PeaceBang

Still On The Edge

On the edge of the continent, that i!

Friends, I can’t wait to get home and start blogging about GA!

See you next week here at PeaceBang.com.

Until then, cheers and salmon.

Open Space?

Scott Wells — The Boy in the Bands — here. PeaceBang’s enjoying the Oregon shore, and who am I to ask her to blog? We had a lovely chat last night and at the end she asked me to write up an essay on Open Space Technology, that debuted at General Assembly this year, and make a post (this post!) asking her readers to see said essay on my blog.

Tell you the truth: I’m exhausted. I have about a third of a complete essay here. I’ll write more when I’m rested, where I hope to convince you that live innovative, distributed social networking has much to offer church communities.

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

How did I like GA this year?

Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.

Mostly exhausted and demoralized I make my way to the coast of Oregon to read, to rest, to pray, to plot, to feel it all, to give it all to God, and to breathe.

We had a wonderful Communion Service yesterday morning. I heard that some bloggers wrote about it but I don’t know where. If you did, and you said nice things, would you comment here? Thanks!

[This just in : Read Rev. Tony’s reflections here. - PB]

God bless you all on your travels home.

Peace.
Bang.

On The Road Again

So I’m leaving for Portland tomorrow afternoon.

I still have a bit of packing and laundry to dry, instructions to get ready for the cat sitter, and a massage to get (a gift from my wonderful masseuse who said he wanted to “do you really well” before starting the westward journey tomorrow– whatta sweetie!).

We had our last worship service today, a celebration of our Heifer Project Ark Award and a performance of selections from “100% Chance of Rain” –a jazz cantata for young voices that I sang myself when I was in fourth or fifth grade. I feel a little drained from the running around directing the kids, worrying about the flow of the liturgy, taking in a huge variety of joys and concerns, and just being plain exhausted from the year.

This program year flew by so fast I actually don’t feel quite ready for it to be over until Labor Day. I am doing one funeral in July and I genuinely worry that by the time it’s necessary for me to prepare it, I will be so deeply into relaxation and rest mode, I won’t be able to get my act together!

Honestly, the last thing I want to do right now is face the Introvert’s Nightmare known as GA (I mean, I’m a strong extrovert and it’s even too much for me!). I feel sad and tapped out, rather empty and with nothing much to think, say or feel.

I will be starting the third year of my D.Min. program in the fall and at this point I’m just starting to feel ready for it to be OVER. Let me write my dissertation and get it done with already. I am getting to the point where I just can’t wait to have that little window of time back in my week that is now occupied by doctoral studies. Looking back over the year, I can’t believe that I did so many other continuing education things even on top of my D.min work!! What am I, nuts? I am even enrolled in a four-day colloqium on theodicy this July. Yea, just for fun: theological reflections on evil and suffering.

I’ll see you in a few weeks. Be good.
Peace.
Bang.

Overheard At UU Blogger’s Picnic

“I’ll feast on one of your patties.”

— Philocrites to PeaceBang, in response to an offer of a hamburger.

Speaking Out Against Abuse When You See It

I am walking across Tremont Street from Dunkin Donuts (can’t rally without an iced coffee!) the other day and this big guy is totally cussing out a woman who walks alongside him looking all hangdog and scared. He’s using every vile word in the book and shouting at her. F this and F that as they’re hustling along.

Me, the dumb do-gooder and peacemaker, goes, “Hey Buddy. Whoa!” I figure if I can interrupt his invective maybe he won’t keep escalating into a more dangerous fury.

“Whoa WHAT?? Mind your own f-ing business!” he shouts at me.

“Whoa, watch your mouth and calm down!” I say, fool that I am.

“Shut the F up! It’s none of your f-ing business!” he says. And I say, “Yes it is my business! Keep your foul mouth off my streets!”

So then SHE gets in on it!! “You don’t know what’s going on! Mind your own business!”

Me: “Honey, this is what we call an ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, okay? And when you bring it onto the streets, it’s definitely everybody’s business!”

Her: (starting to cry) “You don’t know what’s even happening! You have no right!”
Me: I DO know what’s happening — and let me tell you this — this man is a violent nightmare and it doesn’t matter WHAT’s going on — you never, ever deserve to be talked to like this.
Her: (screaming) SHUT UP! SHUT UP!

Him: You think I give a F about that cloth around your neck? I don’t give a S—!

Me: (forgetting that I’m even wearing a clerical collar) Well, obviously!
(yelling after the woman) Get help! You’re going to need it!

So hey, that was effective, huh? Because what I managed to do was (1) enflame the violent dude even more (2) put myself in harm’s way and (3) make her feel protective of her may-an. Oh, great.

But then I remember one time eleven years ago when I was eating a sushi dinner in Rochester, NY and reading a book while eavesdropping on the (hetero) couple next to me. I couldn’t help it: they were like 7″ from my table. The man was tearing the young woman apart in the softest, most malevolent of tones, ripping to shreds her every idea and attempt to assert herself. He insulted her family in hypnotic tones, and when she feebly protested, he would lean forward and stare at her as though he was moments from plunging his chopsticks into her throat.

I was so terrified by what I saw that when I got to the theatre I called the restaurant and asked to be put through to Jennifer (I knew that was her name). They brought the phone to her.

This is what I said to her:

“Jennifer? This is the woman who was sitting next to you a few minutes ago reading. Just pretend I’m your uncle calling to let you know of a change in the party for your mom, okay? (she made frightened little sounds, but stayed on the phone) But listen to me: you are in a very abusive relationship and your boyfriend is a very dangerous person. I know you know this: I can see it in your eyes. He is trying to isolate you from your family so that he can tear you down and destroy you, and if you don’t get help, he will. I am really worried about you, and I want you to tell someone exactly how he treats you and talks to you, because I think he’s a master manipulator and no one has any idea how vicious he is to you. But I heard it and I saw it, and I really hope you get away from him. I’m going to let you go now, but I want to tell you that I really care about you.”

“Yes.” she said.
And then,
“Thank you so much, Uncle Barry.”
Me: “Be strong.”
Her: “Okay. (quavering voice) Love you, Uncle Barry.”

I think of her even today.

Tension and Fear Give Way To Elation: Marriage Equality

It was so tense waiting in the chambers for the votes to come in.
I was thinking about how devastating it would be to have to walk away from this knowing that thousands of families would be thrown into emotional and legal chaos if the process went forward to a popular vote. I thought about how drastic a measure it is to actually amend the constitution to exclude gay people from being able to get married. I felt sick. I was so angry and disgusted by the opponents on the other half of the room, and then angry with myself for feeling so incredibly hostile.

I thought about Biblical values, about the fact that a “biblical” marriage in the Old Testament sense often meant polygamy, and how God calls us into covenants with each other and God that make our lives a sacred story rather than a series of random events leading to the grave. I tried to remember if Jesus ever gave any teachings about marriage other than against divorce, and I prayed “Those whom God hath joined, let no man put asunder.” I tried to remember all the other purity laws from Leviticus (other than that thing about it being an abomination for a man to lie down with another man) that all the self-righeous people across the room had violated, and how Jesus himself adamantly challenged and violated all kinds of purity laws set down in Leviticus and other books of the Hebrew Scriptures. I fumed and chewed my nails.

We all watched this screen:

We cheered for the legislators who changed their votes, and groaned, hissed and even boo’d the ones who said they would, but betrayed our cause in the end.

When it happened, it was so fast and so amazing. Joyful mayhem!

I only learned today, while eating a sandwich at Panera Bread, that my own Representative, Robert Nyman, did change his vote. I sat and cried on my sandwich, knowing that members of my own congregation had undoubtedly helped him become one of the nine Massachusetts legislators who changed their mind about the constititutional amendment. I know for a fact that one of my members had a long meeting with him on Wednesday. And I am gratified to think that one of my several letters and calls may have done some real good.

We chanted, “Thank you! Thank you!” and
after cheering our legislators I chatted with a lovely woman from a nearby town who would like to visit our church. She was one of the many people who stopped in the halls of the State House or on the streets to share the joy that day.

It was cool to see some of our senators and reps up on the balcony. I’ve never seen that before. I think they must have known they were making history and didn’t want to miss it.

This little guy didn’t know what all the fuss was about.

They Said It Was About the Democratic Process, But…

The high-minded opponents of marriage equality insisted that this was really a matter of legislative process. Of course it was really about hetero folks just not being able to stand the idea of two men or two women having at it in the privacy of their own homes. Because this wasn’t about the sanctity of marriage or families (if it was, why not work to outlaw divorce?), it was about genitalia.

(Some of the artwork featured on Beacon Street by these moral arbiters.)

[I just learned that the carriers of these signs were teenaged Slavs who bussed in from western Massachussets — being of Slavic ancestry myself, I wish I had gone over to say, um… hello? Maybe not. I heard they were saying things like, “We kill people in my country for this.” - PB]

A Great Day

Hey lovely people,
Thanks for all your anniversary wishes.
I am heading off to bed after an amazing day at the Constitutional Convention at the State House, where marriage equality was protected by a legislative vote and I was right in the midst of the mayhem.

I have a lot to say about it — especially to report about the ridiculous, comically ignorant behavior and signs exhibited by our opponents — and I have photos to share. But that will have to wait. Let me just tell you that it was really quite unbelievable. Signs that said things like, “Even animals don’t do that!!” (speaking of homosexual sex). I’m absolutely baffled by this. They have obviously never met my sister’s dog Gordon, who, not to put too fine a point on it, genially climbs aboard his friend Clay’s backside and makes like Elvis-the-Pelvis whenever they have a play date. Sorry, folks, the animal kingdom is full of all kinds of same-sex couplings. And how about parthenogenesis? Since ya’ll are in such a froth about same-sex couples defying God’s law by having children, how do fruit flies fit into your scheme of things? Are they also defying God’s Great Heterosexual Universe?

Ach. It’s maddening. I was so sure we would lose this vote that I had a raging commentary about how if the Commonwealth of Massachusetts is so hot on the sanctity of marriage we should pursue legislation outlawing divorce. Let that go to a public vote, by gum. Oh, I was so ready. I am so elated I didn’t have to give that remark to a reporter, and could instead say how thrilled I was.

Right now, I have to help the cat simmer down as she seems to think there’s either a mouse or a magical stash of catnip under the living room couch, and is going crazy not being able to scootch her body underneath it to check.

Photo by photographer and community activist Jonathan McIntosh, taken on 11/06.

I Had No Idea: The Third In A Series of Reflections on Ordination

This is my “serious” post written on the occasion of the tenth anniversary of my ordination. I am writing it on Wednesday night since I will be in Boston extremely early tomorrow morning to rally for marriage equality, and will be in the city all day.

When I was ordained, I had no idea what to expect of parish ministry. I had done my field education and my internship, taken however many classes one takes in order to earn a master of divinity degree from Harvard University, and endured the CPE and MFC and career assessment drill that we all go through in our journey to becoming a Reverend in the Unitarian Universalist tradition. I had even sweated my way through a master’s thesis on the myth Persephone as a resurrection narrative for women.

And I had no idea.

When I went to divinity school, I had these various ideas for my future, presented in the chronological order in which they occurred to me:
1. I would be a mediator of some sort.
2. I would be a minister of religious education.
3. I would be a campus chaplain.

I was 100% clueless about how ministry works in the world and was, to put it kindly, grasping at straws. I had gone to divinity school as though shot from a cannon, arriving full of manic energy but absolutely no vision. I had been flitting in and out of UU congregations for many years and had never felt grounded or particularly welcome in any of them; I felt like a total fraud. My personal motto in those seminary years was, “The bush burned but was not consumed.” This helped me keep faith that God knew what God was doing with me, although sometimes the fire of unfocused commitment burned so hot I would wake in the morning looking as though I’d been “rid hard and put away wet.”

There was tremendous drama in this, and a lot of erotic energy. I feel very fortunate that I had an active romantic life in those years because once I had a “Rev.” before my name, men ceased to regard me as a big, wild playground of a woman and saw me as a Church Lady. Hence the end of my real romantic life. In the past ten years I have had the odd boyfriend here and there, and I do mean the odd boyfriend.

I had no idea when I began working in the parish that the church can be a dead serious place where it is very difficult to keep perspective.

I had no idea that smart, loving congregational leaders would sometimes allow three or four absolutely toxic individuals to abuse and well nigh destroy the morale of a minister. It happened to me in one of my earlier congregations, and I have since learned that it happens a lot. I had no idea that congregations could commonly tolerate vile, destructive behavior in the name of “community” or “inclusiveness.”

I had no idea that parish ministers did so much work in the community. I actually thought that my days would be full of preparing worship, visiting with and counseling congregants, marrying and burying folks, and working with lay leaders on church matters. It never occurred to me that so much of my time would be spent responding to a fascinating array of requests from outside the church. To name just a few: writing articles and editorials, speaking at events ranging from pro-choice rallies to vigils for peace, addressing college students on the subject of sexuality, serving on denominational and non-profit boards, planning and leading workshops at conferences, teaching seminarians, mentoring ministers in final fellowing, counseling friends or extended family of parishioners, guest lecturing, calling into radio shows to represent a social justice action group, lobbying legislators, participating in ordinations and installations, shopping/cooking for/hosting various receptions and special events, attending collegial meetings and retreats, providing references for all manner of congregants and friends, driving homeless men to shelters on winter nights, and giving opinions to reporters. When I bought a set of luggage soon after graduation from Div School, I stupidly thought I could buy the cheap stuff, because I was a pastor and wouldn’t be traveling much!!

Since I’ve been ordained I have traveled to Phoenix, St. Lake City, Harrisburg, PA, Rochester, NY, Nashville, Washington, DC, Cleveland, St. Louis, New York City, West Point, NY, Quebec City, Berkeley, CA, and God knows where else to attend meetings, conferences, classes, retreats or trainings.

I had no idea that so many people would trust me with their sexual secrets. Alfred Kinsey’s got nothing on me.

I had no idea that the most frightening part of the job would be feeling obligated to come up with something meaningful to say in the face of tragedy and inexplicable loss.

I had no idea that so many lay people choose to devote a huge portion of their time and energy to the church. I had no idea how many impressive leaders the church produces, and what an elegant and largely unrecognized work of art their service to our congregations truly is.

I had always heard that ministers have to earn trust and “cred,” and therefore had no idea that every congregation I served would instantly welcome me into their churches with trust and respect.

I had no idea that there would be so much anxiety about youth programming in practically every congregation I’ve ever known — (not just the ones I’ve ministered to).

I had no idea that I would worry so much about every single sheep of my flock, compulsively flipping through the pages of the directory and fretting about the condition of their hearts, minds, families, marriages, bodies and souls. I had no idea how often I would stay up late making lists of non-attendees, infrequent attendees, potentially disaffected absentees and trying to figure out how to reach out to them in a way that might get them back to church for good, even though every previous effort had failed.

I had no idea how invested I would become in the idea that membership in a church is a serious and important commitment. I had joined congregations in the past myself and disappeared without a word; I had no idea anyone would care!

I had no idea that grief could live in my body long past the death of a parishioner, and that I would henceforth spend a portion of my summer vacation weeping over losses suffered during the church year but never properly mourned.

I had no idea how protective I would feel of all my congregations, and that any threat to them, whether from inside or without, would fill me with a steady, venomous rage and cold clarity about how to strategize against the threat.

I had no idea that most threats to my congregations were actually very little of my business, and that I couldn’t much protect anyone from anything in the end.

I had no idea that conflict between my babies would tear my heart to bits.

I had no idea that I would feel deeply in my heart that all of my parishioners, whatever their chronological ages, were my “babies,” to love unconditionally even when circumstances or personal boundaries prevented my having a close relationship with them. I had no idea how much my upbringing would influence me to believe in the power of “tough love.”

I had no idea how much a casual, misinformed criticism from a peripherally- involved church member could cut me to the quick, but how much I craved honest feedback from those who genuinely shared the work of the church with me, and whose opinion I respect.

I had no idea that board meetings could be a lot of fun, and that there is no need to hold monthly committee or staff meetings just for the sake of it when you have extremely competent people in leadership roles.

I had no idea that the responsibility of preaching and leading worship most Sundays from September through June would feel like the most draining and intimidating professional responsibility imaginable, yet also the most exhilirating, thrilling challenge and honor.

I had no idea that it would be so ultimately healthy for me that my family would steadfastly refuse to make a big deal of my going into the ministry and would remain, for a decade, the strongest voice of reason, humor and love in my life.

I had no idea that life in the parish could be at once so intimate, affirming and relational and yet so painfully lonely and isolating.

I had no idea that my brothers and sisters in the parish ministry and religious leadership would become, truly, brothers and sisters and that I would rely on their wisdom, support and comaraderie so entirely through all the ups and downs of this work.

I had no idea that I would start publishing my random thoughts on the internet in a forum known as a “blog” and therefore become a kind of religious writer with an interactive, international fellowship of readers.

I had no idea that the Bible would become absolutely central to my religious thought and vision.

I had no idea that my daily experience of the living God would make it impossible to consider a world without the church in it. I had no idea that it would get easier, not harder, to love the Lord God with all my heart and all my mind and all my soul and all my strength. The l”oving neighbor as self” is still a growing edge!

As I explain to everyone, God doesn’t call perfect people to ministry. S/He calls the ones foolish enough to respond.

(PB a few years after ordination)