PeaceBang

There Will Be Blood: A PeaceBang Review

You’ve undoubtedly heard the buzz about Paul Thomas Anderson’s magnificent film, “There Will Be Blood.” I don’t have time to write much about it, but I thought it was a masterpiece.

Daniel Day Lewis is riveting as a misanthropic oil man - he’s in nearly every scene and does an impeccable job creating an unforgettable character that should earn him an Academy Award and cement his status as one of our best living actors — but it’s Paul Thomas Anderson’s story-telling skills that really got me in this one. It’s a wonderful film: totally American yet Shakespearean in scale and operatic in emotion. The first hours can be slow, but the cinematography and exquisitely detailed period set pieces, plus the thrilling score (so fascinating that I had to nudge my friend and say, “This music is SO COOL” to which he whispered back that someone from Radiohead had composed it. Is this true?).

So, I loved it. It was well worth the 2 hour and 40 minute investment. Paul Dano is to be commended for holding his own on screen with the demonically talented Day-Lewis, and I think all preachers should rush right out and see it on the biggest screen they can find. This is not a renter. This is a go-see-a-matinee and take sermon notes work of art.

Prayers for a Colleague

I got an e-mail from the Unitarian Universalist Minister’s Association Executive Committee today asking for prayers for our colleague, the Rev. Rosemary Bray McNatt, as she travels to Kenya to, in the words of the e-mail, “serve a larger love” as part of a three-person delegation representing the UUA and the UU Service Committee.

This e-mail touched me deeply not only because I love Rosie, but because in my eleven years of ordained ministry in this movement I don’t recall ever receiving a call for prayer from our collegial association. This is a first, and for me it represents a subtle but monumental shift away from careful, euphemistic language that for me often feels clinical and removed, to a heartfelt, unabashedly religious invitation. None of this, “Please hold in your thoughts and minds …” or “Let us join in the spirit of something that we might, if we believed in such things, refer to as ‘prayer’” or “Now let us turn our thoughts to that unity and interdependence that binds us,” — just finally, at long last, “Prayers For a Colleague.” The BODY of the e-mail uses more creative language, but it was the subject line that got me.

It’s as though we’re finally mature enough to understand that we’ll all be praying in our own fashion, and we don’t necessarily need to acknowledge that in the simple wording of one e-mail. How bloody refreshing.

I will be praying for Rosemary and the delegation’s safe travel and return in my own fashion, and hope you will add her to your good thoughts, meditation, prayers, or the good intentions you “put out” into the Universe.

Re-entry Mode And Thoughts On Romantic Timing

Hello ‘Bangers,

Here’s hoping that you’re all well and staying warm.

I am in re-entry mode after a lovely Florida vacation, courtesy of some very generous friends who gave me and a colleague pal the use of their condo. I’m not officially back to work until Tuesday which is nice and gives me some time to unpack, do the grocery shopping, and to curse the gods for their obnoxious sense of humor.

It’s just that, you see, Cupid got out one of his biggest, baddest arrows while I was away and hit me and a perfectly innocent other party with it, so now there’s a little jet stream of romance mojo moving north and south between Massachusetts and Southern Florida. A convenient 1,555 miles apart, that’s all. Well, we’ll see. And he doesn’t even own a computer, so there’s no chance of him seeing this, in case you were worried.

If you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time, you’ve been through a few romances with me. Well, let’s say that you’ve been through about 100 bad dates alluded to, sporadic musings on the loneliness of the single life, and many reflections on the special challenges of the single minister.

I have tried not to chronicle every twinge of “gee, I might have met someone special” with my readers — because SisterBang and other pals have always been there to indulge those insecure, ad infinitum ramblings with — and also because no one needs to hear about the ups and downs of a clergywoman’s mostly non-existent dating life and romantic rejections . It’s neither appropriate nor interesting.

But let me offer this: I believe that chemistry is real and that it matters. I believe that kindred spirits and soul mates are real. I believe that we spend many years believing in the well-meant but totally cock-eyed interpretation of us handed down by family lore and old relationships, and that as soon as we jettison all that — really flush it down the toilet for good, it is possible for love to come, and to last. It is that latter process — not having a baby, not getting married, not getting our first paycheck — that makes us truly adult, and makes us truly free for true love to find us.

I have no idea if my new friend from Florida will be a true love. I’m not speaking of what is, but what I believe could be — if not now, maybe later. If not for me, God willing, for thee.

It takes a tremendous amount of work and effort to understand, accept and really know ourselves — to consider the input from those who know us (or think they do) along with our own knowledge of self, and to come up with an accurate and fair assessment of our own character and soul, needs, wants and responsibilities. It takes even harder work than that to hold that authentic person in affectionate and compassionate care, to move beyond the fear and woundedness that comes from being disappointed and treated insensitively, to stop dwelling on past failures, and to trust that God truly has made a unique and precious gift in us that deserves to be honored, and whose deepest recesses are known only to the silent soul. These private places of the soul should not be pried open by curious onlookers or cold-hearted Lotharios who pursue profound confidences in the same fashion that the paparazzi pursue the latest lurid photos of Britney Spears.

Many women have been socialized to gather the opinions of their friends and family when it comes to every subject from how to make a particular recipe, to what they should wear on a first date, to whether or not they should marry, to what career they should pursue next. This kind of intimate and constant gab can be deeply bonding and intimate, but it can also breed the exhaustion and mild contempt that comes with over-exposure to someone else’s vulnerability. At times the best thing for a woman is to cut off, or to be taken off this kind of life-support (however cruel that sounds) and to stand in her own truth for awhile. Not just to cultivate wisdom through spiritual practice and attention to her intuition (which she should be doing already), but to actively assess and, if need be, reject the version of herself assembled by her circle of intimates and to shore up her confidence in the true version; the woman she finally, after many years of hard and honest work, knows she is.

How can I ask someone to love me for better or for worse, unless I can love and accept myself through my own better or worse? Cliched to say it, but I owe my true friends the gift of finally getting it through my thick head that even at our “worst,” we all deserve to be treated sensitively and with compassion, and that love at its most basic means sticking-by. The lesson has finally stuck. Thanks, pals. You know who you are. What Jesus has been trying to convince me of for all these years, you have made real. Wouldn’t it be nice to have the opportunity to practice that spiritual discipline with a Sig Other?

Let’s just say this: if I do ever find true love I would want it to be just like this: during a time of radical emotional freedom and healing, of feeling particularly clear on who I am, what I need and how I want and expect to love and be loved. So no matter what happens with this particular conflagration, as the old song goes, “They Can’t Take That Away From Me.”

Oh, and you know that check-list that so many of us carry around in our heads about who we think we should be with? I’m re-assessing my approach to that. My checklist used to have 40 or so items on it. Now it has about 12:

My Ideal Mate

1. Should be kind and considerate.
2. Should know how to love and be loved, and that includes honesty, trust and loyalty.
3. Should have a great sense of humor.
4. Intelligence.
5. Some kind of cultural interests and talents.
6. Charisma.
7. Be attractive to me.
8. Be attracted to me.
9. Have nice manners.
10. Not be an active addict or criminal.
11. Be politically progressive and actively involved in a spiritual practice or community.
12. Makes my heart go thumpety-thump.

For Your Consideration: UU Blog Awards

Did I miss them? It’s time for the UU Blog Awards!!

Darling readers, PB is on vacation in Florida but takes a moment out from sun and rest to submit some of her favorite posts from 2007 to remind you why you are such loyal PeaceBangers (did I miss the deadline?):

“I’ll Pray For You,” my conversation with Miss Conduct about how atheists might more gracefully respond to those pesky people who insist on praying for them than by saying, “Cut it out!”

This post (Minister’s Wives and Ministerial Expectations) on how minister’s lives have changed drastically over the centuries, while expectations of ministers have not.

I’m fond of this piece on The Sanctity Of the Classroom, where I reminisce about being a high school English teacher, even though I can no longer spell “reminisce.”

This piece, “Passionate Does Not Equal Fundamentalist” apparently started a big, angry conversation elsewhere in the UU blogosphere. It is one of my classic rants against the particular hypocrisies and “besetting sins” of the so-called tolerant Unitarian Universalist movement. I know people don’t like being called ignorant, but sometimes it’s got to be named.

Here’s me doling out some practical advice for the single ministers and hopefully making the rest of you laugh and hold onto your honey (”Dating Etiquette For Pastors”).

In my scathing review (the link isn’t working, so please do a blog search for the title of the book of the best-selling Eat, Love, Pray, I earn the wrath of many yoga people who insist that I have no right to dislike this book, it must be that I’m just jealous.

And that, as they say, is that. Also, of course, is Beauty Tips For Ministers, a winner of many UU blog awards last year. Thank you, and I’ll be wearing Armani to the awards show, which will not be telecast due to the Writer’s Strike.

PeaceBang Is On Vacation

I’ll be in Florida for the next ten days or so. If I have anything burning on my mind, I’ll find an internet cafe and blog. If not, stay warm and take care of yourselves and we’ll see each other online soon.

xoxo PB

PeaceBang Is 42 Years Old Today

… and she has 42 little nuggets of wisdom that may or may not interest you over here.

P.S. On #42, I don’t actually hate birthday cake. I just don’t love it as much as I love crunchy, salty, fried things. It was just an example.

Sharon Salzburg Story About How We Love Control

Help, colleagues!

A few years ago at CENTER Days (I think it was at the 2005 GA in Long Beach), Sharon Salzburg gave a great talk that included a hilarious anecdote about how she wanted to invite a friend to visit her in New England while the foliage was at the height of its beauty, and how she got really angry that the leaves weren’t going to be flaming with color during the weekend her friend chose. I want to use this as a sermon illustration in February (she had a great, wry punchline) but I can’t find the talk anywhere on the UUA or UUMA website. Can some savvy techie types help at all? I just know it was recorded and lives somewhere on the internets.

Don’t Cry For Me, Iowa and New Hampshire

Managing the Post-Holiday SURGE

I shouldn’t joke about the word “surge” since it’s been recently used to such insane macho use by our Fearless Leader of the Armed Forces as a glamorous euphemism for “let’s try to kill more Americans and Iraqis more quickly so this war can look like it’s goin’ somewhere”, (:::deep breath:::) but January always does represent a “surge” in church life, which is both dazzlingly tiring and also exciting.

In Unitarian Universalist congregations that essentially close down over the summer (save for, for example, bi-monthly lay led worship services), we know that we’re heading into the spring and the sunshine, which means that Boating, Kids Sports and Gardening take on transcendent dimensions and become serious competitors for church attendance and attention. So we gather this time of year to strategize about how to do an effective stewardship campaign, how to ramp up membership programs, prepare for new Adult Religious Education offerings (this year I’m doing a Lenten series on Jesus in Unitarian Universalist Perspective: History, Tradition and Spirit — billed as “definitely NOT a quest for the historical Jesus”), start thinking about Easter and basically try to make the absolute juicy most of the next five months.

During this “surge” time, I find that transitions are the most challenging: going from a creative brain-storming meeting with a dynamic finance team to the quiet of a counseling session, to the gym, then to the quiet of my study to plan a liturgy, then a surprise funeral meeting, then stepping away from the day to reflect deeply on my 2009 sabbatical so I can write a report to my board about it. The days are full of this kind of interesting mash-up all the time, but I feel the buzz of visionary passion most in January. Everyone is so relieved to be through the holidays that we’re all a bit high.
I said in a recent sermon that ministry uses all of us: heart, soul, spirit, body, intellect. If you stay with it long enough, you develop a kind of surfer’s etheric body, the big waves get easier to ride… or at least you anticipate them with more inner peace and sense of grace. When I start to get anxious between meetings or during them, I have this little mantra that goes, “Why don’t you step away for a second and let God do this while you take some deep breaths.”

My deep breaths thing is a gem of a bit of advice that I got from a book on managing anxiety:

1. Take a breathe in through your nose to the count of four.
2. Hold it for a count of four.
3. Release it through your mouth for a count of five.
4. Take two slow, normal breaths (don’t force).
5. Repeat.

Do this for a few minutes and it’s like ten minutes in the hot tub. Belly Breathing in 2008!!

Loving Pregnancies, Loving Babies, Abandoning Children

So I’m on the treadmill the other day watching the news with one eye (”Family Feud” with the other) and I see CNN reporting that another young lass has given birth into a toilet because she didn’t know she was pregnant. They show the gal and her really cute newborn and part of me is going “oh, the BAY-BEE, I’m so glad it’s safe and not smooshed or drowned” and the other part of me is going, “If I had given birth into a toilet because I had not realized I was pregnant, would I be so eager to appear on national TV?”

That and the Jamie Lynn Spears thing is really getting me down about that bizarre, Girls (And Guys!) Gone Wild feeling in the culture lately around pregnancy. Is it just me, or are we getting mad stoopid about pregnancy? We’ve got this carnival of international celebrity adoptions that no one can shut up about (one recent tab headline: “SHILOH IN TROUBLE:” because, apparently Angelina Jolie pays more attention to her adopted than to her biological daughter). We had Bridget Moynahan working her swollen belly in front of every available paparazzo after her break-up with Tom Brady for maximum media coverage and feminine sympathy (I felt manipulated and suspicious — why should pregnancy make someone suddenly SO famous? Tacky, Ms. Moynahan. You’re a grown woman. Put that stomach away. People break up, men cheat. You should not be leveraging that fact in order to get your abdomen front page coverage. Before your pregnancy, I had never heard of you. Way to exploit your child for fame before it’s even born!).

Let’s not even talk about the statistics on murdering pregnant women. It’s too horrific to even contemplate.

The Britney Spears spectacle isn’t even close to funny any more. She was apparently hospitalized today for being high and refusing to give up custody of her two sons. (Anyone else out there guessing that a woman of lesser fame and income level would have been cuffed and taken to the slammer for pulling similar shenanigans?)

Columnist Ellen Goodman wrote a terrific piece here, “Changing the Script on Teen Pregnancy” that expresses my mixed feelings about the spate of she-got-accidentally-pregnant-and-is-keeping-the-baby movies out now (I ADORED “Knocked Up,” but I’m still leery of the cultural trend here); please read it. What I see is a widespread fantasy-spinning about the realities of child-rearing along with a total lack of simultaneous discussion on the failure of abstinence-only birth control, and about social services, health care, and poverty issues that affect millions and millions of children in this country alone. And I have a feeling that the conservatives in power want it just that way. We just love pregnancy stories and we looooove the bay-bees, but we really don’t want to sacrifice any of our own comforts or privileges to assure that they all have decent health care, food in their bellies, a decent education no matter where they live, and child care when their mothers have to work.

I’m looking around lately at messages to women in this culture and what I’m getting is something like, “At her very best, the American Woman should be be thin, rich, an ideal consumer, plastic-perfect, and pregnant.”

Meanwhile… Mike Huckabee’s triumph in Iowa makes me want to go take an 8 year nap.