Religious Intolerance

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

“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

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

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

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

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

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!