PeaceBang

Young UU Organ Donor And PB’s Day

One of our youth approached me today after the service. He said he’s taking driver’s ed, and they gave out organ donor cards and he wasn’t sure about filling his out. He wanted to know if Unitarian Universalism had any teachings or commandments for or against distributing parts of our body after death.

Moments like that are so amazing.

I told him that there is no official UU position on organ donation, that our religion regards the body as a gift, and that we are called to use our gift responsibly and with love. I said that if he was loving enough to share the gift of his body after his death, that would be an amazing thing to do, in my opinion.

I confessed to him that I have so far been unable to fill out a donor card, but that I am working on it.

He said, with his wonderful teenaged insouciance, “Well, I won’t be using it…!”

So admirable. What a lovely encounter. Those are the moments you savor.

In other news, I accidentally deleted my sermon late last night while preparing to print it out. What a gorgeous feeling that was.
I hurriedly got the computer back up to MS Word and madly typed out all that I could remember of it, and thanked the gods that I had my dear friend and colleague’s 2005 sermon on Ramadan to quote from, so I knew that at least those sections would be truly coherent.

It was all fine. I gave myself 6 hours of sleep, I didn’t sweat it too much, I told the congregation to say (in the style of the African-American church), “Help her, Jesus” if I started to get too wound up without reaching any point, and they were right there for me, dear forebearing people. So it was an unplanned leap over a much-dreaded rite of passage: PeaceBang’s First Formal Sermon From Notes Only.

I had one of those meetings this evening that you drag yourself out of an afternoon nap to go to — thinking all the while that you would SO RATHER BE in your armchair reading the NY Times and baking something fragrant and savory and cheese-related for dinner than be there — and then of course wound up energized and inspired by the other folks who came. Plus I got the hold a beagle puppy for a few minutes and if you don’t think that was the best thing ever, you just weren’t there to smell it’s little puppy breath and to kiss its little smwoft baloney ear.

When I hold a puppy in my arms I swear I have some kind of wild, longing hormonal maternal surge the way so many women who want — but can’t have — children say they feel when they see or hold babies. It doesn’t happen for me with human babies, just canine ones. I felt positively tragic giving my puppy back to its people.

(She was even more newborn than this and snuggled right into my shoulder and I love her forever and ever, amen.)

Let’s Get Behind Getting Behind!

I know it’s not meant to sound insulting when the president of my denomination starts a sentence with, “It’s time to start putting our energies behind…”
http://www.uuworld.org/life/articles/sexualityeducationisareligiousissue5699.shtml?p
but on a Saturday night when I’m totally wiped out, it just sounds really out of touch, and even unintentionally uncaring.

It just seems to me that this kind of article is always the front page of our associational web site, and it exhausts me. Always the Cause. Always the “here’s what you can do.” I read this whole article and I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to do this time, except for get “relentless” in my work for comprehensive sexuality education. There’s some kind of training. I don’t know. I’m pretty sure we’re doing it at my church already, but it sounds like if I don’t get more “relentless,” I’ll be a disappointment to my movement.

If you ask me, just a regular old minister of one of the congregations in our tiny association of congregations, it’s “time” for us to care for the people in our local communities, lead as powerful and transformative a worship service as we can manage every Sunday morning, answer all our phone calls, write the editorials our local papers ask us to, show up at as many of the local and church events we’re expected to attend as is humanly reasonable, make hospital visits and prison visits, feed the hungry, support our office staff, mentor, support and encourage our lay leaders, pray for our people, love our families, do what we can to foster peace in the individual, the family, the community and the world, and manage to pick up the dry cleaning and put some food on the table.

It would mean so much to me if our web site featured front page news about relationships between our members and between our congregations as often as it featured the rally for some new cause. I suppose it’s all about how people understand their job description, but to me, we really only have one cause, and it doesn’t change from year to year: to support healthy congregations and to foster fellowship among our numbers so that each is empowered to do his or her best work in the world.

I would hope that some UU’s best work would be to fight for comprehensive sexuality education. It just can’t be me, today. I already did a pretty serious stint for reproductive choice back about five years ago. I felt pretty relentless about that but you know, priorities shift. I’m getting to be an old broad with limited energy, and my congregation comes first. That and mentoring the next generation of ministers.
I wish I knew that my choices were honored by my movement. But everywhere I go, I notice that ministers are lauded first and foremost for their political activism and for making the front page for social justice work. I’m waiting to see an image on the front page of the UU web site that depicts a pastor sitting at a hospital bed holding someone’s hand. I’m hoping for the image of a group of people sitting quietly, nowhere in particular, not in front of any banner or special event, just sharing a vespers service or a potluck meal or coffeehouse, even.

I would like to see another way of living out UUism supported and celebrated in the images on our web site.
I would like to see some of my gentler, utterly un-public colleagues turned into cover boys and girls, and our gentler, totally un-public laymen and women, too.

I know it’s in the nature of organizations to constantly rotate their priorities to keep things fresh and visionary, but when the organization is supposed to represent the eternal and the essential, it gets depressing trying to keep up with the perpetual call to arms. The message always seems to me to be, “All that OTHER stuff you’re doing? Those are just the BASICS. You need to do this AND that!”

Well you know, but I’m a pretty talented, energetic and committed minister but ten years into this work, I’m pretty clear that those basics are all many of us can manage on a good day. Sometimes rallying the troops can feel to the troops like a flogging.

“He maketh me lie down in green pastures
He leadeth me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
He leadeth me in paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.”

Notice that there’s some lying around in the grass before we get going on the paths of righteousness. That David knew what he was talking about. If there’s no rest, no restoring of the soul, how can there be walking on paths of righteousness?

I wonder: where does the quiet, the introverted, the chronically ill, the imprisoned, the emotionally debilitated, the poor in spirit fit into this eternally cheerleadery, activist-oriented vision of Unitarian Universalist life? Do we really want any of those to dwell among us and make their home with us? Not to mention the long list of others we effectively manage to bar from our doors? A genuine question.

It doesn’t surprise me, even though it deeply upsets me, that somebody or somebodies in our leadership would be so disconnected to the Sabbath as to plan to do away with our Sunday morning worship service at General Assembly. I guess it didn’t fit in with the perpetual vision of us marching in the streets changing the world.

I’m glad tonight that the God of my understanding believes in giving it a rest. Without my faith, I could be well nigh dead by now trying to keep up with the expectations of this world and my manically do-gooder denomination, bless its heart.

No Sunday Morning Worship At GA

I’m glad the Lively Tradition wrote about this,

http://thelivelytradition.blogspot.com/2006/09/sunday-morning-at-ga.html

so that I don’t have to say much about it except that it makes me literally ill. I hope so much it’s not true.

Panajachel

Has anyone taken a budget vacation to Guatemala or Costa Rica? Any suggestions or cautions? We two reverend gal pals are considering volcanic settings, including this one:

http://www.enjoyguatemala.com/panajachel.htm

I am concerned that the altitude might give me panic attacks, because I had a hard time breathing in Mexico City. The pollution there didn’t help, of course.

Thanks for any tips.

Three Racist Moments

1. Watching the telly the other night, I found myself compulsively eye-rolling at the Oscar Mayer Wiener commercial where three children — The Little White child, the Little Asian child, and the Little African-American child — are standing around when a Wienermobile drives up. Wow! The Wienermobile is SO COOL! It looks like what would happen if you mated Greased Lightning with a giant kielbasa.
http://www.kraftfoods.com/om/Wienermobile_main.htmIt is so cool that it makes healthy little American children want to snarf down products made of pork snouts and chemicals like they’re CANDY!

The window of the wicked cool Wienermobile rolls down as the kiddies are oohing and aahing and who do you think the driver is?
Why, it’s White Mommy, of course!
Of COURSE it is! And she’s going to feed her white child and his little token racially diverse pals some Oscar Mayer Wieners, because this is America!! Why did I somehow just know that it wasn’t going to be Asian or Black mommy behind the wheel of that Wienermobile?

2. On that same night of telly viewing, another delightful commercial featuring Diverse Children.
This time, a schoolbus. Three or four little boys are comparing their homepacked lunches. They are showing off various mommy-made things like sandwiches and home-baked cupcakes wrapped lovingly in wax paper. The little boys are all white, white, and white. A fourth boy, the only little black boy in the bunch, opens HIS paper bag. What did his mommy send him off the school with? Why, a Kraft Snackable Lunch Item* consisting of plastic packaging and chemicals designed to look like “food!” YUM! In this case, as the announcer cheerfully informs us, this delicious lunch is just plain cooler than anything the other kids will have! It is! Because what could be more delicious and satisfying than sitting all by yourself in the cafeteria like the little boy on TV and eating a cracker with a slice of pepperoni (it might be fairer to say “pepperoni”) and grated cheeze on the top! And I think there might even be some “tomato” sauce to dip it in! Them’s eats!
What could be more hip and cool? Who WANTS a real sandwich or a home-baked cupcake anyway?

Am I reading too much into this? Am I being overly sensitive to the message here? What were the great Madison Avenue minds thinking when they intentionally chose the ONE black child to eat the crap, and alone in the cafeteria, too? Looking kind of sad and brave, like he knows how poisonous this product is?

PeaceBang threw a pillow at the television set over this one and yelled some cuss words. She believes that Snackables might as well be called “Satanables.”

3. Listening to some golden oldies while cooking tonight, I hear Elton John’s “Island Girl” which feature the lyrics,

She’s as black as coal
but she burns like fire
And she’ll wrap herself around you
like a well-worn tire.

PeaceBang stands there draining linguini into the collander and wishes some rocking island girl would pen equally offensive lyrics about chubby white gay men, just for equal time. A WELL WORN TIRE?? Isn’t that charming. As if any hot island woman would ever wrap herself around Elton John with a ten-foot pole.

* Guess who owns the Oscar Mayer brand, too? Kraft, boys and girls!

P. Diddy Speaks

SisterBang sent this to me. I think it’s hilarious, but I also want to say that the use of the familiar “my man” gives Sean’s (P. Diddy) critique a kind of compassionate, we’re-still-family warmth that makes his honest smackdown easier to hear than the usual vitriol. Not to over-analyze, but I’m always on the look-out for ways to speak truth to power that employ emotional honesty and personal investment rather than cold, intellectualized demonization.

—-

“It’s just embarassing the kind of ignorance in my man,” said Diddy, who now refers to the commander-in-chief on a posse-level basis.

“It’s like my man has no marbles up there … My man is just running up there crazy and the things he’s doing are crazy … Ain’t nobody feelin’ that war.”

[The Examiner’s] Yeas & Nays asked Diddy if events since 2004 have made him want to update the “Vote or Die!” slogan he made famous during the last presidential campaign.

“Nope, it’s still “Vote or Die!,” said Diddy. “People didn’t vote and people died.”

[Source Unknown]

Make It Work

tim gunn
Originally uploaded by Peacebang.

What I really want for Christmas is a t-shirt with Tim on it that says “MAKE IT WORK.”

I would secretly wear it under my robe on Sundays.

"Studio 60" - And PeaceBang Yawned

I just watched the first fifteen minutes of the much-hyped “Studio 60,” and it made me go bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

I hate this kind of overwrought faux-Paddy Chayevsky kind of stuff.

I stopped watching “West Wing” when it got like this: all glossy and self-important and written as though manic, fast-talking people are, by definition, dramatically interesting. Every character a stereotype. Lots and lots of heavy-handed monologues.

My great joy tonight — and a real luxury — was to watch a few of last season’s episodes of “Project Runway” and to see what the Santino thing was all about.

I don’t think you can compare Santino’s cheerful misanthropy with Jeffrey’s truly vile, hateful malice. Also, Santino had loads of talent. Jeffrey, miniscule talent and major swelled head. As some wag suggested, that tattoo around his neck should read, “Squeeze here.”

Based on the cutest Pet Smart commercial of all time, I am now dreaming about having a little smooth-headed dachsund. I would name him Tim Gunn and we would go for walks during which I would tell him to “make it work.”

Tiny Cat Teeth

The cat is now snoring on the desk. She is a fat striped muskrat.

I love her excessively, as you know, and am very concerned that the vet wants to put her under while cleaning her teeth.
SisterBang and I think all this professional cleaning stuff is just money-grubbing nonsense, so let me ask you cat people out there in PeaceBang Land:
how do you clean your cat’s choppers? If you do at all, I mean?

She mostly eats kibble. And I know she’d very unwillingly let me brush her teeth, but with WHAT?

Sabbath Prayer

There’s a wonderful scene in “Fiddler On The Roof” where the whole family is running around trying to prepare for shabbos dinner before sundown. Golde, the mother, is hustling her five daughters and their guest, Motel, around while simultaneously trying to corner her husband to tell him the news from Yente the Matchmaker. It’s funny and chaotic, until the shofar sounds its haunting melody and the family lines up at the table as the beautiful song “Sabbath Prayer” begins with these lyrics,

May the Lord protect and defend you
May the Lord preserve you from pain
May you come to be in Y’isroel a shining name.

May you be like Ruth and like Esther
May you be deserving of praise
Strengthen them, O Lord,
and keep them from the stranger’s ways…

At this point, in most productions I’ve seen (and in the one I appeared in in 1983), lights come up to reveal dozens of other families in the village in the same tableau, all the mamas simultaneously striking matches to light the shabbos candles and pray over the together as the entire ensemble sings,

May God bless you,
and grant you long lives
(may the Lord fulfill our Sabbath prayers for you)
May God make you good mothers and wives
(May He send you husbands who will care for you)…

And the entire village sings again the refrain, layering the lyrics of blessing over and over, mamas and papas and sons and daughters sharing this simple ritual in what is, to me, one of the most beautiful and magical moments written for the theatre.
(One night during the run of our show, I was getting all choked up as the woman — an adored and admired older friend — playing Golde lit the candles. Then I noticed that she was wearing her babushka head covering inside-out, and that you could see a huge piece of masking tape with her real name on it right on the side of her head. Worst case of stage giggles I have ever had.)

So this is the image I have in my mind as we enter into the holy month of Ramadan: Muslim families gathering together at the end of the day to break their fast, to light candles (if they do), and to say ancient blessings over their bread. Or their fig cake:
http://www.theholidayspot.com/ramadan/recipes.htm

I had so hoped to find a reading for church this Sunday that would evoke this scene with the kind of beauty and tenderness I remember from that scene in “Fiddler,” but I failed to do so. I don’t want to overly romanticize a practice that, in reality for most Mulsim families is probably nowhere near as magical — I imagine in many modern Muslim homes, the television is on in the background, everyone’s running around on different schedules, the meal may be some quick bite grabbed at the kitchen counter, and no shared song is sung.

However, for some families breaking their Ramadan fast probably is that magical, is that tender, and is that intentional and full of blessing. And if that’s the case anywhere, why not lift it up? Why not celebrate and appreciate it?

Perhaps for Unitarian Universalists and other religious people who believe in fostering goodwill between traditions, we may decide to spend the month of Ramadan acquainting ourselves with Islam and honestly assessing our own assumptions about it. Maybe we too can decide to fast in some important way. Since the Ramadan fast for Muslims is not just a sunrise to sundown abstention from food and drink, but also (I have heard, but I may be wrong) sex and malicious or damaging conversation, perhaps we may decide to join in some aspect of that fast as a means of expressing solidarity with the Islamic community.

And on an entirely different topic, I have decided to start a political movement based on the premise that the United States absolutely cannot declare war on Iran until George Bush learns how to pronounce “nuclear.” I think this could have great bi-partisan appeal; what do you think?