PeaceBang

Are Sports Really That Unifying?

Unitalian and I have a disagreement in the comments here about my post after watching some of the Olympics Opening Ceremony. Uni seems to think that I’m casting the entire Chinese people as “pariahs” because I take issue with many of the Chinese governments policies. That’s an irrational leap, but what really interests me is Unitalian’s claim that sports transcends boundaries and should certainly transcend prejudices (or in this case, moral disapproval). I’m sure that Unitalian is not alone in believing this: and it is this sentiment exactly that will lead millions of Americans to put aside their moral objections to China’s myriad human rights violations, suck it up, and watch the Olympics, because sports are a unifying force, an opportunity to celebrate “our shared humanity.”

I was absolutely with Unitalian on that point until I thought about it for a long time a few days ago. I was raised in the U.S. of A., where the virtue of participation in sports as either player or fervent spectator is fed us with our Wheaties from the time we’re old enough to hold our first Whiffle ball and toss it in the backyard with Dad.

Now that I’ve thought about it in a non-reflexive way, though… I think, wait… isn’t the whole point of the Olympics for countries to compete against each other — no matter how much athletes demurely protest that really, they’re only competing against themselves? Are you telling me that if Liu Xiang doesn’t take the gold, he and the Chinese people will just be glad they had such a fine contender in the event? Or that Ethiopian viewers won’t be rooting for Tirunesh Dibaba to break her own record yet again and to leave Shalane Flanagan in the dust? What kind of naive sentimentalism would lead any one of us to think such a thing? I live in Boston and daily see what kind of “spirit of shared humanity” sports really creates: such rabid support for our own teams that we regularly and cheerfully demonize players and fans from other cities (did you hear about the Boston fans who started chanting “Yankees suck” at a CELTICS GAME?). I’m not proud of this, but Boston is far from unique. How about the European football fans who get trampled in the melee after games? I don’t think “spirit of shared humanity” when I envision a corpse with crushed windpipe and ribcage after a Barcelona/Madrid match.

Sports gives vent to the most Dionysian energies within individuals and society, and yet is there anything more easily sentimentalized than sports? We love our sports because they allow us to express our wildness and to live vicariously through the demi-gods on the fields. We may experience a transcendent sense of shared humanity with other fans in the heat of the moment, but that’s a fleeting illusion. We’re bonding over a 3-hour game; nothing more, nothing less. I don’t mean to be insulting here, but I would argue that momentary bonding over sports is a very shallow form of experiencing shared humanity; not even as complex as attending the movies with a lively crowd. I’ve watched many a Sox game with whooping, high-fiving, even weeping temporary pals in sports bars but have never, ever felt henceforth called to do something or be something higher or better than I previously was. I like to think that our experiences of real shared humanity would generate some more lasting result than a swelling heart and the excitement of having been there. Please understand that I am not dismissing those feelings; God knows I’m a crier at most public events. But when I watched part of the opening ceremonies yesterday I understood that I was being manipulated to have a swelling heart and a feeling of excitement and sheer human pride. I realized that if I responded with those emotions (as I initially did), I would be capitulating to engineers and designers who worked very hard on behalf of the Chinese government to elicit those reactions from me. Advertising agencies working on behalf of multi-national corporations were also counting on my misty eyes and lumpy throat. It became very clear to me last night that I want to be able to discern between experiences of emotionally manipulative entertainment and authentic moments of shared humanity. Because I believe the opening games was an example of the former, I put away my tissues and changed the channel.

An Olympic gold medal is all about national pride (or even nationalistic pride), millions of dollars in endorsements, and a star athlete or team’s moment alone on the pedestal wrapped in the flag of their own country while their national anthem plays. Winners win, losers lose, and although there are many viewers who root for athletes from other nations (remember the Jamaican bobsled team?) and who generally admire the prowess of all the competitors, the Olympics is about competition. And competition over/against others is most certainly not a religious value. It is not a Jewish value, it is not a Christian value, it is not a Muslim value, it is not a Confucian value or a Buddhist value or value within indigenous religions I’m familiar with, or a value within any other religious tradition I can think of. It was a religious value of the Roman Empire and of the Greeks before them, which is no surprise to anyone (where did the Olympics come from, after all?), but I think those who would finger-wag at me, a Unitarian Universalist minister, for failing to be peace-love & forgiveness about the games are barking up the wrong tree.

I am confident that there are sound ethical and personal reasons for choosing to watch the Olympics and that there are sound ethical reasons for choosing not to watch them. However, I don’t think the argument that we should watch the Olympics because they bring all the participants and viewers into a beautiful experience of shared humanity is a persuasive one.

Welcome, Boston Globe Readers!!

Boston Globe religion reporter Michael Paulson gave me a shout-out on his blog today so I thought I’d give any new stoppers-by a more substantive, truly Unitarian Universalist-oriented entry to read than my latest cultural commentary. But for now, that dog is prancing by the door and that can’t be good. Get that leash, Max! Mama’s comin’!

[Post-doggie walk, we’re back!]

The archives are pretty well-organized, and if you’re new to blogs all you need do is scroll around under the categories to the right that appeal to you and click to find related entries. I do everything from theological reflection to sermon excerpts to “random rants” to movie and book reviews (I was one of the only religion writers –however minor — to lambaste Elizabeth Gilbert’s best-selling Eat, Love, Pray last year, causing quite a furor in the comment sections) … and for those of you who are planning to go whale-watching this weekend, you might enjoy this reflection on whales. Hey, we’re nothing if not varied in our offerings here at PeaceBang!

Want to weigh in on the songs that make you cry? Dozens of other readers did so recently here. Blogs are fun. PeaceBang aims to be fun, provocative, interactive and to help demolish the stereotype of clergypeople as pious, one-dimensional characters who are so focused on ancient ideas and scriptures that they don’t have both feet firmly planted in the here-and-now, with a dash of hot sauce to go with their spiritual and pastoral dimensions. Visit often, comment freely, and see you around the blogosphere. Or at the MFA tonight. Or at Fenway this weekend, if someone wants to invite me!!

Peace.
Bang.

Music That Hurts Too Much

Since you’ve all been so terrific about sharing your list of movies that are just too painful to see (or to see again), I thought I’d bring up the subject of music. Let’s share the pain again!

Last weekend I officiated at the memorial service of a beloved congregant. I was up until 1 AM working on her eulogy because I didn’t want to write it. I don’t want to accept her death. But such is life, and we had a beautiful day and a full church for her service. I got through it fine (a few choked up moments during the prayer, but okay) until we stood to sing “Amazing Grace.” I had requested of my Music Director that she modulate and go up a key between the third and final (for us) verse:

Through many dangers, toils and snares,
I have already come
Twas grace that brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me home… (key change)

When we’ve been there ten thousand years
bright shining as the sun
We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
than when we’ve first begun.

But I couldn’t sing that last verse. The moment I heard that key change, I opened my mouth to sing and was able to produce only sobs. Even with a lifetime of theatre experience and two years of breath work and meditation practice, my body refused to obey my mind. Firm admonitions to self along the lines of “YOU HUGE LOSER, GET IT TOGETHER” did not work. So I stepped even further back from the pulpit, lowered my face into my program and sobbed as quietly as possible through that last verse. “You’ve got about ten seconds to pull yourself together, girl,” I told myself. “Breathe, breathe, breathe.” I breathed from way down in my gut. I made my voice work. The benediction was not the vocally strong proclamation of faith, blessing and peace I hoped for, but hey, it came out and people could hear it.

But… holy cow!!! Such is power of music. I had gone over the words of the memorial service late Friday night and many times the morning of the service. I had already shed many tears for Jackie.
I had cried that morning the shower, for heaven’s sake: I thought I had got it all out! I was emotionally prepared to sing “Morning Has Broken” and to hear a meditative piano version of “Rank By Rank Again We Stand” and to sing “Amazing Grace.” Hey, I’m a pro! But THAT DAMNED KEY CHANGE. Key change happens, my composure goes out the window. Even though I knew it was coming!

Even after all that, I’m sure the next time I hear “Amazing Grace” I’ll be fine. However, I was unable to hear the song “Claire de Lune” by Debussy for probably six or seven years after my father died; it was the last song played at his memorial service.

Other songs that often produce an “Augh, I totally can’t handle hearing this” reaction when I’m feeling at all vulnerable are:

1. “Hearts” as sung by Marty Valen
2. “Lonely Stranger” sung by Eric Clapton (on his “Unplugged” album)
3. “If You Believe” from “The Wiz” as sung by Miss Lena Horne on her live Broadway album
4. “Little Water Song” by Nick Cave as sung by Ute Lemper on the album “Punishing Kiss” (the creepiest, most chilling song of all time, seriously)
5. “I Fall To Pieces” as sung by Patsy Cline
6. “The Valley” by Jane Siberry from “When I Was a Boy”
7. “Love Is Everything” by Jane Siberry (ditto)
8. “Kooks” by David Bowie from “Hunky Dory”
9. “Wild Is the Wind” by Nina Simone on “Nina Simone’s Finest Hour”
10. “You Take My Breath Away” as sung by Eva Cassidy on her “Wonderful World” album (and almost anything by Eva Cassidy from “Songbird”)
11. “Elegy: Snow in June” by Tan Dun
12. Karen Carpenter singing “Bless the Beasts and Children”
13. Chopin’s Nocturne in C# minor
14. “Vissi D’Arte” from Tosca as sung by Monserrat Caballe
15. “Not A Day Goes By” as sung by Bernadette Peters on her London Sondheim tribute album, “Sondheim, Etc.”
16. Johnny Cash singing “In the Garden”
17. Judy Garland’s Carnegie Hall concert (any track) and “You’ll Never Walk Alone” from “The London Sessions”
18. Ray Charles, “How Long Has This Been Going On”
19. Shirley Horne singing “So Here’s To Life” by Artie Butler (on “Shirley Horne With Strings”)
20. Barber’s “Adagio for Strings” — I mean, is that not the all-time heartbreaker?

… and so many more!! So get out the hankies, gang, and share your own tearjerkers!

Movies That Hurt Too Much

There’s an interesting conversation going on over at movie critic Roger Ebert’s blog about movies that we can’t bear to watch because they hurt too much. For Ebert, one of those movies is “Wit,” an incredible HBO production that came out a few years ago starring Emma Thompson and directed by Mike Nichols. I agree with Ebert that the movie was excruciating — it left me gasping on my couch like a grounded catfish — but not unwatchable. But that’s probably because I don’t have cancer, and Ebert does.

What are some of the films that you find too painful — or almost too painful– to watch, and why?
It’s an interesting question. Here, in no particular order, are the first fifteen painful movies that come to mind for me:

1. I can’t bring myself to see “United 93″ yet. I’m just not ready.
2. “Men Don’t Leave” is one of my favorite movies starring Jessica Lange as a mother struggling to be there for her two sons after their father’s sudden death in a construction accident. But it somehow reminds me so much of the time immediately following own father’s death that I can barely get through it.
3. I certainly won’t watch “Schindler’s List” again. Not only was it too painful, I felt that Speilberg was absolutely invested in artistically bludgeoning his viewers with the obscene spectacle of human cruelty. That approach always leaves me feeling manipulated and suspicious. “Saving Private Ryan” felt exactly the same way; it’s a film I won’t see again, either.
4. “Sophie’s Choice” — the scene where Sophie faints in the library while trying to obtain a book of Emily Dickinson’s poetry and the ending scene both destroy me. “Ample make this bed/make this bed with awe…”
5. “Breaking the Waves” was an exquisite film featuring one of the most incandescent performances I have ever seen by Emily Watson. I own the DVD but I can’t bring myself to watch the film again because it is so shattering.
6. “Kramer Vs Kramer” - another Meryl Streep film. Love it, can’t bear it. I first saw it in the theatres as a teenager when my own parents were separating and wound up crying my eyes out. It’s a knife twisted in the guts.
7. “Terms of Endearment” — the scene where Aurora (Shirley McLaine) loses it in the hospital, running around yelling for a nurse to give her daughter (Debra Winger) her pain medication. It gets more unbearable to watch as I get older and more experienced with the ravages of cancer.
8. “The Great Santini” — Robert Duvall as a military version of my dad. Such a great film; so painful.
9. “Monster” — again, I own the DVD but probably won’t be able to ever view this film again. I own it mostly so I can loan it to others. One of the most agonizing depictions of human suffering and evil I have ever seen.
10. “Cold Mountain” - Maybe I should appreciate the irritating, campy performance by Renee Zellweger for distracting me from the sickening brutality that makes the rest of the film such a depressing reminder of America’s open wounds.
11. “The Accused” - - the rape scene haunts me to this day.
12. “Beloved” — the scene in the barn when the slave Sethe (Oprah Winfrey) is mauled for her breast milk by the two sadistic white teenagers — too horrific to ever see again. Another reminder of the terrifyingly creative ways humans find to express their depravity.
13. “Dead Man Walking” - sobbed throughout it, couldn’t ever watch it again. The murder flashbacks are the worst, but there’s also Susan Sarandon’s heart-achingly real performance as a nun who has no idea how to minister within this situation but who manages to show up and stay present to it.
14. “Brokeback Mountain” - Heath Ledger’s performance is devastating. God, the loneliness, the stifled life, the poverty of spirit, the unexpressed anguish, the unrequited yearning.
15. “Boogie Nights” — Julianne Moore’s performance at the end of the film as the tender, maternal, emotionally broken porn star Amber Waves makes my heart hurt too much.

(Emily Watson as Bess in Lars Von Trier’s “Breaking the Waves”)

So, now you!

All-Time Record: Hating On the Richie Riches, Part III

Thanks mostly to Will Shetterly and Fausto, my post wondering whether it’s religiously okay to hate the rich has broken all records for commenting on PeaceBang. We’re up to 113, not including the additional ten that have come in tonight in response to a follow-up comment.

A few observations:

While UUs have made some attempts in recent years to address class issues among us, the prevalent questions I have seen asked thus far are more along the lines of “What are we going to do to address class discrimination in our congregations?” Then we move into the subject of the problem in our congregations around assumptions that everyone has a “career,” that everyone has a degree (or several), and how to be sensitive to economic difference.
I think what pushed the button here is that no one has yet asked, “Is hating the rich an option, religiously-speaking? If so, why?” Again, in case anyone has forgotten, I asked the question after one women vehemently expressed that the characters featured in “Sex and the City” were too rich for her to relate to, and went on to express disgust for the rich in general. Another woman (a UU minister) chimed in to say that she felt the same way, and my curiosity was piqued. It’s so rare that UUs will come right out and make a severe value judgment that I thought it was hot stuff. And I was right.

I had hoped to provoke only discerning, thoughtful responses. That was silly; this is far too emotional a hot-button topic for that to happen. Still, I hold out hope that we can continue. Some responses have been, in fact, very thoughtful and theologically grounded, trying to speak from a place of faith stance and not just shoot-from the-hip or bicker.

I am disappointed that no one among the 123 commenters has answered my queries about whether liberationist theological commitments draw faithful Christians in that direction. There’s been a lot of personal sharing, a lot of quoting of scripture back and forth, and a lot of information offered on housing prices and median wages and what it means to be an “average” American. But I still want to know: does the God/Holy of your various traditions call you/us to regard wealth with hostile suspicion, and the rich with hatred or something close to it? I think it’s clear that our dear Jesus was, as ever, enigmatic on this subject. For every “You can’t worship God and Mammon,” there’s an admonition not to judge and to love our neighbor, etc. If we’re thinking we’re going to get to the bottom of this with a final, authoritative word from Mr. J., I think we’re going to wait for a long time.

I said to Will Shetterly on his own blog that I think any disciple of Jesus Christ who possesses a banking account has got some ’splainin’ to do. Every time I check the balance on my pension fund and breathe a sigh of relief that it hasn’t tanked I know I’m not being a true disciple as Christ arranged the original plan. I do worry about the future, I do try to store up some treasures on Earth for retirement, and I do not think I could give away my shirt to someone who asked for it, let alone my shirt and my coat. Unless we’re living in community sharing all our possessions and out there preaching, ministering to and healing the world with nothing but our sandals on our feet and the garments on our backs, we’re varying quite a bit from the system of discipleship Jesus established. The good news is that there’s a thing called grace and we’ll not be sent into the fiery pits of Hell for just doing our best in this lifetime.

In case anyone was wondering, I have only VERY rarely in my experience as a UU seen anyone exhibit open prejudice against someone for their wealth. I don’t think it goes on much, I hope to God no one thinks I was suggesting that we have a rich-bashing problem (my LORD, all we need is another group of self-identified marginalized people in the UUA!).

Someone’s suggestion that wealthy people don’t do social justice work in the UUA is patently ridiculous. I can’t even begin to count the number of affluent UUs of my acquaintance who spend a tremendous amount of time in the work of social change and social justice, and in a far more hands-on way than writing checks. I’m sorry that this hasn’t been the experience of all the readers of this blog.

I am no defender of the wealthy, and I liked best ChuckPhilly’s comment that a backlash against the very wealthy may have begun because we all *know* now what that Hummer and that monstrously enormous house costs the environment. We are beginning to see the connections between conspicuous consumption and the perilous state of the planet in a way we never have before, and we’re horrified by those who mindlessly contribute to it. What interests me the most now is this question: is God’s preferential option for the poor (a basic tenet of liberationist theology that I believe in) not only about the heart of divine compassion but God’s practical nature at work (as in, I love the poor not because I love poverty, but because I need you ALL to look to that simplicity of being and realize that I need you ALL to embrace that so that everyone can eat, and the planet can survive)?

If so, does that still validate hatred for the rich? Not because you or someone you love personally feels like hating the rich, but because there’s a theological imperative to do so, as we would hate any evil?

If we want to change structures that create hideous disparities in wealth, should we stop hating the structures and hate the people who benefit from them? Is that where some of you are moving? If so, please say so. I’ve never heard such a thing suggested in polite circles, and while I don’t agree with the premise, I’d certainly appreciate more explanation of your reasoning.

Is active animosity directed toward the rich a potentially effective tool for change, given the intimate connection between wealth and social status? An interesting idea. It wouldn’t be my chosen approach, but some of you may have a persuasive argument up your sleeve. If so, bring it on.

Hating on the Richie Riches, Continued

If you are interested in my further thoughts after 61 comments on this issue, I respond here to Rev. Madge in bold.

It seems to me that commitment to being the Church (not just attending church, which anyone can do) happens at two levels, and that it requires maturity to live on both of those levels at the same time.

On the first level, we abide side by side as human beings turning our hearts and minds toward the Holy, trying to orient our lives in the direction to which it points. We rely on our various traditions to help us know the way. We are all radically equal before God and regard each other as sisters and brothers regardless of any difference or disagreement among us. This is the first discipline of community,

On the second level, we are called to work for a better, more just world of equity and compassion between human beings and active reverence for all of creation. Because of this second commitment, it is entirely appropriate to hate social structures that divide people into haves and have-nots. It is appropriate to challenge individuals who support those structures and benefit from them.
But we do not engage in this second level of work (which is not hierarchically “beneath” the first level, but exists side-by-side with it) without being religiously and morally and behaviorally devoted to the first.

Obviously not an easy thing to do. And therefore no wonder that we tend to gather in communities of people Just Like Us so that we can have a much easier time of the first, and enjoy rabid communal self-righteousness while engaging in the second.

Hostility Toward the Richie Riches of the World

There’s an interesting development happening in the comments section of my post on the sexism of “Sex and the City” reviews. At least two commenters have ‘fessed up to feeling hostility towards the rich. I’m not sure if they mean the extremely wealthy or just garden-variety rich, but I’d like to hear more about this.

I just came back from a reunion in New Canaan, Connecticut where I grew up amid considerable affluence, and even I was disgusted by the obscenely huge McMansions that have cropped up where once there stood grand and beautiful colonials. We lived in a nice house when I was a kid and certainly wanted for nothing, but we were not as wealthy as many of my peers. I suppose I noticed it and perhaps even cared about it at one time, but after I left New Canaan and lived in other places I left behind any thought that I’d live like that again.

I do live in an affluent suburb now, but in a parsonage that I most certainly couldn’t afford to rent or buy if I had to do either. I have some very wealthy members of the congregation and some not-so-wealthy. Some are truly struggling. I see them all as people: they all have legitimate stress, they all have problems, they all have strengths and weaknesses. It is my observation that in some cases poverty builds character, and in some cases considerable wealth builds character. Sometimes wealth makes people shallow strivers. Sometimes poverty makes them bitter and accusatory. As an observer of the human condition, I can’t say that wealth creates any particular dysfunction that folks without such financial means can’t also fall prey to.

As for myself, I am a lot happier not trying to keep up with the Joneses, as I think we all felt when I lived in New Canaan. It was an incredibly materialistic community and if you didn’t have Silver Star skates and belong to the Winter Club (as well as to some summer country club), you were looked down upon. Thank God my parents always warned us not to get caught up in the nonsense, with their constant mantra, “This is NOT the real world, children.” It wasn’t. As a minister now, I occupy that funny middle-class position of serving a mostly middle and upper-middle class congregation and appearing to be one of the wealthy Main Street home-owners. Now that’s rich! Neither SweetieBang nor I could ever take care of a house this big on our own: we’re completely useless around the house, and we hope to someday be proud condo owners. If I won the lottery, I’d still live here to serve the church but buy two small apartments: one in Cambridge, Massachusetts and one in New York City. And if the lottery jackpot was big enough, a little flat in Paris or Barcelona. I would never want a big McMansion; I truly think that kind of size madness is evidence of a serious spiritual problem.

But this isn’t about me and my lottery plans. This is about honest folks who wrote in to say that they have hostile feelings towards the very wealthy, and I think we should talk about it. What’s that about? What does it mean for our congregations? What are our assumptions about the rich? What constitutes “rich enough” to earn hostility (for those who have those feelings)? Is there any corollary here about the un-rich? Do they merit special favor for those who harbor hostile feelings for the extremely wealthy? And finally, is this a personal prejudice or is it a liberationist stance aka “God’s preferential option for the poor?”

Are we called to love our neighbor only so long as they’re not stinkin’ rich? How do our religious values guide our thinking on this matter?

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.

A Mouse On A Cat On A Dog

[I wrote this for a church newsletter column in 2000. It’s still one of my favorites. Enjoy - VW]

A Mouse On A Cat On A Dog

After a lunch appointment one day last year in downtown Washington, DC, I walked around a corner and smack into this little street tableau:
A slightly grimy but very kindly man with a handsome black dog.
On top of the black dog sat a brown striped tabby cat, imperious in expression and languorous in repose.
On top of the brown striped tabby cat sat a white mouse, as dignified as a white mouse can manage to be.

All of the critters seemed a tiny bit uncomfortable but mostly gentle and self-respecting. If they minded being the center of attention they certainly didn’t show it, except for a brief moment when the cat leaped off the dog’s back to the pavement, groomed one paw, and then jumped back up to her furry perch (the mouse had to be helped back up).
“What’s going on here?” asked passersby, including a TV cameraman.

“I’m just trying to show that everyone can get along,” said the man. The dog, the cat and the mouse seemed to nod in agreement.
People stopped to stare, suspicious, waiting for the punch line, the gimmick, the appeal for money. Their silence challenged the man, who shifted his feet and bit and said well yes, he would also like to encourage people to adopt animals from their local shelter.

A cranky young businessman appeared on the scene next to me. “What is THIS?” he scowled. “I think it’s something about world peace,” I replied. “What’s the catch?” he asked. “I don’t think there is one,” I answered, surprised by a lump in my throat. He rolled his eyes at me and hurried off.

But I stayed for a long while, just plain happy to be in the company of the three gentle animals and the gentle man. It worked. It worked as a metaphor, it worked as street theatre, it worked as worship, it worked as non-violent protest. A mouse on a cat on a dog. Simple; not at all easy. Just like world peace.

Women Ministers: Issues in Leading Worship

I’ve been thinking a lot about some of the different preaching and presiding styles of the ministers and laypeople I’ve shared worship with these past two summers (during which I’ve averaged 1.5 worship services per Sunday, thankyouverymuch!). I’ve been looking over my notes and conclude that women presiders still have some special issues of vocal and physical inflection that seem not to plague men nearly as often.

I’d like to speak to some of them right now in my typically unvarnished way that comes from love and the instinct of a stage mother. I want women ministers to be just as impressive in the pulpit as our male colleagues, but I think we need work in a few main areas.

Vocal Inflections That Undermine Our Message

1. “Babydoll” Voice

When I meet women preachers “off stage,” I am often amazed at how much more grounded, in-charge, warm and confident they sound than they do while presiding. In the pulpit, I am hearing a lot of “baby doll” voices — a strained, nasal tone that comes from tight vocal chords and over-feminization of inflection (lisping is pronounced here, too). The difference is subtle to the ear but the result is infantilizing to both preacher and congregation sharing worship. For women preahcers speaking in Babydoll mode, I get the strong impression that she is presenting as “beloved daughter” rather than leader, and seems unconsciously to be seeking approval for her message.

Women preachers have to be careful because our pitch tends to rise when we get nervous. When we lose our diaphragmatic breathing, we produce a far more nasal sound and can even begin to whine. These are all challenges that can be overcome with vocal coaching.

I should mention here that the preacher who suffers from “babydoll voice” often compounds the problem by the use of physical tics such as flipping hair, flouncing shoulders, relying on the use of an inappropriately flirtatious smile or fluttering eyelashes. I am left with the impression that this is a woman who is not confident of her message and therefore needs to curry favor with the congregation by being adorable.

It might be useful for women clergy with these habits to practice preaching for a coach or friends with total lack of facial expression, using only her voice to communicate the strength and power of her message. Bad habits are hard to break and can require a lot of courage. We need to support each other in this work.

2. “Schoolmarm Voice”

As preachers, we are indeed teachers, but I am concerned that too many women ministers (and religious educators) take that role to heart in the way they present sermons and stories. We must guard against sing-songy cadences that insult the intelligence of our listeners and distract from the impact of our message. The schoolmarm cadence often comes with an attendant straining of the neck, tilting of the head, pursing of the lips and excessive blinking. These are all very ordinary tics and can be avoided by viewing ourselves on video and working to calm the nerves, connect with our congregation, and focus on the MEANING of what we are saying.

In fact, the biggest problem I am seeing with both female and male pastors is a sense of total disconnection between body, voice and message. Words are coming out, but no one’s home! The most emotionally and spiritually powerful worship services I have attended in the past years always happen when the liturgists embody their message from an authentic and present place. This isn’t necessarily a natural skill; some of us really have to work on it, and we should!

Preachers, readers, prayers: slow down! What are you SAYING!!? Do you BELIEVE IT? How is your life being changed by the message you’re sharing? These are NOT JUST WORDS.

When we get into schoolmarm mode, we also have a tendency to over-explain and over-instruct every aspect of the liturgy. Sometimes a hand gesture is worth a thousand confusing words.

3. “I Don’t Deserve To Be Up Here” Voice

This has been more of an issue with lay participants in than with ordained religious leaders in worship services I have attended, but I have seen it far too often in past years. Preachers, please WORK WITH YOUR LAY LITURGISTS and teach them how to project, how to use the microphone effectively, and how to CLAIM the pulpit or podium!!

I can’t count how many times I have been deprived of prayer or the reading of the gospel by lay or ordained readers who are apparently so unconfident, so out-of-breath or so casual as to mumble or murmur their way through their parts. This is a travesty of inclusion: if I have perfectly fine hearing and am still straining to hear, what kind of experience are our elders or hearing-impaired guests having?

For God’s sake… speak up! Pastors, it is commendable to share the pulpit with the laity but it is not commendable to leave them to fend for themselves up there. We all need training and orientation in order to meet the obligations of leading worship. Don’t fail to meet this responsibility due to some misguided sense of the priesthood of all believers. We’re not all natural talents; in fact, very few of us are.

Other Issues

4. Liturgy of the Living Dead

I’ve seen men suffer from this, but more so women. This is the strange and sad phenomenon of the woman preacher who is so unanimated and colorless as to seem vaguely shocked by the fact that she’s in front of a congregation at all. She seems to be sleepwalking through the liturgy completely disconnected from the proceedings. I consider this a subset of the “I Don’t Deserve To Be Up Here” issue.

Not every minister has to be a charismatic extrovert. I am often tremendously relieved when I meet ministers who have a zombie-like presiding style and find that they’re lovely, warm pastors who seem eminently comfortable with themselves and their roles as religious leaders. I think the issue of passive, expressionless and somnabulistic worship style is a matter of training and awareness: somewhere along the line, they never got fair feedback. They should. They very likely have no idea how they are coming across, and complaining behind their back is neither helpful to them or healthy for the Church. Speak up, dearly beloved. Coaching and training can help.

5. “Aunt Clara In the Pulpit”

This is the messy, scattershot female minister (I’ve seen guys do it, too) who hasn’t got the liturgical flow down and relies on an endearing, apologetic style to get her through Sunday morning. She skips elements of the liturgy by accident, her ponytail is falling down, and she looks like a nervous wreck during the Offering. She retreats way in the back of the chancel during hymn singing hoping that no one will notice that she hasn’t the vaguest sense of the tunes, and she muffs the benediction and laughs. She’s a sympathetic, real character… but way too real. To this gal we say: Hey lady, this is less cute than you think. Every time you charmingly mess up, you distract the congregation, shifting the focus from God to yourself. There’s no shame in rehearsing the whole thing a few times on Saturday night.

And to all of you: please don’t EVER, EVER apologize for what you do during worship. NEVER apologize for your sermon in advance. NEVER reveal that you feel less than stellar about the way that christening just went. NEVER put yourself down in the pulpit. It is distracting, ego-centric and wildly inappropriate. Don’t apologize: work harder. There is no excuse for us not knowing what we’re doing up there. Our mistakes should be minimal and when they do happen, they should pass by uncommented upon. This is not about us.

6. “Another Sermon About Shoe Shopping”

This is my joke code name for sermons or homilies by female pastors that head right into Oprah territory and never leave. While I am a strong believer in lifting up the sacred nature of woman’s work and women’s lives, I think we have to be careful to include a wider variety of examples and illustrations in our sermons than we are wont to do. I’m sorry, but I have NEVER heard a male pastor preach on dieting, while I’ve heard women do so three times in the past two years. Is this really the deepest we can go? I think we unconsciously reinforce sexism when we preach light-weight homilies that reinscribe traditional gender roles and make it seem as though all of our deepest concerns come connected to our ovaries. Gals, you’ll yell at me for saying it, but I think we really need to work on this.

7. Terminal Niceness: Walking On Eggshells With the Scriptures

It always depresses me when lay or ordained leaders give the Scripture readings with the same intonation they’d use reading a Hallmark card. People, we’re talking about the living God here! The Psalms should not sound like a recipe for brownies! Selections from Jeremiah or Romans should not leave me nodding into my bulletin!! Please — and women, we’re worse offenders than men in this wise — bring some passion and INTENTION to the Bible stories!! Paraphrase if you have to, bring it alive, TELL it! GIVE it! If people are placidly fanning themselves during the telling of the story of the Gerasene demoniac, there’s definitely something wrong. If you’re recounting the story of Job and you don’t see any change of expression out in the congregation, you’ve not doing your job.

I’m not saying to over-do it and ham it up, but monotonal, barely audible, rushed or sing-songy renditions that make it impossible to connect to the story are a serious liturgical failure. If we wonder why people aren’t interested in the Bible anymore, it may be because we’re doing such a crummy job of sharing it in worship.

I attended a church service three summers ago where a lay leader rushed up to the lectern to give the Old Testament reading, chortling and chatting as she set up the light and turned the pages of the Bible. It seems that she had almost forgotten that it was her turn to give the lesson and she had just returned from vacation the night before, and if she hadn’t had a call from Priscilla on the Worship Committee she just didn’t know that she would have even come to church at all…and oh! here’s the reading!

She then sped through some harrowing section from the Book of Daniel in the most off-hand possible tone, tilting her head and barely pausing at the ends of phrases as though she was entirely embarrassed and couldn’t wait to be done with the thing. She then gave a little giggle and shrugged and cringed her way back to her pew.

Someone was responsible for that little performance, and it was you and me, pastors.

Men have their own particular ways of obscuring their messages and messing up liturgy (ridiculously bombastic tones, cutesy twinkly-grandfather routines, distractingly folksy “I shore hope ya’ll like me” cadences, stiff, emotionless delivery, condescending or controlling messages — to name a few), but I’m talking to my reverend gal pals here.

Before you start romping on me in the comments like those gorillas romp on the suitcases in the old Samsonite commercials, just remember that I am speaking from my own personal experience in Christian and Unitarian Universalist congregations in five states and two countries.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about and every woman minister you’ve ever known has had tremendous gravitas and wonderful presence in the pulpit, I’m thrilled to hear it.

As far as my own sins and failings as a worship leader, I promise I got plenty of ‘em. I take my own development as a liturgist and preacher seriously, I attend continuing education and listen to myself on podcast, taking critical notes all the while. I groan with horror watching myself on video, and keep working to get better. I rehearse every ritual at which I preside — getting up and walking it through in the church or in my home. I try like the dickens to prepare every speaker and participant in our worship services, trying to strike an acceptable balance between my high expectations and respect for the time and talents of volunteers. I ain’t writing this as an expert (or even as a professor of worship, which I am) — just a woman who loves the Church and believes we would all benefit from deeper awareness of what we are bringing to the worshiping community.