Split mind

We live in a competitive, aggressive, violent society.  We glorify it on TV, in movies, sports, and video games.  We finance it with advertising, innovative or not, freely handing over our hard-earned dollars, and some of our privacy and liberty, for a piece of the action.

Yesterday I drove for the first time on the highway since the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary School, which is only 9 miles from my house.  As usual, drivers were exceeding the speed limit by 10 and 20 mph, cutting each other off, eager to get ahead.  You may think I'm crazy, but there is a very real connection between the terrible, horrible awful of last week and how we treat each other on the road, at home, in the marketplace, at work and school, even in Congress.

But then we can be so compassionate and justice-seeking, emerging from the numbing fog we call reality long enough to truly see each other, make a difference in a human life.  Sooner or later, though, we fall back under the caressing waves of capitalism, until the next time.  And the next.

We all suffer from a form of mental illness, and most of us self-medicate to one degree or another.  I call it 'split mind'.  We uphold life as the greatest virtue, yet allow individuals the right to own a weapon designed for the purpose of taking life quickly and efficiently.  We desire to live in a peaceful society, yet the largest portion of the national budget funds a military machine designed to make us 'strong' (and we bankroll its entertainment twin, the NFL).  We have a glut of possessions and retail items, yet upon what would we base our economy if not supply and demand?  We are restored by still waters, green pastures and blue sky yet we continue to suck the life out of this one-of-a-kind great blue marble we call home.

The apostle Paul knew of this split mind when he said that the very thing he knew he ought to do, he did not, while the awful thing he should avoid, he did it.  We're not stupid.  We know what we're doing.  To a certain degree, we actually care about the consequences not only to ourselves but to others.  The lie is that we think we have all the time in the world when we don't have any time at all, and no, I'm not talking about the Mayans or anyone else who thinks they've got the end of the world in their back pocket.

Anne Lamott, in her book Operating Instructions, tells this sweet small story about shopping for a dress with her best-friend-ever Pammy, who is dying of breast cancer.  Anne squeezes her body into a hip little number and asks Pam the quintessential feminine question about the big-ness of her butt.  Pammy's reply?  "Oh, honey, you haven't got that kind of time."

None of us do, it's all one day at a time for everybody, yet that doesn't seem to motivate us to do diddly-squat about anything, even losing a few pounds or kicking some habit that will eventually kill us.  Robert Kegan and Lisa Laskow Lahey, in their book Immunity to Change, write that we all shoot ourselves in the foot because we have hidden commitments and assumptions that encourage the very behaviors that thwart our efforts at real change.

What do you think are our society's hidden commitments and assumptions about gun violence and mental illness?  Are we so committed to individual freedom that we assume we'll lose too much by sharing power with others?  THIS is the discussion we need to have: a fearless moral inventory of our society.

Old South's new day

Yesterday evening NPR interviewed Jeff Makholm, the historian at Old South Church in Boston - in effect, one of the high priests to the sacred cows of the Congregational church, one of the four antecedent churches of the United Church of Christ.  Old South is making ready to sell of one of their two copies of the Bay Psalm Book, one of the earliest publications in the New World.  Out of the 1600 that were printed, only 11 are left.  Mr. Makholm in essence sounded like any other member of what is called 'the old guard' but also like a parent not wanting to let go of a 372 yr. old child.  Though it may not sound like it, I also sympathize with him:  when do you hold onto what you value, when do you let go of the past?

When a church sells something this valuable (it will be auctioned at an estimated $10 - 20 million), it can certainly give the appearance of mercenary values.  The Church has always had a love/hate relationship with money, having never been able to do ministry without it in some form.  Yet it does seem that this historical songbook could do more good leaving home than it would sitting in the special collections at the Boston Public Library.  I agree with Mr. Makholm's lament that if it's ministry that needs paying for, then it should be up to the members of the church to increase their giving rather than selling something as precious as a local treasure.  However, Old South is registered as a historical landmark, requiring capital improvements on a large scale.  Gives a whole new level to what is meant by 'stewardship'.  And yet Jesus didn't have a stone on which to lay his head.

Old South Church is a member of the United Church of Christ, whose motto proclaims that "God is still speaking", harkening back to the roots of the Congregational church, to one of its first ministers, John Robinson (no relation, sadly), who said before the Pilgrims set sail, that "[there] is more light and truth yet to break forth from God's holy Word."  Ironically, Mr. Makholm said that he was rendered speechless when he held one of these two books in his hands, the exact opposite intention of these books, which was to elicit praise. God's Word has always intended to be on the move, never staying in one place for very long, like the Ark of the Covenant and the apostles of old. Perhaps now God will be speaking through the new possibilities that will arise from the sale of this treasured artifact.

Spam...a lot of spam

 

Earlier in November a friend of mine turned 50 and his birthday party was last night (hey, why take any chances?).  Like me, he is an ardent fan of Monty Python, so I put together some favorite bits into a poem of sorts and read it to the gathered assembly (many thanks to the Internet Movie Database - I couldn't have done it without you.)  Oh, and you must read this out loud with your loudest, most obnoxious Cockney accent, or it won't mean diddley.  I began with these words:

Many of you may not know that all you need to know about turning 50 can be found in the wisdom of the collected works of Monty Python.  And so, in that spiggot...

Poem for Pete (Actually It’s Not a Poem - Just a Bunch of Cobbled Bits,

Rather Like Spam but Not Quite as Tasty)

I’m rather impressed you’re here.

You’re not afraid to be jibed in nasty ways.
Not the least bit scared to be mashed to a pulp
Or have your eyes gouged out or your elbows broken
Or your kneecaps split, your body burned away,
and your limbs all hacked and mangled.

(I mean, this is abuse.  If you’re looking for an argument, that’s down the hall.  Stupid git!)

Turning 50 can be dangerous business

But you know it’s only a flesh wound.
Everyone else says “Run away, run away!”
No shame in bravely turning tail and fleeing
Or turning about valiantly and chickening out
Sneaking away and buggering off, pissing off home,
Bravely throwing in the sponge.
Others avert their eyes, like those miserable psalms,
Always so depressing, but not you!
You’re a King, no shit all over you!
Using two halves of a coconut that you found and banging them together,
Never mind the swallow that carried them by the husk, beating its wings 43 times every second,
You’re on a quest!

(Even though strange women lyin' in ponds distributin' swords is no basis for a system of government.   We all know that supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.

Just because some watery tart threw a sword at you,
I mean, some moistened bint lobbed a scimitar at me, they'd put me away.)

But you, you’re on a quest!

No cutting down trees with herrings for you!
No shrubberies, swamp castles, silly English k-nig-hits, no indeed!
You want to be…a lumberjack!  Sleep all night and work all day. 
And I thought you were so rugged – poofter!

So look on the bright side of life!

Not like you’re being sold for scientific experiments.
And by the way, at your age, every sperm IS sacred.

Turning 50?

‘Tis but a scratch.

Call and response, part 2

For the last 18 years or so, during Advent, whenever I see a Salvation Army red kettle, I put in a dollar, take off my gloves, and shake the hand of the volunteer, thanking them for their work.  I don't keep track of how many dollar bills I donate or if I make a repeat visit - that way one hand doesn't know what the other is doing, in Jesus-speak. 

Recently I saw a post on Facebook warning folks not to contribute to the Salvation Army because of its efforts against LGBT rights.  Which means I will have to change my annual Advent devotion.  Which makes me sad indeed.  I wish there was a way to not punish the homeless that they serve yet still make clear that discrimination is not only wrong but evil.  As Blogger John Aravosis points out, would you give money to Pat Robertson?

I wonder...does the Salvation Army ask the homeless about their sexual orientation or gender identity before welcoming the stranger, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, caring for the sick?  For when we do these things, Jesus said that we were serving him.  Did it ever occur to these soldiers for God that the Christ could inhabit a gay person as much as a straight one?  The only things Don't Ask, Don't Tell serves are bad theology and a wacked exegesis. 

Perhaps Jesus is calling me to engage the red kettle and bell in a different way this Advent:  print some vouchers (see links above) and begin a conversation.

Call and response

The other night my husband and I were walking down Mass. Ave. toward Harvard Square.  We had checked into a sweet little B&B, part of our Friday-after-Thanksgiving tradition, and we were looking for a place to have dinner.  As we were approaching the square, we could hear some gospel singing ahead.  We saw people walking our way with amused expressions, some hurrying a little faster than usual.  You know, the evangelical-get-away-trot.  Deliver us from your disciples, O Lord.

Instead we were pleasantly surprised.  A tall African-American man in his older twenties, with a Salvation Army red kettle and bell, was singing a gospel riff with the words "Merry Christmas" and "Happy Holidays".  When he started with "me-r-ry", I sang it back to him.  "No, no," he said, "Me-er-er-ry!"  "Me-er-er-ry!" I sang back.  Then "Chri-is-is-ist-mas!"  We riffed that one up and down.  "Ha-ha-ha-ha-ppy hol-ol-ol-lid-da-ays!"  He was standing near an archway that made for some great acoustics--he must have scoped out this location or had worked here before.

He grabbed my husband by the arm.  "Man, you gotta keep her!  She's gonna get a recording contract or something!"  I then began my annual Advent devotion a little early: I put a dollar in his kettle, shook his hand and thanked him for his hard work this season.

And no, I didn't make a video of it or even take his picture.  You won't find this on YouTube or on Facebook.  Sometimes it seems as though we're all after our 15 seconds of fame, rather than making a spontaneous connection with another human being just for the fun of it.  I don't even own a smartphone; the phone I have can take pictures but I can't download them because it's a pay-as-you-go phone.  I answered this man's call with a response because that's what he was looking for.  Not just the response of money but the response of humanity:  "Hey, anybody in there?"

Since we were infants we have engaged in call and response.  We cry because we're hungry, wet, poopy, tired, and we need, need, need.  Most of us were blessed with someone who responded and a connection, a relationship was born.  We love it when someone calls out our name with energy and joy, like Norm walking into the bar in "Cheers".  And we are rich indeed if we still have friends in our lives who knew us before marriage, children and career, who remind us of where we came from, with whom we can pick up right where we left off.

I don't know about you, but the more connections I make (and I don't mean 'networking' or 'speed dating' of any kind), the more alive I feel.  The more I reconnect with those who know themselves to be alive on this planet, the more grounded, purposeful, joyful I feel.  And I hope that others around me feel the same way when I connect with them.

It all boils down to this one call and response:  Love me.  Let me love you.  Yes and yes.

I wish I had put more in his kettle.  And learned his name.

Who among you is not an idiot?

How many of us have done something truly idiotic?  I got my hand up.  If your hand is not raised, my eyebrows are.  How many of us suffered public humiliation as a result?  Often it goes hand in hand.  How many of us have broken the law?  If we've ever gone beyond the speed limit, we have.  Most of the time we don't get caught.  We tell ourselves we're hurting no one.  If we're driving over 45 mph in a road construction zone, we just might be putting other lives at risk or putting what we have to do above a law that is concerned with the safety of others. 

In truth we aren't any different from this woman:





The sign reads "Only an idiot would drive on the sidewalk to avoid a school bus."

 

 

Shena Hardin, 32, of Cleveland, as part of her punishment, was ordered to hold this sign for one hour today and tomorrow at a downtown intersection. Her license was suspended for 30 days and she had to pay $250 in court costs.
 

I'm not saying she shouldn't be punished or have to suffer consequences. I'm surprised jail time and volunteer service to the students she endangered wasn't included, as well as a hefty fine. But public shame and humiliation? I thought we left that behind with the Puritans and being put in the stocks or the pillory.

You know what Jesus would have done...he would be standing with her, same color skin, holding her hand and the sign with her so no one could tell which of them was the public idiot. You don't think so?

²              

 

"Early in the morning [Jesus] came again to the temple. All the people came to him and he sat down and began to teach them.³ The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery; and making her stand before all of them,⁴they said to him, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery.⁵ Now in the law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?”⁶ They said this to test him, so that they might have some charge to bring against him. Jesus bent down and wrote with his finger on the ground.⁷ When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.”⁸ And once again he bent down and wrote on the ground.⁹ When they heard it, they went away, one by one, beginning with the elders; and Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before him.¹⁰ Jesus straightened up and said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?”¹¹ She said, “No one, sir.” And Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and from now on do not sin again." (John 8: 1-11)

The Bible lists three modes of execution: stoning, burning and hanging. All three were carried out publicly, stoning carried out by the entire populace. The point of a public punishment is shame and humiliation, not only for the one being executed but also for one's family and tribe. Like capital punishment of our time it was seen as a deterrent to future crime, something we now know is not true.

How many of us were shamed by our parents and teachers, humiliated by friends when we behaved like an idiot? Did it encourage us not to repeat such behavior? How did it make us feel?   Shame does nothing but cripple a person.  Guilt is one thing; shame is another.  It's important that we know the difference.  Feeling less-than does nothing to enhance our self-worth. Ten to one this woman does not know her own worth.

Any of us who say "I am not like her, I would never do anything like that" just threw a stone her way. And if we think that the color of her skin had nothing to do with her sentence, remember the election we just went through.  One day it won't matter if we're 'Jew or Greek, male or female, slave or free'.  For now, it's time we all owned up to our own brand of idiocy, whatever it may be.





A female minister's manifesto

(This post is dedicated to my female cohorts in crime...make that ministry...with whom I have shared this particular rant, who also have lamented many of the same.)

This past Sunday morning, as I was dressing for a preaching gig, I went through the usual mental calisthenics about what to wear.  Nothing cut too low - i.e., no cleavage.  Something comfortable, usually slacks or Chico's Traveller's pants, but professional-looking.  A jacket that covers the butt if the pants are too clingy.  Comfortable but somewhat dressy shoes - glossy brown Dansko clogs. 

Then there's the jewelry, especially earrings.  Nothing too showy or shiny.  Nothing that may swing or sway.  Many parishioners have commented to me how my earrings are distracting.  (Jesus who?) Which means I usually end up choosing something boring.  SO not me.  But these are the hoops (no pun intended) I've learned to jump through when dressing for work.  I suspect that many women do this, no matter what their profession. 

Unlike men, who can put on a suit and tie, or a nice pair of chinos and an oxford shirt, pair of loafers and they are good to go, we women are judged by our hairstyle, hair color, makeup or lack of it, our jewelry, accessories, length of skirt, plunge of neckline, size of waist, hips and bust, and how we clothe all of it - just to make a living and to be accepted in our profession.  And of course, many feel free to comment on our appearance rather than on how well we do our jobs.  (I even had it mentioned in an exit interview with a church.  When I said that it was completely inappropriate for remarks about my mode of dress to be included in my final evaluation, the moderator, with whom I shared a sense of mutual respect and consider a friend, would not take them out.)

So in case you were wondering (because it seems this still is not clear), I am not a man in drag.  I am a woman.  I have breasts, hips and legs.  Get. Over. It.  I do not dress for anyone but myself.  Among other things, I am also an artist.  I dress fashionably, sometimes with a little funk, sometimes with a bit of irreverance, always with flair.  I have been blessed with a great head of hair, so I embrace it with gusto.  Yes, I have big hair! 

I like blue jeans because when I wear them I'm relaxed, just like anyone else.  Not one pair I own has rips or tears, and they're always clean.  Heck, most of the time on Sunday morning I'm wearing a robe, so what is the difference, really?  Many church goers will say that they love being able to attend church wearing whatever is comfortable for them, so why isn't the pastor or minister included in that?

And then there's watching my P's and Q's, censoring my language, making sure I shock no one.  Are you kidding me?  I work for Jesus, public enemy No. 1, the most dangerous guy in the world, yet you'd think he was hosting the Oscars or running for President by how schmoozy we've made him.

I often wonder that if we allowed Jesus to be human, really human like the rest of us, would we then have a different attitude about clergy and would we clergy then feel like we didn't have to perform, prop up our egos, or think that the church and the gospel are dependent solely on us?  Perhaps then we could also affirm our divinity, in that we were made in God's image, not anyone else's, and know our true worth.

1966

1983



1993

2010

Whatever I'm wearing, I am an image of God.  And so are you.  Get used to it.

How long do you have?

"Nothing worth doing is completed in our lifetime, therefore, we are saved by hope.  Nothing true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore, we are saved by faith.  Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone.  Therefore, we are saved by love.  No virtuous act is quite as virtuous from the standpoint of our friend or foe as from our own; therefore, we are saved by the final form of love, which is forgiveness."

                                       --Reinhold Niebuhr, The Irony of American History