Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could. -- Louise Erdich.

Tonight, at All Souls Unitarian Universalist Church we will once again be hosting the Transgender Day of Remembrance Candlelight Vigil to honor those who were murdered in the past year due to transphobia. The list is long. Tonight 81 names will be read, with ages ranging from age 8 (Alex Medeiros, who was beaten to death by his father, on February 18, in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, for refusing to cut his hair, liking women’s clothes, and dancing) to age 55 (Mary Joy Añonuevo who was stabbed 33 times in Lucena, Quezon, Philippines on October 21st, 2014.

Of the names that will be read, 16 were killed in the United States; 10 of those were Trans women of color. Of the names that will be read, many will be listed only as unknown woman or man, lives lost tragically with no identity by which we can remember them. Of the names that will be read, virtually all of them were killed in extremely violent manners, showing the level of hatred and rage these killers had toward their victims.

As the above case of Alex Medeiros illustrates, transphobia isn’t exclusively about transgender people, but about fear of those who are different, who color outside the norms of societal restrictions on gender performance. We will never know if little Alex would have grown up to be gay, transgender, or straight; his father took his son’s future away based on his own transphobia and fear of difference.

Why is there such a disturbing level of violence towards Transfolk and those perceived as gender-non-conforming? What lurks in the unconscious that would cause a father to beat his son to death for dancing? And what can we do, besides light candles once a year to create a safer world for our
Transgender kin?

For one thing, we can tell the truth. We can tell the truth to our children who ask us about bodies and genders. We can say there is a wonderful diversity of combinations of bodies and souls and sometimes they match what culture wants to see and sometimes they don’t, but we’re all uniquely wonderful and cherished; we are all of inherent worth and dignity, as we Unitarian Universalists like to say. We can insist on the overthrow of the pink aisles and the blue aisles that exists in toy stores, that continue the lie that there are "boy" toys and girl "toys." For that matter, we can begin campaigns against department stores who insist on "gendering" clothing. As if a few pieces of fabric stitched together is somehow meant for a boy or a girl just because of how it’s designed. We can speak to the managers of our local restaurants who have restrooms designated for "men" or "women" and ask that they consider making them gender neutral. I mean seriously, who of us has gender separate bathrooms in our homes? And yet, this is a fear Transfolk navigate in their daily lives: do I risk using the bathroom that fits me most and possibly get beaten up or worse, or do I try to hold it until I get home? We can check out the non-discrimination policies where we work and, if they don’t include transgender employees, advocate for that change. And, for that matter, why not talk to the boss about the bathrooms at work, too?

We can come to events like tonight’s candle-light vigil and listen to the names being called, see the pictures of those no longer with us. We can feel the weight of their loss, the sorrow of their tragic deaths, and we can also remember the joy they held in their lives, the ways in which they lived authentically in a world that holds no space for them, and realize how, at the end of the day, they tasted the sweetness of as many apples as they could; we can be grateful for their lives, and their legacy, and we can carry forth their memories into our communities, so that the sweetness of their lives will not be forgotten.
　

　
A friend of mine posted this on her Facebook wall today:
A quote from the Amazon show Transparent to honor this years Transgender Day of Remembrance.
"Are you saying you're going to start dressing up like a lady?"
"No. All of my life I have been dressing up like a man. This is me."

Let's light candles and pray for a day when everyone can truly go through this life as they are.

"When you have once seen the glow of happiness on the face of a beloved person, you know that [you] can have no vocation but to awaken that light on the faces surrounding [you.] In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer."

-- Albert Camus

Every time I watch the above video I get verklempt. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZMG2vNVq0ww in case your tablet or phone doesn't load the link) There is something about the joy of the flash mob providing a spontaneous commentary on people connecting. The video’s tag line of life’s for sharing is perfect for this type of shared celebration: life, connections, hugs, complete strangers applauding you, telling your story of coming home, or being so far away from home and all the hope and angst and triumph and arrivals and departures inherent in an international terminal in the airport.

And doesn’t it seem that life is sometimes a series of airport arrivals and departures? Where we are in a state of flux, ending a journey and coming home to loving arms, or leaving loving arms to head to ports unknown. And wouldn’t it be grand if we actually could see and touch and feel the love and support of a cast of thousands on our journey through life? A great cloud of witnesses as the Christian scripture (Hebrews 12) tells us surrounds us, encouraging us to throw aside everything that hinders us in our race, in our epic journey?

Most of the time, however, we feel as if we’re on our journey alone; as if there is no one to see
our lonely struggles or homesickness or even applaud our happy homecomings.

How would it change us, change our journeys, our pit stops and detours if we realized we weren’t alone? That there were others cheering us on, waiting for us, ready to give us high fives as we pass by on wherever our journey is leading?

And how can we be the flash mob that greets other travelers on their journeys? What would happen if we remembered we’re all in the international terminal and it’s our vocation to awaken that light of joy, of connection, of encouragement to those we pass who we might, in another time and space, simply pass by, unseeing and uncaring.

My hope is that each of us will feel, in the coming days and weeks, that sense of being welcomed, wherever we are on our journeys, of being celebrated as we continue on our path, regardless of where it might lead, and that we would joyously go up to others, even those whom this world would define as strangers and say to them (particularly the ones who seem lost, or travel-stained or bone-weary) that they are not alone, and give them a flower or a hug or a brilliant smile and tell them you’re with them, you’re proud of them and that, whether they’re coming home or leaving it for the first time, whether they’re escaping something or running joyously toward something, that we are there for them, that they are not alone, and that we really are all connected. There, no matter how cloudy the sky or cold the night, is where our invincible summer lies.

　

　

I would not tell anyone else that he or she should choose death with dignity. My question is: Who has the right to tell me that I don't deserve this choice? That I deserve to suffer for weeks or months in tremendous amounts of physical and emotional pain? Why should anyone have the right to make that choice for me? – Brittany Maynard

　

Last week, 29 year old Brittany Maynard quietly took a lethal dose of barbiturates and ended her life; her husband and mother were by her side. This was not a suicide caused by depression or despair, but rather a thoughtful and anguished decision made after Brittany had been diagnosed with terminal brain cancer early this year. Although there were treatments such as radiation offered, the reality is that the tumor was of such a size and was so invasive, that though the treatment might have extended Brittany’s life by a few months, it could not save or heal her. So she, along with her family, made the decision to take advantage of Oregon’s death with dignity law that allows people with less than six months to live to take a prescription overdose and die peacefully.

Because Brittany made her decision public in an attempt to advocate for greater awareness of the realities of living with a terminal illness there has been much debate in the public square on whether she should have been allowed to choose how her life ended.

She writes that she thought about just not doing the radiation treatment and dying in hospice, naturally, as the cancer consumed her brain but said the emotional and financial toll on her and her family made that a non-option. Instead, she chose to deal with the growing complications of the cancer until after her husband’s birthday and then, on Saturday, November 1, choose her time and manner of death.

According to the organization where Brittany volunteered, only five states currently offer death with dignity options for those dealing with a terminal illness. Montana is the most recent state to join the ranks. There are active campaigns in several states, including Colorado, where Charles Selsberg is working with the state Attorney General to get legislation on the books allowing death with dignity here. You can read his story  in an open letter to the state legislature published in the Denver Post.
Reading the comments on articles regarding Brittany’s choice, I’m dismayed, though not necessarily shocked, by the degree of judgment leveled at Brittany and her family for choosing to have control over her death. Some suggested she acted cowardly, others stated that she’s burning in hell, and still others told stories of their own or of their family members who suffered similarly but chose to fight to the end.

What is so frightening about death that we, as a society, can compassionately put our pets "out of their misery" but don’t allow the same generosity to humans? When did we allow the medical profession to take measures into their own hands that prolong the quantity of life, if not the quality.

My own father, Odd, suffered from lung cancer that had spread into his brain. Although they did brain surgery to remove that tumor, they could not remove the tumors in his lung and soon enough it would travel back to the brain. The solution, although there was minimal chance of survival for my dad, was to use directed radiation on his chest and brain. Although he had recovered from the brain surgery remarkably well, the radiation wore him down, made him lose some of his capacity for language (he couldn’t recall words easily any more, which frustrated him greatly) and ultimately died, six months after his diagnosis, after lingering near death for several days. In retrospect I would have advocated for no treatment, at the minimum. In fact, even the doctors who treat us, often refuse that same treatment when faced with a terminal illness, as reported in  this Guardian article because of the debilitating side effects with no real hope for a cure.

So why the resistance to allowing people the same dignity and comfort we offer our pets? Surely, much of this antipathy is based in ancient texts and religions where ending one’s life is forbidden, regardless of the death sentence already given by a person’s body. And maybe there is an innate revulsion at the thought of intentionally ending a life that is encoded in our evolutionary DNA that compels us to strive to survive. Definitely there is a fear surrounding the mystery of death that makes some people want to hold on to this body and this life for as long as possible. And, as Brittany says in the above quote, that is a personal choice to make, no one– not the government or church– should get to make that decision for you.

As someone who has seen friends diagnosed with cancer that is successfully treated I understand and am grateful that in many cases, a disease can be successfully treated with radiation and chemo-therapy allowing the person to live a long and healthy life, although they had to deal with a great degree of discomfort and pain caused by the treatment. The difference is in the diagnosis and the chance of success.

As someone who has experienced first hand the devastating grief and trauma of a suicide I can clearly see the differences between choosing your own manner of death in the face of a terminal diagnosis of cancer or ALS or other fatal illnesses, and the anguished, often violent killing of one’s self in a moment or season of depression, mental illness, bullying. In those cases, there is help available to the person who is contemplating suicide. In those cases suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary, solvable problem and the damage done to the families and loved ones in the wake of such a desperate act is immeasurable.

That’s not what Brittany did. Brittany, with the full support of her husband and family, chose to end her life with dignity, in peace and comfort. It was a selfless act of utmost bravery and love for her own life. As a minister who has sat at the death beds of more people than I care to count, I can understand the sacredness of slipping away into death with or without the aid of medication. Her death was no less sacred or meaningful because she chose not to suffer undue pain and agony first.

At the end of the day, what is important to me, is that the person who is facing a certain death within a short span of time has the choice to take that decision away from the cancer or other illness taking over their body and make their own peace with their living and their dying.

This past February, my frail, elderly cat Nala went rapidly downhill in terms of her health. After consulting with my veterinarian, I called an organization that euthanizes pets in their home. I sat with Nala on my lap in our favorite spot and held her and stroked her while the vet administered the drugs that would cause her heart to stop beating. She died in the home she loved, in my arms; she died with dignity, knowing she was loved.

If the time ever comes when I’m in a similar situation, I hope I will be afforded the same dignity.

 Every election is determined by the people who show up.” ― Larry J. Sabato, Pendulum Swing

 Today I got to witness a wonderful event. My 19 year old son, Sam, cast his first vote, thus entering into the democratic process our elections seek to uphold. As any mother would, I took photographs to honor this event. Sam was  a bit long suffering about it all, particularly the last picture of him dropping his ballot into the ballot box. "Why must I have a mom who insists on embarrassing me publicly?" He asked. Then, as if to underscore his point, he added sardonically, "Can you hear the weariness in my voice?"
I remember when I first voted. It was 1980, I had just turned 18, I had already enlisted in the US Air Force, though I wasn't due to enter Basic Training until mid-December, it was a presidential election, I had been out as a lesbian for two years.
I remember the way it felt, waiting in line, walking up to the ballot box and pulling the curtain behind me. I felt, suddenly, the weight of the responsibility before me; I understood viscerally in a way that before that moment I had only understood academically, the importance of the act I was about to undertake, the power of my vote, the need for me to make this commitment to let my voice be heard.
The main people I voted for didn't win that year, in 1980. Indeed, it would be over a decade before the person I voted for became president of the United States. Through these past 34 years, whether my candidates or issues have won or lost, I have maintained my commitment, made myself accountable to the responsibility to vote. To my knowledge, I have never missed a presidential election and may have the same perfect attendance on the midterm elections, such as the one before us now. The few times I missed a local or state election, due to circumstances beyond my control, I remember feeling a sense of guilt; as if I had let my values down by missing out on the right and responsibility to vote.
And here I am today, passing the baton to my son. I hope that I have instilled in him the importance of his vote, how we really can change the world with our voices and values, yet, no many how many rallies we attend, if we don't vote, we have abdicated our responsibility to try to create and re-create a country where there is room at the table for all, where justice is the plumb line and not the deep pockets of political lobbyists or special interest groups, where hope is dished up daily in portions for all. I can't guarantee who or what he voted for (or who or what I voted for, for that matter) will be celebrating with victories on Tuesday night. I can only guarantee that his vote counts, his casting of the ballot remains an act of revolution, and, as he continues to carry this mantle of responsibility along with all of this, the newest generations of voters, he will indeed make a difference.
And so will you. If you have already voted, thank you. If you have had your ballot sitting on the counter for the past week or so, thinking you will get to it later, do it now. Now is the time. Today is when our voices must be heard through our vote. And remember, as this point you will need to walk it into a balloting place; it's too late to trust that it will arrive by Tuesday and we need your voice. That is one of the ways we can fulfill the 6th principle of Unitarian Universalism: the right of democratic process in our congregations, and in society at large. Help determine the outcome of the election this Tuesday: show up and vote!

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect?
Let me keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.

~ Mary Oliver

The leadership of All Souls is constantly asking ourselves this question: How can we more effectively communicate and embody the mission and vision of our church? How can we encourage the members and friends of All Souls to do the same?

This morning the e-letter team met and asked that question of our weekly e-letter? Is it getting the right words out about what's going on at All Souls? Is it manageable to read in a quick session? Or does all the details about all the different happenings get folks bogged down? 

So we're experimenting a little. For one thing, I'm moving my musings to my blog, which made me sneeze when I opened up just now, it was so dusty. In the weekly e-letter you will still get the synopsis of what I (or the guest speaker) will be speaking on this coming Sunday but I will save my more prosaic musings for this venue. (If you're not on the e-letter mailing list and want to be, click here to subscribe-- there's lots of interesting information about what's going on every week at All Souls.)

The good news is that the intrepid e-letter team won't be waiting on me to finish up the weekly column before they can send the e-letter out, and the better news is that I can write whenever I want, not just on Wednesdays. I will commit to writing at least once weekly; we'll see how that takes form.

It's good to be open to change, to try to do something in a new way in hopes that it will increase your impact. It's also possible that in trying new things we-- you and I-- could experience monumental successes or colossal failures. 

We're not perfect, (Saint) Mary Oliver reminds us in the above poem. We're not supposed to be. We supposed to pay attention to that which matters, which is mostly standing still and being astonished.

Where are you standing still in your own life? Where are you astonished?

For myself, I've been trying to be much more intentional about my daily meditation practice. It can be so easy for me to get swept away in all the things that clutter up a day: deadlines to meet, fires to put out, bills to pay. The funny thing is when I focus on those things they tend to grow in their importance in my eyes. I begin to think those things are more important than standing still and learning to be astonished at all the beauty there is in this battered world of ours, if only I remember to look for it.

I'm excited about this new way of communicating with you, of you being connected to me, to All Souls in a variety of ways. I encourage you to sign up to follow my ramblings, if you want. 

And feel free to share your ramblings with me. I like to know what's going on in your lives, where you are being astonished. Perhaps we can share the wonder together.

Remarks from We Are Women Rally

There is a community of the spirit.
Join it, and feel the delight of walking
in the noisy street and being the noise.


Rumi

This morning, I had the honor of being asked to both speak and give a blessing at the Denver We Are Women Rally and March. The weather was beautiful (despite forecasts of rain and gloom) and we gathered in the Civic Center Greek Amphitheater, some 2000 strong: women, men, children. The signs people carried were fabulous. One of my personal favorites: Keep the Fundies out of my Undies .

There were many inspiring speakers and I was moved by our determination and unity. As I wrote to a new friend on facebook (a connection made because we were both at the rally): Isn't it amazing when we all stand in solidarity? How power to change the world is much more obvious when we are should to shoulder! This morning as we marched after the rally, like a pulsing conduit of strength and change, chanting slogans such as When women's rights are under attack what do we do? FIGHT BACK! I completely understood the sentiment of Rumi: we were walking in the noisy street; we were the noise; we were a community of spirit.

For those not able to be there, here is the text of my speech and blessing.

I have a confession to make! I am a religious fanatic! I am a religious fanatic for justice, equality, equal access!

In 1969 when gay minister Rev. Troy Perry spoke at a rally decrying laws that discriminated against gays and lesbians he said "I’m afraid my private parts are my own and what I do with them is my business and not the law’s!"

And I stand here today to say the same thing. Women’s bodies are not government property. Our health care decisions are not up for public debate. Your religious beliefs cannot cross the boundary of my body and my decisions.

I believe we are at a cross-roads in history where the vitriolic rhetoric of anti-choice politicians and faith leaders is filling the air with fear, lies, and shame. Now, more than ever, we need to amplify the voice of pro-choice faith leaders (and politicians) to reframe the discussion, rather than react to the hysteria of those who would seek to repress these basic human rights. The issue of reproductive rights and access to such basic heal thcare as birth control is not only morally and ethically compelling, it is theologically sound.

But I’m going to let you in on a little secret: This is not about religious freedom; it’s about the tyranny of the religious right and the attempt to hi-jack our nations human rights and civil liberties. We need to remember that our forebears were clear that the separation of church and state does not mean merely freedom of religion. It also means freedom from religion.

And when an employer’s religion trumps women’s access to basic health care; when laws are made based on religious opinions of a few and not grounded in the communal good of all; when the right to choose abortion is subjected to shaming ultrasounds and paternalistic authority; when a woman’s role in society is reduced to being a fetal incubator, we must stand up and speak out against this outrage. We must speak for women’s rights in the streets, we must shout it in the voting booths. As Abigail Adams wrote to her husband John Adams (both Unitarians, let me just say), imploring him and the other framers of the US Constitution to include suffrage in that early document:

If particular care and attention is not paid to the ladies, we are determined to foment a rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any laws in which we have no voice or representation.

And I say today, we will not go back. We will not give in. We will not give up but we will press on with the conviction of all those who have justice on their side and we will prevail.


Would you pray with me:

Holy Mystery of Love and Justice who is beyond any name we might give, and who cannot be boxed into any denominational job description, we ask your blessing on this sacred convocation, we pray that you continue to give us courage to speak truth to lies, to speak boldly in the face of those who would seek to shame us into silence. We thank you for the solidarity we share, women and men of all ages, socio-economic status, sexual orientation and gender identity. We ask that you bless us and we ask that you open the eyes of women who would deny their own bodies for political gain, who would seek to shame and silence other women for social power. We pray for them, that their eyes be opened to how their very bodies have been colonized by the rhetoric of those who seek to keep women subjugated.

Be with us now as we sing for justice, as we march for justice, as we shout and work together for justice. May your voice be heard in ours, O Holy Love. In Your Many Names and in the Name of All that is Holy. Amen.

Final Review of New to You

Okay.. I think this is the last retro-blog I will post. I had to follow up with the last one since this is like a sequel.

Falling Off the Speed Limit Wagon September 1, 2006

Well, I have to confess I have not been 100% in compliance with my new spiritual discipline of driving the speed limit.
I started off great on Wednesday, serenely careening down the road at speeds of 20, 25, 35.
I had pondered whether or not I should use cruise control but decided that this was a spiritual discipline, it was about the zen practice of mindfulness. I was not merely jumping through hoops or attempting to avoid another day in court. note: I appeared in court for my last speeding ticket the first of August. As my name was called to accept my plea bargain (faulty tail light...only 1 point as opposed to the 4 points on speeding charge) the judge waved my rather weighty file in the air and said "Nice to see you again!" I replied "Well, I do try to make an annual visit."
At any rate, my commitment to going the speed limit was not about avoiding speeding tickets, it was about searching for an elevated spiritual plane inaccessible to me as I rushed by at 10-20 miles over the posted limit. So I nobly chose not to engage cruise control but to keep an eye on my speedometer and try to maintain the needle at the posted limit.
As I said, this went quite well on Monday. I even reviewed other driving patterns of mine to see if I should change them as well.
I decided, nobly, humbly, seeking a higher truth, that while jack-rabbit starts from a stop light or stop sign were still acceptable in order to gain the lead over the slower car (And they are always slower cars) in the lane next to me, I had to forego my habit of "california stops" and instead come to a complete halt at the stop sign, look left, then right, then left again.
I smiled patronizingly at all those poor misguided sods who were so spiritually devolved as to zip past me, once they could, with annoyed expressions on their faces, thinking how sad it was that they still felt the need to speed.
And I was pleasantly surprised to note that I still arrived at all my destinations with plenty of time to spare. This week experiment was going to be a cinch, I thought as I pulled my car into the garage for the night.
Thursday dawned with all the promise of a day that included a session with my hair interpreter (for some people the word stylist just does not adequately describe what they do...Jerome doesn't just cut my hair, he interprets it, it's a lengthy process but always one with a happy ending).
Unfortunately, my morning kinda got away from me and I left the house already knowing I was going to be late. I had to decide what was going to bring more spiritual serenity: being late or going the speed limit and thought Dammit! I need to make that green light!
I willfully rebelled against my own vow of speed limits and not only sped, but whipped in and out among the traffic effortlessly. I was still 10 minutes late but I think that's much better than how late I would have been if I had missed that light.
Since I had already fallen off the wagon for yesterday I took advantage of my state of sin to speed away the rest of the day as well. Tomorrow, as Scarlett might remind us, is another day, after all. I also realized that I had to make the corner of T-Gap and Jackson an exception to my no califonia stops rule. You've just gotta carpe diem at that stop sign, baby. Slow and go and close your eyes. You'll know you've safely navigated the corner if your airbags don't deploy.
I did much better today, but realized in a spiritual epiphany of amazing proportions that part of the reason why I'm here on earth is to help others achieve their spiritual enlightenment. And if I'm driving the speed limit on a single lane road with cars behind me that want to go faster, and if that makes them cranky, that doesn't help their spiritual growth. Indeed the only thing I can do is to, well, unfortunately, speed up, go a little faster than the limit, lead them, if you will, into a place of serenity and calm that they will find as they, too, are able to go at a speed more conducive to their spirits.
I have to say I was proud of myself for sacrificing my own goals at going the speed limit to help others attain spiritual calm (and this was done in a non-co-dependent way, I want to point out. I wasn't sacrificing myself, I was simply recognizing the inter-dependence of the human family).
So, I'm not sure what tomorrow will bring, but I'll do my best to reach for the next spiritual plane...even if that means I have to speed.