PeaceBang

Knut Hamsun

Imagine my surprise when reading a new translation of Knut Hamsun’s novel Victoria to read in the introduction that this favorite author of mine was invited to speak in the United States by Minneapolis Unitarian minister Kristofer Janson.

I know Hamsun was a fascist and Nazi-sympathizer (although he complained to Hitler about the German troops’ behavior in his country, and his wife was imprisoned for three years by the Nazis, I think). But his literature is beautiful, although I’ve never read it in Norwegian, obviously.

I still prefer the Stallybras translation of Victoria.

Don’t miss Hunger.
And Pan.
Great reads.

Baby Unity

I am thinking of one of the truly cutest families I know, the Tierney-Eliots who are expecting their third child any moment now (for all I know, he may already be here):
http://eliotunity.blogspot.com/2006/02/waiting.html

The two Tierney-Eliot boys (soon to be BIG BROTHERS) are hilarious and adorable characters whom I don’t get to see too often, but when I do they make me stupidly happy. I’m sure it’s not as endearing when you live with him, but their youngest son has a talent for minor fits of temper that are actually side-splitting comedy routines. I’m only afraid that he’ll be outgrowing that very soon, but I’m glad I got to see a few gems while he was prime age. And they both have shiny brown seal pup hair.

If I had to list my top three favorite things it might look like this:

1. golden retriever puppies
2. little boys between the ages 2 and 7
3. sushi

Conor and Eamon Tierney-Eliot, and my own nephews Nicholas and Lucas, keep that second item firmly in the running.

Let’s hope they bring home a healthy new baby very soon.
Godspeed, little Tierney-Eliot.

Transgender America

Yo,
the good Rev. Sean Parker Dennison recommends some books about transgender issues here:

http://peacebang.blogspot.com/2006/02/dan-savage-part-dos.html

This is for those of you who were following the Dan Savage conversation of last week.

I wish I knew the first thing about tracking comments and having a fancier blog (I am JEALOUS of Chutney’s!!) but for now, my darings, this is it, and we make do as we can (or until Scott comes to visit and helps us upgrade in exchange for beach time and backyard barbecues).

Grizzly Man: A Review

Grizzly Man
Originally uploaded by Peacebang.

I saw Warner Herzog’s celebrated documentary “Grizzly Man” on Monday night. It’s the story of self-styled grizzly bear kindred spirit and protector Timothy Treadwell, who lived for thirteen summers with Alaskan grizzly bears until he (and girlfriend Amie Huguenard) were mauled to death by one.

Treadwell is a lovable, pathetic character — he’s a car accident you can’t stop rubbernecking. It seems to me that he suffered from bi-polar disorder and the high of his annual adventures with the bears was a way of self-medicating. In the end, I had to sadly conclude that he committed suicide by way of Bear. Since he had such a romanticized view of himself and his sojourn among the bears, and such an obvious death wish, I could only regard his death with a kind of wistfulness, and hope that as soon as the bear got him, he went unconscious very fast.
The real tragedy here is Amie, who is a mostly invisible presence in the film and who had warned Treadwell that he was hell-bent on destruction and threatened to leave him. She was always nervous about the bears, but in the end she fought off her ten-foot tall attacker with a frying pan for six minutes before she too succumbed to his appetite.

In the film, we never hear the recording of their death (the bear approached too quickly for Timothy to get the cap off the video camera) but we watch Werner Herzog listening to it, while describing what he hears to one of Timothy’s very close friends, who watches with tears in her eyes and a limp, open little mouth. Herzog has the good grace to listen only to part of the harrowing recording and then to advise the friend never, ever to listen to it, and to destroy it. I’m glad he did. There are sacred things, and such a recording should never, ever make it onto the internet for some hateful person to make a mockery of.

Amie, why did you stay with this adorable, petulant, nutjob? He said often enough that he was likely to wind up grizzly chow: did you fall prey (literally) to the all-too typical female fantasy that you could save your boyfriend from his own hubris and stupidity?

It’s a very sad film, and the saddest, most infuriating thing to me wasn’t Treadwell’s Peter Pan-ish histrionics but the vicious letters written to his friends by right-wing fanatics after his death, crowing about there being one less spotted-owl loving Democrat in the world. Lord have mercy.

I can hardly blame Timothy for preferring to spend his days worshiping bears and foxes and kidding himself that he was one of them. Poor sad soul. Well, he certainly sucked the marrow out of life.

I wonder what Thoreau would have thought????

Best Blog Posting/Joe Bageant

This is the best blog posting I have read this year, and perhaps any year.

I thank Chutney for the link.

http://www.joebageant.com/joe/2006/02/welcome_to_midd.html

The UU First Principle

As I prepare the Ash Wednesday service for next week, I think about the reaction of the typical Unitarian Universalist to the imposition of ashes. “Too Catholic!” “Why in the world would you, who proclaim the inherent worth and dignity of all people, think it acceptable to participate in this ritual of sin and repentance!? Oh my gaw!”

Because, my friends, I happen to believe that our much vaunted first Principle, “[we covenant to affirm and promote] the inherent worth and dignity of every person” is a starting point for our theological understanding, not the end point.

Inherent worth and dignity, so often interpreted to mean “we should have no authority, no God and no Scripture because hey man, Truth is totally relative” is really an ontological claim, not a sociological one. It is actually a statement about grace, ie, that every person is created with an inviolable dignity, a claim which calls Unitarian Universalists to be guardians of that dignity and worth, and to promote such conditions as allow that worth to flourish. It doesn’t mean that every schmuck or schmuckette walking around should be pandered to or even tolerated. There are intolerable things; a fact we are lothe to admit (which often creates havoc on our congregations) because we keep banging our heads against a brick wall misunderstanding and misusing our first Principle.

Within our covenanted communities, we accept the essential humanity and dignity of a toxic person (sometimes ourselves!) even while refusing to tolerate her ideologies or behaviors. This ought to be our chief spiritual practice, in fact, and lead us to considerate and compassionate responses to conflict and dysfunction — not give us an excuse for flabby inaction. It is difficult and deep work, much different than broad-brushing all valid objections or concerns with the shrill cry, “tolerance! tolerance” and then going on to hate the guts of distant figures with a verve and clarity that leads to actual demonization (George Bush, anyone?).

Inherent worth and dignity does not mean that I’m Okay, You’re Okay. It doesn’t mean that everything I do is acceptable, even as I am ontologically, inherently acceptable as a human being. It means that even in the midst of our most heinous mistakes sins and failings, the glorious truth of our inherent worth and dignity can, in the words of the old song, “lead me home.”

It strikes me as so lazy to use the first Principle as our end point in theological understanding (”Hey! you got inherent worth and dignity! You’re done!”) when we ought to use it as the starting point, as in “thank the gods we are committed to the idea that we have inherent worth and dignity and are morally improvable beings, because ya’ll better get on that moral improvement part.”

When I have been to Ash Wednesday services and gotten smeared on the forehead, I have often looked around and thought, “I wonder how this feels if you don’t have a rock-bound belief in grace as the starting point for your theological understanding.” And I have been so grateful to be held within a faith tradition that believes I am capable of moral improvement, and that makes the claim that no matter how far I stray, I will indeed be restored to God at the last.

The Spineless Superintendent, Continued

This is a follow-up to the story of about the school in Fulton, MO featured in my post of February 12, “A Pink Lady Speaks:”

http://peacebang.blogspot.com/2006/02/pink-lady-speaks.html

Here’s a link with the superintendent’s statement in the local paper, sent to me by a resident of Fulton who is very closely involved in the case:
http://www.fultonsun.com/articles/2006/02/17/news/318news12.txt

Too bad he’s not telling the truth, according to my very reliable source.

My source in Fulton also tells me that although you can’t see it in the on-line version, the editor followed up this story with a biblical quote from Proverbs 18:2, “A fool hath no delight in understanding, but that his heart may discover itself.” What the on-line version does reveal is that the editor states he will publish no further letters on the subject.

Well, I wish the kids a great production of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” anyway, and their drama teacher a great new job for the next school year.

What She Has Done Will Be Told In Remembrance Of Her

I have pre-holiday anxiety and depression, but it’s not personal, it’s liturgical.

First of all there’s the Ash Wednesday service (my first) to prepare. I feel a huge responsibility to have a living relationship with the Methodist liturgy — I don’t want to be a hired hack like, Hey! Howya doin’ everybody! Happy Ash Wednesday! I’m here all week!
When I even think of doing the imposition of ashes I get all shaky inside. I’ve only even been to less than a dozen Ash Wednesday services in my life!

I remember the first time I buried someone. It was at the moment that I said, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust” and gently threw the first handful of dirt onto the casket that I felt like a Real Live Minister for the first time. I got a shot of bad, unmanaged energy up my spine — this still happens at church on occasion, it’s like Monster Kundalini Attack — and it almost knocked me over. I had never done a graveside service before and it never occurred to me not to wear heels (yo, they sink into the ground, ya’ll), so I wasn’t all too steady on my hooves anyway. I thought, get a grip RIGHT NOW or you’re going to fall into that grave and that will be so. not. cool.

The anointing at Bethany (Matthew 26:6-13, whose mystery I much prefer to the account in John) has always been one of the most important gospel passages for me, and I cannot read it without feeling a sense of awe and tragedy and some other quiet disturbing ingredient that I’ll just call HaShem. They’re at Simon the Leper’s house and the disciples are running around planning the revolution and this nameless woman is the only one who totally gets what’s going on, and knows what’s coming.
Have you ever smelled ‘nard? It’s not sweet. It’s kind of earthy and musky, but sharp. I just imagine Jesus’ hair getting all greasy with the ‘nard and he’s just the saddest man in the whole world, and the woman stands behind him just softly rubbing his head. And only the two of them understand. I cry every time I think about it.
Why?
I don’t really understand it myself.
Maybe because Jesus, who might have been expected to agree with the disciples that the ‘nard would have been better used in the service of the poor, allows himself to accept it as a blessing. He lets the woman (and us) love him and bless him before he dies; to do this honor to him. Not just to listen at his feet and soak up his parables and wisdom sayings, but to quietly anoint his head with oil in preparation for his burial. The image of him sitting at the table being ministered to in this quiet and fragrant way is such a moment of pure grace right on the brink of the chaos to come.

Anyway, when I think of the imposition of ashes, I just think of that woman.
I know the liturgical and theological difference between the imposition of ashes and an anointing before death, but in my heart, on the pastoral level, they’re the same. And it’s so deep I can hardly stand it. I remember what my friend said to me, smilingly as she imposed the ashes on my head last year: “Repent and believe in the gospel.” Any time, lady. Any time.

On the imposition of ashes, interesting stuff: http://www.elca.org/dcm/worship/faq/church_year/ashes.html

And then there’s Easter, and there’s no way I can top the lamb. And I shouldn’t have to, because it’s Easter, but you know how it gets once you have one of those Once In a Lifetime worship services. You want them Twice In A Lifetime, if not more often. And that is just satanic, when you think about it: hey hey hey, I’m here for Easter service, where’s the shhhhowbiz!!?

Editing Oprah: Funny. Editing PeaceBang: Scary

On one hand, this doctored up video clip produced by The Superficial is really funny:

http://tinyurl.com/9zke2

On the other hand, someone gave me two CDs of recent sermons today, recorded on a little magical James Bond gizmo that he’s going to teach me, and the ushers, how to use. The Fauxprah clip makes me think, “whoa, it’s fun when they edit stuff to make it funny, but how about when they edit stuff to make it incriminating or just damaging?”

I held those little CDs of my sermons in hand and thought, “this is so easily manipulated. And it’s all out of my hands now.”

Like anyone would ever want, or need, to manipulate my sermonic phraseology, but you know, your mind does go to those Manchurian Candidate places.