunday. On the 10th anniversary of the Al Quaeda attacks against the US, with all the hype that had been going on in the media, and being in a geographical area where there was a high probablility that people in the congregation knew someone who had died on that day or knew someone who knew someone who had died, it was a worship service fraught with unspoken expectations.
It was also our "Homecoming" Sunday, getting back into the swing of things after the summer. I know there are places where there are more snow birds who return for summers than folks who leave, but here in New England people take summer seriously -- those lake houses and beach houses that have been in the family since landing on Plimouth Rock demand serious allegiance. Churches are pretty quiet during the summers, barring unforeseen funerals.
I was torn between scripture and newspaper, between culture and church; and the lectionary reading on forgiveness in the fellowship from Matthew was a lesson I think congregations need to hear repeatedly.
So I tried to do it all. I was a little afraid that my message about appropriate ways to remember and ways to heal and ways to move on would be heard as unfeeling, unpatriotic; but my own emotional turmoil broke through to at least let folks know I was seriously struggling with all this. Afterwards I had several people thank me, tell me it was a helpful sermon (which to me is a much higher compliment than a "good" sermon). They were folks who tend to be fairly liberal politically. The conservative folks didn't mention it, but they didn't walk out in the middle of the sermon or ignore me or scold me afterwards.
Preaching for me is always a little like performance art. I don't think I could recreate it again if I wanted to and to be quite honest it is a little of an ecstatic experience in the most traditional meaning of that word. Even though I work from carefully prepared notes, I also let the Spirit guide me and sometimes when it's all over I'm not exactly sure what it is I've said. (I'm sure the congregation often feels the same way!).
One of the frustrations of preaching is that once the words are out of your mouth they have a life of their own. And you have no idea whether people have heard what it was you hoped they would hear. One of the graces of preaching is that often people hear what they need to hear, regardless of what you have said.
When I was a college chaplain I used to preach the Baccalaureate Service at commencement. One year a geology professor who was a member of a Reformed Presbyterian Church, and a philosophy professor, who was an amiable agnostic who was practicing atheism, both came up to me after the service and said, "That was a GREAT sermon." I've often wondered if I was really that good, or whether I hadn't actually said anything worthwhile at all. I hope it was that the words were used by the Holy Spirit to speak to the need in each of their lives.
I've had people come up to me and say, "I'll never forget that sermon you preached where you said, "...." and they will quote something to me that I don't ever remember saying (though I do often file it away for future reference because it's good stuff!). Neither do I remember the occasion nor the point of the sermon. It's kind of like the orange cones you see for miles along the highway with nary a truck nor a flagman in sight. Preaching should begin with a neon sign: Caution: Holy Spirit at work.
It was also our "Homecoming" Sunday, getting back into the swing of things after the summer. I know there are places where there are more snow birds who return for summers than folks who leave, but here in New England people take summer seriously -- those lake houses and beach houses that have been in the family since landing on Plimouth Rock demand serious allegiance. Churches are pretty quiet during the summers, barring unforeseen funerals.
I was torn between scripture and newspaper, between culture and church; and the lectionary reading on forgiveness in the fellowship from Matthew was a lesson I think congregations need to hear repeatedly.
So I tried to do it all. I was a little afraid that my message about appropriate ways to remember and ways to heal and ways to move on would be heard as unfeeling, unpatriotic; but my own emotional turmoil broke through to at least let folks know I was seriously struggling with all this. Afterwards I had several people thank me, tell me it was a helpful sermon (which to me is a much higher compliment than a "good" sermon). They were folks who tend to be fairly liberal politically. The conservative folks didn't mention it, but they didn't walk out in the middle of the sermon or ignore me or scold me afterwards.
Preaching for me is always a little like performance art. I don't think I could recreate it again if I wanted to and to be quite honest it is a little of an ecstatic experience in the most traditional meaning of that word. Even though I work from carefully prepared notes, I also let the Spirit guide me and sometimes when it's all over I'm not exactly sure what it is I've said. (I'm sure the congregation often feels the same way!).
One of the frustrations of preaching is that once the words are out of your mouth they have a life of their own. And you have no idea whether people have heard what it was you hoped they would hear. One of the graces of preaching is that often people hear what they need to hear, regardless of what you have said.
When I was a college chaplain I used to preach the Baccalaureate Service at commencement. One year a geology professor who was a member of a Reformed Presbyterian Church, and a philosophy professor, who was an amiable agnostic who was practicing atheism, both came up to me after the service and said, "That was a GREAT sermon." I've often wondered if I was really that good, or whether I hadn't actually said anything worthwhile at all. I hope it was that the words were used by the Holy Spirit to speak to the need in each of their lives.
I've had people come up to me and say, "I'll never forget that sermon you preached where you said, "...." and they will quote something to me that I don't ever remember saying (though I do often file it away for future reference because it's good stuff!). Neither do I remember the occasion nor the point of the sermon. It's kind of like the orange cones you see for miles along the highway with nary a truck nor a flagman in sight. Preaching should begin with a neon sign: Caution: Holy Spirit at work.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Parenthood: The Saga
Last night my husband and I went out to dinner. We had run a yard sale for two days, so we were hot and tired and wanted someone to pamper us and we had a little extra cash. We went to a nice casual place and decided to sit outside on the patio.
At one table was a couple with a baby about 11 months old. He had dark curly hair and chubby legs that were almost, kind of walking, but still mostly in that "pillar to post" cruising mode. Mostly he was intent on cruising to the table that formed a triangle with ours, where a 9 year old girl and an 8 year old boy were sitting waiting for their parents to finish their dinner. Like all small children, he was fascinated by other children and was not willing to sit quietly with his own parents or grandparents (who were also taking turns trying to wrestle him away from the ground).
The mom of the older children started asking the new mom questions about the baby,(name - Nathan, age, etc.) and kept reassuring her that neither she nor her children were bothered by the baby coming over by them. "Oh, no," she said, "Don't worry, I've been there, I know...and I know how hard it is when they want to be mobile, but it gets better." "Really?" asked the younger mom. "Oh, yes, they're such a joy, it's so good, it just gets better and better...Three was hard..."
"Oh, you have three children?"
"No, age three was hard; you know, it's not the terrible twos, it's really the terrible threes, they get really fresh, but they get better, it just keeps getting better..."
"Twelve was no picnic" mumbled my husband under his breath.
"Sixteen nearly killed us" I answered sotto voce out of the corner of my mouth. "Then there was last week."
He turned as if to enter the conversation. I grabbed his shoulder to stop him. "No. No. Do not spread despair. Never spread despair."
Let me say, first and foremost, absolutely and unequivocally, we love our children, who are now in their mid twenties. Let me also say that parenting them has been a challenge. And just because they become legal adults it doesn't get any easier. Just last week we were wondering if it were too late to change our minds about having children. It did not get better and better. It started out great and complicated and just kept getting different.
Parenting is not a quid pro quo activity. What you offer a child does not return a predictable, guaranteed response. The most helpful thing any therapist ever told me (and parenting has required me to meet a few of them) was, "With bad parenting you can pretty much guarantee a bad result. With good parenting...you've got a 50/50 chance for a good result."
Now I don't know if I was a great parent, but I suspect I was not. I know my Mom thinks I was too lenient. I think I was probably too inconsistent, lenient sometimes, overly strict others. I didn't want my kids to be afraid of me, and was horrified at times when I was reacting to something and saw fear in their eyes: on the other hand, I did want them to respect me, and in conversation with my friends it seems like the only kids who respect parents of our generation are the ones who were kept in mini-military camp homes. Half the times when I look at my kids I hear that song from the 60's running through my head, "Did he need a stronger hand? Did she need a lighter touch? Was I strong or was I tough? Did I give enough? Did I give too much?" I'm pretty sure I wasn't a horrible parent and probably put myself on the adequate side of the scale.
Current information I get from kvetching sessions with my girlfriends tells me that adolescence currently lasts until age 30 or 35. I did NOT expect that! That means that for roughly the last half of their "growing up" phase you have absolutely NO authority but all kinds of responsibility with them.
I never wanted to live through my kids. But I want them to live well. I don't want them to be living on the edge of disaster, socially, financially or emotionally. I want them to have contentment and joy even if they can't always be happy. I want them to have a loving, supportive life-partner. I want them to call their grandparents, to send their father a birthday card without being reminded, to pay their bills on time and to refrain from language that would make my mother wash MY mouth out with soap if she heard them. I do not want them to pierce or tattoo their faces or other body parts that will make possible employers wince when they see them. I don't want them to hate me.
And maybe that's where experience brings you in the end. It didn't get "better and better" for us. Of course, her kids are not my kids and neither is little Nathan. Maybe by the time her kids are 23 they will have created a peaceful world economy and cured cancer and the common cold. They'll accept the Noble Prize by saying, "I have no one to thank for this honor but my wonderful mother." But I think that, like most of us, she will find that there are days where she wishes they were three again.
It certainly didn't get easier and easier, which was what I heard underneath her assurances to that new mom. But if they really lucky, they will know in their heart of hearts, without any anxiety or self-accusation, that our children are not our accomplishment -- they are created by themselves and by their environments, by their genes and their classmates, by their neighborhoods and the world they inherit. They are a gift and a wonder in the truest sense of those words and they are ours to protect for a short time, to mentor a little longer and to treasure forever, bad choices and all.
At one table was a couple with a baby about 11 months old. He had dark curly hair and chubby legs that were almost, kind of walking, but still mostly in that "pillar to post" cruising mode. Mostly he was intent on cruising to the table that formed a triangle with ours, where a 9 year old girl and an 8 year old boy were sitting waiting for their parents to finish their dinner. Like all small children, he was fascinated by other children and was not willing to sit quietly with his own parents or grandparents (who were also taking turns trying to wrestle him away from the ground).
The mom of the older children started asking the new mom questions about the baby,(name - Nathan, age, etc.) and kept reassuring her that neither she nor her children were bothered by the baby coming over by them. "Oh, no," she said, "Don't worry, I've been there, I know...and I know how hard it is when they want to be mobile, but it gets better." "Really?" asked the younger mom. "Oh, yes, they're such a joy, it's so good, it just gets better and better...Three was hard..."
"Oh, you have three children?"
"No, age three was hard; you know, it's not the terrible twos, it's really the terrible threes, they get really fresh, but they get better, it just keeps getting better..."
"Twelve was no picnic" mumbled my husband under his breath.
"Sixteen nearly killed us" I answered sotto voce out of the corner of my mouth. "Then there was last week."
He turned as if to enter the conversation. I grabbed his shoulder to stop him. "No. No. Do not spread despair. Never spread despair."
Let me say, first and foremost, absolutely and unequivocally, we love our children, who are now in their mid twenties. Let me also say that parenting them has been a challenge. And just because they become legal adults it doesn't get any easier. Just last week we were wondering if it were too late to change our minds about having children. It did not get better and better. It started out great and complicated and just kept getting different.
Parenting is not a quid pro quo activity. What you offer a child does not return a predictable, guaranteed response. The most helpful thing any therapist ever told me (and parenting has required me to meet a few of them) was, "With bad parenting you can pretty much guarantee a bad result. With good parenting...you've got a 50/50 chance for a good result."
Now I don't know if I was a great parent, but I suspect I was not. I know my Mom thinks I was too lenient. I think I was probably too inconsistent, lenient sometimes, overly strict others. I didn't want my kids to be afraid of me, and was horrified at times when I was reacting to something and saw fear in their eyes: on the other hand, I did want them to respect me, and in conversation with my friends it seems like the only kids who respect parents of our generation are the ones who were kept in mini-military camp homes. Half the times when I look at my kids I hear that song from the 60's running through my head, "Did he need a stronger hand? Did she need a lighter touch? Was I strong or was I tough? Did I give enough? Did I give too much?" I'm pretty sure I wasn't a horrible parent and probably put myself on the adequate side of the scale.
Current information I get from kvetching sessions with my girlfriends tells me that adolescence currently lasts until age 30 or 35. I did NOT expect that! That means that for roughly the last half of their "growing up" phase you have absolutely NO authority but all kinds of responsibility with them.
I never wanted to live through my kids. But I want them to live well. I don't want them to be living on the edge of disaster, socially, financially or emotionally. I want them to have contentment and joy even if they can't always be happy. I want them to have a loving, supportive life-partner. I want them to call their grandparents, to send their father a birthday card without being reminded, to pay their bills on time and to refrain from language that would make my mother wash MY mouth out with soap if she heard them. I do not want them to pierce or tattoo their faces or other body parts that will make possible employers wince when they see them. I don't want them to hate me.
And maybe that's where experience brings you in the end. It didn't get "better and better" for us. Of course, her kids are not my kids and neither is little Nathan. Maybe by the time her kids are 23 they will have created a peaceful world economy and cured cancer and the common cold. They'll accept the Noble Prize by saying, "I have no one to thank for this honor but my wonderful mother." But I think that, like most of us, she will find that there are days where she wishes they were three again.
It certainly didn't get easier and easier, which was what I heard underneath her assurances to that new mom. But if they really lucky, they will know in their heart of hearts, without any anxiety or self-accusation, that our children are not our accomplishment -- they are created by themselves and by their environments, by their genes and their classmates, by their neighborhoods and the world they inherit. They are a gift and a wonder in the truest sense of those words and they are ours to protect for a short time, to mentor a little longer and to treasure forever, bad choices and all.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Old School
I've been thinking about political correctness these days --
I was raised in a conservative home in the 1960s and 70s where political correctness was the order of the day -- of course, in those days we called it "being polite."
Being polite meant that you didn't intentionally do or say something that you knew would offend someone. It wasn't lying to them, it grew out of "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." It meant that there was a broad, generous space between friendship and enmity and there were people who were neither for you nor against you and you didn't have to go out of your way to engage them in intimacy nor in conflict. They were just other people.
You didn't have to like them. I probably know more offensive terms for more different kinds of people than Archie Bunker, all learned in the bosom of my family. But my family would have been horrified had I ever used ANY of them outside the family hearth and most likely I would have had my mouth washed out with Ivory soap had I ever used them in conversation with one of the people they represented. I knew that instinctively. (For the record, I have never used that kind of language. I was always uncomfortable with what I could sense was demeaning language about people). My grandfather, whose attitudes we secretly suspected was the model for Archie Bunker, was unfailingly polite and co-operative with all kinds of people in all kinds of situations outside the family.
Language shapes our world. It affects the way we see it, the mood of the environment, our basic assumptions about what is possible and whether or not we are welcome, even if we're not in charge. I cannot believe that after 30+ years of feminist awareness and conversation we still have people who are surprised that I don't consider myself included in "Men" and "Mankind". Are "People" and "Humankind" THAT much harder to say? And, by the way, if I can still get a ticket for using the "Men's Room" in a theater, I'm not included. When we insist on using "Man/Men" to mean "males" sometimes and "humans" other times, we require females to do the calculation each time. Am I included here? Am I not to consider myself part of this gathering? this reference? Is it a little thing? Yes. Are grains of sand little things? Yes. But put them into a three-foot by three-foot sack, and see whether you want to carry it the rest of your life and have people add to it grain by grain.
There is an attitudinal difference between being handicapped (less able) and challenged (the task might be harder, but you're able to do it!). "Differently abled' is awkward English and it requires those of us who do not face obvious challenges to think about the strengths of a person, not their weaknesses. If we're honest, it also requires us to think about where we might be less strong, less able than other folks. Never a pleasant task. And when we use "dumb" to mean unthinking, how could anyone possibly think it's acceptable to use it for someone who thinks wonderfully but can't vocalize? Would anyone call Steven Hawking "dumb"?
I don't care if your team has always been the "Redskins"/"Indians"/"Chiefs" -- if it's offensive to people who are of indigenous descent, it's offensive. Get over it! Change it! Move on! They will play just as well (or just as badly) if they're the Metropolitans, the Bricklayers or the Politicos. (As an aside, I once heard a Native American argue that most of us miss the spiritual element that is part of what it means to be a "Warrior" or a "Chief" and that that was what made it most offensive. He argued, "You don't name teams 'the Priests'" - which is true, except my college team has been the "Battling Bishops" for more than 100 years and at least one Roman Catholic high school I knew of called its teams "the Popes" and, better yet, "the Lady Popes". Like I said, beside the point).
In the name of Miss Manners, why in heaven's name would you insist on continuing a practice that you know offends or even hurts someone else, just because it's convenient for you or because you like it? When has that ever been justification for hurting someone else? And why would you ever NOT CARE about hurting someone else, particularly someone who has never hurt you? I have never heard anyone say that the Golden Rule was a bad idea. So why would you not follow it in the way you speak to and about others, at least in public?
When all the language is created to support who YOU are, where YOU come from, what YOU do, it is hard to understand what the fuss is about. But being polite doesn't mean you have to understand why something is offensive, just that it is offensive, and you adjust your behavior accordingly. To dismiss such concerns witheringly as "political correctness" is worse than being ignorant. It's just bad manners.
I was raised in a conservative home in the 1960s and 70s where political correctness was the order of the day -- of course, in those days we called it "being polite."
Being polite meant that you didn't intentionally do or say something that you knew would offend someone. It wasn't lying to them, it grew out of "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." It meant that there was a broad, generous space between friendship and enmity and there were people who were neither for you nor against you and you didn't have to go out of your way to engage them in intimacy nor in conflict. They were just other people.
You didn't have to like them. I probably know more offensive terms for more different kinds of people than Archie Bunker, all learned in the bosom of my family. But my family would have been horrified had I ever used ANY of them outside the family hearth and most likely I would have had my mouth washed out with Ivory soap had I ever used them in conversation with one of the people they represented. I knew that instinctively. (For the record, I have never used that kind of language. I was always uncomfortable with what I could sense was demeaning language about people). My grandfather, whose attitudes we secretly suspected was the model for Archie Bunker, was unfailingly polite and co-operative with all kinds of people in all kinds of situations outside the family.
Language shapes our world. It affects the way we see it, the mood of the environment, our basic assumptions about what is possible and whether or not we are welcome, even if we're not in charge. I cannot believe that after 30+ years of feminist awareness and conversation we still have people who are surprised that I don't consider myself included in "Men" and "Mankind". Are "People" and "Humankind" THAT much harder to say? And, by the way, if I can still get a ticket for using the "Men's Room" in a theater, I'm not included. When we insist on using "Man/Men" to mean "males" sometimes and "humans" other times, we require females to do the calculation each time. Am I included here? Am I not to consider myself part of this gathering? this reference? Is it a little thing? Yes. Are grains of sand little things? Yes. But put them into a three-foot by three-foot sack, and see whether you want to carry it the rest of your life and have people add to it grain by grain.
There is an attitudinal difference between being handicapped (less able) and challenged (the task might be harder, but you're able to do it!). "Differently abled' is awkward English and it requires those of us who do not face obvious challenges to think about the strengths of a person, not their weaknesses. If we're honest, it also requires us to think about where we might be less strong, less able than other folks. Never a pleasant task. And when we use "dumb" to mean unthinking, how could anyone possibly think it's acceptable to use it for someone who thinks wonderfully but can't vocalize? Would anyone call Steven Hawking "dumb"?
I don't care if your team has always been the "Redskins"/"Indians"/"Chiefs" -- if it's offensive to people who are of indigenous descent, it's offensive. Get over it! Change it! Move on! They will play just as well (or just as badly) if they're the Metropolitans, the Bricklayers or the Politicos. (As an aside, I once heard a Native American argue that most of us miss the spiritual element that is part of what it means to be a "Warrior" or a "Chief" and that that was what made it most offensive. He argued, "You don't name teams 'the Priests'" - which is true, except my college team has been the "Battling Bishops" for more than 100 years and at least one Roman Catholic high school I knew of called its teams "the Popes" and, better yet, "the Lady Popes". Like I said, beside the point).
In the name of Miss Manners, why in heaven's name would you insist on continuing a practice that you know offends or even hurts someone else, just because it's convenient for you or because you like it? When has that ever been justification for hurting someone else? And why would you ever NOT CARE about hurting someone else, particularly someone who has never hurt you? I have never heard anyone say that the Golden Rule was a bad idea. So why would you not follow it in the way you speak to and about others, at least in public?
When all the language is created to support who YOU are, where YOU come from, what YOU do, it is hard to understand what the fuss is about. But being polite doesn't mean you have to understand why something is offensive, just that it is offensive, and you adjust your behavior accordingly. To dismiss such concerns witheringly as "political correctness" is worse than being ignorant. It's just bad manners.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Reflections on Christian Life and the News
Easter 3 Acts 1;14a, 22-32
May 8, 2011 1 Peter 1:17-21
Luke 24:13-35
In Jewish tradition there are a number of layers of scriptural authority. First and foremost is Torah, the first five books of what we call the Old Testament. Torah is often translated “law”, but its meaning is closer to “teaching” or “instruction”. Then there is Tanakh, what we call Old Testament: the Torah, the writings of the prophets and the wisdom writings, things like the histories, psalms and proverbs.
Then there Talmud, which is oral interpretation of the Torah. In some cases it is simply a listing of the ways different rabbis have interpreted the law in general. In some ways it functions as case law, with specific examples of how a particular rabbi applied it to an individual case. Yet another level is Midrash, sermons and stories told about scripture to help explain it. In many cases, Jesus’ use of parables is part of the tradition of Midrash – I think immediately of the story of Lazarus and the rich man, which has “information” about Abraham that is not strictly from the Torah, but part of the popular understanding of Abraham’s role in Jewish faith.
There is another story in Midrash, concerning the Exodus. After a lot of ‘flip-flopping”, Pharaoh has finally agreed to let the Hebrew people leave slavery in Egypt. But as they are leaving he changes his mind again, sends out his army to chase them, and eventually they end up with their backs to the Reed Sea. Using Moses, God opens a path through the water, and the Israelites escape. The sea closes up and Pharaoh’s army gets mired in mud and overcome with water. And as they see the Israelites safely on the other side, all the angels in heaven celebrate.
But God stops them. God asks, “How can you rejoice when my children are dying?” What a remarkable story for Jewish people to tell – that God grieves over the death of the Egyptian oppressors. What an incredible insight into the nature and love of God.
I thought about that story this week when I listened to the news coverage of the killing of Osama Bin Ladin. I do not regret his death. But I cannot celebrate it. And when I hear that it was possible because of information obtained through torture, I think, “WWJT - Who would Jesus torture?”
I wonder, what is the price, what is the damage done to the souls of men and women whose job it is to plan and deliberately, intentionally kill another human being? And what do I think God feels about that?
Do I think God approved of or will reward the killings for which Osama Bin Ladin was directly responsible? Absolutely, unequivocally, categorically not. But as I understand the gospel (and in this I stand in a long line of basic Christian teaching), the absolute scandal of the gospel is that God loves Osama Bin Ladin with the same depth that God loves each of the 3000 plus people who died on September 22, 2001; with the same love God has for the people who died yesterday; with the same love God has for you and for me.
This is scandalous! It is outrageous! And yet it is the case study for the message our children proclaimed on Easter, which we received with such joy: “God so loved the world, he gave his only begotten son…”
Not God loved the good people. Not God loved the right people. Not God loved the chosen people, but the world. And that the people who trust that this is so have an opportunity to live abundant and everlasting life.” By the way, the theologian Jurgen Moltmann points out that there is a difference between immortality and resurrection. Immortality says that there is something human, a spark that we have that lives forever. Resurrection is entrusting ourselves to the God who brings something out of nothing and life out of death.[1]
First Peter isn’t scripture we hear a whole lot in church. But it’s written to folks he addresses as exiles, in churches in the area we know as Turkey and Asia Minor. They were slaves – some of them may have been from the next village down the road. Some of them may have been prisoners of war who were captured and sold on the other side of the known world, who would never see their homeland again. Some of the leaders in those Christian communities were women, who had various degrees of freedom and dignity in different cultures in the Roman Empire, but who were somewhat restricted under Roman law. In chapter 1 he says they are “scattered like foreigners” (CEV). Probably half of you are very familiar with that feeling of thinking of someplace else when you think about “home”. Whether you came to make a home here fleeing war, or poverty, or because you married someone who came from here, many of you are far from the place you think of as “home”.
In verse 8 he says, “You have never seen Jesus and you don’t see him now – but still you love him and have faith in him.” That is all of us, isn’t it? And in v.14 he says, “Don’t let your lives be controlled by your desires, always live as God’s holy people should, because God is the one who chose you, and he is holy.”
Our desires – what Paul calls “flesh” – are human nature, the way we instinctively do things. When our children were little we tried to teach them to live the Golden Rule. When one had hurt the other, or taken something from the other, we’d remind them, “Treat other people the way you want them to treat you” and they’d respond, “But he did it first!” “She was going to take it from me!” And we’d say, “Not the way they treat you. Not the way they might treat you. The way you want to be treated.” It’s simple wisdom, but it doesn’t come naturally.
Did you know that before they were called Christians, early followers of Jesus were called “People of the Way” because they tried to live Jesus’ way. And living that way, a way that is different from our natural instincts and desires, will make you an exile. Like them, you will be accused of being unpatriotic and perhaps even of being treasonous. You may be accused of abandoning your family, or disrespecting their traditions, of being a bleeding heart liberal, or conversely, a conservative clod. That’s okay.
You may be accused of being a good-two shoes, or of being self-righteous, or (on your worst days) of being a hypocrite. That’s okay.
There are no perfect people here. There are only those who are trying to figure out what it means to trust God in life as well as in death, who are trying to remember what it means to live in grace and to follow Jesus so that we may be with the Risen Christ. Like Cleopas and his friend, we often meet the Risen Christ on the road, but we don’t recognize him.
I was struck by Lois P’s sermon last week, that she pointed out that though they had seen the empty tomb and heard Mary’s testimony of having seen the Risen Christ, the disciples couldn’t quite comprehend it and were locked in the room in fear. In the same way, though these two disciples have been following him, they meet him as a stranger. It is only when they invite him in and hear his prayers of thanksgiving, only when they share bread with this stranger that they recognize the Risen Christ. And it moves them to do something no sane person would do – they go out on the road, and walk seven miles back to Jerusalem, in the dark!
Remember – these are, at best, cobblestone roads, more likely dirt roads, and there are no streetlights, no flashlights. Maybe they had a little oil lamp, but you know how hard it is to walk and keep a wick lit. But they are empowered to share what they now understand – that in resurrection the powers of the way things are, the way we are, are being radically re-oriented towards the way God is, and those who see it, who know it, who trust it, who live in that new way, are living in God’s way. It’s outrageous! And it is life in its truest, deepest sense.
We understand resurrection, we meet the Risen Christ when we live in the way that Jesus lived and died for us. May each of us live the big and small moments of life as Christ has done for us. Amen.
[1] Quoted by Andrea La Sonde Anastos, Awaken: The Art of Imaginative Preaching, Lent-Easter 2011, Year A, (Inver Grove Heights, Minnesota: Logos Productions, Inc. ), 2011, p.32
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Along the road
Last week I was at my seminary, Colgate-Rochester Crozier Divinity School in Rochester, NY, for alumni/ae reunion days. It was the 30th anniversary of my graduation, and I was a little leery about going. For one thing, only one of the faculty members with whom I studied is still on staff, and he was a first year professor my senior year, so I didn't know him well. And I didn't know who else from my class would be there (it wound up I was the only one!). But I have dear friends in the area with whom I could stay and friends from other classes who go to these things regularly, and I wanted to hear the featured speaker, Diana Eck, who spoke on inter-faith realities in America today. So I went.
I had a few of my own "Aha!" moments as I was walking around the halls of CRCDS. The first was a reminder of how attached we all are to the way things were. Even though I've seen some of the changes that have happened over the years a umber of times now (to the library, for example), I realized I still mourn them -- I think that's partially because they represent decline to me. We couldn't maintain things the way they were, so we had to do this...But I also realized that maybe I need to reframe these changes in terms of intentions for healthy living in the NOW. There are all kinds of structures and practices we need to let go of if we are going to live fruitfully and healthfully today.
And I was absolutely disoriented inside the old residence halls which were gutted and transformed into the Hope Lodge for the American Cancer Society. I literally did not know where I was in halls that I walked every day for three years. I was pleased with what had been done there and the purpose for which it is being used, but it was also disconcerting and I was not anxious to linger there.
I don't think these feelings are a unique reaction. The pastor in me needs to take those feelings with me to the congregation. I want to invite them to acknowledge and live into and through these feelings as we work to live into a transformed way of being Church. (I know that's a lot of "lingo" -- but quite frankly I'm at a loss for another way to put it).
The other insight I had was recognizing a sense of confidence in myself that I had never had when I was a student, and I thought to myself, "I have finished apologizing for my existence." I hadn't realized that that has been a constant thread through my life, but I suspect it is one of, if not the driving force in my need for perfection. That was the only way I could justify my existence, was if I was perfect. But I'm beginning to understand that existence is not the end/goal/reward of our being (which gets translated in its extreme into "if I am good I will live forever"), but the means to...I'm not sure what. Something else. Maybe it is a path to grace.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
The Virtue of Modesty
And I'm not just talking about the 8 year olds who are dressed like street walkers and the 11 year olds putting on pouty faces and over-the-shoulder glances for their Facebook profile pictures. Or the boys who walk around with their underwear hanging out of their pants, though certainly I could do without any of those things.
I'm thinking about couples who "work out" their differences on competing Facebook posts. It is SO destructive to fight in public like that, even if you're just sending non-directed complaints into the web-o-sphere. Our mothers used to talk about "not airing your dirty laundry in public." Today we not only air it, we auction it off to the highest bidder.
I'm thinking about the hubris (self-destructive pride) that means we undervalue the pain of others and overemphasize our own. As frightening and as wrong as we may feel the attacks on unions in Wisconsin may be it is NOT the equivalent of protestors being strafed by aircraft in Libya. As restrictive and perhaps unfair as the regulations for NFL players may be they CERTAINLY are not the modern equivalent to slavery -- not in a business where you can make half a million dollars a year without ever playing a single game as a rookie second- or third-string player.
Nobody wants to be humiliated. Nobody. And humiliation is not the same thing as humility, which is really about an honest and truthful evaluation of both our weaknesses and our strengths, our gifts and our challenges. Modesty is about recognizing that the universe does not resolve around us and that some problems are un-resolvable and some may require a little effort and responsibility on our part to resolve. It is about admitting that we are not perfect and we can't expect anyone else to be perfect. It's about recognizing that our solutions might have been better, our complaints might not be as valid (or of as high a priority) as we assume, and that, sometimes that's just the way life is and it's okay.
I'm thinking about couples who "work out" their differences on competing Facebook posts. It is SO destructive to fight in public like that, even if you're just sending non-directed complaints into the web-o-sphere. Our mothers used to talk about "not airing your dirty laundry in public." Today we not only air it, we auction it off to the highest bidder.
I'm thinking about the hubris (self-destructive pride) that means we undervalue the pain of others and overemphasize our own. As frightening and as wrong as we may feel the attacks on unions in Wisconsin may be it is NOT the equivalent of protestors being strafed by aircraft in Libya. As restrictive and perhaps unfair as the regulations for NFL players may be they CERTAINLY are not the modern equivalent to slavery -- not in a business where you can make half a million dollars a year without ever playing a single game as a rookie second- or third-string player.
Nobody wants to be humiliated. Nobody. And humiliation is not the same thing as humility, which is really about an honest and truthful evaluation of both our weaknesses and our strengths, our gifts and our challenges. Modesty is about recognizing that the universe does not resolve around us and that some problems are un-resolvable and some may require a little effort and responsibility on our part to resolve. It is about admitting that we are not perfect and we can't expect anyone else to be perfect. It's about recognizing that our solutions might have been better, our complaints might not be as valid (or of as high a priority) as we assume, and that, sometimes that's just the way life is and it's okay.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Lenten Disciplines
Some of you may not be able to make it to a service on Ash Wednesday (March 9) to mark the beginning of Lent. But there are some things you can do on your own at home during this Lenten season. Rather than just doing something “good for you” like giving up smoking or candy (not that there’s anything wrong with doing that!) consider a Lenten discipline that will help you connect body and soul, heart and mind.
The scriptures for Ash Wednesday are these: Isaiah 58:1-12, Psalm 51:1-17, 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10 and Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21.
Isaiah speaks about “fasting” (not eating) – this has been a religious practice for millennia, either not eating anything (taking only water and sometimes diluted fruit juices) or not eating at certain times (as devout Muslims do not eat from sunrise until sundown during Ramadan) or not eating certain foods (as Christians formerly gave up all meat and yeast products during Lent and Advent). But Isaiah points out that fasting may be more about what we choose to keep for ourselves than what we choose to “give up” for God. Read Isaiah. Then think about committing to one of these practices for Lent:
-Consider eating on a food stamp budget for a week. Find out what someone in your family circumstances (number of children, partner, etc.) would receive on food stamps and shop for your meals with that amount only.
-Consider fasting your budget. Most of us live on pretty tight budgets, yet if we’re honest we can find some things that are not truly essential. Kay Lynn Northcutt reminds us that Lent is a time to reflect on what is most essential in our lives. [1] This is going to be my fast this Lent – that I will not buy anything that is not essential. [Please note: what is essential to me may not be essential to you and vice versa. It’s all about the discernment!]
-Consider fasting in your entertainment. Perhaps you want to stop watching tv in order to spend more time in relationships, reading, creative activity (I did this once. It was the hardest thing I ever did for Lent…and my kids caught me cheating, which was embarrassing). Or perhaps you want to fast from shows that are based in violence or that use “put down” as a form of humor.
-Consider doing something creative – read the scripture passages for each day of Lent (there are a number of lists/assigned readings available, congregations/parishes often make them available, or you can find daily readings online) and react to it, reflect on it in a non-verbal way. Keep a notebook with sketches or doodles that the passage calls up for you, make a quilt or a collage or a drawing that reflects your Lenten journey. Share them with someone.
Let this Lent be a time when you break one of the ties that keeps you imprisoned, and let your “fasting” be a dying to something that keeps you from abundant life.
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