Welcome Back, Pigeons!!

The HILLS are alive, with the sound of PeaceBang!!

Well, WHAT FUN.
I abandoned this blog about two years ago so that I could focus on finishing my Doctor of Ministry degree. That mission is accomplished and I graduated on May 21 in a funny hat and with many beloved friends and parishioners present. Thank you for your expressions of support and congratulations throughout the process. I am now the proud owner of a big whomping dissertation called “Covenanting: Ancient Promise and New Life For the Contemporary Church” which I think deserves to be published but you know, I just don’t feel like doing the work to get it to publishers. Maybe later, after I’ve had a few beers and thrown some books down a flight of stairs to release the tension.

The Facebook and Twitter phenomena took off right after I stopped blogging here, so I have been carrying on a lively discussion over at Facebook (as PeaceBang), which I will continue to do. I love the discipline of having to condense my blatherings to a few pithy phrases, which means that I will be blogging here on a less frequent basis than I used to. As I remarked to a crowd of Unitarian Universalists earlier this week at our General Assembly workshop on ministry and social media, I am verbally manic, so this is a health practice for me. No, it really is. If not for all of you I might be in a rubber room somewhere pontificating to the walls.

So this blog will be for the lengthier blatherings. It will be for podcasts and for a nice long coffee or cocktail break, as opposed to the shots of espresso we’re all tossing back as we stand at the Facebook bar. The PeaceBang blog may occasionally even be as long as a dinner party or a retreat as we converse at luxurious lengths about issues facing the Church, the soul, the world, and “RuPaul’s Drag Race, Season 4,” or whatever tickles our fancy. I have such a ticklish fancy, as you know!

My dear friend and partner in crime, the Rev. Scott Wells, has continued to advise me and to construct this blog. I really couldn’t do this without him.

The Bod Knows

Boy, was I verklempt yesterday at church. One thing I’ve learned during my months off is that my body tells the pure truth about everything I experience, while my mind is great at ignoring a good portion of that truth in favor of being practical, getting on with it, or just not wanting to deal with something too complicated. It’s like, Ermengarde came home with tons of fur missing, which I know is due to stress. I could say, “Cat, what’s your problem? You were put in a carrier and driven one hour last January to be beautifully welcomed by a loving human friend you’ve known for years. You stayed with him in his comfy house and received lots of love and perfect care for five months. You were affectionate with him, and by all accounts happy. So why all the fur fall-out?”
And the cat would say, if she could, “Well, all of those things are true but I was still under a lot of stress because I am a CAT and therefore I HATE CHANGE. And that’s what my body did to express that stress. And that is all.”

My body has a long history of being my best and most persistent, unvarnished truth-teller. It has been handing me the straight dope on life situations in the form of digestive problems, anxiety attacks, headaches, funny foot problems, skin rashes and boils and teeth-grinding since I was a wee lass (not all at the same time, thank God!). I have just this past year learned to respect it, listen to it, and stop overriding it with my intellect, which I have begun to understand is a stupid and even abusive thing to do.

For instance, the entire month I was planning my trip to Turkey-Greece-Romania I had stomach problems. I took Prilosec and acidopholus and worried about it; something must be WRONG. Am I allergic to dairy? Wheat? Gluten?

None of the above. I was just stressing about the trip. The moment I arrived in Istanbul, my system settled down and stayed reliably healthy for the next five weeks, through four different countries, many kinds of cuisines, and all kinds of dairy, wheat and gluten. No prob. I had mild heartburn a few times. Big deal.

It has also been important during this time of learning to respect the body to avoid people and media messages that perpetuate the notion that because I am fat, I am by definition unhealthy. I have come to realize that those messages do tremendous damage to my psyche (and therefore, my health!), and have worked hard to listen to the truth of my body rather than to the fear-mongers. We all have a different definition of “healthy,” no matter what the medical authorities say. Although I am not pleased with the obvious stress on my joints that comes with carrying so much extra weight, I also learned during my sabbatical that I am have days when I’m quite hale and hearty and some days when I’m out of shape and schleppy. Don’t we all? Again, it all originates in the psyche: I have had grueling days of travel that barely tired me at all, while one day of burning mental or emotional overstimulation can leave me exhausted and drained for days. I don’t want for this to be true, preferring to be consistently strong at all times but it doesn’t work that way. A nice recent achievement is that I no longer add to my burden of exhaustion by berating myself for it.

It never occurred to me that after receiving umpteen years of education to cultivate my intellectual knowledge, I might need to devote an equal number of years checking out books from my body’s vast library of information!

Yesterday I stood before the congregation and read these opening words, which I like very much:

We come to this time and this place
To rediscover the wondrous gift
of free religious community:
To renew our faith in the holiness, goodness and beauty of life,
to reaffirm the way of the open mind and full heart,
To rekindle the flame of memory and hope,
and to reclaim the vision of an Earth
made fair, with all her people one. – David Pohl

I never in a million years thought that those words would bring me to tears. But there you have it: my body remembered where I had recently been, experienced the vast chasm between “free religious community” and “oppressive dictatorship” or “genocide” and sent a lump to my throat. When I spoke of the “flame of memory and hope,” my body remembered flames of memorials in town squares and cities recently visited that commemorated wars and revolutions, and tears came to my eyes. That’s how it works, and I respect it.

Sometimes when I sit down in my little chair up at the pulpit after preaching or praying, a jolt of energy will shoot up my legs and into my lower back so hard and so fast that I gasp in pain. I know it’s the energy of the congregation and the Holy Spirit (or some might say kundalini energy) moving through me, blasting through my root chakra. I breathe deeply and ground it down through my legs, through my feet and into the earth. I used to think such things were probably New Age nonsense, but I have more respect for the ways the body works than that now.

Why doesn’t anyone teach us these things?
How can we include these insights in the public conversation about health and balance the purely statistical, death-phobic approach to “health” that dominates in our culture?

She Feels Called To Reconciliation

Cindy wrote in response to my earlier post, “The Whole Rick Warren Thing,”

Lesbian UU here.

And utterly unruffled by the Rick Warren pick. I’m not feeling any consternation. No anger at all.

I feel a growing spark of hope.

These days, I feel called — very powerfully called — to reach out in reconciliation. This is a time for GLBT folks to really show up in our communities and help the sick, the poor, the elderly and the children. My stripe of marriage has no bearing on my ability to do good works.

I somehow feel that, if I could make good on the goodwill that runneth over from the election, I should do it. If I can be visibly gay, visibly religious and visibly ready to bridge the distance between myself and the conservative end of the religious spectrum, I might be doing a fraction of that thing called “God’s work.”

I’m very moved by Cindy’s words. Not because she’s saying something that I agree with more than I agree with those who are angry and hurt by Obama’s choice of Rick Warren, but because she speaks so unapologetically about her sense of calling.

Unitarian Universalists are very good at sharing opinions — what we think – but if we are to mature as a people and live authentically into our covenantal promise to support one another in the “free and responsible search for truth and meaning,” we will have to become more accustomed to bearing witness to each other’s deep calling.

We have a long history of sharing our convictions through intellectual argument and rational persuasion (that has often been quite irrational, but I digress). I am excited by the possibility of a new era where we may speak of calling, of discernment and of how God may be working through our lives.

As my friend and colleague Adam says, “Rock ON.”