sUbteXt

Happy New Year

2011-12-30T15:19:00.000-07:00

Nori’s Nuggets

Let everything happen to you
Beauty and terror
Just keep going
No feeling is final
–Rainier Marie Rilke

First I have to make one thing perfectly clear: I am not an adrenaline junkie. Roller-coasters terrify me and even water slides give me great anxiety. I won’t even get into my ill-fated attempt to learn to ride a motorcycle (I was turning 41; clearly a mid-life crisis).

Suffice it to say I have never done anything in life purely for the rush it might bring me.

So how did I come to find myself on the morning of September 17 in a small airplane with a snug harness on my body, sitting on the lap of a tandem sky-diving instructor?

What on earth possessed me to make the decision to step out of a perfectly good airplane?

Back when I was in my 20s I had made a bucket list (before the term bucket list was even coined, I might add) of things to do before I died. As years passed and I wasn’t accomplishing any of these five items, I decided a more specific "dead"line might be useful. So I amended it to "Things to do before I’m 50." The five things were: scuba-diving, para-sailing, riding in a helicopter, hot-air ballooning, and sky-diving. Clearly, I needed to make these a list to focus on since none of them would naturally occur in my non-athletic, non-thrill-seeking, somewhat sedentary life.

I accomplished the first three in a single week on the island of Maui, HI when I was 31.

The para-sailing and helicopter ride were both fun; I learned in scuba-diving that I have serious control issues around when and how I get to breathe. But then there was a long dry period of, well, 18 years and as I turned the corner on my 49^th birthday this past June I realized it was time to get serious about checking the other two items off my list.

My niece Pam got the ball rolling. She had already sky-dived and was ready to do it again. She posted on my facebook wall, other nieces saw and wanted to join and the decision was made to do it when everyone would be here for Sam’s 16^th birthday.

Reservations were made (and reservations were had by me, but I pushed them to the back-burner of my mind; there was too much other fun stuff to focus on: my entire family descending from all parts of the nation for Sam’s birthday; Sam’s party itself, which was epic; the sermon I still had to prepare for Sunday, on the off chance I survived my jump). Suddenly it was the day. We all got up at the crack of dawn and drove to the sky-diving place just outside of Canon City. When we were all assembled it was my brother, Erik; nieces, Pam, Rachael, and Marissa; a friend of Pam’s; and me.

The small plane took us up two at a time; through no planning on my part, Erik and I were to be in the last plane. It was truly beautiful and amazing to see the other four jump out of the plane, two by two, and watch as their chutes blossomed open and they gently glided to land.

Now it was our turn. Erik climbed in first, positioned himself on top of his instructor and my instructor and I followed suit (Erik’s instructor said, jokingly, "I bet this is the first time you’ve paid so much money to sit on a man’s lap." I chimed in "It is for me, too." I’m not sure they got the joke). But for the rest of the 20 minute ride I was mainly quiet. I could sense this growing anxiety in me, even though I knew I had a fairly good chance of surviving this jump (and as one friend said on fb "If not, it’ll only hurt once." Cold comfort, those words) and living to preach the following day. I was trying mainly to just stay in the moment, to take in the beautiful vista of the Royal Gorge, and to ask myself, What am I to learn here? Why am I doing this? I wanted to be open to the lesson, not the adrenalin rush.

Finally, the pilot said, "Door!" My instructor open the door and I did as I had been instructed, following his left foot with mine, placed on the step there; next was my right foot. That was the most terrifying moment and I barely had time to feel it before we were out; tumbling over and over in an incredible bullet-fast rush through the skies. After about 30 seconds, my instructor pulled the chute cord and there we were: gracefully wafting down, the silence even more noticeable after the rushing of air during free fall. It was an amazing experience.

And here’s what I learned from it: that there are many times in life when I am facing something unknown; a new challenge, a stepping off from the norm; and if I wanted to, I could let the terror get the best of me and back away– and often I do remain in the place of terror, fear, anxiety longer than I need to because there’s no one there to make me jump but myself. But really (and this is true as I look back on all my free-fall experiences, mainly metaphorical though they may be) once I let go, once I give in to the moment and just free-fall– I have fun; I find I can do something I wasn’t sure I could; I discover I’ll survive.

As we come into this New Year with new opportunities for growth and change– with all the accompanying terror and uncertainty– this is a lesson I want to take with me into 2012; this is a moment in time I want to remember when it feels as if I’m being asked to step out of a perfectly good plane: the getting there is the scariest part; once you let go and jump out, it’s a fabulous ride. Happy New Year.

Tis the Season

2011-11-23T00:50:00.000-07:00

Here is my newsletter article for December. I have also been participating in NANOWRIMO-- National Novel Writing Month-- working on finishing a 50,000 word novel (minimum) so my little brain is fried. New Year's Resolution: Blog more!
Happy Holidays!

There are seasons, in human affairs, of inward and outward revolution, when new depths seem to be broken up in the soul, when new wants are unfolded in multitudes, and a new and undefined good is thirsted for. There are periods when...to dare, is the highest wisdom. - William Ellery Channing, Unitarian Preacher

I must be getting older because I can hardly believe December is upon us with its frenzied excitement; its religious celebrations–from Buddha’s enlightenment to Solstice and Hanukkah, to Christmas and Kwanzaa. I have become one of those people who say “But wait! Where did the year go?” Not in a curmudgeonly manner but in a sense of legitimate amazement that another 12 months has flown by; that another calendar is on its last page and here I am!

The quote above, which I have shamelessly stolen from the facebook wall of our former DRE, Stephanie Sharp, seems especially poignant for this time of the year.

We come to the longest day and the earliest shopping opportunity, we light the festal lights and go to Christmas parties, and it can be so easy to skip over the bigger questions: what do these holidays mean? What am I supposed to be learning here? How can I slow down enough to at least be mindful that another minute, another hour, another day has passed– even if I can’t tell you all the details of the story that went with them?

We call this the holiday season, but Channing refers to seasons as having a broader sense of purpose. Perhaps this year we can look at the Christmas story of a homeless teen giving birth in the Red Cross shelter to a baby who would grow up to challenge the unjust systems and structures of his day, who would couch his revolution in the language of the religion and the language of the law that both governed over and oppressed the peoples of the land. How can that story of inward and outward revolution speak to us? In which areas of our lives– whether personal, professional or spiritual-are revolutions fomenting; under the surface at the moment but sure to erupt soon, and how can we embrace those revolutions as part of our evolution rather than as rabble-rousing that is upsetting our comfortable status quo? What if we looked at the Hanukkah story; the bravery of the Maccabees in fighting the Egyptians for the spiritual and cultural foundation as an outward revolution that also led to new depths being plumbed in the soul; even though there was not enough oil, it lasted as long as it was needed. In what area of our life do we feel as if we can’t succeed, don’t have enough, are on our last legs and how can we find the courage, like the Maccabees, to just keep going back to the jar that should be empty and discovering that in the very act of seeking, we find enough for what we need, we discover new depths in our soul that we would have never known existed if not for going back to a seemingly empty place to seek again. And what if we viewed Kwanzaa, not just as an African American holiday, but as a ritual borne out of multitudinous new wants for a better life, for more respect; a ritual borne out of the realization that at the end of the day it is up to us to define our values and claim our heritage in such a way as to live from our highest self. Finally, what if the anniversary of Buddha’s enlightenment on December 8 (Bodhi day on which some Buddhists celebrate Gautama's attainment of enlightenment under the Bodhi tree at Bodhgaya, India) was seen as that hallmark moment in the Buddha’s life when a new and undefined thirst for goodness brought enlightenment. Where are we simply accepting the injustices of our world, in our own lives, and our own complicity in them. What goodness, if we let our heart open to the possibility of it, could we thirst for– new and undefined, not knowing how it will all turn out, just knowing that we thirst for that goodness and that gives us the courage to see how it can unfold if we let our lives take root in the thirst.

As we go to the parties; as we do last minute shopping–online or in brick and mortar stores; as we struggle with loss or depression more poignantly felt at the holidays let us resolve not to let this holiday season to pass by in a blur; rather let us take time to seek the wisdom of each of these spiritual events and let go even further: let us dare to be willing to be changed by revolutions within our hearts and in our world; let us dare to plumb the depths of our soul, rather than stopping when we think we’ve gone as far as we can; let us acknowledge our desires and our wants even if they seem unreachable; let us open our jaded, arid spirits up to a thirst for goodness-nascent and unknowable as that might be. Let us dare to live into the wisdom of this season of our human lives. Happy Holidays.

CommUUnity

2011-09-30T12:39:00.000-06:00

Again-- this will be my newsletter article for All Souls The Path newsletter.

It goes on one at a time,
it starts when you care
to act, it starts when you do
it again after they said no,
it starts when you say We
and know who you mean, and each
day you mean one more.
- Marge Piercy

I love this poem by Marge Piercy. I often think of it when I feel as if I am not making a difference in the world; when I am feeling alone or lonely. This poem reminds me of two things.

First, it reminds me that every little step forward is progress; it goes on one at a time, every time we act. It continues on when we no longer see ourselves as separate from one another but rather, as all bundled together in the cosmos.

This poem, and indeed, our Unitarian Universalist faith, calls us to deeper and deeper connections. It calls us to daily widen the circle of love in which we stand so that more are included.

Coming out as a lesbian when I was 16 years old was the beginning of ever-widening the circle for me. I suddenly realized that I was part of “the other,” the nameless, faceless assortment of those who did not fit, were not invited into the circle of love for the majority, the “normal,” the comforting sameness of life.

I distinctly remember what it felt like to be on the outside of that invisibly etched circle of inclusion. It was a revelatory moment for me. Or really, more aptly, it was the moment of the “big bang” explosion of my conscious existence. A whole universe filled with galaxies of possibilities burst forth when I came out; when I realized the “other” was just another facet of me I had not yet met.

So from that moment, my universe has been expanding to include ever more diverse peoples and cultures as part of my “We.” First I reached out to the feminists, the pro-choice and included them in my “We.” Then I reached out in solidarity – or rather reached back– to the poor, those living at or below the poverty line, whose lives echoed my beginnings in this world. I reached out to people of color, begin to educate myself about my own inherent racism; how merely by dint of my skin color, I belonged to an oppressive, systemic racist culture. I included, then, people of color into my “We” and those of the dominant culture who were trying to healing racism into my “We.” I went on to include other ways of being in relationship into my “We” as well; those whose hearts and loves didn’t fall into the neat and tidy categories of monogamous, life-time partnerships of two people (regardless of gender), and of course, gender-variant people as well are now a part of my “We.”

I’ve got to be honest here: every time my universe expanded to include more people, I felt uncomfortable. I felt resistance to the idea of stepping outside of my comfort zones of who could possibly be “in” and then, of course, those who were left out. And I’m certainly not to the point where my “We” leaves no room for an “other.” I keep expanding still; not always easily or gently, but it does go on one at a time when I care to act, when I care to learn about those who are different from me, rather than judging them; when I intentionally participate in diversity in community rather than insist on division and commonality.

It seems as if October is a month for continuing to increase the circle .

First, we will gather in all our diversity as the Mountains and Desert District at our annual meeting next weekend, where I will preach at the closing worship service on the 9th.

That same afternoon, at 2 pm, back at All Souls, I will be celebrating my fellowship status as a UUA minister with an Affirmation of Call service, in which Rev. Meg Riley will be preaching.

Finally, on Saturday, October 15, at the 2011Colorado Springs NAACP Freedom Fund Gala I will be presented with the Religious Affairs Award. This is awarded to a member of the clergy/faith community who has made a difference in the causes of diversity and inclusion and has offered unwavering support of the programs and mission of the NAACP (for more information on this event go to ColoradoSpringsNAACP.org).

I am honored and humbled to receive such an award. In my mind, I haven’t done much more than to step into the NAACP circle of love and expand mine to include them. All these events are so meaningful to me and remind me again that if we can just say “We” and mean one more each time, there is nothing that can stop us from over-turning systems and structures of injustice, insuring all people have their basic needs met and that the planet is a safe place in which to live and grow. This will become easier when we realize “we” are saving ourselves; that there is no “other,” for we are all one, we share in our common unity as sojourners on this planet.

Slutwalk Colorado Springs

2011-08-26T22:47:00.000-06:00

Nori’s Nuggets (My September newsletter article...advance copy!)

Rape exists, in part, because society continues to support most myths which condone the act itself and place the blame and responsibility upon the victim. These attitudes can be seen in our literature, religions, laws, music, science, advertising, and daily conversation - all aspects of our culture. — from http://www.domesticviolenceservices.com/rapemythsandfacts.html

Sadly, the above assertion is all too true, as was spotlighted on January 24, 2011 in the case of a representative of the Toronto Police who asserted: “women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized”.

In a galvanizing response, Slutwalks have been organized in many countries and here in the United States, many cities. I am the co-organizer of such an event that will be held on Sunday, September 18 at 6 pm. While the final route is yet to be determined, I am encouraging as many of you as possible to attend this important event. As the above website notes, it is a myth that women provoke rape by the way they dress; that they ask for it:

Fact: No woman's dress or behavior gives someone the right to sexually assault her. According to the Federal Commission on Crimes of Violence, only 4% of the reported sexual assaults involved any participative behavior by the victim, and most of this consisted of nothing more than dressing or walking in a way that is socially defined as attractive. Even in a situation where a woman is flirtatious or clearly interested in sex, she is not asking for rape. Rape in an attack in which the victim's life is controlled by the attacker. No person asks for or deserves such an assault. A hitchhiker is asking for a ride, not a violent attack. Part of the problem also lies in the interpretation men put on women's behavior. When women are cheerful and friendly, which they have been taught to be, some men interpret this as a "come-on." Again, this myth forms a part of the "good woman's" defense against a sense of vulnerability.

That this myth is being perpetuated in 2011 undermines the sad facts of rape: 90% of group rapes are planned; 58% of single rapes are planned; 75% of all rapes are planned. Also, one important emotional payoff for the rapist is to be in control, not out of control. The primary motive displayed by most convicted rapist is aggression, dominance, and anger, NOT sex. Sex is used as a weapon to inflict violence, humiliation, and conquest on a victim.

Here are more facts from the domestic violence website: Rape is the fastest-growing and most under reported crime. Over "one-third" of all women in this country will be sexually assaulted or abused in their lifetime. An estimated 4-5 out of every 10 of all American children (under 16) are sexually molested. 50% are males. Studies show about 90% of these involve someone the child already knows. Only about 1 in 10 rapes of adults is reported, and fewer assaults of children are reported.

Additionally, although women between the ages of 15 and 25 are at somewhat higher risk of sexual assault than any other age groups, victims of reported rape in this country range from 3 weeks old to 93 years old. Clearly, these fall outside the purview of those “who ask for it.”

Sexual assault of any kind is wrong. It can be particularly shameful for those who work in the sex industry as prostitutes, strippers or exotic dancers. These, too, are innocent victims. A person’s work or dress does not mean anyone asks for rape. I invite you to join me and others in the SlutWalk Colorado Springs on September 18, following our 5 PM First Source service (which will be a service of healing and solidarity for those who have been victims of sexual assault). Together, we can make a difference. In the meantime, I invite you to remember these fool-proof

tips to avoid sexual assault:

Don’t put drugs in people’s drinks in order to control their behavior.

When you see someone walking by themselves, leave them alone.

If you pull over to help someone with car problems, remember not to assault them.

NEVER open an unlocked door or window uninvited.

If you are in an elevator and someone else gets in, don’t assault them.

USE THE BUDDY SYSTEM! If you are not able to stop yourself from assaulting people, ask a friend to stay with you while you are in public.

Always be honest with people! Don’t pretend to be a caring friend in order to gain the trust of someone you want to assault. Consider telling them you plan to assault them. If you don’t communicate your intentions, the other person may take that as a sign that you do not plan to rape them.

Don’t forget: you can’t have sex with someone unless they are awake.

Carry a whistle! If you’re worried you might assault someone “accidentally” you can hand it to the person you’re with so they can blow it if you do.

Don’t assault people!

The reality is this: no one of any gender, sexual orientation, age, race or social status asks for rape, no matter what they’re wearing or where they’re walking. Let’s join together to take a stand in solidarity with victims of rape and say no more to the mindless stereotypes that perpetuate further victimization. Go to http://slutwalksprings.com for more information about this upcoming event and others like it.

Taking a Chance

2011-07-28T10:33:00.000-06:00

Here is my August newsletter article for the All Souls newsletter.
(with a special shout-out to Rev. Meg Riley, senior minister of Church of the Larger Fellowship, whose recent video on turning fear into love inspired this. You can view it at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rK2Z2uc7qM4&feature=mfu_in_order&list=UL)

Someday I am going to ask my friend Paulus,
the dancer, the potter,
to make me a begging bowl
which I believe
my soul needs.

And if I come to you,
to the door of your comfortable house
with unwashed clothes and unclean fingernails,
will you put something into it?

I would like to take this chance.
I would like to give you this chance.

To Begin With, the Sweet Grass –Mary Oliver

Is it just me or do you some days feel as if the world is spinning out of control? We are on the brink of economic disaster on a national level that many of us already feel in our personal lives. A gunman hunts down and kills scores of young people on an island in Norway after setting off a car bomb in Oslo. And many of us feel as if we, too, face frightening things out of our control: a looming divorce, or the long wait for biopsy results; a significant loss. The temperature seems to rise as folks dismiss global warming, our level of anxiety and stress keeping pace with this precipitous climb.

In times like these it seems as if our default is to isolate. To burrow into our cocoon of fear and anxiety as if we expect transformation can happen in such an environment. Or else we posture and eye the opposing sides to see which one can give us the illusion of safety, creating an “us” and “them” mentality which also, conveniently, gives us someone to blame. Someone whose fault it is. It’s the Democrats! It’s the Republicans! It’s the undocumented citizens! It’s the border patrol.”

All of this and more has been eddying in my own mind for weeks, months. Who is right? Where will this all end? And into these questions comes Mary Oliver’s tender words. What if I came to the door of your comfortable home, with the filth of poverty and despair, of uncertainty and need like a halo around me, begging bowl in hand asking you to see me, to see me and not turn away? Would you put something in it?

What if we each did this with one another, open and vulnerable in our need. What if we broke through the isolation of our pain and fear and showed up in one another’s lives.

Now, in this time of uncertainty, is not the time for pointing fingers or placing blame. Now is not the time to isolate or draw up the moat to our souls.

Now, more than ever, is the time to take a chance in our humanity, to knock on one another’s doors, bowl in hand; begging, not for pity, but for compassion; for the opportunity to be seen rather than catalogued. So I invite you this month, to take that chance, to knock on someone’s door.

And if someone knocks on your door, begging bowl in hand, bow to the gift and take a chance by opening up and letting them in. That is, I believe, the only way we ultimately can survive this adventure called life, in good times and bad.

Somehow We Get There

2011-07-15T00:51:00.004-06:00

Tonight I joined a couple of friends to see the Springs Ensemble Theatre production of Welcome Home, Jenny Sutter. It was an intense, incredibly well-cast play about the struggle of Marine Jenny Sutter to come to terms with where she’s been (Iraq) and try to find a way back home. A story about wondering if home is where it was when she left, if anyone could see the scars seared into her soul and her body, if people could look at her and ever see her as beautiful again.

It was a poignant, honest portrayal of what it’s like for some soldiers coming home from hot zones, trying to make sense of their lives, trying to interpret what they’ve been through in that surreal war zone that sometimes seems more real than the wonder bread context of "home."

And though Jenny is the main character– and the only one who has been to war- the other characters are dealing with their own trauma, they each have their own scars–external and internal that they intermittently try to control or deny, with only sweet moments of vulnerability in which the frightened, scarred person within them makes a desperate bid for connection with another.

It was a really well done performance and, laudably, there was information available for vets of wars from Iraq and Afghanistan to Vietnam and a list of resources to help veterans of any war come to terms with a reality that includes a past most of us can’t even begin to comprehend.

After sharing a few post-show comments with my friends and hugging them goodbye, I got into my car and drove out of the parking lot and turned right. Being directionally impaired, I quickly realized that I was probably going a longer route home than I needed to. So I opened up the nav screen of my car’s GPS, selected destination and punched on the tab that said, simply, home. Quickly the GPS consulted some satellite flying thousands of miles above and showed me the quickest way home.

I was thinking, as I drove, how cool it would be if there were some kind of soul GPS, some kind of heart guidance, into which we could simply push the tab that said home and it would navigate the easiest route for us, the route that would get us there the quickest. How amazing it would be if for veterans and those scarred by abuse or incest or other trauma; those who got seemingly irretrievably lost on a road we thought led to love, fulfillment, security, only to find ourselves instead blind-sided by pain and betrayal; orphaned by loss.

The British voice on my GPS confidently told me when to turn left and when to turn right– even gave me warnings as to how far before the next change would be. "In a quarter of a mile, turn right." I could get into the right lane, check the street name also helpfully shown on the display.

As I pulled up to my house the voice in the GPS said in a soothing voice, as if singing a lullaby, "You have arrived at your destination. Your route guidance is complete."

And yes, there was my house, with the lights blazing and the always smiling lawn gnome to welcome me home.

And as the voice stopped speaking the next song on my iPod queued up: Somehow We Get There by Melissa Ferrick. Stunned at the synchronicity of the moment, I turned off the engine and listened in the silence to the words of this home–sick song. The chorus reminded me that

But you know
Somehow we get there
Through the blind night
We got the white lines flashing past the tip of our headlights
Somehow we get there
From wherever we are
Somehow we get there
No matter how far

The reality of it is, there is no GPS for the soul, no heart guidance to get us to home, to tell us when we’ve arrived so we don’t pass by, thinking it only a rest area. There is no simple way for us to navigate our realities, to traverse the wide and rocky terrain that waits before us when we get lost. Still, I took comfort from the words of this song. That if we just keep traveling, if we just keep stumbling along. If we feel the pain of the moment and live fully into that without trying to deny or repress it, if we can welcome with open arms the joy that shows up, the unexpected graces that bless us on the journey, somehow we will get there, we will find our home. We will, if we pay attention, know when we’ve arrived without some artificial voice telling us.

Maybe, we don’t have GPS, but we do have a compass. The compass of love and compassion, the compass of hope and faith– faith in ourselves, in the road, in the reality of a home we have not yet seen or can only distantly remember. And, if we can just follow the true north of our beating heart, I really do believe that somehow we will get there. Blessings on your journey.

Somehow We Get There

by Melissa Ferrick from CD Willing to Wait, 1995

Well I'm searching for somethin'
That I can't reach
So I whisper your name
In my sleep

N' time it isn't giving me
The space that I need
But you know at this pace
I don't think
I can
Pull into the lead

Forgiving myself is too simple too hard
There's got to be another way
To stop this car

But you know
Somehow we get there
Through the blind night
We got the white lines flashing past the tip of our headlights
Somehow we get there
From wherever we are
Somehow we get there
No matter how far

'Cause I can't Carry this around anymore
It's getting heavier with age
It is the boulder in my stomach
It's the avalanche in my veins

So let's leave it behind
I want to bury it beside the road
I will sit there until it comes out of me
I'll be freezing in the summer desert cold

But you know
Somehow we get there
Through the blind night
We got the white lines flashing past the tips of our head lights
Somehow we get there
From wherever we are
Somehow we get there
No matter how far

So hold my head
While I rock
Myself back to sleep
And I tell you that I am not easy
And you tell me that I am
Sweet

Liberty and Justice for All

2011-07-12T21:46:00.001-06:00

Today I joined a group of maybe 30 individuals at a rally on the steps of City Hall here in Colorado Springs. This weekend we will celebrate our 21st Pride Celebration for the queer community. For the past several years a very conservative mayor had refused to sign a mayoral proclamation honoring Pride Day and recognizing the gifts the queer community brings to Colorado Springs. So at the rally, a new resolution was put forth– introduced to the city council meeting today that asks that the Mayor and City Council sign a resolution condemning hate crimes– more specifically the alleged hate crime perpetuated against two gay soldiers here in the Springs who were jumped and assaulted while getting a late night snack. Homophobic epithets were hurled at them with the same force as fists that were thrown.

All of the usual suspects showed up to speak in support. Rev. Wes Mullins, minister of MCC, Chuck Bader, local union activist, and Carolyn Cathey– whose passion and instinct for activism have made her an honorary minister in my book (I call her Rev.– she does minister to the queer community in Colorado Springs, faithfully and without denominational prejudice). Others involved in politics, Nancy-Jo Morris, one of the more outspoken transwomen. It was inspiring, powerful. I felt the reassuring blanket of community–of queer folks and our allies– covering us, protecting us, swaddling us in love.

Following the rally, most of the folks there headed inside to participate in the City Council meeting. At the beginning of each City Council meeting –after an invocation by a local minister (I always love getting asked to do this) and the Pledge of Allegiance (for which I stand respectfully, but can never say, and will never say, until it’s true) there is a time for citizens to speak on subjects not listed on the agenda. Many of the supporters outside the rally had filled the halls and several had signed on to speak.

Queers of all ages and from all walks of life spoke about the importance of acknowledging the diversity of our community. Straight allies also stood up to urge support of our Pride celebration. Others urged the council to seriously consider the resolution against hate crimes that they will probably vote on next week, to not let silence be permission for other hate crimes to occur.

I spoke as did my colleague, Rev. Roger Butts from High Plains Church. Shawna Kemppainen, executive director of the local queer youth service provide, Inside/Out Youth Services, spoke movingly and, at times, tearfully, about the abuse she hears about from queer kids all the time; the sense the youth have that nothing will change and no one will care.

The council members and the mayor had a chance to respond. Most of the remarks were short-sighted, even scolding us. One council member suggested we were the ones causing division by not letting this issue go away. She said it was just an event and that’s not where the City Council needed to be focused. Another said that every crime was a hate crime (oh, how I weary of that retort– always given by someone who has never been in a marginalized group). Another insisted that as a Council that wasn’t their job but individuals could certainly support Pride. It’s interesting to note if that were their only recourse, to sign a statement of support as individuals, that only two councils members have actually done so: Scott Hente, President of Council, and Jan Martin, President Pro-tem.

Then the mayor spoke. (Was I the only one there who noted the irony of him saying in one breath he would never sign a proclamation celebrating/honoring Pride and in the next breath talking about the “Spirit of Colorado Springs” initiatives?? Did anyone else see the disconnect???).

Our newly elected (and first “strong mayor”) Steve Bach had run for office on a platform that said he wouldn’t sign any proclamations with “political connotations” (as was confirmed in John Hazelhurst’s article in the Colorado Springs Independent this week). Yes we knew this, and still there is something so heart-wrenchingly infuriating about the smugness behind that comment.

“Political connotations??” I guess celebrating the time when queer folk– namely drag queens and bull dykes– decided enough is enough! And boldly, fearlessly fought back against the police brutality and injustice of laws targeting queer folk had political connotations. Kind of like Juneteenth when Africans in Texas who had been kept as slaves 18 months after the Emancipation Proclamation had been signed and put into effect by President Lincoln on January 1, 1863, had political connotations– certainly economic connotations for their “owners” who were, shall we say, reluctant to let them know of their liberation. I guess Pride has political connotations in the same way in which Labor Day has political connotations– spotlighting the need for better, fairer labor laws. Or while we’re at it, let’s talk about the political connotations of Mothers’ Day which was started as an anti-war movement by Julia Ward Howe and other women alarmed at having sons of mothers kill other sons of mothers in war.

Frankly, I’m at a loss. I can’t think of a single secular holiday we celebrate that doesn’t have political connotations. Memorial Day? A day to remember the great loss of both sides in the Civil War– to decorate the graves of soldiers from both sides killed in the conflict, to look at our incredible shadow square in the face and recognize that, at the end of the day, we are all Americans– North and South, Yankee and Rebel.

Veterans Day–which honors the cessation of fighting in World War I, aka the Great War on November 11, 1918– even though the war was not officially over until the Treaty of Versailles was signed seven months later on June 28, 1919. What a twist of fate that 50 years to the day after official end of that war, on June 28, 1969, the Stonewall Rebellion occurred and the LGBTQI, etc. movement was begun.

A day, which had started so well, so joyously and determinedly with a rally and with citizens speaking out in City Council ended with the queer folks and our straight allies feeling, once again, misunderstood– actually not heard at all, invisible, demoralized, the lines of demarcation drawn more clearly than ever between those with power and status and standing and those without.

We walked out of that meeting in pain, in anger, in despair, for some of us. When I spoke to City Council this afternoon I started by saying at All Souls Unitarian Universalist Church we don’t just celebrate diversity– we flaunt it! And I told the story, from the Jewish tradition, of a person who had heard that a particular city was evil, corrupt, greedy, not caring for the outcast or marginalized. So this man had traveled to this city and stood with a sign by the city gates that said “Repent!” And day after day he would stand there and implore the city to repent of its selfish ways, to stop being corrupt, to care for those in need. And the people passing by would laugh or jeer at him, or spit on him, or– maybe worse– just ignore him.

This went on for ten years. Finally a passer-by who had witnessed this happening day after day, took pity on the man and went over to him and said, “Buddy! It’s been 10 years. They’re clearly not going to change. Why not just give it up.”

And the man replied. “At first I stood here and made my statement in hopes that this city would change. Now I do it to make sure that this city doesn’t change me.”

And I said, after sharing that story, that maybe that’s all I was doing now. Making sure that I don’t get drawn into the cynicism of things never changing and so changing into an apathetic person who doesn’t care. I said I will keep showing up and saying "Repent!" If for no other reason, than I not be changed.

And I want to say to those activists who stood with me today. Those who have been making this same impassioned plea for justice for years and years, and those for whom this was their first act of justice-seeking, don’t give up. No matter the outcome, if we can stand united, if we can refuse to change, refuse to give in to complacency and numbing despair, if we can continue to be a bright light of justice overlooking the valley of inequity, then we are accomplishing something. We, in our subversive refusal to give in to an unjust reality can create a future of equity and peace, with liberty and justice for all. Then I will proudly stand next to you and pledge allegiance to a flag, to a nation, to a state or city that offers that. Until, then, my dear activist friends, my dear beleaguered queer community, my beloved straight allies, I place my hand on my heart, and I pledge allegiance to you, and to continuing the struggle with you. May it be so.

That's the Way Life Is

2011-07-04T22:40:00.000-06:00

Tonight I went to an Independence Day party hosted by a friend who lives in Manitou Springs. This particular friend and I go way back, to the beginning of my time in Colorado. We have never been extremely close; rather our politics and passions draw us every now and then into the eddied currents of life– at fund-raising events or rallies or marches. Because it is such a singular friendship, her circle of friends is different than the ones I see in the course of my daily life.

At her parties (she has two or three or more a year– her house is perfect with its large, open living space and cool, enclosed patio overlooking the little village that is Manitou) I often run into friends and acquaintances that I haven’t seen in years.

And such was the case tonight. I sat for a time with three other women– none of whom I knew well but well enough to feel peaceful and at ease. We chatted about our lives, filling in the blanks of missing years. Of the four of us, three of us had dealt with cancer in varying degrees of severity (uterine, cervical, ovarian). We discussed living through that, our surgeries, how it changed us. Three of us (a different three, well one person sat this one out) were single– the other celebrating 19 years with her partner. We talked about relationship transitions, women we have known, ways in which we have grown.

Others came and went into this circle of conversation. We told raunchy jokes we remembered from our baby dyke days. We talked about softball and sports injuries, flash mobs and 5ks, pets and hoped for chickens to raise, sabbaticals and growing older.

Several times, or at least it seemed to me, we reflected on our age, our longevity, our stamina. As I looked at the faces of the women around me in the deepening dusk, I marveled at how beautiful each of us are, at how we are bearing our lives with grace and laughter.

I left the party before the fireworks began and drove through the throngs of people who had parked their cars on the narrow lane that passes for a street in Manitou, there to see the show.

As I drove home, my heart was filled with the gratitude and a sense of wonderment at our lives, and how we choose to live them and the myriad paths that lead us to this moment. Right here. Now.

"Se a Vida E (that’s the way life is) by the Petshop Boys began playing on my iPod. I listened to the lyrics :
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AIIhnaCkdX4&feature=related
Come outside and see a brand new day
The troubles in your mind will blow away
It's easy to believe they're here to stay
But you won't find them standing in your way

Se a vida e', I love you - Come outside and feel the morning sun
Se a vida e', I love you - Life is much more simple when you're young

Bemused I wondered, was life simpler when I was young? Maybe love seemed simpler– taken for granted even– but life seems imminently simpler now. Now when I have more birthdays behind me than before and I can look back on times I was convinced I could not survive, and yet here I am; losses whose grief was a sea so deep I feared it would swallow me whole, never to be seen again, and yet I made it to shore again and again and again.

As the song was playing and I was driving, I caught out of the corner of my eye a brilliant green-red burst of fireworks in the sky--starting small and then expanding in an ever widening arc, like the big bang, like the feeling of possibilities in my heart, growing brighter and reaching farther with every second of their glory, proclaiming Independence even as they reached out in a fervent dance of connection and hope.

Changed for Good

2011-06-29T08:36:00.000-06:00

Nori’s Nuggets
There is no point in entering into dialogue if we are not willing to be changed by the encounter.—Karen Armstrong

Who can say if I've been changed for the better? But since I knew you, I have been changed for good.=-- from musical, Wicked

I have just returned from the General Assembly in Charlotte, NC. It was a fabulous event and at least four events were worth the price of admission alone. One was the Nick Page New Epiphany service in which science was celebrated as sacred and holy and divine. Another was the Moderator’s Report during the final plenary given by Gini Courter. Her words were prophetic and compelling (and you can check out all these events via streaming technology—just go to uua.org). The third thing worth the price of admission was just getting to spend time with my colleagues and friends that are scattered like stardust across the nation.
And the fourth event was the Ware Lecture given by theologian Karen Armstrong. She spoke on the subject of her book, Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life and noted that we need compassion more than ever. We need to see people as individuals and not as some caricatureof an ideology for which we think they stand. She asked are we in fact, willing to be changed by dialogue with others who have differing perspectives than we do?
I have over 800 friends on facebook. Most of these asked me to be friends, (I suspect through the automatic process of having fb go through their address books and ask everyone they know to be friends). Certainly, the vast majority of those 800 plus friends don’t interact with me on a consistent basis. But there is one person who I specifically asked to be my friend even though I have never met him. I did this after I read a response he had written on a mutual friend’s post. Our mutual friend, a solid liberal, had posted something that I totally agreed with and this third party had written something so clearly in opposition to it that, I admit somewhat sheepishly, I thought it was a wry and facetious. In such a perspective, I thought it was funny so I asked him to be my friend.
So imagine my surprise when this new friend started making comments on my posts that were counter to my own beliefs. It was startling. And, never having met him, it quickly became the lens through which I viewed him. I will even admit to some exasperation at his comments. I began to wonder if it had been a bad idea to friend him—or at least to do so without reading his profile first.
So I did finally read his profile, flipped through his pictures. And I discovered a person with many layers of diversity—a musician, a scuba diver, someone who loves cats (!) and I realized he was more than his political views. I discovered he was a complex person with a depth beyond our differing perspectives and, at the end of the day, a very likable person, indeed.
He still posts on my links opinions that are vastly different than mine and we will probably never agree on many things. But I have been changed by the dialogue—I have been changed, not my persectives on the economy, government, etc.
Now when I read his comments, I do so with a smile, with compassion, with a more appreciatvie understanding of who he is. And perhaps, if he ever comes to the Springs to visit our mutual friends we could go out for coffee, sit down face to face and deepen the dialogue.
All in all, it’s been a good experience for me, to look beyond the ideology to the person. A good reminder that we are more than our points of view and that we are each humans of inherent worth and dignity. Even when we disagree, even when we can’t see eye to eye. And when we see that, a diatribe does become a dialogue and we are changed.

This Train Still Runs (Another great song by Janis Ian)

2011-03-18T12:21:00.000-06:00

Last night I had an opportunity of a lifetime to see Janis Ian in concert. Janis Ian!!! I would say to my friends in advance. For many I had to hum “At Seventeen” or mention “Society’s Child.”
Some of my friends wanted to come but couldn’t, others simply were born too late to understand the impact this woman has had on the arts in America, on providing social commentary, on using her art to tell the truth and thus, make us uncomfortable about our own truths we were hiding, cleverly concealed as insouciance, or recklessness, or as the numbing shawl of ennui we would wear draped over our shoulders, close to our hearts.
Of course for me “At Seventeen” was one of my flagship songs. I was that girl, and that was my truth. In part, I would say I learned this much younger than at seventeen. Maybe it was when I was thirteen and one of my best friends and I walked to the tennis courts with a boy– he was cute, and popular. I remember my friend was playing a set of tennis with this boy (whose popular, cute name I’ve forgotten) and I was being goofy, running after stray balls, thinking I was very entertaining. At the end of the game, I was sweaty and disheveled, my hair plastered to my face and neck. My friend and Popular Boy, although they had played the game vigorously, looked cool and serene. Walking home, we were no longer three abreast; they walked ahead, holding hands and I trailed behind thinking, “There’s something I’m missing about this whole boy-girl connection.”
So clearly, that memory– and others like them– arose for me last night. But it was about more than memories. It was about connections–spiritual, emotional and physical connections. After a particularly erotic (really, there’s no other word for it) guitar riff on a song before intermission, I looked at a straight friend of mine and said, “I feel like I need a cigarette after that!” She agreed.
She also connected to the audience with her humor. I had no idea – never having seen her live– how incredibly funny she is. Sardonic and wry, she told stories on herself. She spoke of the ludicrous laws of the United States when it comes to marriage (I posted a youtube video of her singing her song about this on my fb page). She told of the incredible backlash to her first big hit when she was just 15 years old, “Society’s Child” about an inter-racial relationship and used raw language in recounting that raw time that makes polite society feel uncomfortable.
She made fun of herself in her song “Autobiography” and she swept me away with her stunning rendition of “Tea and Sympathy” (another youtube post on my fb wall). This song was written well before AIDS hit the U.S. population, most chiefly, at the onset, the gay male population. When she sang this song last night, I was instantly taken back to those years when friends and community members were vanishing in the time span of a song (I think the montage in RENT shows it best, as the men and women in the HIV support group vanish during the song, “Without You”). The youtube video shows Janis Ian singing live in 1976. So, maybe 25, 26, something like that. It can’t compare to the depth and timbre of experience and a lived embodied life that Janis brought to the song last night. Although her humor came through. She said, “Now I get to sing what I really want– like a Liberace medly (and if I have to explain Liberace, forget it– he was the Lady Gaga of his era). And the words (found at www.metrolyrics.com/tea-and-sympathy-lyrics-janis-ian.html) fit in so well with the US AIDS years. Life takes on a different meaning when one’s true love– when so many of one’s true loves– have gone. I love the words, “I’ll pray to go quite mad, and live in long ago. When you and I were one, so very long ago.” Yes, I cried. I cried a few times during the evening. But I laughed a lot, too. And I nodded my head in understanding and solidarity.
I don’t mean to engage in hyperbole, but I truly think this was possibly the best concert I’ve been to in my life. And I’ve been to many– Doobie Brothers, Billy Joel, Summer Jam (Journey, Christopher Cross, others). I’ve seen Bette Midler three times, the Indigo Girls and Melissa Etheridge, countless times, Sweet Honey in the Rock, the Washington Sisters, Jack Johnson and Jimmy Buffet, James Taylor, Equality Rocks concert. I’m missing some.
And they were are all great. But there was something about this evening spent with Janis Ian. The venue Stargazers Theatre (www.stargazerstheatre.com) was awesome and the sound great.
And I was at a table in the very front. All of this helped. But there was a certain ineffable quality about her presence, her continued insistence on using her art to tell the truth and to reveal our culture’s folly that I think I would have felt if I were in a stadium of thousands. And her voice! Her voice was as pure as it ever was, with the rich and layered complexities of the years fully lived.
At an upcoming worship conference that will be held in the MDD, the title of a keynote address is listed as Nobody Ever Left Worship Humming the Sermon. I’m assuming this might be about the role of the arts and music in worship. But I have to say, that I had a spiritual experience last night in the listening to the embodied stories and music of Janis Ian. Her life has been a sermon– a proclamation of truth, an exhortation to live justly, and a lullaby of compassion and love– and I left humming it last night.
You can check out more about Janis Ian at her website www.janisian.com

This is for all the lonely people

2011-03-09T21:12:00.000-07:00

I was speaking with someone recently and she confessed that she was dealing with acute loneliness. She’d been single for about a year and half and wasn’t looking for a partner– just people to hang out with. And she’s a great person– and seemingly happy and successful. But she’s lonely– and this was made worse by the fact that efforts to reach out to friends recently resulted in no response, or cancelled plans. She told me about how stigmatized she felt with this affliction.
She said, “I can put on my fb status that I have a cold and I will get lots of responses .... suggestions on how to get over it sooner, drugs or homeopathic remedies to take, get well wishes...but if I were to post that I’m lonely, no one would respond. It’s like there’s shame attached to it.”
I thought about how true this was. Even depression is finally accepted as a normal life event, but loneliness?
I remembered times in my own life I had felt lonely– when I was commuting from Manhattan, KS to Topeka for my final year of high school and really felt orphaned; when I was unhappy in a relationship but didn’t have the skills to talk about it with my partner; when I felt a deep sense of otherness from the crowd I was in; when I, like my friend, had reached out to others and been turned down.
Loneliness isn’t the same as depression, it’s a sense of being cut off from the rest of the world, of not being noticed, of not being cared for. It’s a sense of feeling like we don’t matter to others.
Oftentimes, loneliness occurs when we are cut off, for whatever reason, from meaningful interactions with others. Maybe a beloved friend moves away, or we end a relationship, or a parent dies. Sometimes, as I said above, loneliness can occur when we’re in the thick of relationships, but feel misunderstood, or misrepresented–an outcast, the other.
And my friend is right– no one ever talks about loneliness. Why is there shame attached to that?
What is the stigma? That if we’re lonely it’s because no one wants to be with us? So there’s something wrong?
How can we love our lonely selves and have the courage to maintain a positive attitude and keep putting ourselves out there?
Frankly, I think it takes a lot of courage to be lonely in a social networked world with more online and f2f opportunities than ever before. It takes courage to admit that in spite of the glut of frenzied activities, we still feel isolated. It takes guts to keep trying to find our niche.
I felt helpless with my friend. There was no panacea I could offer to take the edge off her pain, there was no quick fix or kindle book that would make her world okay.
I could only tell her I was proud of her for continuing to try. I could only tell her she was a worthy and giving person who had much to offer. These words were, perhaps, cold comfort, in the face of the anguishing pain of loneliness. So I decided the one last thing I could do would be to talk about loneliness, how it impacts each of us at one time or another, how debilitating it is to our psyche. And to name what she cannot post on her fb. That loneliness sucks. That we’re meant to be in relationship with one another. And if a friend– particularly a friend you haven’t heard from in a while– calls you to say “Let’s get together,” then treat that as a sacred obligation to another human. It’s not something to be taken lightly. Say yes– and move heaven and earth to keep that commitment. And if you feel like you don’t want to, it’s too much trouble, it’s too much work, then I invite you to remember a time when you felt lonely, unloved, unwanted. And treat your friend the way you wish someone had treated you during that time.

Just Relationships

2011-02-26T07:46:00.000-07:00

"No matter what side you take on all the craziness going on, be compassionate and respectful of each other. There are a lot of people on both sides feeling very anxious and fearful. Be politically active, but do it with grace. Ultimately, this too shall pass, so don't ruin relationships over it."
The above quote was passed on by a friend of Stephanie Sharp– our former Director of Religious Education who is living in Wisconsin now. And I thought how important that is to remember as we attempt to come to terms with the revolutions happening the world over, it seems.
In some regards, it is easier to feel like we have a common understanding of events happening in other parts of the world. The politics aren’t ours– there are different political parties and agendas, different histories of oppression and revolution. Even a different dominant religion in some cases, and a different way of understanding Christianity than here in the United States.
So it can feel easier to be aligned with one another on our commitment to justice for the protesters in Egypt and Tunisia and Libya and Bahrain. Much easier to paint the government with a sinister brush stroke.
But it’s not so easy, the distinction isn’t quite as clear when it comes to our own land, to Madison, WI, where the issues are framed in language we all understand, even if we interpret it differently from one another.
Many people will say that Governor Walker has made the budget mess himself by giving huge corporate tax breaks and deciding to make up the difference by taking away the unions’ ability to have collective bargaining rights and in effect, taxing the public employees to make up for the budget downfall. That’s a simplified version of that argument, but it lies at the heart of the protests and rallies that have been happening in Madison and around the country.
Others will say that the unions are more harm than good, and that workers in unions already have it better than non-union workers. This was shown in a chart in a recent Wall Street Journal article about the debate in Wisconsin which points out that union workers make an average of $26.25 an hour compared to $19.68 for non-union and that 99% of union workers get retirement benefits compared to 74% of non-union workers. People with this viewpoint might say that it’s time for the unions to give up some of their power and benefits.
And people on all sides of this issue include Unitarian Universalists. Right here in River City (aka at All Souls). Which is what makes this quote from Stephanie’s friend all the more powerful. This is an incredible opportunity to practice deep listening, to not make assumptions, to see the inherent worth and dignity of every human– and to give space for the validity of their own point of view and how it ties in with our seven guiding principles. For myself, I am solidly in the workers’ corner. I don’t believe that Governor Walker is showing equity in his refusal to negotiate with Democrats and union leaders who have already said they’re willing to make concessions, sacrifices to help pass a balanced budget.
I will have participated in two rallies by the time this makes press that show support for the teachers and others who are being impacted by the governor’s intractability.
For me, this isn’t about the power of unions or balancing a budget. It’s about an agenda that leaves no room for compromise or for inviting all impacted parties to the table. That is what I decry and I hope that the rallies will provide the impetus for Governor Walker to be more flexible, to be more open to listening to other points of view.
That’s what we’re each called to do, isn’t it? To be more flexible, to be more open to listening to other points of view, and to remember, as Steph’s friend said, “ultimately, this too shall pass, so don’t ruin relationships over it.”

In this past week I have had a loving conversation with a member who completely disagrees with me. And what’s most important to both of us is not proving the other wrong but hearing one another and loving one another in the midst of our disagreement. If we can each do that, then, regardless of what happens in Wisconsin, we will all win.

Love is in the Air

2011-01-27T11:00:00.000-07:00

We are standing on the side of love. Hands joined together as hearts beat as one. Emboldened by faith, we dare to proclaim, we are standing on the side of love! — Jason Shelton
What’s love got to do with it? – Tina Turner

Ahhh, February! The month of love! Or, more importantly, the month of chocolates! No, wait! Love is more important than chocolate! I got distracted for a minute, there. Above are lyrics from two of my favorite songs. The seminal anthem from UU Jason Shelton and the iconic Tina Turner’s song of denial.
Jason’s song, Standing on the Side of Love, has become our rallying cry as Unitarian Universalists. It calls us to remember who we are in the face of injustice. It calls us to an inclusive, far-reaching love that stands up for the oppressed, speaks out for the voiceless, and insists that we build bridges of understanding rather than walls of fear.
Maybe we have experienced the type of love that Tina has in her song in our personal relationships that leave us jaded and cynical. Maybe we have even experienced that cynicism in our seemingly endless quest for justice.
Sometimes, it may seem easier to just give up and give in. Tell ourselves we will never find true love or true justice in our lifetime.
But I encourage you this month, regardless of your relationship status on facebook, regardless of your level of hopelessness or hopefulness regarding our world, to make a renewed commitment to love. To being open to loving acts in your life and with your family and friends and those of us who journey alongside you at All Souls. To be open to standing on the side of love in our communities, to being allies with those who are different from you.
We have a unique opportunity to stand on the side of love on Valentine’s Day, Monday, February 14 at noon, as we join with High Plains Church and Pikes Peak MCC to do a special service on the steps of City Hall calling for all love to be legally recognized and celebrating those who are in same sex relationships. I hope you will join me there, on the steps of City Hall, as we stand on the side of love. What’s love got to do with it? Everything, it would seem.
Single or in relationship, queer or straight, we all have love to celebrate and I will have chocolates for all! :)

WWUUD?

2010-11-24T10:58:00.000-07:00

Many years ago, there was a catch phrase in evangelical Christianity WWJD? It stood for what would Jesus do? It showed up on bumper stickers, those rubber bracelets and there was even a book written about it called, essentially, WWJD– answers to this question on a variety of topics. Of course, what the author neglected to mention was that the book was really what he would do, not Jesus, although he might think Jesus would agree.
I think it’s a great concept, asking what would Jesus do, if we could keep the answers to how the recording of his life is Christian scriptures showed him to be. He befriended the foreigner (Roman Centurion, Samaritan woman at the well) which might lead us to believe he would also befriend and speak for the rights of undocumented citizens from Mexico or Canada or any other country who is fleeing oppression or seeking justice. He healed the sick, which means he might be for universal health care. He said “You have heard it said an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, but I tell you to love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” which might indicate an aversion to the death penalty.
And of course, other witty responses to the WWJD arose– WWBD- what would Buddha do and WWJB– who would Jesus bomb. But perhaps the most important question we should be asking is WWUUD? What would Unitarian Universalists do in morally repugnant or frightening situations? How can we live our principles out in the wider world of which we are a part?
I’ve recently become a big fan on the show What Would You Do? On ABC, hosted by John Quinones. I think it’s on Friday, but I really have no idea since I set up the dvr to record it and watch it all hours of the day and night. But it’s a fascinating look into American culture. It’s like Candid Camera – only with a message. Hidden cameras are posted in various places and actors portray events that really happen and record the reactions or nonreactions of unsuspecting people nearby. Recent shows featured a “café worker” berating alleged latin@ day workers and saying they should all go back to Mexico and stop taking our jobs. Another showed “teen bullies” pushing and verbally abusing a “gay teen”. Yet another showed what happens when someone carelessly leaves their pet with someone outside a store.
There are more but you get the point. It’s interesting to see what sparks people’s courage or outrage. Ironically, more berated the woman who was leaving her dog with strangers than came to the aid of the teen allegedly being gay-bashed. A good number of people spoke in defense of the latin@ workers – less than those who stood up to supposedly drunk doctors on call heading in to do surgery.
It’s a good question, as we enter this holiday season filled with stories of bravery and standing in the face of dominant oppression. Buddha, who gave up everything and devoted his life to end suffering, Mary and Joseph who bravely withstood the sneering neighbors, homelessness and poverty to give birth to Jesus and who accepted the foreigners and their gifts later. The Maccabees who fought off domination and kept the fire of their commitment burning long after most lamps would have given out.
As we enter this season of crazed shopping, frenetic parties and insane traffic, let this be a reminder, that we are all a part of a wider world. That we are each of to care for one– family, friend, foe and foreigner alike. Because at the end of the day, it really doesn’t matter what we think Jesus or Buddha would do. At the end of the day, it really only matters what WE– you and me actually did to further civility, justice, compassion and caring in our world. That’s a gift anyone would appreciate. Happy Holidays.

Religious Intolerance

2010-09-11T21:14:00.000-06:00

Today, as we observed the ninth anniversary of the terrorist attacks on our nation I participated in two very different events.
The first one was part of an annual festival in Colorado Springs celebrating innovation and the pioneering spirit that has made our nation so great. The theme this year was “What if?” I co-facilitated a conversation on why inter-faith dialogue was so important and how it could help to heal our world.
Our small group spoke about how we came to realize that everyone’s story was different and interesting and important– even if it was not in keeping with our own faith. One man, a member of the congregation I serve at All Souls Unitarian Universalist Church, said he wanted to be some place today where Muslim-phobia wasn’t the order of the day.
It was a small group but one news station had showed up to interview us. I left feeling uplifted and hopeful about our future.
Then I went to a local bed and breakfast that hosts outside weddings in their stunning gardens. It’s a beautiful place and I have been called upon to do several weddings there over the summer. I am to officiate at a wedding there tomorrow and was to meet the couple and go over the details of the service this afternoon.
I introduced myself to the young couple and the bride’s parents who were also there. As I was beginning to explain the ceremony the bride’s father suddenly asked, “What church are you with?”
“All Souls Unitarian Universalist Church, downtown, on Tejon,” I answered. This was a local couple who had grown up here and my bio was on the bed and breakfast’s website. I assumed the parents had at least a little knowledge of where I was from.
“Is it a Christian church?” The dad persisted.
“Well, it has its roots in Christianity, but it has since grown beyond that,” I answered. Then, playing the name-dropping game, I added, “It’s the church of Ralph Waldo Emerson, P.T. Barnum, Thomas Jefferson..”
I trailed off as the father of the bride pressed even further, “Is Jesus Christ the Lord and Savior, the head?”
Startled, I responded, “No. Well, maybe for some folks...”
The bride reached over to pat her father’s arm. “Now, calm down,” she said gently.
We went on with the brief rehearsal but I felt sick to my stomach. I had once again experienced religious discrimination– ironically, what I had just been talking about at the What If festival an hour earlier.
I remembered when I was still an MCC minister. I had accepted an invitation from The Navigators to a minister’s retreat. I had naively sent in the registration form stating that I was a woman and would need to share a room with another female. As I was driving to the retreat I thought about whether or not I would come out as a lesbian minister. I flew out of the closet when I was 16 years old so it was weird to think about coming out again. But once I reached the retreat site all bets were off. The retreatants consisted of 35 white straight men, one African American straight man and me.
Many men were clearly angry that I dared to show my face as a female minister, let alone a lesbian. I felt shut out, silenced. My only saving grace was one open-minded minister who dared to sit with me during meals and asked to hear my story. One man who dared to believe a woman could have a place in ministry.
I’ve come a long way since that retreat, since entering the ministry 21 years ago. I’ve changed and grown and so has my theology. Still, I felt reduced somehow during today’s interrogation at the wedding rehearsal. I felt as if my character were in question if I didn’t believe the same way that the bride’s father did. I felt shut down and silenced.
I was not a part of the majority, therefore, my beliefs were suspect.
Driving home, I tried to analyze my feelings. I realized it wasn’t that I felt insecure about my UU beliefs– which I proudly and defiantly uphold and celebrate. Rather I was just reminded about how important interfaith dialogue– inter-religious acceptance is. And how easy it is for the dominant religious culture to assert itself as the only truth– as if among all the nations, throughout the breadth of history there could only be one truth.
As I drove away from the bed and breakfast, I realized the exchange between me and the father of the bride made me all the more determined to work for a place where all faiths could be shared in safety and respect, where no faith was privileged above the others and where every person felt the freedom to embark on a free and responsible search for truth and meaning– with no map given– only a compass by which to navigate their own spiritual journey.
I was reminded of a quote one of the participants in the interfaith dialogue shared today by theologian Hans Kung. "There will be no peace among the nations without peace among the religions. There will be no peace among the religions without dialogue among the religions."
And I humbly remembered, I used to be that guy– the father of the bride– who thought I knew the only way to truth, who arrogantly sought to impress my beliefs on others. And so I blessed him silently as I left. Blessed his fervency, blessed his zeal and then let him go. Let him continue on his path even as I am on my own. I took in a breath of air from earlier in the day– when a small group of us discussed interfaith dialogue and hearing different stories and being intrigued by them and learning from them and just listening to them without having to prove our “rightness”.
That’s what this anniversary should be about, nine years after the destruction of America’s myth of invulnerability. That all matter, that every belief is sacred, that what is different is not to be feared but to be explored. And for those who don’t want to have those conversations, I shake the dust off my feet, as Jesus said, and move on. Life is too short to be navigated with fear and with righteous intolerance. So I shook the dust off my feet, but I say to you, fellow sojourner, no matter what your story is, if you want to share it, if you want to hear mine, come along side me. Come, let us reason together.

Cruisie Control

2010-07-25T12:42:00.000-06:00

“And my life, which is my body surely, is also something more— isn’t yours?”
— Mary Oliver

Today I had to wake up early in order to head to traffic court. After almost 2 years of flying under the radar (I mean, of driving the speed limit) I got a speeding ticket. Now, for those of you not as seasoned as I in the area of speeding tickets, let me just say it’s worth it to take the time to go to court. While your fine will stay the same, the number of points will almost always be reduced.
So, as usual after getting a ticket, I have been trying to be more conscious of my speed as I’m driving. It seems I have no will power to regulate my speed so the only way that I can guarantee I’m not more than five miles over the posted speed limit is to put my car on cruise control.
Even though it seems as if I’m barely crawling along, I am always amazed to see that I arrive at my destination in a timely fashion. And I do know it’s easier on my vehicle.
I think I drive like I live my life. I often make jack rabbit starts, speed through my days, go from one appointment to the next. If there were speeding tickets for how we live, I’m sure I would have a whole trunk-ful by now.
But I believe somehow our bodies conspire with the universe in a sort of cosmic cruise control enforcement to at least get us to pay attention, to slow us down, remind us to breathe. Over two years ago after my annual physical exam, I was notified that my pap smear came back abnormal. This led to having pap smears every three months to monitor that. My last test revealed a change from abnormal to cancer cells- severe dysplasia (I only wrote that to ask- why is it that in humans dysplasia means cancer cells and in dogs it means hip problems???) While my doctor is confident that the biopsy procedure used to diagnose this also got all of the cancer cells, I decided to have a hysterectomy. This will greatly increase the chance of the cancer not returning.
My surgery is scheduled for August 3 and the recovery is typically about six weeks. During that time, I will be on cruise control. In my recovery I hope to rest, to read, to reflect on how our bodies are surely us, as Mary Oliver said, but not all of us. And it is also a reminder to me to pay attention, to honor my body, to take good care of it, for even if it isn’t all of who I am, it is me.
I am not oblivious to the fact that this cancer was caught and treated in a timely fashion, because the abnormalities were monitored for over two years, and all of that was possible because I have the luxury of health insurance. For many uninsured women, annual exams are a luxury they can’t afford. Cervical cancer is one of the most successfully treated if caught in time. For many, the difference between detecting it early or having it progress into invasive cancer is having health care coverage. While I don’t believe the Health Care Reform bill that has been passed and is to be implemented soon is 100 % perfect, I do think it goes a long way to insuring that more women will have the opportunity I’ve had to be an active partner in my health care and to have access to basic services that could save their lives.
So beginning August 3, I will be on medical leave for a few weeks. I’m one of those folks who likes to suffer alone so don’t really need a lot of visitors. My girlfriend is a fabulous cook, so I won’t need meals. I do have Skype and would love to touch base with any of you who have that as well. I can’t guarantee what my hair will look like on the video call, though. It has a mind of its own and attempts a coup every night while I sleep. Fortunately, I already had a great line up of guest speakers for the last four Sundays in August so that’s one thing I don’t have to stress about. And I also won’t have to stress about how the church will get along in my absence. We have a newly reconstituted Caring Team headed by Charles Peterson. So if you need assistance of any kind, All Souls will be there for you. You are a wonderful, committed, caring congregation and I know you’ll continue the mission and vision of All Souls even while I’m on cosmic cruise control.
I am so grateful for each of you!

Road Trips

2010-04-26T13:44:00.001-06:00

Note: I've decided to cross-post my monthly newsletter articles here so that people new to All Souls can have easier access to them if they're not on the newsletter email list. Here is my article for May, 2010. I promise to try to be better about posting pithy comments and remarks.

“We have crept out of our close and crowded houses into the night and morning, and we see what majestic beauties daily wrap us in their bosom.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Recently I’ve had the opportunity to take several road trips. To be sure, road trips generally take much longer than jetting about the skies from point A to point B, but there’s something mystical about them to me. Road trips require us to feel every mile. We cannot hop, skip and jump over the tedious parts, the pot-holed roads, the two lane back highways on which it seems every slow-moving tractor trailer is ahead of us. We must have patience on road trips. We must keep alert, watching not only the road ahead but also checking our rearview mirror and scanning the horizon to be safe.
Road trips remind us that we have the wheel, that we control our speed, our rest stops, the music that we listen to.
We can take solitary road trips, such as my most recent one to Albuquerque, NM for a district minister’s retreat, or have companions, such as the one Sam and I took en route to New Orleans. We can also have others who can share the driving load, as on the way home from New Orleans when Angela Sullivan and her son Draper teamed up with Sam and me.
All have benefits. Driving in solitude gives us time to reflect on our lives, where it is we’re truly headed and where we’ve been. Some of my most profound insights have been when I was driving a long distance alone.
Having a child along can remind us of our sacred responsibility to our children, to help guide them down the roads that will bring them hope and courage and their own desire to find their own paths, soon enough– all, too soon, in fact. Driving to New Orleans with Sam gave us the opportunity to simply be with one another, to have meaningful conversations, to hear about what’s important to him.
Sharing the driving with a friend can remind us that we don’t have to do everything, that burdens can be shared and, in the small, enclosed space of a car, stories can be shared, connections deepened. Oh, maybe I couldn’t sing along with the tunes on my iPod and Angela couldn’t listen to her beloved NPR talk radio programs, but we talked to one another and when one of us got tired of driving, the other took over.
And nature, herself unfolded to me in a way I would have missed at 30,000 feet in the air. Driving through the bayous of Louisiana on the final stretch to New Orleans, I noticed how the trees crowded up to the road, as if watching a parade, as if cheering me on in my journey. I honked the horn as we passed their waving, ebullient branches– my own greeting to them, my own acknowledgment of their mystery and their ability to continue on year after year.
And as the setting sun clocked out and the moon took up her post of watching over us as we sped along, I felt the vastness of space and time enfolding me, reminding me that I am a part of something much larger than my own petty concerns and gas receipts.
The clouds that filled the sky on my way home from Albuquerque showed off their incredible permutations– long, flat white clouds provided the background for the more cheery bands of popcorn clouds that puffed with pride in the foreground– almost 3D in their presentation, as if to say, “We are all clouds and we are all different and that is very good.”
And I saw, too, the many memorials along the different highways where someone’s life had come to a sudden, definitive end. On the way to Albuquerque, I saw a car parked on the shoulder of I-25, a couple embracing in front of two new memorials. I wondered about their loss and I wondered at the fragility, the impermanence of life; how all our plans and dreams can rest upon a single moment in time. I felt anew the desire, the necessity, of living life fully; of not putting off dreams for another day which I might not see.
And through all these road trips, I felt each bump of the road, I passed over every inch of my journey. There was not a moment on the trip that I missed. It is, to me, a powerful reminder of my life, of the need to resist the urge to fly over, fast forward through parts of my journey in an effort to reach my destination. It takes longer, to be sure, but the pace reminds me there is no destination other than this moment in which I exist, that the journey itself is home, and that life, whether in solitude or in the company of others is a grand adventure, if I only will creep out of my close and crowded house and open my eyes to the majestic beauties that daily wrap me in their bosom. May your own life be a grand adventure as well.

Two Men I Love

2009-07-22T22:46:00.000-06:00

Okay, I love more than two men, but these two are my newest loves: Jimmy Carter and Tyler Perry.
In the past several days both of these men have made headlines for standing up for justice, for tolerance, for the oppressed.
Jimmy Carter publicly broke ties with the Southern Baptist Church because of their stance against ordaining women and their insistence that women be subservient to men.
In an essay he wrote for The Age Carter said, “At its most repugnant, the belief that women must be subjugated to the wishes of men excuses slavery, violence, forced prostitution, genital mutilation and national laws that omit rape as a crime. But it also costs many millions of girls and women control over their own bodies and lives, and continues to deny them fair access to education, health, employment and influence within their own communities.”

How can you not love this man? Later, in the same essay, he went even further:

“The truth is that male religious leaders have had -- and still have -- an option to interpret holy teachings either to exalt or subjugate women. They have, for their own selfish ends, overwhelmingly chosen the latter. Their continuing choice provides the foundation or justification for much of the pervasive persecution and abuse of women throughout the world.”

Former President Jimmy Carter took a stand with an oppressed group. As a man, it would have been easier for him to remain silent. Or, at the very least, to silently cut ties with the church with which he had been affiliated for 60 years. But his principles wouldn’t allow him to do this. He wanted to make a stand for the 50% of the population that has too long been oppressed by a patriarchal religious system. He made public an inward conviction that had probably been festering and growing for years. He might lose support in some public sectors but, to him, it was more important to stand true to his principles than to worry about how popular his statement was.

Tyler Perry made a similar, yet different statement about oppression in response to a racial slap in the face to 65 African American and Latin@ day camp kids who were turned away from a Philadelphia swimming pool after complaints from white parents.
According to msnbcnews.com:
Creative Steps, located in northeast Philadelphia, had contracted for the 65 children at the day camp to go each Monday afternoon, Wright said. But shortly after they arrived June 29, she said, some black and Hispanic children reported hearing racial comments.
"A couple of the children ran down saying, 'Miss Wright, Miss Wright, they're up there saying, 'What are those black kids doing here?'"
Wright said she went to talk to a group of members at the top of the hill and heard one woman say she would see to it that the group, made of up of children in kindergarten through seventh grade, did not return.
"Some of the members began pulling their children out of the pool and were standing around with their arms folded," Wright said. "Only three members left their children in the pool with us."

Tyler Perry, an African American film director with several hits to his credit wrote this on his blog at his website www.tylerperry.com:
“This is awful, and for anyone that has grown up in the inner-city, you know that one small act of kindness can change your life. These kids see the images of President Obama on TV and then they see the drug dealers and thugs on the corner. Which do you think is more their reality? One act of kindness, one person telling them that they are special, one moment of encouragement can make them move mountains. I know it to be true because I was one of them. They don't need to be called names and be told that they are less than, because of the color of their skin or because of where they come from.”

He could identify with this story because he has lived it. He has come a long way from the inner city with fame and talent creating an insulated barrier between him and this kind of racist actions, but he chose to reach through that protective barrier to help these kids know a different reality.
He is sending them on a three day trip to Orlando, FL to visit Disney World as well as some of the Disney water parks located there as well.
On his blog, he writes, “And do me a favor please. When you see these kids coming through the airport (I'm sure you won't be able to miss them; I imagine they are going to be superexcited), when you see them in the park and in the hotel, let's show them a whole lot of love and respect. Show them that they are just as good as anyone else. And show them that they can do or be anything they want to be no matter what anyone says!”

Two men who are far removed from the oppression that haunts women and poor minorities chose to make a difference. What is happening to women based on conservative religious bias (of any stripe) and what is happening to poor, inner city minorities don’t impact these two men directly, but they chose to make a difference. They chose to show the world the inherent worth and dignity of every human being, they chose to show respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.

That’s why I love these two men and all others who publicly throw their lot in with the oppressed. That is why I love being a part of the Unitarian Universalist Association who daily commits to these principles of inclusion and equity.
In fact, since Jimmy Carter is looking for a new faith, I hope he looks to us, and the same for Tyler Perry. We would be richer for their presence as they would be for ours.

What Dreams May Come

2009-06-02T19:51:00.001-06:00

June 2, 2009 (7:19pm)
I just read, in a three hour sitting, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and her niece, Annie Barrows. It was an amazing story of the German Occupation of the Channel Islands during WWII.
The book itself was luminous, at times heart-wrenchingly tragic and at other times laugh out loud funny. It was poignant, bittersweet, profound.
All those superlatives would be enough to have made the time spent reading the book well-invested, but there was an unexpected dividend I discovered as I read the afterword. Like the story itself, heart-wrenching, poignant, bitter-sweet profound.
Mary Ann Shaffer had always wanted to write a book someone would find worth publishing. In 1980 she traveled to England to research the life of Kathleen Scott– the wife of polar explorer Robert Scott. Disappointed by the lack of materials available she jettisoned the project but for some unknown reason took a trip to Guernsey. Stranded in the airport during a fog she read books about the German Occupation found in the airport bookstore and was entranced by the possibility of writing a book set in that time.
But she did nothing with this idea for over 20 years. She did belong to a writing group, however, and they eventually goaded her into writing.
She was directed to an agent who found a publisher who bought the book but asked for a major re-write of portions of the story. She was thrilled but had fallen ill and didn’t have the stamina to complete the re-write so her niece, Annie Barrows stepped in to do the job.
This book, which has sold millions of copies worldwide and has received so much critical acclaim is the result of her, and her niece’s efforts.
Her first novel was published a few months after her death in February, 2008.
All she had ever wanted to do was to write a book someone would want to publish.
She had held onto to the idea about writing a story set in Guernsey for 20 years.
She was goaded and encouraged and supported by so many people into actually doing it.
She couldn’t have known she was going to die before it was published. Perhaps she still thought she had all the time in the world to write. Perhaps, for most of her adult life she thought, "Someday, I’m going to write a book someone will want to publish." But for most of her life, she never did it. Until she did.
She was 74 when she died. How long had she held her dream of being published? What kept her from writing it earlier. It is a bitter-sweet success story– her dream fulfilled. It is heart-wrenching to think she never got to see all the accolades her book has garnered. It is a poignant reminder that dreams are seed that must take root in our actions and commitment to the dreams in order for them to become reality.
I am richer for having read this book, for finding the dividend in the story of how it was written. It would have been such an unknown loss if Mary Ann kept putting off her dream until it was too late to come to fruition.
What a poignant reminder to me, to all of us, perhaps, that we are given dreams, passions for a reason– but none of us can be guaranteed that we will always have the time to fulfill those dreams. It is up to us, only us, to take the first step, then the second and third, to making our dreams a reality.
Mary Ann Shaffer’s dream came true, for which I am exceedingly grateful– for her sake, and for mine. She wrote a book, that not only did someone want to publish, but millions wanted to read.
And her story makes me want to allow my dreams to come true, as well– maybe they won’t be as profound as The Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, but they still deserve a chance. As do yours.

Passionately Pink for the Cure

2008-10-04T10:07:00.001-06:00

My friend Vivian was 34 years old when she was first diagnosed with breast cancer. After having a radical mastectomy performed on her right breast and undergoing weeks of chemotherapy and radiation, she was pronounced cancer free. Then, seven years later, she got grim news. The cancer had returned in her lungs. She was very ill and traditional chemo and radiation would not work. She was given the chance to undergo a stem-cell replacement treatment, a procedure she would have a 50/50 chance of surviving. With no other options, she chose to do the treatment. Fortunately, she not only survived the treatment but beat the cancer. That was 10 years ago and she is healthy and active today.
October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. It is a time to remember those who have died with this disease and to celebrate those who are survivors. Many of us have been impacted by this disease, either personally or with someone we love. Some of us are currently dealing with mothers or sisters or aunts who are undergoing treatment. It is an insidious disease.
Every 2 minutes, someone is diagnosed with breast cancer in the U.S. Every 13 minutes, someone in the U.S. dies from breast cancer. This year 1.1 million people may be diagnosed with this disease worldwide.
While those numbers are grim there are encouraging numbers as well. For example, the five year survival rate of all people diagnosed with breast cancer is 89% . This year the Susan G. Komen foundation donated $100 million in grants to researchers worldwide who are actively seeking a cure. Progress has been made in treatment. If my friend, Vivian, had been diagnosed with that form of breast cancer even a couple years earlier, the stem cell replacement treatment would not have been available. Ten years later, more has been done in the chemotherapy and radiation treatments, as well as early detection.
Still there is work to be done. I encourage you this month to be passionately pink in efforts to help raise awareness of breast cancer. Check out www.komen.org for more information on ways you can be a part of the race to the cure, also go to www.passionatelypink.org to donate $5 one day in October, and be sure to wear pink.
If you are a woman, educate yourself on breast self-examinations, risk factors, and mammograms. If you are a man or woman, spend some time this month with someone who is dealing with this disease on some level, ask the women in your life if they've had a mammogram in the past year (recommended yearly for women over 40, or earlier with a family history of breast cancer), offer to take a woman to her mammogram appointment.
Together, we can make a difference! Together we can work for a day when this cancer has been eradicated. Until then we can be passionately pink, fierce in our activism and vigilant in our own healthcare.

L'Shana Tova -- Happy 5769

2008-10-04T09:46:00.000-06:00

We are living in the Days of Awe, the high holy days that mark the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashana, and continue through Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.
Unlike the New Year's celebrations that occur throughout the world on December 31st of each year, Rosh Hashanah is a religious holiday. It marks a time of reflection, of looking back over the past year and forward to the coming one, it is a pause amidst the busyness of life to do a self-assessment and make course corrections if needed.
Then on the 10th day of the new year, Jews observe the Day of Atonement, Yom Kippur. On this day, people are encouraged to make amends for wrongs done to others, for promises that were broken, for any way in which they broke relationship with one another.
I like this focus on repairing relationships with one another, rather than just asking for a blanket amnesty from G-d. This causes us to take responsibility for our actions directly with the ones whom we have hurt. It also gives us an opportunity to be agents of grace with those who have hurt us or broken relationship with us.
Many religions provide opportunities for people to reflect on their broken relationships and give a chance for them to restore them. I think this is one of the most important things we can do as human beings. We cannot hope for the world to attain peace and harmony if we don't first start with seeking those things in our own lives.
So I encourage you, during these Days of Awe, regardless of your religious beliefs, to take some time to reflect on our lives, our actions over these past few weeks and months, to honestly and boldly evaluate your behaviors and to see if there is anyone with whom you need to restore a relationship. This could even be relationship you've broken with yourself by how you have talked to yourself, lies you have told yourself about who you are in the grand scheme of themes.
As the High Holy Days end on October 9 this year, at the last hour a service called "Ne'ila" (Neilah) offers a final opportunity for repentance. It is the only service of the year during which the doors to the Ark (where the Torah scrolls are stored) remain open from the beginning to end of the service, signifying that the gates of Heaven are open at this time.
And I believe that as we reflect, seek forgiveness from anyone with whom we have broken relationship, offer grace and forgiveness to those who have wronged us, that the gates of Heaven are opened, that we can exist in a moment of existential harmony.
In fact, I would encourage us to try to keep the gates of Heaven open throughout the year, not just during the High Holy Days but every day. So that, when we make a mistake, break a promise, hurt someone, we admit it immediately, seek grace, give grace. In so doing, I believe we can always be living in the Days of Awe.
Happy New Year!

Off and Running

2008-09-07T13:41:00.000-06:00

Today was Ingathering and Water Communion Sunday. It was also my official welcome as the settled minister at All Souls.
The house was packed, the energy was great and, although it was a longer than usual service, it was awesome to hear the stories of water people brought back from their summer travels.
Many were from vacation spots but some were more poignant. A woman who brought water back from the place where she scattered her parents ashes, water from the Tigris River from a soldier home on R&R who will be returning to Iraq in several days.
In my sermon I talked about the hidden messages in water made famous by Japanese researcher Dr. Masaru Emoto and what the implications are of messages we tell ourselves about who we are as individuals and as a church. I ended by inviting people to come up and put a temporary tattoo on their body, using the commingled waters of the Water Communion to moisten the tattoos and stick them on. I had tattoos that said life, love, clarity, insight, growth, wholeness, forgiveness, respect, outreach, grace, respect, sharing, kindness.
It was a very fun, interactive service. I chose the word grace for my tattoo and placed it on my right wrist.
Afterward, a congregant asked if he could speak to me privately for a moment. I ushered him into my office and he started by praising the service, saying everything he loved about it. He was very gracious.
Then he said there was one thing that didn't sit well with him. During my sermon, I spoke of the belief some Christians have about their Communion called transubstantiation. This means they believe that during the consecration of communion the bread and wine become the literal body and blood of Jesus. I said something off the cuff, to the effect of how that kind of creeped me out.
This congregant told me that he thought that was disrespectful of Christianity and how we have a history of being inclusive of all, except for Christians.
As he spoke, I realized he was completely right. I would never have made a remark that judged indigenous spiritualities or Hinduism.
I apologized and told him it had been wrong of me to say that. I said it was ad-libbed and not reflective of the respect I feel for all religions, including Christianity.
I thanked him for coming in to talk to me about this and I really am glad he did.
As I drove home, I reflected on this exchange and realized that, by being willing to talk with me and not hold resentment in silence he enabled us to have a conversation. I learned something new today and while I regret the comment that precipitated the conversation, I'm grateful for the conversation. This is the kind of place I want All Souls to be known as-- a place where people can listen to one another and be heard and understood, where differences or disagreements don't mean division but rather an opportunity to stretch and grow.
I looked down at my tattoo: grace. That's what happened today in those brief moments in my office and that's what happens when we can acknowledge our mistakes and receive forgiveness and move on.
It was kind of cool to realize the message I had tattooed on my arm was already manifesting in the congregation. I am sure all the other messages we wrote on the body of All Souls today--messages of affirmation and growth-- are also already at work in our lives.
How exciting to be a part of the community. I look forward to a great future with them.

A Dream Come True

2008-08-30T10:26:00.000-06:00

This past Thursday I had the opportunity to attend the Democratic National Convention on the night Senator Obama accepted the nomination as the candidate for President.
It was an amazing event. The Invesco stadium was filled with over 84,000 people all waiting for that moment when history was made. As I found my way to my seat I was handed a small American flag. I almost refused the offer - it has been a long time since I felt the need or desire to wave the flag. It seemed as if in recent years (and certainly since 9/11) the flag has been co-opted by those who would use America's power to limit freedoms at home and enforce America's agenda abroad. But, I took the flag, after all, feeling only a little foolish and joined my friends.

It was amazing to hear the speeches by various politicos, but even more profound to hear the "everyday people" speak of how the last eight years of the Bush regime has negatively impacted their lives...jobs and health insurance lost, homes in jeopardy, education quality spiraling down.
Of course, the most amazing moment was when Obama spoke. His speech was bold, inclusive, daring and filled with passion for our country and what it can become.
I came away feeling that there is truly hope for our country after all. That perhaps this can be a new day for America. I felt the winds of change sweeping through that stadium.
What was also amazing was just being a part of history - a black man accepting the nomination for the Democratic candidate for President. They had a great retrospective on Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. since it was the 45th anniversary of his "I have a Dream" speech. There were shirts and buttons with pictures of MLK and Obama saying "The Dreamer" next to King and "The Dream" next to Obama. And I thought that Dr. King would probably have been so proud of this moment, to see the fruits of his labors in such a monumental way.
And I thought of all the movements toward justice in the last century and into this one: the Southern Freedom movement, the feminist movement, the gay rights movement; how it does seem as if perhaps all those efforts--which felt so futile at the time-- are bearing fruit.
I mean, to think that the two main contenders for the Democratic ticket were a woman and a black man. The DNC would have been historic either way. To think I have lived to see the day when same-sex marriages and benefits for same-sex partners are becoming a reality in more and more cities and states.
I wanted to pour a libation to my activist ancestors, to honor them and their courage and commitment. I wanted to bring them all back for this moment, to reassure them their efforts weren't in vain.
Of course, there is still much work to do. Women's right to choice is continually under attack, poverty and lack of health insurance still hound much of America, we're engaged in a war in which thousands of lives have been lost. But perhaps the signs of change can give those of us who are activists renewed hope and vigor to continue the struggle for justice and peace.
As Dr. King said, at the National Cathedral on March 31, 1968, "We shall overcome because the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice."At the DNC, I saw that to be true.
I waved my flag proudly during the event. It felt right and good, as if the flag could represent me once more, as if it could stand for something I could believe in once again.
As I left the stadium, I noticed that many people had left their flags in their seats. I picked up as many as I could. I decided I would give them to people and say, "This is a flag that was given at the 2008 DNC. It's a piece of history, wave it with pride."

Space and Time

2008-08-26T12:14:00.000-06:00

I had lunch yesterday with a friend from Topeka, KS and her partner, who was in the area. Cherl and I have been friends since I was 18 years old. I came out as a lesbian when I was 16 and heard about a group called TLC--the Topeka Lesbian Community. I knew they met weekly and I would often drive by the nights they held their meetings and longingly wish I could go inside, but I figured it was for adults only. So the week I turned 18 I showed up and attended every meeting until I joined the USAF. Cherl and I talked about those days...how it was a special time to be a lesbian in the late '70s in Topeka, KS. We all wore flannel shirts and jeans, most had short-cropped hair (not me..I was too chicken to get my hair cut at the time and had it styled the way it had been for years...shoulder length and bangs feathered back). There was a sense of radicalism in being a lesbian then... alternative insemination was virtually unheard of, marriage not even on the radar. There were no social networks outside of the TLC and The Lambda (the one bar in town, seedy, run-down with exotic drag shows on Friday nights). Feminism and women's rights, pro-choice were all big deals back then and we members of the TLC did our part. There were no vehicles with rainbow bumper stickers. There were no "out" singers or entertainers (although everyone assumed Liberace was gay) and women's music was shared with the lesbian community via a small record company called Olivia. Singers like Cris Williamson and Meg Christian, Tret Fure and Deirdre McCalla, Teresa Trull and the Berkeley Women's Music Collectice would travel across the country playing on college campuses and in small venues. The Changer and the Changed by Cris Williamson was the largest grossing album by Olivia, having sold more than 100,000 copies... in 10 years. AIDS was a gathering storm of which we were ignorant. Everyone smoked.
It was a magical time and a historic time, too, I think. We were on the verge of something big, we felt and yet we were also a small enclave of women who came together to create community. I remember those days like a crisp autumn season, the air brisk , the colors vibrant, both life and death crackling in the trees of possibilities.It made me reflect on my life's journey since then, the autumns I've lived through, the lives and deaths I've experienced, the many changes I've undergone.
In some ways I've come so far from that 16, 17, 18 year old girl I was back then and yet, in other ways, I am still her. She is still me, radical and bold, timid and tentative, longing to change the world and striving to find her place in it. I feel a little sorry for those coming out as lesbian or gay today, whisking off to California or Massachusetts to get married, considering children in their future as a matter of right, not as battles to be won. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad for these opportunities (and have certainly availed myself of alternative insemination to my ever-lasting joy). I'm glad for youth support groups and services and for laws on the dockets in states and cities and companies providing protection for LGBT employees. I'm glad Melissa came out, and the Indigo Girls and Greg Louganis. It would have been great if all that had taken place when I was 16, wearing a t-shirt to high school proclaiming "How Dare You Assume I'm Heterosexual!" But I gained something in those lean years when the only affirmation we had was given by one another, when the only role models were the ones we were creating. It was a sisterhood, a family, it truly was a community of TLC-- tender, loving care.
As we left the restaurant, Cherl hugged me, and said, a little sheepishly, "I don't know if I ever told you, but I had the biggest crush on you in those days." I laughed, remembering how much in awe I was of the women in the TLC when I first joined. They were all at least 9 years older than me and I thought them so wise and powerful and wonderful. "That's funny," I said. "I had crushes on all of you."

Falling Leaves and Fallen Lives

2008-08-26T11:40:00.000-06:00

This past Sunday I preached on the topic of letting go. I spoke of how autumn with its fiery array of falling leaves is a good reminder of the need to let go of things that no longer serve us.

There were two ways of letting go, I pointed out. One is like the trees let the leaves simply fall away without attempt to make them stay or keep them attached. The other type of letting go is when we need to unlock the grip we have on something so that it can be let go.

At the end of the sermon I asked everyone to write down some things they needed to let go of on autumn-colored paper leaves that were provided them. I told them I would take them and burn them, like we do with leaves that we rake in our yards.

I told them to crumple up their paper leaves like a dried, crackling autumn leaf and then to just throw them! I said we didn't need them anymore and with these leaves allowed to fall, we make room for new growth.

It was a cathartic moment, with crumpled up leaves flying across the Great Hall, people laughed and whooped and applauded themselves; for their willingness and their courage to let go.

That same evening, I gathered with folks from All Souls at Ft. Carson to participate in the Run for the Fallen. This local effort was a supportive gesture to the national Run for the Fallen in which participants set forth from Ft. Irwin, CA and travelled to Arlington Cemetery, VA to honor the women and men who have been killed in Iraq (http://www.runforthefallen.org/). This non-partisan event was another way of letting go, I think; a cathartic moment of dealing with the incomprehensible loss of over 4,000 US soldiers.
The event at Ft. Carson featured the 200+ soldiers from that base who have died in Iraq. Each of us was given a placard to wear with the name of a fallen soldier. I pinned mine, with the name of Spc. Nicolas E. Messmer on my t-shirt and went to join my friends in looking at the two large banners displaying pictures of those whose names we bore. Stephanie, whose husband Larry is currently serving in Iraq, pointed to the photo of one young man. "He was in my husband's command," she said.
I tried to take in the photos, the lives cut short, and found myself shaking my head in sorrow. I wondered, what was it like for Stephanie to view those pictures? What about the people, clearly members of the family of a fallen soldier with matching shirts proclaiming the stats of their loved one's too short life.
I thought, too, of the Iraqi citizens -- more than 60,000 -- who have been killed in Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom.
I wanted to be dictator for just one moment, to declare a cease-fire, to bring all of our troops home, to patch up the landscape of war with hope and healing and peace.
We walked around the track, then, about 3 miles, a line of people over 1,000 strong. Some were soldiers themselves; some had served in Iraq and watched friends die there, others had orders to go to Iraq. Some were family members who had lost a soldier, others, like my friends and I, were there to honor those who had fallen and to wish and pray with all our hearts and minds that we might never see a familiar name or photo on that terrible banner of death.
It was a moment in time, a solemn reminder of how transient life really is.
How we're called to hold life with such care and such love.

Last night, I took the basket of crumpled-up leaves outside and put them in my firepit. As I lit them and watched them catch fire, I silently said, "You've been released. We bless you for your presence in our lives. Thank you for what you have taught us and for preparing us for new life. Go in peace, as you go the way of all the earth."
Leaning back on my heels, I thought again of the faces on those banners, the names printed on our placards. I thought of Spc. Nicolas E. Messmer and all the other fallen lives. And as I watched the smoke spiraling into the sky, I silently echoed those words to those women and men, "You've been released. We bless you for your presence in our lives Thank you for what you have taught us and for preparing us for new life. Go in peace, as you go the way of all the earth."

Welcome!

2008-08-26T11:35:00.000-06:00

Welcome to my official blog. As settled minister of All Souls Unitarian Universalist Church in Colorado Springs, CO I wanted to have a place where I could share the musings, the insights, the subtext of ministry that won't make it into sermon form any time soon.
In this place I will share my thoughts and feelings on things both personal and public.
If you have any questions, please feel free to write me and, if appropriate, I will try to answer them in this space. If there are topics you'd like for me to weigh in on, let me know those as well.
I'm looking forward to hearing from you.
Peace,
Nori