PeaceBang

Faith

I’m putting way too much faith in these guys right now, because frankly I don’t know how else to get through the next two days.

The idea of a McCain-Pain administration is beyond endurance (excuse me, I mean PaLin.)

It just is.

McCain scares me enough, but at least he’s experienced and might gather some strong leaders around him. She, however, genuinely horrifies me. A far right-wing babe in tight skirts and high heels whose charisma has actually persuaded many Americans that she possesses a worthy vision for our nation and can lead us to it. She’s a nightmare. A nightmare. And yea, I realize that this is a flip-flop from my earlier statement that we shouldn’t get all oogie-boogie about people whose views we don’t agree with. Just call me Big Ole Flippy Floppy Head. I can’t take it; I just can’t take a McCain-Palin win!

Please, God, please please please let us choose wisely.

‘Til Death Do They Part: Oh, Those Swans

One of the most difficult life passages a minister shares with her people is the end of a marriage. I don’t mean divorce — which is certainly deeply sad in its own way — but the parting that comes when one of the spouses dies.

Fifty-six years of marriage. Forty-two years of marriage. And most recently, sixty-nine years of marriage. I saw them as swans, mated for life with their necks intertwined. There is only one terrible thing about such a long and happy marriage: that it inevitably ends like this, with one weeping at bedside while the other closes her eyes, murmurs reassuring words, and turns her attention to her own dying.

They were so gentle with each other. He called her dear and she called him dear but pronounced it “De-ah.” They would often casually hold hands when I visited, sitting at their dining room table as we chatted — him 90 years old and her 88 or so. They met when she was a high school senior and were never apart again after that, until her death a week ago.

I caught another long-married couple holding hands over dinner the other night. In fact, this sort of thing is all around me in my parish. These marriages are evidence of something so beautiful and so possible and so ordinary, I draw life and hope from them as a bee draws honey from the flower. You can imagine me dressed in a little black and yellow striped outfit, sitting and visiting with my “old marrieds” and gently buzzing. A fat, grateful little bee, that’s me. Long and good marriages are under-appreciated in our society. I’m very much a hip, single chick and everything (snort), but retro enough to think think that long, sturdy marriages are an important part of the fabric of a healthy society (which is in large part why I work for marriage equality, duh!). Thanks to those of you who have good marriages, and who radiate the strength outward from your warm core.

After the funeral was over today, he and I sat at the collation and talked. “You’ll still come see me?” he asked, and of course I said I will. It’s well over an hour away and I can’t go often, but I’ll call and I’ll visit. When he got up to leave, we hugged for a long moment. “You’re a good girl,” he said to the top of my head. “You did a good job.”

Oh, how wonderful to be a “good girl” at almost forty-three years old. Far from being offended, I’ll absolutely take that to heart as a gift. And then just as I thought I was going to get away without a tear in my eye, I went to kiss his cheek. “Pucker up,” he said in his inimitable voice, thick with Boston influence and scratchy with age and character. We exchanged a smooch that I will always treasure for its evidence of spunk and sense of humor after the emotionally harrowing event he had just endured, and he walked toward the door carrying his oxygen, assisted by a walker, his daughter and son-in-law.

Those swans. Every minister hopes nothing more than for life-long devotion between any of the couples we marry, but the final act in that beautiful ballet certainly tears at the heart.

Ministers Who Have Taken Sabbaticals, Some Questions For You

Did it just fly by, or did you miss your church as much as I’m afraid I’m going to?

Because my congregation is “my best thing” (remember in Beloved when Sethe says that her baby daughter was “her best thing?” “She my best thing,” she said. Granted, Beloved was a tragic story about murder and trauma and the evils of slavery, but I have always loved the beauty of that line).

Church my best thing.

There are many other delights in life, goodness knows, but church is my center, my chief joy, my inspiration, my place of deepest meaning. Do I just stay well out of town and stay absorbed in other things, attend other churches (maybe become a regular at one specific congregation when I’m in one place for long enough)?

How do you keep from calling the office every few weeks and asking how everyone is, what’s going on and such?

Is there a ritual of letting go that you used privately or with your congregation? I do intend to remove my stole during the final worship service I have with them as a symbol of putting aside the “yoke” of ministry for the time (and yes, I will hand off that folded stole). Beyond that, what else could I be doing to prepare for almost half a year away?

I feel stupid for grieving, but as I plan and prepare, I have to admit that I am feeling grief mixed with excitement and appreciation. This is much harder than it looks.

Sunday Peace Offering

OMG, NOT HIM AGAIN

Would anyone else at this point like to see Ralph Nader rolled in peanut butter, dipped in birdseed, and securely taped to the nearest oak tree?

Matthew 25:36*

Should give some of you an idea of what a Christian UU blogger- — especially one with a long involvement in prison ministry- might be thinking of when she envisions a group of people meeting in a cell.

Frames and all that. I think it was Patrick who wrote about that aspect of how we read, and I thank him for his contribution.

But I just wanted to say the thing about Matthew 25:36, because I like to get a little Jesus sneaked in here once in awhile.

* For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

Pastoral Letter to Those Toiling in the Vineyards

After a lovely evening having dinner, drinking wine and watching the “Sex and the City” movie with a pal, I found a little flurry (4 or 5) of e-mails in my in-box from laypeople thanking me for my post on the over-simplification of our first principle among UUs and venting frustrations over lack of boundaries and high level of dysfunctionality in their congregations.

Thank you all for writing. Thank you for not identifying your congregations or your ministers (all of whom you are immensely supportive of within what sound like very conflicted systems, and bless you for that)). Please do not apologize for venting. You are giving of yourselves to your congregations heart, soul, mind and strength and I consider it an honor to hear from you.

Let me say this.

Hold on. Keep giving the best of you, keep planting the seeds of strength and health wherever you can and however you can, and water those seeds. Don’t be afraid to honestly admit that you are in a struggle for the future of an institution you dearly love. If some of the sickness does not heal, if health is not allowed to flourish, if certain behaviors are not confronted and remedied, your beloved community could die. Admit this, but don’t live in fear about it. Fear is a killer. Fear will shorten your breath and give you a suspicious eye and heart. Be not afraid. Jesus said that, not me. Don’t give me any credit for it. I just know it’s true.

Here it is: you are covenanted in fellowship and love with people you may see as troublemakers, but you can be in a covenanted relationship and still name and challenge poisonous behaviors when you see them. Asking questions is a good way to do this: ask people what their intentions are when they do things with which you disagree or find damaging to the integrity of your community. Engage with them on their answers. Be ready to explain your own perspective, to passionately speak to what you would wish for your community. Where you can build bridges, build them. If you decide that it would be best to burn some bridges, do so, but keep a careful eye on that fire and put it out safely and quickly. Where you can minister within the dysfunctionality and to the dysfunctional, do it. When you can bolster your minister’s sagging spirits, please do so, and allow him or her to do the same for you. Above all, minister to the health of the congregation.

Don’t let anyone kick you in the soul. If your soul feels punched around, get help. Start a meditation or prayer group. Hold hands with someone wise and calm. Play gorgeous music. Take a walk through the local cemetery with someone whose recent behavior or words have deeply troubled you. Ask them how they think the two of you might be remembered by the next generation of your congregation. Ask them what they think happens after death. Ask them if there was a heaven and they got there first, would they greet you when you arrived and show you around. Tell them a dirty joke. Consider that the person you so dislike might be incredibly, super insecure. Notice how small and dry their hands are and remember that they might be grieving some terrible loss. Not that that excuses their behavior, but it might give you some perspective on how huge they really need to loom in your life. Not so huge, right?

Work hard to keep your perspective. It is hard. I know.

Consider praying for the congregation — all of it, even those pesky troublemakers. Consider asking God, the Spirit of Life, or whatever your higher power is for peace, grace and accord among your people. It couldn’t hurt, could it?

When you are tempted to give in to despair, go dancing. Get a group of church friends and go sing karaoke. Cultivate joy. Make it a rule not to gripe about church politics past sundown, limit your e-mails to ten a day. If someone sends a crappy e-mail, respond with something light and brief (how I wish I had taken this advice myself all my life!). Thank them for their thoughts and sign off.
In other words, put boundaries around your unhappiness and give only an allotted amount of energy and attention to things you can’t control; like other people’s thoughts, feelings or opinions of you. Remember that many people act out in church because they don’t know how else to do church, or because they see themselves as prophets or “change-agents” or leaders who are speaking unpopular truths that no one else can see. Many of them deeply believe that they are making a contribution. Get to know them; learn about their sense of contribution. Then tell them what you think of their contribution. Explain to them what you think might be the far-reaching consequences of their actions. Just state your thoughts. Be prepared to hear theirs. This all needs to be out in the open if your community is to get past the perpetual dysfunction that you have described to me.

Don’t bother lobbying or campaigning to be liked or understood in the community. Forget about that; it doesn’t work. What does work is being totally, genuinely yourself at all times and shining forth your love for your faith and your community. Speak the truth as you understand it at all times and be prepared for someone to come to you and say, “Hey, I heard you said this about me.” Say, “Yes, I did. And here’s why.” Don’t hide anything you’re doing — be totally transparent about your goals and share them openly with anyone who cares to know them. There’s no shame in having hopes and dreams for your community; institutions can’t survive and thrive without them. If someone else has different goals, hopes or dreams, you should know those, too. When everyone is clear on what they hope for, people work together much more effectively. It’s those vague battles for power or murky, unspoken conflicts that exhaust a community and kill a church So ask “What do you think is actually going on here?” Try to find out what you’re fighting about, and ask the essential question:
“Do we want to make fighting central to our identity?”
If the answer is yes, start looking for another congregation. That’s nonsense, and it’s not what you need in your life.

Here’s some advice for you to put on your bedstand and hold to your heart every night before you go to sleep and every morning before you get out of bed. Paul wrote it to a contentious group of early Christians in Philippi. He said,

“Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.”

Good advice, wouldn’t you say?

I wish you joy in your congregations. I wish you the strength of the mountains in this work you do. I wish you the peace of God, the peace that passeth understanding, in your hearts. And I wish you the “Bang” that gives your ministry the spice, the passion and the irreverent sauciness that you need to keep on keepin’ on.

“Love one another, because love is from God.”
Isn’t that wild? We generally have no idea what it means, of course. But that’s what we’re here to find out.

Peace, my brothers and sisters.
And Bang.

P.S. If you liked the post, you may like my sermon “Inherent Worth and Dignity: The Starting Point.” It basically says the same thing, but with snappier stories and illustrations. It’s one of my very most favorites.

Most Upsetting Comment Ever, And How You Can Help Redeem It

I’ve been blogging for three years now, or is it four?

I’ve moderated and responded to hundreds of comments — maybe even a thousand. The vast majority of them have been delightful to read, and the conversation here energizing and interesting.
I’ve gotten into squabbles, been frustrated or irritated, and had my share of good rows, certainly.

But no comment has yet sickened, upset and depressed me as this one has. It appeared the other day in response to my suggestion that Ashley Todd be locked in a cell with a group of “tall, black men” (the bogeyman she invoked as her attacker when she had inflicted the wounds herself). I said, very clearly, that I respected Todd’s inherent worth and dignity enough to assume that she would learn something from the ensuing conversation.

The commenter wrote,

I suppose your idea of a fitting punishment is that those 20 tall black men would do violence to a lone woman. Probably sexual violence. And this seems likely.

A very disturbing suggestion from someone employed in ministry.

When I first read this comment I immediately thought, “Oh, some random racist troll chiming in, don’t bother responding.”

But then I saw that this hateful accusation and virulently racist remark had been contributed by someone calling herself “Dalai Grandma” — an active UU and long-time student of Buddhism. And my mouth fell open in shock and I felt physically ill.

Because, of course, what the “Dalai Grandma” wrote was a perfect, textbook example of projection and literal demonization. When I invoked “group of black men meeting with one white woman,” her imagination immediately led her to scenes of rape. Even though I made clear that Ashley Todd should meet with a group of men who had NOT been taken into custody but very likely COULD have been if her story had been more credible, Dalai Grandma was blind to that. She immediately translated “black men” into “dangerous criminals who want to rape white women.” Because in her mind, of course, that’s what black men do when they’re angry — they don’t talk, they attack and rape. “And this seems likely,” she confidently states.

This from someone who has studied Buddhism for years. I find it just staggering, and I have been unutterably depressed since I read it. Masssive disillusionment, I guess. Such a gross insult to all black men that it makes me heartsick. I had seen them in my mind’s eye, filing one by one into the cell with Ms. Todd, taking their seats and sitting forward while they talked urgently and passionately about the damage and harm she could have caused, about their own life experiences as black men in Pittsburgh, and about her responsibility to involve herself in some good works with the African-American community to attempt some kind of reconciliation with their people. I saw them in fleece pull-overs, jeans, sneakers, or sweaters, khakis and boots, maybe some coming from work in a suit and tie — I saw them as witnesses and truth-tellers. She saw them as rapists.

When I taught at Proviso East High School in Maywood, Illinois, I had a great conversation with some of my male students one afternoon. I had been driving to school that morning and had seen them hanging out on the corner together, slouching around, “cutting their eyes” and looking generally thuggish. I wanted to know what was up with that. I knew that these guys were not, in fact, gang-bangers — that they were athletes and good students and responsible kids who wanted to avoid winding up a statistic (dead or imprisoned).

The boys — I remember that one of them was Kamal, and one was DeShawn — I don’t remember the others — explained to me that they had to look tough on the streets for the benefit of other, truly tough kids and also for white people.
The latter option was more for fun — they knew that white people feared them on principle because they were young, black and male and standing on the corner in a group — so they acted the part.

We talked about the “White Lady Purse Grab” — the move they reported was made by literally every white woman they ever walked behind either singly or together. I got up and did it for them with my own purse and we all howled with laughter. The girls chimed in about what it felt like to be trailed all over every store they ever entered by nervous white managers who assumed they were there on a shoplifting expedition. We also talked about the “White Man Car Lock” — a move that Kamal performed with great gusto, pantomiming the wide-eyed fear and slapping of car door locks made whenever a hapless white person accidentally found him or herself at a stop sign or red light in Maywood, obviously having accidentally wandered over from nearby Oak Park or Forest Park.

“Yea, but I’ve done that,” I said to them. “Because you guys, come on. Some neighborhoods really are bad and dangerous and the cops have even escorted me home from some of them when I got lost late at night.”
“That’s true,” said my students. “But Ms. V., how would you feel if you SAW people slamming down their locks the second they see you? It just makes you WANT to scare them!”
“Well, don’t!” I said. “You know what you should do? You should imitate them and mock their fear and laugh and walk away. Don’t play into their low expectations of you!”

So we’d go on like this, and I learned so much from them. I will never forget them and their humor, resiliency, generosity of spirit and gift for openness and authenticity.

And then I think of the last time I gave a talk in a prison about peace-making in the system, using the ideas of Bo Lozoff (author of We’re All Doing Time and founder of the Prison Ashram Project, www.humankindnessfoundation.org). I think I pretty much bombed, but the 100+ African-American Men’s Caucus who had invited me, were kind to me, if obviously frustrated by my lack of ability to do anything concrete for them. I was definitely nervous being left alone in an auditorium with over 100 prisoners without any guards around, but that was more because I didn’t know what to do if my program tanked so badly that the men totally lost interest. What if I had scheduled too long a session? Who would help me supervise or facilitate some other kind of program?

So I don’t know. I’m not so naive as to think here aren’t overtly racist, irrational and inflammatory Unitarians out there, but it still depresses me. DalaiGrandma doesn’t think she was being racist or that she owes me an apology for accusing me of wishing violence and sexual assault on Ashley Todd. She claims, of course, that she is, in fact, the victim of my anger. Which is an avoidance technique with which anyone in social justice work is well-acquainted. “If you challenge me or call me to account for my statements, you’re victimizing me, because this all about ME.” Not a very original response.

DalaiGrandma, I hope you read this tidbit from the University of Michigan’s Sexual Assault Prevention and Awareness Center:

Myth: Black men target White women to sexually assault.

Fact: 93% of all sexual assaults are intra-racial. This means that White men are the primary perpetrators of sexualized violence against White women, and likewise African-American women and women of color are most commonly assaulted by African-American men and men of color. Of the 7% of sexual assaults that are interracial, 3.4% involve the assault of a Black woman by a White man, while 3.3% involve the assault of a White woman by a Black man (Menachem Amir, criminologist, 1991).

The myth of Black men targeting White women to sexually assault is based on a racist belief system. The myth of the Black rapist was created during Reconstruction to justify the lynching of Black men. Today, lynching is much less common, yet the myth of the Black rapist still permeates our culture. Read more about systems of oppression and the myth of the black rapist here.

And to directly address DalaiGrandma’s defense that sexual assault is common in prisons, yes it is: but it is overwhelmingly man-on-man violence and rape.

I will let Cornel West have the last word, from his book Race Matters,

Americans are obsessed with sex and fearful of black sexuality. … the fear is rooted in visceral feelings about black bodies and fueled by sexual myths of black women and men. … White fear of black sexuality is a basic ingredient of white racism. And for whites to admit this deep fear even as they try to instill and sustain fear in blacks is to acknowledge a weakness — a weakness that goes down to the bone. Social scientists have long acknowledged that interracial sex and marriage is the most perceived source of white fear in black people — just as the repeated castration of lynched black men cries out for serious psychocultural explanation. ”

Today I called the NAACP in Pittsburgh and asked how I could become a member. An individual membership is $30 ($15 for youth) and there are chapters or units all over the country. You can find one near you here. If you want to show solidarity with the Pittsburgh community, write and request a membership form from the Pittsburgh NAACP at 2203 Wylie Avenue, Pittsburgh, PA 15219, Att: Gwendolyn Ware.

You can also download membership forms online in PDF file, and write Unit 2285 if you’d like your membership to be with the Pittsburgh chapter (the NAACP is a national organization but each chapter fundraises separately).

The NAACP celebrates their centennial next year in New York, and they are in the midst of a big membership drive right now. Let’s make some kind of silk purse out of this sow’s ear. I hope you’ll join.

Happy Halloween!

[Disclaimer: These are not my animals. Thanks to Fausto for the links!]

Playing Junior Psychologist When Morality Is Just Too Scary To Touch

Regarding Ashley Todd, the woman who beat herself up and scratched a (backward!) “B” into her face, falsely claiming that she was mugged by a “tall, black” Barack Obama supporter, I said,
“She should be dunked or put in the stocks.”

Others said she was pathetic, obviously sick, and deserved compassion. This writer, Mary, articulated the latter position particularly well when she wrote,

I’m struck and somewhat sadden by the seeming lack of awareness and sensitivity to the fact that people do in fact suffer from mental illness, and that such illness gone untreated often does result in such offensive and unacceptable behavior. The mentally ill have long been held up to public ridicule and marginalization with little or no voice to counter such attacks. Still, are not human beings who suffer with mental illness deserving of being granted their inherent worth and dignity, as promised in the first UU Principal? I’m not defending the actions of this young woman, but I am asking that we look a little further than her mug shot. Compassion is on vacation when this country seems to need it most.

I had hoped that someone would say something like this, and Mary answered my prayers. Because I think it’s worthwhile for UUs to look at my point of view and Mary’s, and to see where they fall on the spectrum of the first UU Principle (which calls us to affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every human being).

When it comes to interpreting this principle, I am definitely a Justice Scalia among my co-religionists.
I believe that if Ashley Todd was of sound enough mind to figure out this scheme, to know that if believed, she would create a media sensation and cause serious damage for the Obama campaign, she is responsible for her actions. So far as we know, Todd didn’t hear voices in her head giving her the idea. She is mentally competent enough to attend college, to drive a car, to campaign for various candidates, and to hold a job. Although reported as a mere volunteer for the College Republican National Committee, she was under contract as a paid organizer for them until the time of her arrest, at which point her contract was, um, terminated.
Ashley Todd is functioning well enough in society that we can assume she knows what she’s doing.

Todd may, in fact, be mentally ill, but that determination should not override or obscure Unitarian Universalist reflection on her obvious moral reprehensibility. For too long, UUs have chosen to pathologize and diagnose the mental health of others when we want to avoid moral discernment. I came to this concusion during a Ministry Days program at GA where the keynote speaker offered to our gathered colleagues an interpretation of George W. Bush as a “dry drunk.” This would, of course, give us all a legitimate foundation for our almost unanimous loathing of Bush. For years afterward you’d hear UU ministers earnestly dissecting George Bush’s psyche in the same terms the presenter had used. “He’s a DRY DRUNK,” they’d say, as though being able to diagnosis the president gave them some power over him. Ooooh, we got him pinned!

Of course pathologizing Bush as a “dry drunk” achieved nothing but to allow the assembled clergy a way to channel their own helpless rage. “He has far more power than all of us combined, but he’s a DRY DRUNK!” Absolutely futile. How was that supposed to serve our ministries?

I did not attend that lecture. Had we invited a theologian to speak about the question of individual evil or sin, and had we then been invited to reflect on whether we thought that George W. Bush was merely sinful or truly evil, I would have attended. I am a minister. If I wanted to apply the lens of psychology to all human problems I would have become a psychologist or social worker.

Let’s let the clinicians work with Ashley Todd to see what kind of treatment for mental illness she will pursue (as she has been court-ordered to do). As religious people reflecting on her crime, however, let’s remember that affirming our first principle does not prohibit us from claiming that some people are reprehensible and their actions morally despicable.

Not to put to fine a point on it and with all sincere apologies to Mary (who made clear that she was not excusing Todd’s actions), I believe that Unitarian Universalists too often use the first principle as a mushy, sentimental instant escape clause when they don’t want to have to say “That was morally wrong and here’s why.”

Having spent my life in this movement, I notice that whenever anyone among us rises to say, “That behavior is absolutely wrong,” another will rise just as fast and say, “It makes me SAD that you’re so insensitive to this person, who obviously has serious emotional problems/mental illness/wasn’t loved in his or her childhood/is the product of an abusive system, etc.”
And that’s where the buck stops. Right there. Want to know why our congregations are so small and so often dysfunctional? That’s it in a nutshell.

Oh, and by the way, here’s Ashley’s MySpace page, containing this headline chosen by her,

“Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her cloths [sic] off, but it’s better if you do.”

I don’t think what Ashley Todd most needs right now is compassion. I think what she needs right now is to spend some time in a cell with about 20 tall, black men who weren’t taken into custody that night in Pittsburgh but who might have been, had she been just a little more credible in her story. See, ’cause I respect Ashley’s inherent worth and dignity enough to assume that she might actually learn something from that conversation,and therefore be able to think about what she’s doing before she pulls such a prank for the third time.

She’s a sad, messed-up case all right, but also very ambitious. And if you’re an Obama supporter, you can bet she doesn’t want your pity.