Stewardship Sermon, April 1, 2007
“Stupid Work,” and Other Phrases I Want to Utter On a Daily Basis
I went on a trip a few weeks ago to visit my dear friend Adam in Chicago. The last time I visited Chicago…I guess it was a little over a year ago now, it was the dead of winter. We walked, as quickly as we could, from building to building in the freezing cold temperatures—heads bowed into to the wind, covered from head to toe in hats, scarves, heavy winter coats, gloves, and boots. It wasn’t like that this time. This time the weather was beautiful.
It was one of those idyllic vacations. I got a chance to relax a little, to catch up with old friends, and the food was great. But there’s something else that made it wonderful, something that is a little more difficult to capture in words. I guess one of the reasons I enjoyed my time in Chicago so much was that, well, nobody expected anything of me. I was not thinking about the errands I needed to run, the dishes I needed to wash, the homework I should be working on, and the bills I should be paying. Instead, I was thinking, “What do I want for lunch, and who’s going to make it for me?”
I won’t lie to you—I thought about “missing” my plane and staying on for a few days, perhaps even staying on indefinitely. But, reality has a way of sneaking in when you least expect it. I started to think of all the things that stress me out, all the responsibility that can weigh heavy on my shoulders, and I started to think what giving up that responsibility would mean.
Sure, it’s a lot of work to take care of my two cats, Jessie and Pumpkin. There’s the regular feedings, litter box scoopings, expensive vet trips, etc… But then, when I get home from a hard day, and Jessie jumps into my arms and starts purring, well, you can’t put a price tag on that sort of thing. My cats are worth the effort and expense.
Yes, the seemingly endless household chores I do get very old very quickly, but then, keeping up the house allows me to live with some of the finest roommates anyone could ask for. They’re warm, kind, supportive, and do things like get me medicine when I’m sick. I wouldn’t want to give that up either.
And homework for school, well, I’m ready to give that up, but I wouldn’t want to give up everything school has meant for me. I wouldn’t want to give up the dream I’ve pursued while studying there, or the future colleagues I’ve befriended. Being a minister has been a lifelong call, and I’ve worked too hard to give it up overnight.
I guess I’m saying that while it was fun having no one expect anything from me for a while, it is only when people expect things of me that I have the kind of life-altering relationships, the relationships that have shaped me into the person I am today, the relationships that make life worth it. It seems paradoxical at best, and like a sick joke at worst, that more responsibility can be the key to greater happiness and to living a more fulfilling life.
I have seen the same thing occur for many of you at this church. I’ve seen many of you kind of sneak in on Sunday mornings, unsure if this could be a home for you. It reminds me of people at the beach, gingerly sticking first a toe into the low tide, seeing if they want to commit more of a body part to touching the ocean. Coming to church here can be kind of a testing of the waters.
For some people, these are not the right waters, or at least the waters they are looking for right now. I welcome them, as visitors to this church, and as fellow seekers in the search for meaning. May you find what you are looking for. For others, however, this is the cool, clean water they have been thirsting for. It is a tall glass of iced tea on a hot day, a compass that helps them find their due North. I welcome them as well, as members and friends of this church, and as fellow seekers in the search for meaning.
Those of you who have found a home here, I wonder what it is that makes it home? I’m sure I could ask 100 people and get 100 different answers. For some of you, you found a home here by working with the youth. You saw your child find community in religious education, or you made connections with the youth by being an advisor or teacher. It was through your interactions in the R.E. building that you realized, “this place shares my values,” or, “I really respect the people that go here.”
For others of you, I bet the deciding factor was performing in the choir—finding a comradery with your fellow choir members, using your voice to sing beautiful music, looking out at the congregation and seeing joyful hands of appreciation waving in the air. This church became a place in which your gifts were appreciated.
Still others found community and hope in responsibility by being on a committee, in a TIE group, by ushering on Sunday morning, by providing refreshments to people after the service. There are many ways in which people find joy and greater personal fulfillment by taking care of this place, these people, our community.
Many of you help support this church financially. People sometimes ask me, “Does it bother you to help on the canvass for this church when it pays your salary?” My answer is, “no, because the ministry of this church is far bigger, stronger, and in more places than I could ever be.” That the money raised at this church, the money that keeps this place running, is here to support the ministry of this church. While that ministry pays my salary, it also pays the salary of the Director of Lifespan Religious Education and the administrator who keeps this place running.
The money raised in the canvass for the budget pays for religious education materials so that we may help the youth of our congregation live into their dreams. The budget pays for the candles we use to light the chalice every Sunday. It pays for the folders our wonderful TIE group leaders receive, so that they may facilitate their groups that so many of you feel connected with. Money came out of our budget for the beautiful stoles our choir wears and for someone to come out and tune the piano many of you love so much. All of the reasons people feel connected to this church are, in one way or another, there because someone cared.
They cared about the ministry of this church, whether it be the ministry of doughnuts on Sunday, of music, of small group facilitation—the ministries of this church are supported by the very people sitting around you right now—the people who give their time, energy, and money to supporting the work of this church so that the vital work continues. You, right here, right now, are part of an ever unfolding history of this place, a history that lives in the walls, that has helped shape us into the people we are today. It is through the care and responsibility of people in the past, that we were given the keys to this place, so that we may care for it in the future.
There is a Japanese film from the 1950s called Ikiru, which in Japanese means, “To Live.” The film is about a bureaucrat named Mr. Watanabe, who spends all day every day taking papers from a very tall stack, stamping them, and putting them on top of another tall stack. He lives a repetitive life, his office co-workers nicknaming him, “The Mummy.”
Then one day, he finds out he has inoperable cancer. With only a short time to live, he goes out to a bar and gets drunk for the first time. When he does not find fulfillment in drinking, he asks a women from work out. Still unsatisfied, he sees a rundown and dirty area of Tokyo and decides what they really need is a park for the children to play in. Spending his time and money recruiting volunteers and installing playground equipment, he creates a little bit of beauty in the midst of a neighborhood thirsting for care.
The film ends with him on a swing in the park, singing softly to himself as the snow begins to fall all around him. He sings, “Life is so short / Fall in love, dear maiden / While your lips are still red / And before you are cold, / For there will be no tomorrow.” Mr. Watanabe died on the swing in the cold.
Mr. Watanabe makes me think about what I would want to leave behind. What would I want the legacy of my short time here on this earth to look like? How could I spend my time and money wisely if I want my hopes, my visions, my values, Ikiru, to live?
As you think about your interactions with this church community, I challenge you to think about your hopes, your visions, and your values. What would it take to help realize those dreams in our community? How can we, as the trustees of this generation, find fulfillment in our generosity, and leave a legacy of care for the future? I leave these questions in your capable hands.
Amen.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Denial--Oh, How We All Use It
Working in a hospital, I've been pretty amazed at some of the coping techniques people find to get them through their day. I have seen families ignore or deny their feelings (sometimes for years), try to laugh off their pain and fear, rearrange their lives to take care of a loved one so that they don't have to face their own fear of death, etc... The human capacity to survive is pretty amazing. Recently, however, there have been three situations which have shocked and amazed me, and they all have to do with out and out denial.
The first one occurred at 1:30am in the Emergency Room a few weeks ago. I was paged by a doctor down there because a woman had died, and the chaplains respond to all deaths and code blues (people stop breathing or their heart stops beating) in the hospital.
A 90 year-old woman had been brought in by paramedics when her husband found her passed out on their bedroom floor in the middle of the night. The woman was a diabetic, which can turn into a very nasty degenerative disease. On top of that, the woman had a pulmonary embolism two years ago (a blood clot in the lungs, which would have been a heart attack if the clot went to the heart or a stroke if the clot went to the brain). Basically, this woman was pretty old and sick.
The doctor was great--he was very gentle and kind with the man. He explained what had happened, what they had tried to do, and gave the man plenty of time and many openings to ask questions, etc.. When the doctor asked the man if he and his wife had ever discussed funeral arrangements, the man replied, "No, never--she was so young and healthy!"
Now, I totally get that this man was in shock, and I felt incredibly bad for him...but really? Young and healthy? She was a 90 year-old diabetic who had already had a pulmonary embolism. The gymnastics the mind has to go through to construe her as young and healthy is amazing.
The second case was quite tragic. A 45 year-old woman died of cirrhosis of the liver. She was an alcoholic who drank 1/2 liter of hard liquor a day, and she came from a long family tradition of alcoholics. The woman was so sick, she was yellow. And when I say she was yellow, I'm talking Sponge Bob Squarepants yellow.
The woman was incredibly sick, and ultimately, she went into cardiac arrest (her heart stopped beating), she survived hooked up to machinery for a while, and then she died. Then, her family and friends started arriving.
No one was talking to anyone else in her family, and her friends were quite distant from the entire family. Everyone was in denial that she had been sick. Her best friend kept saying, "She was only diagnosed with cirrhosis last week, how could this have happened?"
Once again, I get that this situation was totally overwhelming, but, seriously? You didn't know she was sick? Really? Not even in the farthest depths of your mind? She was yellow.
The final event occurred on Christmas at about 11:40pm. I was on call, and I awoke from a sound sleep with a start when my pager went off. I headed up to the 8th floor where a patient had just died. Apparently, it wasn't really a surprise to the staff that the patient had died. However, his family was in shock. I knew I'd be there for a while when the wife said, "I know he's 83, that he's had lifelong health issues, that he's had two massive strokes in the last month, and that he's been totally unresponsive for the last week, but I really thought he'd get better and come home!" I ended up being there for 2 hours.
Now, I've never waited with someone I love in a hospital. I've never sat at the bedside of someone I've loved and prayed for a miracle day after day. I've lost people I loved, but I've never had the particular hospital experience. I have no idea what kind of stamina it takes to be there day after day, helpless as ever.
It's amazing to me that people can do that, and it's even more amazing to me how they do that. Sometimes the spirit needs to protect itself by offering up an explanation--I'll just be here until they can walk on their own again, or until the wound heals, or until he is strong enough to come home. People tell themselves that this is a turning point, and that the person is ready to change their diet/exercise routine/outlook on life/addiction patterns to emerge a new and healthy person. People will grasp so tightly to a shred of hope, wishing with every bone in their body that it's true.
It makes me wonder what I hide. If someone can deny that their loved one is old, or sick, or even yellow, what can I deny about myself, or deny about the people I love? What feels too painful to admit or even think about?
I offer up the same questions to you, my friends, family, and fellow human beings. What is it that has always seemed too hard to say or hear? Is there anything you've always wanted to tell someone? Are their secrets or wishes that make you feel too vulnerable to share with those around you?
In this time of New Years and New Beginnings, I wish you ever-widening and deepening self-awareness. You're worth it.
The first one occurred at 1:30am in the Emergency Room a few weeks ago. I was paged by a doctor down there because a woman had died, and the chaplains respond to all deaths and code blues (people stop breathing or their heart stops beating) in the hospital.
A 90 year-old woman had been brought in by paramedics when her husband found her passed out on their bedroom floor in the middle of the night. The woman was a diabetic, which can turn into a very nasty degenerative disease. On top of that, the woman had a pulmonary embolism two years ago (a blood clot in the lungs, which would have been a heart attack if the clot went to the heart or a stroke if the clot went to the brain). Basically, this woman was pretty old and sick.
The doctor was great--he was very gentle and kind with the man. He explained what had happened, what they had tried to do, and gave the man plenty of time and many openings to ask questions, etc.. When the doctor asked the man if he and his wife had ever discussed funeral arrangements, the man replied, "No, never--she was so young and healthy!"
Now, I totally get that this man was in shock, and I felt incredibly bad for him...but really? Young and healthy? She was a 90 year-old diabetic who had already had a pulmonary embolism. The gymnastics the mind has to go through to construe her as young and healthy is amazing.
The second case was quite tragic. A 45 year-old woman died of cirrhosis of the liver. She was an alcoholic who drank 1/2 liter of hard liquor a day, and she came from a long family tradition of alcoholics. The woman was so sick, she was yellow. And when I say she was yellow, I'm talking Sponge Bob Squarepants yellow.
The woman was incredibly sick, and ultimately, she went into cardiac arrest (her heart stopped beating), she survived hooked up to machinery for a while, and then she died. Then, her family and friends started arriving.
No one was talking to anyone else in her family, and her friends were quite distant from the entire family. Everyone was in denial that she had been sick. Her best friend kept saying, "She was only diagnosed with cirrhosis last week, how could this have happened?"
Once again, I get that this situation was totally overwhelming, but, seriously? You didn't know she was sick? Really? Not even in the farthest depths of your mind? She was yellow.
The final event occurred on Christmas at about 11:40pm. I was on call, and I awoke from a sound sleep with a start when my pager went off. I headed up to the 8th floor where a patient had just died. Apparently, it wasn't really a surprise to the staff that the patient had died. However, his family was in shock. I knew I'd be there for a while when the wife said, "I know he's 83, that he's had lifelong health issues, that he's had two massive strokes in the last month, and that he's been totally unresponsive for the last week, but I really thought he'd get better and come home!" I ended up being there for 2 hours.
Now, I've never waited with someone I love in a hospital. I've never sat at the bedside of someone I've loved and prayed for a miracle day after day. I've lost people I loved, but I've never had the particular hospital experience. I have no idea what kind of stamina it takes to be there day after day, helpless as ever.
It's amazing to me that people can do that, and it's even more amazing to me how they do that. Sometimes the spirit needs to protect itself by offering up an explanation--I'll just be here until they can walk on their own again, or until the wound heals, or until he is strong enough to come home. People tell themselves that this is a turning point, and that the person is ready to change their diet/exercise routine/outlook on life/addiction patterns to emerge a new and healthy person. People will grasp so tightly to a shred of hope, wishing with every bone in their body that it's true.
It makes me wonder what I hide. If someone can deny that their loved one is old, or sick, or even yellow, what can I deny about myself, or deny about the people I love? What feels too painful to admit or even think about?
I offer up the same questions to you, my friends, family, and fellow human beings. What is it that has always seemed too hard to say or hear? Is there anything you've always wanted to tell someone? Are their secrets or wishes that make you feel too vulnerable to share with those around you?
In this time of New Years and New Beginnings, I wish you ever-widening and deepening self-awareness. You're worth it.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Observations From a Hospital
I wrote the following while on a 15 minute break at the hospital where I'm working as a chaplain. I was sitting outside on a veranda, overlooking the city, and the following just came to me.
"I saw the face of God today. She was a 97 year-old Chinese woman with stringy, greasy hair, who wanted to die. I can't tell you exactly how I know it was God, other than just a feeling I have. When everything else falls away--eating, drinking, hygiene, an urge to cling to life--when it falls away, it is much easier to identify God.
You know what the most spectacular thing was? God was in the room twice, as only God can be. God was in the daughter's eyes as well. The daughter who slowly fed her mother a bite at a time, who told me her mother fought the doctors tooth and nail, who smiled when she spoke of her mother's ability to taste a food once and know how to cook it--God was in her face, too.
God was also down the hall in the 87 year-old Russian Orthodox woman who couldn't speak, who labored through every breath, but whose breath calmed and slowed the longer I sat and looked at her.
Lest you think God only resides in women, I also glimpsed God in a 95 year-old, New York born, ballroom dancing Episcopalian. I never knew God meringued, but I can swear it's the truth.
Coming to San Francisco, there's a lot of people I expected to meet--new friends, fellow students, neighbors, perhaps even a local celebrity. What I wasn't expecting, however, was to see God on a ventilator, to see God with pancreatic cancer. Heck, I never even realized God got colds. Yet...yet...I can attest to it now.
I wonder where I'll find God tomorrow. On a stretcher in the hallway? In a nurse's uniform running from room to room? Next to a sea of rooftops, the adventure begins."
"I saw the face of God today. She was a 97 year-old Chinese woman with stringy, greasy hair, who wanted to die. I can't tell you exactly how I know it was God, other than just a feeling I have. When everything else falls away--eating, drinking, hygiene, an urge to cling to life--when it falls away, it is much easier to identify God.
You know what the most spectacular thing was? God was in the room twice, as only God can be. God was in the daughter's eyes as well. The daughter who slowly fed her mother a bite at a time, who told me her mother fought the doctors tooth and nail, who smiled when she spoke of her mother's ability to taste a food once and know how to cook it--God was in her face, too.
God was also down the hall in the 87 year-old Russian Orthodox woman who couldn't speak, who labored through every breath, but whose breath calmed and slowed the longer I sat and looked at her.
Lest you think God only resides in women, I also glimpsed God in a 95 year-old, New York born, ballroom dancing Episcopalian. I never knew God meringued, but I can swear it's the truth.
Coming to San Francisco, there's a lot of people I expected to meet--new friends, fellow students, neighbors, perhaps even a local celebrity. What I wasn't expecting, however, was to see God on a ventilator, to see God with pancreatic cancer. Heck, I never even realized God got colds. Yet...yet...I can attest to it now.
I wonder where I'll find God tomorrow. On a stretcher in the hallway? In a nurse's uniform running from room to room? Next to a sea of rooftops, the adventure begins."
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Beepers and Other Mysteries of the Universe
It's Day 2 of my chaplaincy, and I am exhausted. I haven't even seen any patients yet--I'm dragging just from orientation.
I find it strange that I now have a beeper. My beeper even has my name on it. "Beep" has become a verb for me, as in "I've been beeped," or "a patient is coding, beep the chaplain." I have yet to be beeped, but I picture my first time as some sort of comic farce, my pocket exploding in a frenzy of loud, high pitched tones and hyperactive vibration. Perhaps I'll be walking down a hall and will suddenly flail my arms out of surprise. Perhaps I'll be in the on-call room when someone in the Intensive Care Unit dies at 2am, and I'll jolt awake with a cartoon like flourish, complete with bumping my head on the alcove with the statue of the Virgin Mary.
I'm part of a "care team" that includes the doctors, nurses, staff, and case managers working with a patient, and I sit in on "team meetings" and go on rounds. I never thought I would go on "rounds." I have a name badge with my title on it. I even write on people's charts. Craziness.
Even though it's exhausting, I'm finding a nice camaraderie with my colleagues. I'm feeling especially close with the Priests (ironic that I fled from the church but find comfort with its stewards). They tell hilarious stories about things they've been asked to do, like help the nurse get a patient's dentures back in after they died and rigor mortis had set in.
Strangely enough, even after all the exhaustion, the anxiety, the hour-long commute both ways, it still feels...well...right. It feels really good to be where I am and doing what I'm doing. Now if I can just figure out how to beep others...
I find it strange that I now have a beeper. My beeper even has my name on it. "Beep" has become a verb for me, as in "I've been beeped," or "a patient is coding, beep the chaplain." I have yet to be beeped, but I picture my first time as some sort of comic farce, my pocket exploding in a frenzy of loud, high pitched tones and hyperactive vibration. Perhaps I'll be walking down a hall and will suddenly flail my arms out of surprise. Perhaps I'll be in the on-call room when someone in the Intensive Care Unit dies at 2am, and I'll jolt awake with a cartoon like flourish, complete with bumping my head on the alcove with the statue of the Virgin Mary.
I'm part of a "care team" that includes the doctors, nurses, staff, and case managers working with a patient, and I sit in on "team meetings" and go on rounds. I never thought I would go on "rounds." I have a name badge with my title on it. I even write on people's charts. Craziness.
Even though it's exhausting, I'm finding a nice camaraderie with my colleagues. I'm feeling especially close with the Priests (ironic that I fled from the church but find comfort with its stewards). They tell hilarious stories about things they've been asked to do, like help the nurse get a patient's dentures back in after they died and rigor mortis had set in.
Strangely enough, even after all the exhaustion, the anxiety, the hour-long commute both ways, it still feels...well...right. It feels really good to be where I am and doing what I'm doing. Now if I can just figure out how to beep others...
Monday, September 3, 2007
New Job, Here I Come
I promise, promise, promise to post more fun and exciting things soon. I have some great pictures from my trips this summer. However, tonight I am going to bed early because I start my new job in the morning--YAY!
I report to the hospital at 8:30am so start my chaplaincy, and I'm nervous/excited about it all. I wrote in an e-mail to my friend John, who is a brilliant chaplain and friend, "I start my CPE residency tomorrow, and I'm just a wee bit nervous. It kind of feels like the first day of kindergarten again--I don't know where I'm going, I don't know who my teacher is, I'm not sure what it's going to be like, and there's a very real chance I might, at some point, cry. However, this time I won't have a nap time and I'll be dressed in a suit. Is that progress?"
I hope all of you are well. Fun and exciting things are afoot...
I report to the hospital at 8:30am so start my chaplaincy, and I'm nervous/excited about it all. I wrote in an e-mail to my friend John, who is a brilliant chaplain and friend, "I start my CPE residency tomorrow, and I'm just a wee bit nervous. It kind of feels like the first day of kindergarten again--I don't know where I'm going, I don't know who my teacher is, I'm not sure what it's going to be like, and there's a very real chance I might, at some point, cry. However, this time I won't have a nap time and I'll be dressed in a suit. Is that progress?"
I hope all of you are well. Fun and exciting things are afoot...
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Racism Today
I just cut and pasted this from the colorofchange.org website. Even if you don't go online to sign the petition, I highly recommend informing yourself. This is a terrible situation and has gotten very little media coverage. The more outraged the wider world becomes, the less people can get away with stuff like this.
Dear friend,
I just learned about a case of segregation-era oppression happening today in Jena, Louisiana. I signed onto ColorOfChange.org's campaign for justice in Jena, and wanted to invite you to do the same.
http://www.colorofchange.org/jena/?id=1909-224014
Last fall in Jena, the day after two Black high school students sat beneath the "white tree" on their campus, nooses were hung from the tree. When the superintendent dismissed the nooses as a "prank," more Black students sat under the tree in protest. The District Attorney then came to the school accompanied by the town's police and demanded that the students end their protest, telling them, "I can be your best friend or your worst enemy... I can take away your lives with a stroke of my pen."
A series of white-on-black incidents of violence followed, and the DA did nothing. But when a white student was beaten up in a schoolyard fight, the DA responded by charging six black students with attempted murder and conspiracy to commit murder.
It's a story that reads like one from the Jim Crow era, when judges, lawyers and all-white juries used the justice system to keep blacks in "their place." But it's happening today. The families of these young men are fighting back, but the story has gotten minimal press. Together, we can make sure their story is told and that the Governor of Louisiana intervenes and provides justice for the Jena 6. It starts now. Please join me:
http://www.colorofchange.org/jena/?id=1909-224014
The noose-hanging incident and the DA's visit to the school set the stage for everything that followed. Racial tension escalated over the next couple of months, and on November 30, the main academic building of Jena High School was burned down in an unsolved fire. Later the same weekend, a black student was beaten up by white students at a party. The next day, black students at a convenience store were threatened by a young white man with a shotgun. They wrestled the gun from him and ran away. While no charges were filed against the white man, the students were later arrested for the theft of the gun.
That Monday at school, a white student, who had been a vocal supporter of the students who hung the nooses, taunted the black student who was beaten up at the off-campus party and allegedly called several black students "nigger." After lunch, he was knocked down, punched and kicked by black students. He was taken to the hospital, but was released and was well enough to go to a social event that evening.
Six Black Jena High students, Robert Bailey (17), Theo Shaw (17), Carwin Jones (18), Bryant Purvis (17), Mychal Bell (16) and an unidentified minor, were expelled from school, arrested and charged with second-degree attempted murder. The first trial ended last month, and Mychal Bell, who has been in prison since December, was convicted of aggravated battery and conspiracy to commit aggravated battery (both felonies) by an all-white jury in a trial where his public defender called no witnesses. During his trial, Mychal's parents were ordered not to speak to the media and the court prohibited protests from taking place near the courtroom or where the judge could see them.
Mychal is scheduled to be sentenced on July 31st, and could go to jail for 22 years. Theo Shaw's trial is next. He will finally make bail this week.
The Jena Six are lucky to have parents and loved ones who are fighting tooth and nail to free them. They have been threatened but they are standing strong. We know that if the families have to go it alone, their sons will be a long time coming home. But if we act now, we can make a difference.
Join me in demanding that Louisiana Governor Kathleen Blanco get involved to make sure that justice is served for Mychal Bell, and that DA Reed Walters drop the charges against the 5 boys who have not yet gone to trial.
http://www.colorofchange.org/jena/?id=1909-224014
Thanks.
Anne
Dear friend,
I just learned about a case of segregation-era oppression happening today in Jena, Louisiana. I signed onto ColorOfChange.org's campaign for justice in Jena, and wanted to invite you to do the same.
http://www.colorofchange.org/jena/?id=1909-224014
Last fall in Jena, the day after two Black high school students sat beneath the "white tree" on their campus, nooses were hung from the tree. When the superintendent dismissed the nooses as a "prank," more Black students sat under the tree in protest. The District Attorney then came to the school accompanied by the town's police and demanded that the students end their protest, telling them, "I can be your best friend or your worst enemy... I can take away your lives with a stroke of my pen."
A series of white-on-black incidents of violence followed, and the DA did nothing. But when a white student was beaten up in a schoolyard fight, the DA responded by charging six black students with attempted murder and conspiracy to commit murder.
It's a story that reads like one from the Jim Crow era, when judges, lawyers and all-white juries used the justice system to keep blacks in "their place." But it's happening today. The families of these young men are fighting back, but the story has gotten minimal press. Together, we can make sure their story is told and that the Governor of Louisiana intervenes and provides justice for the Jena 6. It starts now. Please join me:
http://www.colorofchange.org/jena/?id=1909-224014
The noose-hanging incident and the DA's visit to the school set the stage for everything that followed. Racial tension escalated over the next couple of months, and on November 30, the main academic building of Jena High School was burned down in an unsolved fire. Later the same weekend, a black student was beaten up by white students at a party. The next day, black students at a convenience store were threatened by a young white man with a shotgun. They wrestled the gun from him and ran away. While no charges were filed against the white man, the students were later arrested for the theft of the gun.
That Monday at school, a white student, who had been a vocal supporter of the students who hung the nooses, taunted the black student who was beaten up at the off-campus party and allegedly called several black students "nigger." After lunch, he was knocked down, punched and kicked by black students. He was taken to the hospital, but was released and was well enough to go to a social event that evening.
Six Black Jena High students, Robert Bailey (17), Theo Shaw (17), Carwin Jones (18), Bryant Purvis (17), Mychal Bell (16) and an unidentified minor, were expelled from school, arrested and charged with second-degree attempted murder. The first trial ended last month, and Mychal Bell, who has been in prison since December, was convicted of aggravated battery and conspiracy to commit aggravated battery (both felonies) by an all-white jury in a trial where his public defender called no witnesses. During his trial, Mychal's parents were ordered not to speak to the media and the court prohibited protests from taking place near the courtroom or where the judge could see them.
Mychal is scheduled to be sentenced on July 31st, and could go to jail for 22 years. Theo Shaw's trial is next. He will finally make bail this week.
The Jena Six are lucky to have parents and loved ones who are fighting tooth and nail to free them. They have been threatened but they are standing strong. We know that if the families have to go it alone, their sons will be a long time coming home. But if we act now, we can make a difference.
Join me in demanding that Louisiana Governor Kathleen Blanco get involved to make sure that justice is served for Mychal Bell, and that DA Reed Walters drop the charges against the 5 boys who have not yet gone to trial.
http://www.colorofchange.org/jena/?id=1909-224014
Thanks.
Anne
My New Favorite Phrase
I've found myself using the same phrase over and over again lately. It's not a new phrase, or a particularly exciting one. Rather, it's an expression of frustration using words that are not directly blaming one individual. The phrase is, "I find that problematic."
This phrase has really come in handy a lot lately. For example, it was very useful when my boss called me all in a tizzy saying she hadn't yet received documentation for all the transactions done in September, October, and November of 2007. My initial reply was, "it's August." Not immediately comprehending, she said, "I know." I replied, "No, it's August of 2007--September, October, and November of 2007 haven't happened yet." When two accountants and a vice president don't notice that they're getting all hot and bothered about documentation for fictional transactions, and it takes a lowly student worker to point this out, I say, "I find this problematic."
The great thing about this phrase is that it's not, "I find you problematic" (although I'm sure that's a useful phrase as well). It's not a mean phrase or a phrase that shocks. It is understated yet clear. "I find this problematic" just has so many fine qualities.
The good news is I'll be starting a new job soon. While I'm sure I'll have my share of frustrations there, it will give me a fresh start and new skills to learn. It might even be quite some time before I find anything in particular problematic.
Has anyone else needed to use this phrase recently?
This phrase has really come in handy a lot lately. For example, it was very useful when my boss called me all in a tizzy saying she hadn't yet received documentation for all the transactions done in September, October, and November of 2007. My initial reply was, "it's August." Not immediately comprehending, she said, "I know." I replied, "No, it's August of 2007--September, October, and November of 2007 haven't happened yet." When two accountants and a vice president don't notice that they're getting all hot and bothered about documentation for fictional transactions, and it takes a lowly student worker to point this out, I say, "I find this problematic."
The great thing about this phrase is that it's not, "I find you problematic" (although I'm sure that's a useful phrase as well). It's not a mean phrase or a phrase that shocks. It is understated yet clear. "I find this problematic" just has so many fine qualities.
The good news is I'll be starting a new job soon. While I'm sure I'll have my share of frustrations there, it will give me a fresh start and new skills to learn. It might even be quite some time before I find anything in particular problematic.
Has anyone else needed to use this phrase recently?
Thursday, August 2, 2007
My Bizarre Jobs
Someone donated stock to the school today, and I had to wait until the New York Stock Exchange closed in order to get a "historical quote," which is basically the average price of the stock for that day. I've done a lot of crazy things for work--shoveled horse manure, repainted the lines on a football field, led young children on a fictional bear hunt, crawled through a giant 3-dimensional ant hill...and yet...waiting for the NYSE to close somehow seems the strangest of them all.
I guess I really am meant to work in non-profits for the rest of my life.
I guess I really am meant to work in non-profits for the rest of my life.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
The Nature of Conflict
I've been thinking a lot lately about conflict. In general, I think many people are pretty conflict-avoidant. I've seen whole families dance around an argument or a family "secret," intent on maintaining a persona of perfection or at the very least cohesion. I myself grew up in such a family.
Sometimes there's really something to be said for avoiding conflict, such as when a group needs to act as one for safety or to accomplish a task. If a community's only chance of escaping a war-torn country is to temporarily bury their internal disagreements and work as one to escape persecution, conflict-avoidance can, on several levels (not the least of which is literally), save lives.
However, on the whole, our fear of conflict seems to drive us ever further apart as opposed to into a cohesive whole. To reference the movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith (any why the heck not?), "the space between us just seems to fill up with all the things we never say." Whether we do not say what we really mean and communicate what's really going on out of "good manners," an urge to "protect" the other, or the belief that we can just let whatever it is we want to say go, there are a million reasons to not face the perception of difference.
Really, at the end of the day, that is what we are all scared of--a perception of difference. I spent years not talking to my extended family about politics, believing that if we talked about our beliefs, we would disagree. If we disagreed, we could never really go back to pretending we did agree. And if we couldn't even pretend we agreed, how could we ever be a family again?
I think that fearing conflict is underestimating our personal and collective abilities. We are complex creatures who are capable of speech, movement, emotions, reproduction, and invention, yet we operate on the notion that we are incapable of reaching greater levels of understanding, that we cannot possibly find a way to move even closer to one another as a result of communicating through a conflict.
I still remember a lesson my mother pointed out to me my first year of college. I was living with this wonderful, amazing, hilarious, outgoing, thoughtful, brilliant roommate named Anna. We quickly became friends, and we both found ways to expand each other's understanding of the world. Anna, who liked things beautiful and clean and bold, helped me throw away some of my pack-rat objects that were holding me down. I, who liked things serene and practical and stable, helped Anna ground some of her amazing energy. Together, our friendship made us stronger than we were individually.
Sometime in the middle of second semester, Anna and I got into a fight. I honestly don't remember what we argued about. However, it felt devastating. Here was this person who was beautiful inside and out, who was such a ray of sunshine, and we weren't speaking. We weren't staying up late and gossiping, we weren't laughing, or smiling, or leaping off the furniture lip-syncing to Little Richie songs.
Then, one day, it changed. I don't remember who started crying first. I don't remember who apologized first. I don't know when the hug began and when it ended, but it all happened. It was like this weight was lifted off my shoulders. I felt 100 pounds lighter. It was like, the world had opened back up to me. Like I was getting a second chance to try harder.
Even though we'd said mean things to each other and not spoken for days, the conflict made our bond stronger. We both knew that we had made it to the other side of something, and that mutual effort had given us more in common. It made us realize how much we valued the other person, how much they valued us, and how much effort we were both willing to put into our relationship.
I was telling my mother this story. It was like recounting an ancient miracle, I couldn't believe that 2 - 2 could equal 4. Then, my mother said to me, "Remember this feeling. Remember how moving through something made you stronger. This is what marriage is like."
I was kind of taken aback by the statement. Delving into really hard subjects, feeling disconnected before you can feel reconnected, facing times when you think it's all going to fall apart--this did not fit my fairy-tale image of marriage. And yet, it seemed a lot more plausible.
This theory, that communicating honestly in conflict can make you stronger, that not avoiding conflict can lead to less conflict, has proven itself right again and again. I've said some pretty audacious things to friends, family, and colleagues, I've been scared that a rift might never heal, I've thought about (and sometimes have) hidden my feelings or avoided someone in an attempt to escape the constricting feeling of conflict. And yet...and yet...facing it, saying what I need to say, not being afraid to make a fool of myself, and not being afraid to come back later and apologize for making a fool of myself, has only served to deepen relationships. It has only magnified my friendships. It has only built my trust in myself and my intuitions.
I guess I'm just feeling really grateful for conflict lately. Grateful that I've found ways through it, grateful my friends, family, and colleagues have been willing to meet me there, grateful that saying something can set me free, grateful that we are such complex and capable creatures when we give ourselves a chance.
Any thoughts?
Sometimes there's really something to be said for avoiding conflict, such as when a group needs to act as one for safety or to accomplish a task. If a community's only chance of escaping a war-torn country is to temporarily bury their internal disagreements and work as one to escape persecution, conflict-avoidance can, on several levels (not the least of which is literally), save lives.
However, on the whole, our fear of conflict seems to drive us ever further apart as opposed to into a cohesive whole. To reference the movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith (any why the heck not?), "the space between us just seems to fill up with all the things we never say." Whether we do not say what we really mean and communicate what's really going on out of "good manners," an urge to "protect" the other, or the belief that we can just let whatever it is we want to say go, there are a million reasons to not face the perception of difference.
Really, at the end of the day, that is what we are all scared of--a perception of difference. I spent years not talking to my extended family about politics, believing that if we talked about our beliefs, we would disagree. If we disagreed, we could never really go back to pretending we did agree. And if we couldn't even pretend we agreed, how could we ever be a family again?
I think that fearing conflict is underestimating our personal and collective abilities. We are complex creatures who are capable of speech, movement, emotions, reproduction, and invention, yet we operate on the notion that we are incapable of reaching greater levels of understanding, that we cannot possibly find a way to move even closer to one another as a result of communicating through a conflict.
I still remember a lesson my mother pointed out to me my first year of college. I was living with this wonderful, amazing, hilarious, outgoing, thoughtful, brilliant roommate named Anna. We quickly became friends, and we both found ways to expand each other's understanding of the world. Anna, who liked things beautiful and clean and bold, helped me throw away some of my pack-rat objects that were holding me down. I, who liked things serene and practical and stable, helped Anna ground some of her amazing energy. Together, our friendship made us stronger than we were individually.
Sometime in the middle of second semester, Anna and I got into a fight. I honestly don't remember what we argued about. However, it felt devastating. Here was this person who was beautiful inside and out, who was such a ray of sunshine, and we weren't speaking. We weren't staying up late and gossiping, we weren't laughing, or smiling, or leaping off the furniture lip-syncing to Little Richie songs.
Then, one day, it changed. I don't remember who started crying first. I don't remember who apologized first. I don't know when the hug began and when it ended, but it all happened. It was like this weight was lifted off my shoulders. I felt 100 pounds lighter. It was like, the world had opened back up to me. Like I was getting a second chance to try harder.
Even though we'd said mean things to each other and not spoken for days, the conflict made our bond stronger. We both knew that we had made it to the other side of something, and that mutual effort had given us more in common. It made us realize how much we valued the other person, how much they valued us, and how much effort we were both willing to put into our relationship.
I was telling my mother this story. It was like recounting an ancient miracle, I couldn't believe that 2 - 2 could equal 4. Then, my mother said to me, "Remember this feeling. Remember how moving through something made you stronger. This is what marriage is like."
I was kind of taken aback by the statement. Delving into really hard subjects, feeling disconnected before you can feel reconnected, facing times when you think it's all going to fall apart--this did not fit my fairy-tale image of marriage. And yet, it seemed a lot more plausible.
This theory, that communicating honestly in conflict can make you stronger, that not avoiding conflict can lead to less conflict, has proven itself right again and again. I've said some pretty audacious things to friends, family, and colleagues, I've been scared that a rift might never heal, I've thought about (and sometimes have) hidden my feelings or avoided someone in an attempt to escape the constricting feeling of conflict. And yet...and yet...facing it, saying what I need to say, not being afraid to make a fool of myself, and not being afraid to come back later and apologize for making a fool of myself, has only served to deepen relationships. It has only magnified my friendships. It has only built my trust in myself and my intuitions.
I guess I'm just feeling really grateful for conflict lately. Grateful that I've found ways through it, grateful my friends, family, and colleagues have been willing to meet me there, grateful that saying something can set me free, grateful that we are such complex and capable creatures when we give ourselves a chance.
Any thoughts?
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Eek, What a Busy Summer!
I had this sort of dream summer planned out. I was going to work part-time (10-15 hours a week), read some good books, and take a few trips to visit friends and family. It was going to be a peaceful time, full of introspection, sleeping in, and getting more involved in what really mattered to me rather than with endless amounts of homework and data entry for my job. It seems a distant dream now...
My reality has been more, well, real. After an unexpected resignation from my boss and mentor in June, I was spending 10 hours a day at my job trying to finish my own work as well as get a handle on hers. Did I ever mention I want to be a minister and not the Annual Funds Director at a small seminary?? In case I didn't, I never, under any circumstances, in any form or fashion, want to be solely responsible for managing hundreds of thousands of dollars of credit card, check, cash, and stock donations to a non-profit organization. Furthermore, endless conversations about how to make our computer programs talk to our consortium's computer programs using a complicated system of fund coding and FTTPing the csv file is at best bothersome and at worst the 10th ring of Hell.
That being said, I have read some great books this summer! If you've never read it, I highly recommend Jean Auel's Clan of the Cave Bear. It takes place tens of thousands of years ago when Neanderthals (a human cousin of the people we evolved from) and the Cro-Magnon people (our ancestors) both walked the earth at the same time. A 5 year-old Cro-Magnon girl's family dies in an earthquake, and she is left to fend for herself. Luckily, she is picked up and raised by a Neanderthal tribe. Jean Auel's careful research about the plants, animals, lifestyles, and the physical capabilities of different bodies is very evident. I highly recommend this book. Also, because it's so famous and popular, most public libraries have it. YAY for free book borrowing!
I am also in the midst of Harry Potter. It is so good. I'm only about 2/3 of the way through the book. I'm simultaneously unable to stop reading and wanting to make it last longer. My friend Justin (see picture in previous post) and I are both in the same place in the book, and we have been systematically avoiding people who are finished and want to tell us the ending. In the words of Justin, normally quite a peaceful man, "If anyone gives away the ending of Harry Potter to me, I'm going to go Blast-Ended Skrewt on their ass!" Justin has such a way with words.
That's all for now. More updates to come. :)
My reality has been more, well, real. After an unexpected resignation from my boss and mentor in June, I was spending 10 hours a day at my job trying to finish my own work as well as get a handle on hers. Did I ever mention I want to be a minister and not the Annual Funds Director at a small seminary?? In case I didn't, I never, under any circumstances, in any form or fashion, want to be solely responsible for managing hundreds of thousands of dollars of credit card, check, cash, and stock donations to a non-profit organization. Furthermore, endless conversations about how to make our computer programs talk to our consortium's computer programs using a complicated system of fund coding and FTTPing the csv file is at best bothersome and at worst the 10th ring of Hell.
That being said, I have read some great books this summer! If you've never read it, I highly recommend Jean Auel's Clan of the Cave Bear. It takes place tens of thousands of years ago when Neanderthals (a human cousin of the people we evolved from) and the Cro-Magnon people (our ancestors) both walked the earth at the same time. A 5 year-old Cro-Magnon girl's family dies in an earthquake, and she is left to fend for herself. Luckily, she is picked up and raised by a Neanderthal tribe. Jean Auel's careful research about the plants, animals, lifestyles, and the physical capabilities of different bodies is very evident. I highly recommend this book. Also, because it's so famous and popular, most public libraries have it. YAY for free book borrowing!
I am also in the midst of Harry Potter. It is so good. I'm only about 2/3 of the way through the book. I'm simultaneously unable to stop reading and wanting to make it last longer. My friend Justin (see picture in previous post) and I are both in the same place in the book, and we have been systematically avoiding people who are finished and want to tell us the ending. In the words of Justin, normally quite a peaceful man, "If anyone gives away the ending of Harry Potter to me, I'm going to go Blast-Ended Skrewt on their ass!" Justin has such a way with words.
That's all for now. More updates to come. :)
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
They're Reproducing!
I've known my friend Julia since before I can remember. We grew up together. Whenever we weren't at my house, we were at her house. The two of us spent hours talking about boys, and Green Day, and what we were going to do when we grew up. We dared each other to run through the sprinkler in her backyard naked. We were best friends all through elementary school and junior high, and I was devastated when her dad lost his job and the family moved to Evansville, IN for a new job.
Even though we don't see each other or talk a lot, she's one of those people I've known for so long that there's not much catch-up. We can pick up wherever we left off, and it's always great to hear what she's been up to.
It's funny how similarly two lives can start and how much they can veer off in different directions. Julia is still doing really well. She's living in Evansville with her husband, and the two of them are excitedly anticipating their daughter's arrival in a few months. I'm SO happy for them, and it's strange to be doing such different things in my life. I guess it's time to welcome in a new generation of naked-sprinkler-runners. Congratulations Julia and Jason!!
Even though we don't see each other or talk a lot, she's one of those people I've known for so long that there's not much catch-up. We can pick up wherever we left off, and it's always great to hear what she's been up to.
It's funny how similarly two lives can start and how much they can veer off in different directions. Julia is still doing really well. She's living in Evansville with her husband, and the two of them are excitedly anticipating their daughter's arrival in a few months. I'm SO happy for them, and it's strange to be doing such different things in my life. I guess it's time to welcome in a new generation of naked-sprinkler-runners. Congratulations Julia and Jason!!
Saturday, May 26, 2007
The End-of-the-Year Sprint
Oh my goodness, I've had some busy, action packed days! May 17th marked the end of classes as well as my seminary's graduation. People flew in from their internship sites all over the country to graduate. It was great to see everyone. So many amazing people have come through my seminary, and I wanted to spend a week with all of them.Graduation was also a chance to see my classmates as real, bona fide ministers. Everyone who graduates gets a Master of Divinity hood and then goes up to the pulpit to speak. Even though they only have two minutes, I'm constantly amazed at how beautifully and poignantly people speak. My classmates are the kind of people who give me hope in humanity.
The graduation was quickly followed by my friend Lisa's ordination the next day. The ordination was taking place in my home congregation, and I wanted to join my colleagues by robing and processing with the rest of the ministers and seminarians.Through a series of events (including lots to do at work and unexpected amounts of traffic), I was running late. As I drove into the church parking lot, the ministers and seminarians were all in their robes and lined up waiting to process into the church. Realizing that I still had a chance to make it, I threw everything except for my car keys and my ministerial robes into the trunk and tried to start running.
I'm not much of a runner to begin with (I usually only run when chased), and the addition of the dress heels I was wearing made me realize I would never get there in time. I knew there was only one thing to do. I kicked off the heels and picked them up, threw the robe over my arm, and I ran. I ran through the parking lot, past the children's chapel, weaved around the religious education building, and up onto the patio. As I arrived out of breath and barefoot, Lisa, who was about to be ordained, looked at me in a seemingly serene way and said calmly, "Wow, you have such good timing."As I caught my breath and pulled on my shoes and robe, I realized that all the ministers and seminarians down the line were smiling, totally amused at my arrival.
Saturday, I attended my friend Natalya's graduation. I met Natalya in a Religion and Film class at the Baptist seminary, and we became fast friends. She's one of those people who just lights up a room, and it was great to see her graduate. In addition to being a generally fabulous person, the girl can preach.On Sunday, I preached at church and attended a church dinner. On Monday, I had to work and go to a church meeting.
By the end of the long weekend, everyone was exhausted. Even the most extroverted of my seminary friends were running on empty. It was the end of a sprint, and we were all showing signs of fatigue.
I've spent today relaxing. After all the hullabaloo of the last few weeks, I decided I needed to be introverted today. I watched the movie The Good Shepherd about the beginning of the CIA, a few episodes of the British comedy Coupling, and cuddled with my cats and the dog. Today has been a good day.
The top picture is of my roommate Leon and my former roommate (who graduated) Barb. The next picture is of me and my old roommate Justin (who did not graduate, but probably will next year). Below that is a picture of me and my good friends John (who graduated) and his wife Kit. They keep declaring they want to adopt me. Below that picture is Natalya and I at the Baptist seminary graduation. Finally, my roommates Leon and Elizabeth and former roommate Justin wait, exhausted, in the subway station.
http://www.workers.org/2007/us/berkeley-0531/
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Happy Mother's Day!
Well, it's been a crazy day of paper writing. This is my last week of classes, perhaps forever, and everything is coming due in the next few days. I'm pretty much done with two of my classes, and I have a 20 page paper due tomorrow and a project due on Thursday. Friday is going to be a great day.
I don't think it has quite hit me yet that I won't be in seminary classes next year. I'm in one of those strange transitional spaces--it's time to leave classes, but it's not quite time to start my chaplaincy. It feels a bit like the summer between high school and college, or college and my first full-time job. I have this image of myself trying to walk out of a room, and there's something that is holding on to one of my ankles. I tug and I tug, but it still has a grasp. Slowly, over the last few days, it's begun to release it's grip.
I spent all day today in coffee houses. I was in the Temescal Cafe, a funky little dive down the street from me, from 10am to 4pm when it closed. I moved on to Tumble and Tea, this coffee house with a fabulous play area for toddlers, and stayed there until it closed at 6:30pm. It's kind of comforting to do homework there. I'm reminded of my 5 years at the children's museum as the kids run around dressed like lions and dinosaurs.
The next few days are going to be pretty busy. My friend Natalya is giving a presentation on her senior project Monday night before our 7pm class, Tuesday I'm helping to plan a worship service at church, Wednesday I work in the advancement office and go to an afternoon class, Thursday I have a project due in the afternoon and the seminary's graduation that night (I'm not graduating yet, but some people I love and adore are), Friday is my friend Lisa's ordination, Saturday I'm writing a sermon on the beach (if you have to write a sermon, you might as well do it there), and Sunday I'm preaching at church for our Coming of Age Service.
Whew--so many transitions! So much is changing. I keep expecting myself to be a bit more freaked out, but it's all just as it should be. As hard and exhausting as next year is going to be, it's time. It's just, time. That feels pretty good.
P.S. The photo was taken a few years ago when I was working at the children's museum. I'm teaching the kids about the life cycle of ants.
I don't think it has quite hit me yet that I won't be in seminary classes next year. I'm in one of those strange transitional spaces--it's time to leave classes, but it's not quite time to start my chaplaincy. It feels a bit like the summer between high school and college, or college and my first full-time job. I have this image of myself trying to walk out of a room, and there's something that is holding on to one of my ankles. I tug and I tug, but it still has a grasp. Slowly, over the last few days, it's begun to release it's grip.
I spent all day today in coffee houses. I was in the Temescal Cafe, a funky little dive down the street from me, from 10am to 4pm when it closed. I moved on to Tumble and Tea, this coffee house with a fabulous play area for toddlers, and stayed there until it closed at 6:30pm. It's kind of comforting to do homework there. I'm reminded of my 5 years at the children's museum as the kids run around dressed like lions and dinosaurs.The next few days are going to be pretty busy. My friend Natalya is giving a presentation on her senior project Monday night before our 7pm class, Tuesday I'm helping to plan a worship service at church, Wednesday I work in the advancement office and go to an afternoon class, Thursday I have a project due in the afternoon and the seminary's graduation that night (I'm not graduating yet, but some people I love and adore are), Friday is my friend Lisa's ordination, Saturday I'm writing a sermon on the beach (if you have to write a sermon, you might as well do it there), and Sunday I'm preaching at church for our Coming of Age Service.
Whew--so many transitions! So much is changing. I keep expecting myself to be a bit more freaked out, but it's all just as it should be. As hard and exhausting as next year is going to be, it's time. It's just, time. That feels pretty good.
P.S. The photo was taken a few years ago when I was working at the children's museum. I'm teaching the kids about the life cycle of ants.
Friday, May 11, 2007
My First Wedding
I've officiated at a funeral before, but I had never done a wedding until March 30th of this year. My good friend Tabitha asked if I would marry her and her fiancee Matthew, and I was honored to be asked.They decided on a small ceremony in their backyard. There were several toddlers who were going to be at the wedding, and in the backyard they could run around, play with toys, and the parents did not have to keep quite so close a watch on the kids.
Matt and Tabitha have a daughter who was just over a year old, and right before the wedding she decided she was hungry. Some family members stripped her out of her dress and started feeding her yogurt. Matt was calling people out to the backyard so we could start the wedding when he spotted his naked daughter in her high chair. He stopped, a small smile spread across his face, and he said, "five minutes!"
It was a simple ceremony. Matt and Tabitha shared how much they loved each other. At one point, their daughter Kiera yelled out "NO NO NO!," which had to do with the fact that she wasn't the center of attention as opposed to a protest about her parent's nuptials, but it was really cute and timely all the same.
Luckily, they thought it was HILARIOUS. People kept coming up to me and asking if I'd planned it that way, or if the bride had paid me to do it. Sometimes, it's the mess-ups and the unexpected that makes a moment special and memorable.
In any case, it was a beautiful day.
In any case, it was a beautiful day.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
A Bit Deeper--The Nature of Sin
Just so you all know, I'm in the middle of tests and final papers. Usually, I wouldn't be waxing poetic about the nature of sin. However, here are some thoughts.
There have been several questions plaguing me this semester. Specifically, I have been pondering questions around the nature of suffering, evil, and sin. While I have spent a good deal of time defining what I do not believe, I was having trouble coming up with what I do believe. More specifically, these culturally and theologically loaded words had so many meanings, getting to the basis of my own beliefs meant slogging through the beliefs of many others.
I realized that until I wrestled with the nature of “sin,” I could not begin to wrestle with the nature of “salvation.” After going through several drafts, I came up with four beliefs I hold about the nature of sin. They are in no way comprehensive or a finished draft. Rather, they are a jumping off point for deeper theological reflection.
- When we preference a few people at the expense of many, we sin.
- When we are psychologically, mentally, physically, or emotionally violent, we sin.
- Violence includes violence towards the earth
- Exception to this belief is when violence is used as self-defense, which is a whole other discussion
- When we ignore or deny another’s Divine spark in the way we treat them, we sin.
- When we ignore or deny our own Divine spark in the way we treat ourselves, we sin.
At the same time, the definition of sin is not wide enough. One does not have to do violence to sin. On the contrary, sin can be loving and kind. When I worked at a children’s museum, I met countless mothers who drove SUVs, had the most expensive strollers, and used disposable baby bottle liners. Even though they were polluting the environment, supporting sweatshop labor, filling our landfills, and generally had a standard of living well above 95% of the world, they were doing this out of love for their child and a concern for their child’s safety and well-being.
Furthermore, it seems that when we can make a group the “other,” when we can distance ourselves and our identities from people in such a way that we fail to see them as human and a part of the larger Divine, we can commit the worst of crimes—genocides, lynchings, racism, murder, abuse, etc… When we distance our mind from our body or our soul from our passion, we can commit the worst of crimes against ourselves. When we fail to recognize our own Divine spark, we injure ourselves.
In retrospect, I ask the question of myself again—From what do we need to be saved? From ourselves? From lives of ignorance? From self-absorption?
I ask myself, what can save us? Perhaps the answer is...us?
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Okay, Okay Already, Technology Wins
I've dragged my feet for long enough. After numerous requests and frustration that I can't stay in as close a contact as I'd like with my friends and family, I've decided to start a blog. If nothing else, it will be a kind of road map of what I'm doing and where I've been.
So, without further ado...
I'm just finishing up my third year of seminary. In two weeks, I'll be done with classes! However, this doesn't mean I'm graduating. Rather, I'm about to start the more practice-oriented stage of my program.
Next year, I'll be a hospital chaplain in San Francisco. It's a year-long residency in which I'll be part of the hospital care team along with doctors, nurses, social workers, etc... My job is basically to listen to the patients and their family and friends, sit with them through whatever they are going through, and help them with spiritual needs (i.e. prayer rugs, baptisms, last rites, etc...). I'll be the chaplain for two floors of the hospital patients, visitors, and staff. Also, five times a month I'll be "on call" and can get summoned to whatever area of the hospital needs me.
I know that chaplaincy is going to be stressful and exhausting, but I'm really looking forward to it. I've been training for this for so long, it feels really right to actually be out in the field doing it. Also, it's going to be really nice to get paid! Weird, huh?
More later...
P.S. Jessie is the gray kitty on the left, and Pumpkin is the orange kitty on the right. Just to warn you, this won't be the last picture of my cats that I post, and I apologize.
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