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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.”

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Eight Random Thoughts on the Eighth Night Of Chanukah

Some thoughts:

1. I think there should be a Chanukah drinking game involving Bernie Madoff where you get to curse his name and then drink. Something reminiscent of the Purim noise-making when Haman’s name is mentioned or fun stuff you get to do when the plagues are enumerated at the Passover seder.

Ach. That shyster should rot in the Hell I don’t believe exists.

2. Someone at church who shares my love of Yiddish called me a “tummler” today. Here, look it up. The world needs more Yiddish. I am taking it as a compliment (especially from him). We had a fun service and I gave a sermon called “Outrageous Stories From Twelve Years in Parish Ministry.” The recording will not be made public, because although I used no names, changed a few pertinent details and was intentionally vague about what happened where, I did tell some true and truly outrageous stories.

3. What is this “restless leg syndrome?” Here’s why I ask: I am a very light sleeper who has a very difficult time getting a good night’s sleep if anyone else is in the bed. This has created some friction in relationships, as in, I refuse to marry anyone who won’t eventually agree to the idea of separate bedrooms. So I’m thinking maybe I can use this syndrome as an excuse. Who wants to spend the rest of their life sleeping next to someone who kicks them all night long? “I do love you, sweetheart. It’s just that I have Restless Leg Syndrome. That’s why I want you to move into the bedroom across the hall. Don’t take it personally. It’s just for sleeping.”

4. Can someone explain to me why my cat and my dog both clamber on top of me in order to smell my breath very carefully whenever I’m sick? They’re like little nurses with really serious boundary issues: I’ll be sound asleep, maybe running a little fever, and I wake up with this enormous pair of worried cat or dog eyes staring at me and a canine or feline snout practically in my mouth as the animal worriedly sniffs for… for what? What are they doing? Do they go out into the hallway afterward and consult?
Did I already write about this? Well, I’m still confused about it, that’s why.
But check this out. I’m not surprised.

5. I’m turning 43 in a few weeks. I can’t muster any interest in this birthday because 43 strikes me as the most boring possible age to be. I’ll be in Texas at the time and I’ll probably even forget about it. I won’t even know when it’s January 14th. Forty-three? That’s so uninteresting I’ll probably just start saying that I’m “Forty-Whatever.” Like I used to be “Thirty-Something,” now I’m “Forty-Whatever.”

6. Guess what? My blood pressure has gone down to totally healthy levels. I think I have a certain beagle and tabby cat to thank for that, so I feel that I can medically prescribe adopting a dog to all of you. I am a big believer that more animals = higher cuteness+hilarity factor+ walks every day = lower blood pressure. See? I’m right!
But did I tell you? After having lost 25 lbs. on Weight Watchers last year, I’m now on the Bread, Cheese, Christmas cookies and Fried Party Food diet. It’s pretty rigorous but not as much as the Pizza, Panera and Salty Snack Foods diet I was following this fall. That really took some discipline. So anyway, if you attend Weight Watchers meetings in Amarillo, Texas, we can go out for (decaf, low-fat milk) coffee afterward.

7. I would have to say that the second best thing to being in a great romance yourself is to watch your friends fall in love with someone new. YAY.

8. After shopping extensively for a tricked-out Verizon-compatible phone that would let me write and retrieve e-mail, web surf, show me how to get where I’m going, and do my nails for me, I took the advice of my dear friend Huntington Lyman III (his real name) and got an iTouch instead. Because I have had an epiphany: I hate the phone. As Hunt said, “I don’t need to be more tethered to the phone.” So now I can leave the phone at home and have music, photos and the internet in my pocket, and if there’s no WiFi around, I can’t even access the internet. Technology is beautiful.

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Ham

I remember a Christmas Day about ten years ago.
I was so, so tired — a new minister whose tummy still got tied into nervous knots at the prospect of planning and leading Christmas Eve services.
I slept late, and then drove to the nearby city to be with a friend.
He was pastoring a church at the time and was similarly tired.

We sat on rickety chairs in his living room and watched “Damn Yankees.” Between us, on a baking sheet, was a large leftover portion of spiral ham. Too tired for plates or forks, we picked at that ham (Lord, I ate a lot of that ham!) and drank Riesling wine and watched Gwen Verdon dance and it was just wonderful.

ham

Thanks be to God for that friend,
(thanks be for that ham!)
you know who you are,
and I remember that Christmas every year.

And I dare some country-western singer to write a song about our Christmas ham, because someone should.