Come in! Come in!

"If you are a dreamer, come in. If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar, a Hope-er, a Pray-er, a Magic Bean buyer; if you're a pretender, come sit by my fire. For we have some flax-golden tales to spin. Come in! Come in!" -- Shel Silverstein

Friday, October 16, 2009

The Great American Story That Wasn't


If a six year old boy is supposed to be high above the sky, lost for two hours in a homemade hot air balloon and is not found there but, instead, is sleeping in a cardboard box in his garage, is he still lost?

If all the news media follows a story for two hours about a six year old boy who is supposed to be lost high above the sky, traveling over 50 miles and two counties in Ft. Collins, CO, in a homemade hot air balloon and is not found there but, instead, is found sleeping in his garage, is it still news?

The answer to both questions, apparently, is 'yes'.

Even if, while waiting for the story to unfold, you interview scientists to tell you how cold it is at that level, as well as pediatric psychiatrists who inform us of the inner workings of the mind of a six year old.

And, you shut down the Denver International Airport, delaying air travel for hours while military officials follow the path of the wayward hot air balloon with its supposed tiny passenger who wasn't actually there.

I was "otherwise engaged," plowing the fields of the Lord, trying to do my part in "the church militant, here on earth, to usher in the Realm of God.

I guess I didn't miss anything, and yet, somehow, I feel I did.

I mean, the morning talk shows are all abuzz about it this morning. Still. The kid and his parents are being interviewed on television. Questions are being raised as to whether or not this was a hoax deliberately perpetrated by his parents for some attention.

There's got to be a story in here somewhere, dammit!

Well, we have celebrities like Paris Hilton and the Kardashian Girls who are famous for being famous. So, why not a story about a story that never happened?

The truth is that little kids do this all the time - they start playing, they get tired, they curl up in little nooks and crannies and fall asleep.

Because they can.

We went through this just a few weeks ago with our three-year old granddaughter. She didn't fall asleep, though. She just got excited about going to Day Care and left the house before anyone knew she was gone.

She was found walking down the street about 15 terrifying minutes later. When her scared-out-of-her-mind mother, tipped off by her older sister's bus driver, found her and called out to her, she turned around, smiled brightly, and said with great enthusiasm and innocence, "Oh hi, Mommy! I'm going to school! Wanna come?"

Paul Simon was right in 1986. He's still right.
These are the days of miracle and wonder,
This is the long distance call,
The way the camera follows us in slo-mo
The way we look to us all o-yeah,
The way we look to a distant constellation
That's dying in a corner of the sky,
These are the days of miracle and wonder
And don't cry baby don't cry
Don't cry

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Team Player or Servant Leader?


It's funny what will stimulate the memory banks.

I've been doing some Fall Cleaning - started with the garage, moved to the basement, now I'm up in the attic.

I found a few suits that I used to wear back in the day when I was 'lean 'n mean' - easier to do when your nightly conversations about dinner prep revolve around "alternate (aka 'cheap') sources of protein." - including the suit I bought to preach my first sermon in my sponsoring congregation.

And. . and. . .and . . . the winter-white Christian Dior suit that I bought for $25 at what seminarians at Episcopal Divinity School fondly called "Church of the (Fashionable) Redeemer" in Chestnut Hill, Boston. They had a GREAT 'thrift shop' there and one of the volunteers used to "put aside" some stuff for the EDS seminarians.

It was a real blessing to those of us who were graduating with enormous student loans and still expected to look FABULOUS during the job interview as well as on the job.

Going to the gym on a regular basis has gotten me back into shape. Also, having been correctly diagnosed with and treated for Hashimoto's Thyroiditis has been near-miraculous in terms of the way I feel.

To my absolute delight, I've discovered that all my suits fit me again. I took them all to the cleaners and expect to wear the Christian Dior on Sunday, when I celebrate the 23rd anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood.

October 18. Feast of St. Luke, the physician. My ordaining bishop, +Fred Wolf, thought that might be appropriate since my ministry has been so informed by my background in Health Care.

+Fred preached a lot in those days about 'Servant Leadership' by which he was talking about Jesus as the model of leadership through service.

It was all the buzz back then. There were tons of books by Robert Greenleaf and Margaret Wheatley, among others.

In Servant Leadership, the priority of the leader rests with the needs of her/his colleagues and those they serve. Servant Leaders practice to become humble stewards of their organization's resources: human, financial, physical.

Greenleaf , in his classic essay, "The Servant as Leader", described the servant-leader in this manner:
The servant-leader is servant first… It begins with the natural feeling that one wants to serve, to serve first. Then conscious choice brings one to aspire to lead. That person is sharply different from one who is leader first, perhaps because of the need to assuage an unusual power drive or to acquire material possessions…The leader-first and the servant-first are two extreme types. Between them there are shadings and blends that are part of the infinite variety of human nature.

The difference manifests itself in the care taken by the servant-first to make sure that other people’s highest priority needs are being served. The best test, and difficult to administer, is: Do those served grow as persons? Do they, while being served, become healthier, wiser, freer, more autonomous, more likely themselves to become servants? And, what is the effect on the least privileged in society? Will they benefit or at least not be further deprived?
It's an ancient concept, one that can be traced back to the 4th Century. The ancient Chinese leader Lao-Tzu also wrote about it in the Tao Te Ching:
The highest type of ruler is one of whose existence the people are barely aware. Next comes one whom they love and praise. Next comes one whom they fear. Next comes one whom they despise and defy. When you are lacking in faith, Others will be unfaithful to you. The Sage is self-effacing and scanty of words. When his task is accomplished and things have been completed, All the people say, ‘We ourselves have achieved it!"

"Back in the day," Bishop Bennett Sims, bishop of the Diocese of Atlanta, preached and wrote extensively about the topic. Indeed, he founded The Institute for Servant Leadership in Hendersonville, North Carolina. His book Servanthood: Leadership for the Third Millennium is still an important and often used resource on my library shelf.

I don't believe in coincidence. I prefer to think of 'Coincidence" as the name God uses when S/he wants to remain anonymous. I don't think it was coincidental that I found my old suits, had these very strong memories about Servant Leadership, and the gospel lesson for Sunday is about Servant Leadership.
“You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave—just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Matthew 20:25-28; also Mark 10:42-45)
I don't know about you, but the buzz I'm hearing more and more these days from those in 'purple shirts' is less about servant leadership and more about being a 'team player'. It's all the rage, I understand. Colleagues from around the country are writing me about it. Must be something they put in the coffee over at the House of Bishops. Gives "Bishop's Blend" a whole new connotation.

Team Player. Hmmm . . . .

I hear the term "team player" and my natural default of a hermeneutic of suspicion kicks in. When spoken by a person in authority - the captain of the team, as it were - my hermeneutic goes into hyper-overdrive.

Maybe it's just me. Maybe it's something in my personality. Maybe it's a character flaw or the kind of genetic personality defect that results from being birthed and shaped and formed by a long line of feisty Portuguese women.

Maybe its just in my DNA, but when I hear "team player" I always hear the undercurrent of a whispered bravado " . . . because I'm the captain and you're not. Let's just get that straight right up front." (See picture at the top of this post.)

It has been my experience that when someone in an office of authority starts talking about how s/he is recruiting 'team players', I always hear it coming from a place of deep insecurity in that person. I hear it being more about the captain and his/her authority than the team - or the individual on the team.

I hear it not as a call to excellence, but a call that results in unintended mediocrity. I hear it not as a call to creativity and imagination, but one that leads, ultimately, to conformity and thus to boredom (see also: unintended mediocrity).

I don't know. I could be wrong, of course (or, is that just Jonathan), but, just for fun, let's compare and contrast the descriptions of Team Leader vs. Servant Leader.

I did a really quick google on the word "Team Leader" and found Ten Qualities of an Effective Team Player. Okay, so it's from the Dummies series, but bear with me. Briefly, they are:
1. Demonstrates reliability.
2. Communicates constructively
3. Listens actively
4. Functions as an active participant
5. Shares openly and willingly
6. Cooperates and pitches in to help
7. Exhibits flexibility
8. Shows commitment to the team
9. Works as a problem-solver
10. Treats others in a respectful and supportive manner
Okay, so are we catching the drift of this? In this scenario, these are 'players' on the 'team'. Someone - some as yet unnamed someone - is clearly 'the captain'. These don't sound so much like qualities as they do expectations from the captain.

Let's look now at what Bennett Sims had to say about Servant Leader.
We believe that Servant Leaders will:

* Engage in a spiritual journey rooted in a worshiping community and a personal spiritual practice.
* Enhance the power and freedom of others.
* Value all people, with special compassion for the least privileged in the human family.
* Work for justice and peace in the world through the practice of non-violence.
* Celebrate with gratitude the sacredness, abundance and interconnectedness of all creation.
* Embrace a simplicity of life that honors work and the willingness to be held accountable, while leaving time for rest and play.
* Recognize the gifts of each person, and seek discernment through dialogue as the context for all decision making.
* Call others to be Servant Leaders.
Okay, so some simple questions: Which model do you think has greater authenticity with the leadership of Jesus? And, which model do you think the church has greater need?

I think you may be able to hazard a guess at my answer without even breaking a sweat.

I am also remembering that great story about basketball player, Magic Johnson. The captain was giving the team a pep talk, saying, "Remember, there's no 'I' in 'team." Magic reportedly responded, "Yeah, but there is in 'win'."

I think that sums up what I think is really going on here in the gradual transition from 'servant leader' a few decades ago and 'team players' of today.

The Episcopal Church has undergone some very serious losses in the past few decades. I think bishops are sick of losing. Sick of the loss. Sick of being considered losers.

I think they want to win. Indeed, I think they are anxious and, in some cases, desperate to win and they take their elections as a personal vocation to 'win one for Mother Church." These fragile economic times with big losses in salaries that used to provide fat pledges and tithes only add to the anxiety and desperation.

On the more pastoral side, I also think they - we all - are suffering from "compassion fatigue". It can lead to the kind of cynicism that has become all about the "I" in win. All a good captain needs to do is to cultivate 'good team players". If s/he doesn't, then the fault lies with the 'team members' - not the captain.

The other thing I remembered about going into seminary in the '80s is that we were in a serious economic recession. The job market was probably no better, comparatively speaking, than it is today.

One of my memories of an ordination gift I received was an apron that read, "I just graduated from Divinity School. You want fries with that?"

Yeah, it wasn't so funny then, either. Today, that apron might read, "What size: tall, grande or vente?" That's if you're lucky enough to land a job at Starbucks and have the hope of getting a decent salary with some health care benefits.

I want to make a pitch for a return to Servant Leadership as a model for Christian communities. I think now, more than ever, we need to create a climate that promotes individual spiritual and religious excellence, creativity, and imagination that inspires other Servant Leaders.

Not so we can find the "I" in 'win'. Rather, so we can recover or re-discover the radical roots of Christ's ministry and be on His "team", of which He is "captain of my (and, all our) soul(s)."

I hope we will also rediscover the power of "I" in the South African Zulu greeting, "Sawu bona" "I see you." If you are a member of the tribe, you respond by saying, "Sikhona" which means, "I am here."

The order of the exchange is significant. It means that, until you see me, I do not exist. When you do see me, you bring me into existence. As Bishop Sims once wrote:
"In all of us there is something that does not want to be seen - either by others or by our own selves. Self-protection operates as a barrier in all human interaction. But the "I see you" of servant leadership activates the mystical power of love and begins the process of release, in both the leader and the led, from the fears that inhibit the exchange of truth and drain the energy of collaboration."
It's easy to see that this greeting flows naturally from 'Ubuntu' - "A person is a person because of other people."

I want to add my own 'spin' on that: A leader in the Body of Christ is a leader because s/he is a servant of the people.

Or, as in one of the mantras I remember from my earl days of training in Sol Alinsky's IAF (Industrial Area Foundation) community organizing, "A leader without a following is just a person out for a walk."

You know, it occurs to me that I'm in the midst of Fall Cleaning, having my ordination suit dry cleaned and - I hope - to wear it on Sunday, but I'm also dusting off and polishing up the theology that brought me to ordination and has sustained me lo these 23 years.

It may be 'old fashioned' and perhaps even out of style, but it suits me just fine.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Warning: Being a Nana can destroy brain cells.


Our youngest granddaughter is very, very clear - surprisingly so for a three year old. She wants to be "Uniqua" for Halloween.

You don't know Uniqua? Neither did I.

She's one of the Backyardigans, a 3-D Children's Program that is very popular among the "Nick, Jr." set - that's the Toddler version of the children's network Nickelodeon.

There are five animated friends who are Backyardigans - Pablo, Tyrone, Uniqua, Tasha, and Austin. Each week, they use their imaginations - a Very Important Exercise - and turn their backyard into completely different worlds that open to them for exploration and adventure.

The music is always relentlessly pleasant, in that simple sing-song toddler way. There is as much emphasis on music and dancing as there is on imagination, creativity, adventure and exploration.

Each episode features a different music genre (such as big band, reggae, Spaghetti Western, polka, Motown, and disco) and four new songs, usually with at least one rearrangement of a well-known or traditional song.

Uniqua is a unique creature that is unlike any other in the world, and Uniqua is also the name of her species.

She is a curious, self-confident and high-spirited pink creature with polka dots and overalls. Uniqua is almost always sweet and friendly, though her strong opinions and occasional stubbornness get in the way of her relationships (Hmmm . . .reminds me of someone . . .)

She is more of a tomboy unlike her friend Tasha, often imagines herself in roles requiring brains and fortitude (scientist, pirate captain, etc), and loves books. But she can be sometimes more "girly" than Tasha. (Hmmm . . . apple, meet tree.)

Did you notice that she's pink? Pink is our granddaughter's absolute, positive favorite color. Except, of course, if there's purple ("PUP-ILL!!!" I've never heard her say 'pink' or 'purple' without at least three exclamation points at the end, but 'pink' will also lift her right off her little feet in a happy-happy-joy-joy dance.)

So, what's a Nana to do? Of course, I searched online for a costume first before heading out to my local Costume store. I found costumes that ranged in price from $24.99 to $49.99.

Are you kidding me? For a Halloween costume?

No, they weren't. I did find one for $21.45 which I scooped up and ordered.

You don't have to be "stoopid in love" to be a Nana.

But, it helps.

UPDATE (Wednesday night):

And, it FITS!

This is your "Awwwwwww" for the day.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Thirty-three years and counting



Note: Today, Ms. Conroy and I celebrate 33 years of committed,  covenanted relationship together.

I know. I'm amazed, too - still! - to write that sentence.

We don't have much time together this evening, so I'm going to do something I rarely do. I'm going to recycle something.  I wrote the following piece nine years ago.

A friend found it a few months ago and sent it to me. I held on to it for today. It's part of a presentation I made at a Unitarian Church in Montclair, NJ during their church service when I was Canon Missioner to The Oasis and did lots of that sort of thing.

The truth of the story still resonates deeply, almost a decade later. I hope you enjoy it. Me? I'm going to raise a glass of wine to the woman who has been my companion and partner and best friend these past thirty-three years. I think she deserves it.

 

"Keeping the Faith: Wild Dreams and The Value of Family"


by Rev. Canon Elizabeth Kaeton
February 13, 2000

I am honored and delighted to be here with you this morning. As I was preparing to come here, it occurred to me that, in less than two years it has been my privilege to have preached at the Unitarian Fellowship in Wilmington, Delaware, The Old Stone Unitarian Fellowship in Baptistown, NJ, the Princeton Unitarian Fellowship and, last October, I preached at the Morristown Unitarian Fellowship. 

If you have been counting, that means that my visit here marks the fifth Unitarian Fellowship I’ve visited in the past two years. I sense the presence of danger here. Either YOU are in danger of becoming Episcopalian, or I’m in danger of becoming a Unitarian. Perhaps we’re BOTH in danger of becoming "Episco-tarians". Better yet, perhaps that’s "Uni-palians."

No matter. I am honored to be here to share with your congregational family a bit of my family story. For what it’s worth, I’ll also offer some insight gained from the lessons I’ve learned on the journey about the dangerous dream of being family.

Twenty-four years ago, when my beloved and I began this journey, I never could have imagined standing before you this morning. Keeping secrets, hiding our identity and protecting our safety were uppermost in our minds. One thing we learned: while fear often quickens the senses, it also freezes the imagination.

It’s hard to dream when your heart is always afraid.


It’s been a long, hard struggle. Many members of the lesbian and gay community, as well as our families and friends, have fought very hard for our human rights.

The battle for our civil rights continues to be waged from Maine and Vermont to Hawaii, in City Halls and state legislatures, and in churches and synagogues and temples. We know there is a place for us, because we have begun to create it ourselves (and, by the way, we have simultaneously increased property values and improved the real estate market!).


Last year, in June of 1999, we celebrated 30 Years after the Stonewall Riots in New York City. For some of us, beginning a third decade of the liberation movement for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people is nothing short of absolutely amazing! We are beginning to see the coming of age of the Second Generation of Liberation.

It is not surprising, then, that some of us are now choosing to start families of our own. Those whom Freud abandoned as "narcissistic" and "self-centered" are creating loving families through every means possible: adoption, alternative insemination, surrogacy and foster care. We have proven that we know all about ‘family values’ and the value of families. We are achieving a dream we couldn’t have even begun to imagine 30 years ago.


Even now, a new dream is beginning to take its place in the deepest corners of our hearts. Today, our wildest dream is that we can be valued for the families we create.

Twenty-four years ago, I could not have imagined anyone considering anything about my life having anything of any value. 

On October 13, 1976, Barbara Conroy and I made promises to each other that we didn’t know how we were going to keep. But, we made them anyway, in faith. We had a dream of being family together, of her kids and my kids growing up together, and of us growing old together.

It was a wild dream - something we didn’t know could be done, much less had ever been done before. For all we knew, we were the only two women on the face of the earth who ever felt this way about each other - and about family. We certainly didn’t know anyone else who was in a similar situation - male or female.

Clearly, we had never known any women who loved each other and wanted to be family together. There were no role models. No positive images. No one on TV named Ellen or Will and Grace and "Just Jack!". Chastity Bono was a cute blond child who, while her family was undeniably weird, was most definitely part of a heterosexual unit. Who could have ever imagined she’d grow into a lesbian spokesperson for gay rights?


All we had was love. That was very real. And, we had our dreams. They were always before us, the vision and the goal which called us to move beyond our fear. Our love for each other and the dreams of our hearts became the fuel which moved us forward in faith.

Then again, that’s not so different from what drives anyone to accomplish what others might call "an act of courage". Love and dreams are always equal parts of courage. They are also the stuff of miracles. Which is why they are so dangerous.


Twenty-four years ago, Barbara and I were acutely aware of the danger of our love. We had been married at a very early age - Barbara at age 19 and me at age 20. We had two children each, Barbara a son and a daughter who were ages 7 and 5 at that time, and my two daughters were 6 and 3 and a half. We were both registered nurses, working on the Obstetrical Unit of the same community hospital. Our families had been friends for three years, taking vacations and weekend trips together, celebrating each other’s children’s birthdays and anniversaries.

Everybody always seemed to comment that we were "such good friends". I saw the look in their eyes when they said that. For a long time, I was able to convince myself that they were just envious. I guess it is true: Gay and Lesbian people are the last ones to know about our sexuality.

Our respective marriages were in deep trouble, there was no doubt. But, as long as there were opportunities for Barbara and me to be together, life was tolerable. Somehow, when the children were playing in the yard, the "husbands" were off doing . . . whatever it is husbands do on weekend afternoons.

I honestly can’t remember whether they were watching a sports event or fixing the car, because I honestly didn’t care. All I cared about was that Barbara and I could have long talks over hot cups of tea at my kitchen table; that we were able to talk about things that were really important; that I could say anything to her and she seemed to understand; that, in this relationship, for the first time in my life, there was real respect, real honesty, real equality, real friendship.


And, real emotion. That was what I seemed to hunger for more than anything else. I could laugh my deepest laugh, share my deepest fears, fight my strongest demon, and weep my most bitter tears, and, lo!, it was safe. I wasn’t judged or berated. I wasn’t scoffed or dismissed. No one laughed at me. No one cut me off in mid-sentence. I was not only listened to, I was heard. I was understood. Finally! I could speak and look into the eyes of this amazing person and see enough love and acceptance to finally begin to love and accept myself. Her eyes, mischievous Irish eyes that they are, became a mirror for me, reflecting myself to my self and my soul.

I began to see myself in and though her eyes, and was amazed to discover that I was not what I had been carefully taught to believe about myself: that I would never be good enough, that I would never be smart enough, that my only identity in life could only come by being somebody’s wife and somebody’s mother.


It was inevitable that our relationship grew into something neither one of us could avoid any longer. It cried out to be named and claimed. Together, we discovered what countless throngs of lovers had learned over the centuries: The only language for the love which dares not speak its name is body language.

Some things can only be expressed in the midst of awkward silences and eyes which weep the tears of the joy which finally embraces the truth, laced with the fear which now knows the truth. Some things can only be known in the doing, understood in the experience, comprehended in the union of body, mind and spirit. And, once that happens, there can be no turning back.


Without fully understanding what had been set in motion, we were granted a few delicious days of the fullness of the present. We couldn’t think beyond today. This hour. This minute. I only knew that I had never known such happiness. And, that, surrendering to my deepest fears, I had surrendered to my deepest desire and ardent longing. I had found the love of my life and I was not about to surrender it to the mediocrity of the expectations of my culture or society.

Within a two-month period of time, we knew what needed to be done. Together, we found the courage to do what should have been done years ago: we would talk with our respective husbands, telling them as much information as we could without giving them the details. We knew that if we were to have any hope of a future together, we had to go somewhere else to start our life together. We began to make our plan.

We decided to move to Bar Harbor, Maine. We had taken out a map and tried to pin-point the communities which were at least an eight-hour car ride away. We decided that an eight hour car ride would mean that a family member would have to at least call before "stopping by to visit", giving us ample opportunity to "straighten up the house", so to speak. We were hoping to buy some time - to give ourselves time to get settled in our relationship - to let the truth of our relationship sink in slowly - to give our husbands and my parents the opportunity to adjust.

While we had planned our trip very carefully, there were things we just couldn’t have foreseen. Like, my parent’s homosexual panic. Like, my husband’s blind fury. Like the unlikely collusion of them both to kidnap the children and bring them all to live in my parent’s home.

Like, being the first open lesbian custody case in Bristol County, Massachusetts. Like, losing custody of my children, despite the advice of the court appointed guardian ad litum. Like, being told by our attorney that we were very, very lucky to have received a most generous settlement of visitation every other week end and the entire months of June, July and August, because a nice Italian judge in Beverly, Mass had just that week decreed that a lesbian mother not only lose custody, but that she NEVER be allowed to see her children EVER again.

Even after twenty-four years, I still can’t speak or write fully about that experience. A part of me died then. Clearly, it was a part which needed to die so that the real part of me could finally come to life. There is a difference, however, in letting old parts of you die as opposed to having them brutally murdered.

For the next five years, we battled the family court system to regain custody of our children. To our surprise, we met lots of other lesbian mothers and gay fathers.

We joined or started support groups so that, even though we had to be in the closet at work and with our children, we didn’t have to be alone in there. We gave talks and presentations. We were involved in educational seminars and rallies. And, we spent thousands of dollars on legal fees.


After four and a half years of fighting, Barbara and I had come to a crossroads. We decided that we were probably never going to get our children back. And, we decided that we knew ourselves to be mothers and providers and members of a community of our own making. We knew that this is the one access to power that women have had historically. 


We may not have been able to shape public policy, but, as mothers, we have shaped the minds and the hearts of those who do. If the future were going to be any better for lesbian and gay people, it was our children who were going to make the difference. That, we thought, was were we wanted to put our energies.

By the end of our fifth year together, our eleven-room house was filled with ten kids. We had become foster care parents, we had adopted a 4 and a half-year-old Downs Syndrome child, and we had a newborn daughter. My daughters came for the summer and announced that they weren’t going back to live with their father, and the court, in reluctant agreement with their father, granted us joint custody (full custody would come two years later). And, after a family crisis, my sister sent her two sons to live with us.

The moral of that story is found in an old expression: "Be very careful about what you pray for, because you just might get it, and THEN what will you do?"

As I stand before you today, all these many years later, I am amazed to report that our little nest is rapidly growing empty. All but our youngest child are now all grown and college educated and (praise God) are living on their own. One is married. All but one are heterosexual.

Normal Rockwell would probably have never painted a portrait of our family for the Thanksgiving edition of the Saturday Evening Post, but I am here to tell you that we are the very model of the very modern American family. I’m told that at the last Lambda Family weekend in Provincetown, over 200 lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender families celebrated together.


I stand before you this morning because I have learned that my invisibility is part of the problem. The more of us who are able to stand up and make ourselves visible and known make it easier for the next lesbian or gay family. The road to liberation has always been built on the backs of our sisters and brothers who go before the rest.

The poet Audre Lourde reminds us, "Your silence will not protect you." Our families are an important vehicle for the voice of justice and truth. Our families say to the world that violence is not an option in the human family. Our families say to the world that we can create our own realities and constellations of families which are authentic and have value. Our families say to the world that love is stronger than hate, that life is more valuable than death, and that once hopes and dreams are shared, they can never die.

Lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people, and all those who love us and support us, are dangerous dreamers in a world of harsh reality. We have traveled very far on this journey, but we have a very long way to go. 


We need to keep each other company as we travel, for if we don’t, if we do not stand in solidarity with each other, then fear will become our constant companion, and that will present an even greater danger. Fear will invite ignorance. And, ignorance will invite bigotry. And soon, the love which has called us together will grow weak. Our imaginations will die. We will not be able to sustain our dreams, our hopes, our joy.

In the past 24 years of living and loving, I have come to know these three things to be true:


  1. You can not give away what you do not have. If you do not love yourself, you can not love others.
  2. When you give away what you have, you get back more than what you had when you began. The more love you give, the more love you get.
  3. That which we reject, we become. If we do not learn to love our enemies, we run the risk of becoming just like them.
The challenges lie before us: Let us do the hard work of learning to love ourselves and our enemies. Let us show our children courage and teach our children the truth. Let our families become beacons of love and hope, and our homes safe harbors where individuals can live authentically, where dreams can be nurtured, and where hopes can be sustained.
 
May God grant us the strength and the courage to keep the dream alive - for us and for future generations to come!

Thank you.

© Rev. Canon Elizabeth Kaeton 


Monday, October 12, 2009

A Metanoia for Matthew - and all our dear, brave fabulous LGBT friends


It's a difficult truth: Sometimes, some things - some people - some communities - have to be allowed to be broken before healing can be found.

The word is metanoia. In theological terms, this Greek word (compounded from the preposition μετά (after, with) and the verb νοέω (to perceive, to think, the result of perceiving or observing) is often translated "repent" - to 'turn around," - to change a thought or action to correct a wrong and gain forgiveness from a person who is wronged.

In religious contexts it usually refers a spiritual conversion - to confession to God (through a 'discrete and understanding priest"), and typically includes an admission of guilt, a promise or resolve not to repeat the offense; an attempt to make restitution for the wrong, or in some way to reverse the harmful effects of the wrong where possible.

Carl Jung, the preeminent psychologist, used the term 'metanoia' in a different way. In Jungian psychology, metanoia denotes a process of reforming the psyche as a form of self healing, a proposed explanation for the phenomenon of psychotic breakdown.

In this case, metanoia is viewed as a potentially productive process, and therefore patients' psychotic episodes are not necessarily always to be thwarted, which may restabilize the patients but without resolving the underlying issues causing their psychopathology.

Jung's concept of metanoia influenced R. D. Laing and the therapeutic community movement which aimed, ideally, to support people while they broke down and went through spontaneous healing, rather than thwarting such efforts at self-repair by strengthening their existing character defenses and thereby maintaining the underlying conflict.

Eleven years after the brutal murder of Matthew Shepard, I've been reflecting on issues of repentance and forgiveness, confession and restitution.

I'm coming to believe that the death of Matthew Shepard is one of three major acts of sin, three ways in which the LGBT community have been the objects of hate and evil, three seminal events in the LGBT community which have broken open the prevailing cultural norm so that we may find healing from the sin and psychosis of homophobia.

Like any movement, there are small but none-the-less significant fires that spark the movement. One was lit in November 1950 when Robert Hull, Charles Dennison Rowland, Dale Jennings, Rudi Gernreich, and Harry Hay formed the Mattachine Society, which was successful in securing a deadlocked jury and dismissal of the case against Dale Jennings for “lewd and dissolute conduct.”

That may not seem like a significant victory, but it was the first of its kind AND, it was the first to break the public silence about homosexuality.

It did not launch a movement, per se. That would come later. It did launch the lesbian organization Daughters of Bilitis founded by Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon in San Francisco in 1955.

Both organizations had national newsletters / magazines. The Mattachine Society had ONE. The DOB had THE LADDER. We now had a voice.

Separate and not exactly equal (it WAS the '50's!), but a voice. We were talking to each other in our own limited circles of gender, but at least we were talking.

In my mind and in my lifetime, there have been three major events which happened in the LGBT community, but there are other - unfortunately many, many other - smaller acts of sin and evil and psychosis which add fuel to the Hell Fire of homophobia.

This is just my perspective. You may have another. I'm not saying I'm right and you're wrong. I'm not saying I've covered it all. This is a blog post, not a book or exhaustive history.

I'm just saying this is how it looks from where I sit, 33 years after my own coming out.

These are the Three Moments of Metanoia of the LGBT Movement

The first, of course, was the Stonewall Riot in June of 1969. The Stonewall Bar was raided by the New York City Police Department because . . . well, because that's what cops did back then. And, in some parts of the country and the world, even now.

Routinely. Just for fun, I suppose. Round up the fagots and the dykes the Drag Queens. Load them up in the Paddy Wagon. Make it a Very Big Show. Assure the citizenry that all is well. No vice in this community. Nosireebob.

Except, this time, the Drag Queens stomped their pointy stiletto heels, held onto their fabulous wigs, allowed their mascara to smudge, and refused to be harassed. Gay historians report this as the turning point - the metanoia - which gave birth to the Gay Rights Movement.

The second event came in a far less dramatic way. On June 1, 1981, buried in a single paragraph on page five, the MMWR (Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report - which contains data on specific diseases as reported by state and territorial health departments and reports on infectious and chronic diseases, environmental hazards, natural or human-generated disasters, occupational diseases and injuries, and intentional and unintentional injuries) reported the incidence of what was later called acquired immunodeficiency syndrome (AIDS)in the United States.

These were the Regan Years. We didn't say words like 'homosexual' publicly - rarely in political circles and never in polite company. Even if you were 'homosexual'.

We would soon discover that our invisibility and our silence were complicit with an administration that chose to ignore what was originally known as GRID = Gay Related Infectious Disease.

I mean, if the disease was gay-related, why bother? And so, no one did. No one in the government, that is.

And so, GRID became AIDS.

And AIDS became AFRAIDS (A fear of AIDS).

And the stage was set for AIDS to become an epidemic.

And, children, this is how an epidemic became a world-wide pandemic.

The LGBT community learned some very important lessons.

Ignorance = Fear.

Silence = Death.

And so, we, like the Mattachine Society, the DOB, and the Stonewall Drag Queens before us, learned to find our voices. This time, however, we weren't just talking to each other or the NYPD.

We learned to "just say no" to government apathy and institutionalized homophobia.

We learned to ACT-UP (AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power) and organized protest marches, die-ins in front of the White House and State Houses and Governor's Mansions all around the country. It was "street theater" at its best - and, most effective.

We learned how to work with scientists and to 'fast track' the research on certain potentially life-saving drugs, and actually changed the traditional scientific method in the research process to suspend the two-track placebo vs. actual drug study on potentially life-saving drugs in the midst of an epidemic.

And, we vowed that we would no longer die silent, private, convenient, polite deaths - actual or societal or spiritual.

If the Stonewall Riots launched a political movement, AIDS helped us to find our voice - and our minds - our spirits - and, our souls.

We began to understand something about 'community' and 'collaboration' which some of us had learned from our work in the Civil Rights Movement.

We understood the value of "Each One Teach One."

We began to organize our communities, collaborating with other justice communities and organizations to bring about change.

Life-giving, mind altering change. We had experienced our second metanoia.

We made great strides in the next decade. Realizing that Audre Lorde was right, that our silence would not - could not protect us - more and more of us 'came out' publicly in the late '80s and early '90's.

And, for many of us, that was at great personal cost. I know my dues are marked "paid". We came to believe, however, that personal sacrifice was worth it, leading not only to our personal benefit, but that of the entire community - gay and straight.

And then, there was Matthew. Matthew Shepard. A young gay man. A college student. An Episcopalian, for God's sake. Battered and beaten to death by two young men who had sunk to the psychotic, dark depths of homophobia.

His senseless, brutal death was a serious wake-up call to the LGBT community, to this nation and to the world.

The death of Matthew Shepard galvanized and mobilized the Gay Rights Movement, which led us, a few months short of five years after Matthew's death, to witness the equivalent of the tearing down of the Berlin Wall for LGBT people.

Inch by inch. Brick by bloody brick.

In 1999, California became the first state to adopt a state-wide domestic partnership ordinance, which established a statewide domestic partnerships registry available to same-sex couples. The original policy granted hospital visitation rights and nothing else, but over time a number of benefits--added incrementally from 2001 to 2007--have strengthened the policy to the point where it offers most of the same state benefits available to married couples. Not exactly out of the Woods of Homophobia but on the path to Marriage Equality.

In the year 2000 Vermont became the first state in the country to legally recognize civil unions between gay or lesbian couples. The law states that these “couples would be entitled to the same benefits, privileges, and responsibilities as spouses.” It stops short of referring to same-sex unions as marriage, which the state defines as heterosexual.

V. Gene Robinson, once called 'the most dangerous man in the Anglican Communion', was elected Bishop of New Hampshire on June 7, 2003.

In November of 2003, the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court ruled that barring gays and lesbians from marrying violates the state constitution. The Massachusetts Chief Justice concluded that to “deny the protections, benefits, and obligations conferred by civil marriage” to gay couples was unconstitutional because it denied “the dignity and equality of all individuals” and made them “second-class citizens.” Strong opposition followed the ruling.

On June 26, 2003, the Supreme Court ruled on two cases, seventeen years apart (Bowers v. Hardwick - 1986, and Lawrence v. Texas - 2003) that sodomy laws are unconstitutional.

At that time, -Supreme Court Justice Kennedy wrote in the Majority Opinion
“Times can blind us to certain truths and later generations can see that laws once thought necessary and proper in fact serve to oppress. As the constitution endures, persons in every generation can invoke its principles in their own search for greater freedom.”
I am convinced that these events - especially Stonewall, AIDS and Matthew - are not unconnected. I have come to know them as three major events of psychological and spiritual metanoia in our community.

We have come through a process of reforming the psyche of ourselves and our community as a form of self healing. Oh, we still have "issues" - our own pathology as individuals and as a community - to deal with.

But we have gone through 'the dark night of the soul', individually and collectively, and we have become stronger, smarter, and healthier - psychologically, physically, and spiritually - in the process.

Am I saying that these three awful events have to happen in order for us to be where we now are? No, I'm not saying that.

I'm saying that hindsight is always 20/20.

I'm saying that, in considering the Jungian understanding of metanoia, I'm trying to make sense of the sacrifices we've made, of the suffering we've endured, in order to be in this healthy place where now it sometimes seems that we have more straight allies than LGBT people.

Intolerance is now officially intolerable. The President of the United States gave a speech the other night at the Human Rights Campaign Dinner and said
". . . despite the real gains that we've made, there's still laws to change and there's still hearts to open. There are still fellow citizens, perhaps neighbors, even loved ones -- good and decent people -- who hold fast to outworn arguments and old attitudes; who fail to see your families like their families; who would deny you the rights most Americans take for granted. And that's painful and it's heartbreaking. And yet you continue, leading by the force of the arguments you make, and by the power of the example that you set in your own lives -- as parents and friends, as PTA members and church members, as advocates and leaders in your communities. And you're making a difference."
Yes, yes. Of course. We have many, many more miles to go before we sleep.

Which leads me to my final point.

I trust that the heroes and 'sheroes' who ignited the sparks that fired up the Gay Rights Movement are resting in peace.

I trust that Morty Manford, one of the Stonewall Drag Queens whose story was told by the President in that same speech at the HRC Dinner, is resting in peace.

I trust that all of our brothers and sisters who died of Bureaucratic Red Tape and Ignorance during the early days of the AIDS and AFRAIDS epidemic are resting in peace.

And, I trust Matthew Shepard is bathed in Light Eternal and is resting in peace.

Requiescat in pace, dear, brave, fabulous friends.

But not you. Not me. Not us.

I trust that we will follow the words of American Labor Organizer Mother Jones who famously said, "Pray for the dead and fight like hell for the living."

I trust we will allow ourselves to feel our own religious metanoia and repent of our sin of silence and ignorance, which leads to complicity with injustice and oppression.

I trust we will participate in our own spiritual metanoia and experience true conversion of our lives into an integrated whole - body, mind and spirit - apart, if necessary, from the religious traditions which understand metanoia as a one-way street, with us converting our selves, our souls and minds and bodies - to fit into the prevailing heterosexist paradigm.

I trust that our spiritual metanoia will lead us to truth and honesty, integrity and authenticity - to become more and more the person God created us to be -  not to become the image others have of who they think we should be.

And, I trust we will engage in a Jungian, psychological metanoia, and allow the crazy-making insanity of homophobia to bring us to self healing and self love and hope, so that we may be vehicles of God's healing and love and hope.

I trust this because I see no other choice. No other option.

No more oppression.

No more injustice.

No more victims.

No more.

No more.

No more.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

My sincere apologies


I am a techno-idiot. Really.

I mean, you would think I ought to be pretty savvy. I blog almost every day. But, I'm not. At all.

Some of you have tipped me off to the fact that sometimes, your comments don't show up. For others of you, your posts never show up.

I don't know what I did to make that happen. There's no rhyme or reason to it. I am not aware that I changed any of the settings.

Makes absolutely no sense to me.

So, Kirke sent me a link to a post that is designed to take idiots like me - step by step - through the process that helps you moderate your comments.

I followed the directions carefully, made a few changes and now have my fingers crossed. I have no idea what I did, exactly. I just hope it works.

Please let me know - one way or the other.

I understand that, in 2003, Saint Isidore of Seville was proposed as the patron saint of the Internet, but was not among the top six vote totals in an Italian Internet poll.

I think, just for good measure, I'll light a novena candle to Ole Saint Izzy.

This just may be the miracle he needs to get him this special canonization.

My apologies. Sincerely.

" . . .all that you have . . ."


“ . . . all that you have . . .” Mark 10:17-31
Pentecost XIX – October 11, 2009
The Episcopal Church of St. Paul, Chatham

(the Rev’d Dr.) Elizabeth Kaeton, rector and pastor.

My very dear friend and clergy colleague, Lane Denson, is also a musician. Jazz. He’s very good. I suppose, then, that it should come as no surprise that he often uses stories about music and musicians as a metaphor for life and our lives of faith. This is one of my favorites:

The great pianist Vladimir Horowitz was once asked, "What is music?” He answered that music is made up of little dots on a page, some black, some white. Almost anyone, he said, can render them with some instrument, a voice, a horn, or some string, rather like one can learn to use a typewriter to unravel shorthand. But, he said, that is not music.

Music, he said, is what’s "behind the dots." Music is getting behind the dots and connecting them and making them yours or yours together with others, bringing the music into the present and sharing it. Music is never past, save in our memories. And it’s never yet been done, save in our planning.

Music is behind the dots. So is most of the richness and meaning of life. This is especially true about eternal life, which is what the rich man was asking Jesus about in this morning’s gospel story.

Let me be very clear right up front: Despite how you may have heard this gospel preached in the past, I do not believe that Jesus is making an assault on wealth as such. Nor does he condemn those who possess it.

Neither does he necessarily praise poverty as a virtue. The man’s departure from Jesus in sadness and regret tells us that his life has been defined by his wealth and that a new life defined some other way is beyond his imagination. He cannot see behind the dots.

I think many of us – your preacher included – often make this mistake. We live our lives as good citizens, try to stay gainfully employed, care for our families, mow the lawn, pay our taxes, obey the law, keep the rules, and attend church – well, we try to on a regular basis, anyway.

Check, check and check.

But life, real life, the fullness of life, lies behind the checks. And, eternal life lies beyond the dots. Find that, and you will find the music that will turn your life from a dirge to music that will make your heart sing.

I want to pick up for just a moment on last week’s gospel. You know. The one about divorce. The one that made some of us very uncomfortable – including your preacher.

I think I have a story of my own that will help us think about living behind the dots and finding something about our own lives of faith as well as our life together in community that may help us better understand the Sacred Mystery of Eternal Life.

Years ago – on another planet in another galaxy far, far away – I was doing my own wrestling with the words of Jesus concerning divorce. My marriage had become a sham – or, at least, an utter failure.

I wasn’t exactly sure why, at the time. I just knew that we were both living with the sinking feeling that whatever this was, it was not marriage. It was awful. Flat-out awful.

A friend of mine who was Greek Orthodox encouraged me to make an appointment with her priest. She was convinced he could help me sort through my emotions and find an answer that was right for me – without judgment or condemnation.

I dragged my feet for months, but finally, when I couldn’t stand it any more, and in desperation, I made the appointment and went.

The Good Father listened patiently and kindly to my sad story, told through copious tears and sobs and sniffles. When I had finished, he handed me his fresh, white, starched handkerchief from the pocket of his black clergy shirt and, while I calmed myself down, spoke to me with great kindness and compassion – and, teaching.

“You know that the Greek Orthodox allow divorce, yes? That is because we believe that, when two people fall in love – real love – a new life is called into being. The two become one flesh with that new life, that new love, but they never cease being themselves."

"They become part of something bigger than just the two of them. Something that is in the world but not of the world. They are in the world, but the love, the new life they share, is not of the world.”

“It is a gift from God,” he continued, “It is a gift of abundance that can call forth more new life. Most often that more new life is seen in the children they have together, but it is also the new life they create together, the way each of their individual lives grow – more and more – into the unique person God has created them to be."

"Love always makes you more than you are.”

He leaned forward to be closer to me and said, “Now, sadly, sometimes that new life that came into being because of their love dies. Sometimes, it dies of abuse. Sometimes, it dies of neglect. And sometimes, it just dies."

"It is a lovely, romantic thought to believe that love lasts forever, but we know that the truth of life is not always romantic.”

“Sometimes, life is short,” he continued. “Babies die after a few days or weeks or months of life. Children or young people are taken from us in tragic accidents. We have no explanation for why this is, except that some life here on earth is not meant to live forever.”

“So, too, with the life that is created in marriage,” the Good Teacher told me. “Sometimes, the new life brought forth from love is just not meant to live that long. So, the best thing to do is to admit that the life has died, have a funeral we call divorce or annulment, and get on with the rest of life."

"It is better to live the life God has given you with all the love that is in your heart, rather than drag around a dead life form because we think that’s what the rules insist we must do.”

He sat back in his chair, took a deep breath and said, “The Rule of Life with Jesus is eternal life. You have to look behind the rules of this life to find Life Eternal with Jesus.”

Looking behind the rules – beyond the dots on the page – is where we will find the music that makes our lives sing. That’s true of our individual, personal lives, our lives with our spouses or partners, our lives with our children, and our family life.

It is also true of our lives as sisters and brothers in Christ in this parish family. You may not know it when you walked in that sanctuary door, but something happens here, when we’re together, that changes and transforms us in such a way that, when we walk out an hour or so later, we are not the same.

That happens every week. Week after week. Even though you may not realize that it is happening. I see it and I know it to be true because it happens to me.

It’s not just about coming to church. Check. Hearing the gospel. Check. Taking communion. Check. It’s about what happens behind all that. Beyond all that. About the dots that are connected between each of us and the Gospel and the Eucharist.

If you are simply looking at the dots you will miss seeing the Gospel broken open for you during the sermon just like Communion Bread so that you may be fed on The Word.

If you simply look at the dots, you will miss the True Presence of Jesus, who comes to us from behind the sacred words of our Eucharistic Prayers.

To be with us. To comfort and heal us. To bring us hope. To help us listen for the music we sing with the angels and archangels and all the company of heaven who forever sing, “Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and might. Heaven AND Earth of filled with your glory. Hosanna in the Highest!”

This morning’s Gospel story – our family story, our spiritual genealogy about wealth and poverty and discipleship – is really a story about sacrifice. To sacrifice something is not only to give it up or to give it away or to do without it.

Listen to the word: to sacrifice something is to make it sacred, to make it holy. And to make something holy is to complete it, to make it whole, to heal it, to give it integrity and purpose and direction. It is to fulfill it and to help make it what it is intended to be and to become. That is what it means to remember, to "do this in remembrance... "

We call our Eucharistic prayer a ‘sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving’. Before you can fully enter into this Sacred Mystery you have to give everything away, sacrifice all your worldly goods of anger, resentment, and all that distracts you from being fully present to the Full and True Presence of Jesus.

It is easier for a camel to walk through the eye of a needle than for anyone to try and enter the Realm of God with all their‘stuff’.

You have to give away all your preconceived notions of status and wealth, and what is of importance to the world. You have to claim your own poverty in order to be rich. That’s what Jesus told the rich man.

You have to die to the importance of this life in order to claim the treasure of Eternal Life.

Jesus doesn’t force the rich man or embarrass him or threaten him. He simply gives him the freedom to say “no.” For if he were to say “yes,” his “yes” would be hollow and meaningless and empty, it would simply display the dots and not what is behind them.

Jesus’ advice, of course, is for this particular man in his particular circumstance, even if his words could be expanded to include all of us who might have any similar sort of roadblock keeping us from a full life.

Make no mistake. This is not easy. “The Word of God is living and active,” says the writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews, “sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart.”


Those are harsh, difficult words to hear. I think the words of Vladimir Horowitz about music say the same thing in a different way. Music is getting behind the dots and connecting them and making them yours or yours together with others, bringing the music into the present and sharing it. Music is never past, save in our memories. And it’s never yet been done, save in our planning.

Or, in the words of my friend, the Greek Orthodox priest, Look behind the rules – beyond the dots on the page – for that is where we will find the music that makes our lives sing.

Amen.

National Coming Out Day: A few resources


Today is National Coming Out Day.

(It's also Jon Richardson's birthday. Happy Birthday, Jon!)

It's the day before the 11th Anniversary of the death of Matthew Shepard (December 1, 1976 – October 12, 1998) – which, in my mind and heart, make the observance of National Coming Out Day even more important.

There are some wonderful resources available to us – now – that help us to enter into conversations about what it means to be gay and what it means to have LGBT people in our communities and lives of faith.

There are many, thanks be to God and the persistence of some of the most persistent members of God's Rainbow Tribe. Perhaps you will add your own.

Here are just a few of my favorites:

1. http://www.claimingtheblessing.org/publications.html

Here you will find the THEOLOGY STATEMENT (Yes, one has beendone. By Episcopalians. Who are LGBT. And, theologians.), General Convention 2006 Resources as well as VOICES OF WITNESS – the outstanding video about how churches are enriched by GLBT presence and voices and ministry. You'll also find CLAIMING THE BLESSING 101 which includes, among other things, resources for Liturgical Rites of Blessing Covenants.

2. http://www.integrityusa.org/

This is, of course, the web page of IntegrityUSA, where you will find lots – TONS – of resources, including the newly released DVD of the Triennial Integrity Eucharist 2009, Anaheim. The excellence of the liturgy and music were surpassed only by the quality of the preacher.

You can also find the inspirational and informative VOICES OF WITNESS AFRICA
http://www.voicesofwitness.org/africa/pages/filmmakers.html which was viewed at Lambeth 2008 and General Convention 2009

3. http://theoasis.dioceseofnewark.org/resources.htm

The Oasis, Diocese of Newark, also has some rich resources, including the Diocesan Statement on Civil Unions, a National List of Welcoming Congregations, Some Tips on Being a Welcoming Congregation, the State of New Jersey Blue Ribbon Report on Why Civil Unions won't provide all of the benefits of Marriage and some Liturgical Rites of
Blessing Covenants in English and Spanish.

I do believe their congregational series ALL LOVE IS OF GOD is still available in limited quantities. Write to them to find out. It is a bit dated (embarrassingly enough, it was written in the days before we added "B" and "T" to our alphabet soup of a Rainbow Tribe) but can be easily modified. It is designed to promote conversation
about sexuality in general and homosexuality in particular.

4. http://www.oasiscalifornia.org/01_blessings.htm

Oasis California also has lots of resources, none the least of which is a wonderful section on Liturgical Rites of Blessing Covenants.

5. Some other wonderful videos:

Conversations: Minister and Congregant: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFXCM5ZqTjg

Conversations: A Teacher and A Student http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X4_BXpTOWqU

Conversations: Two Soldiers: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7rVdEfoVn_Q

31 Days of 31 LGBT Leaders: href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RbNvJAFfZvA>
which includes two of my personal favorites: Ruth Ellis and the Rev'd Dr. Pauli Murray – the first Black woman to be ordained Priest in The Episcopal Church.

And, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGtaLnZjMkc

Don't miss the last minute or so of this wonderful 4 minute video for "Greeting Card Emergency: Coming Out Cards". The last card was developed by the artist to thank his friends for coming out.

The outside of the card reads, "Your courage has made me a better straight person." Inside, the card reads: "Your example has made the world a better place. Thank you for coming out."

You have to hear the end of the story – about his relationship with Jesus and others. Bring a few tissues.

Finally: if you have not seen the HBO Special "OUTRAGE: Do Ask. Do Tell", please do yourself a favor and watch it. If you don't have HBO, call a friend who does and watch it together.

Here's a synopsis from the web page:
An official selection of the 2009 Tribeca Film Festival, *OUTRAGE* investigates the hidden lives of some of the country's most powerful policymakers – from now-retired Idaho Senator Larry Craig, to former New Jersey Governor Jim McGreevy – and examines how these and other politicians have inflicted damage on millions of Americans by opposing gay rights. Equally disturbing, the film explores the mainstream media's complicity in keeping those secrets, despite the growing efforts to "out" them by gay rights organizations and bloggers.
The quote of the film goes to Barney Frank who says, "Everyone has the right to privacy. No one has the right to hypocrisy."
a href=" ">

The truth is that when an LGBT person ‘comes out' to the Truth, to Honesty and to Love about himself, s/he sets off a process wherein so-called ‘straight' people must do the same. I do believe our Beloved Church is in its own institutional version of ‘coming out'.

No more lies. No more hypocrisy. No more violence – physical or spiritual or biblical. No more oppressors. No more victims. No more. No more.

It's a bold, courageous step, but I do believe the angels have been – are – and will be – there to bear us up.

In the Epistle appointed for tomorrow (Hebrews 4:12-16 RCL) we hear:
"The Word of God is living and active, sharper than any two edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And before him no creature is hidden, but all are naked and laid bare to the eyes of the one to whom we must render account.... Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need."
I hope this has been helpful to you.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Angels in America: The Prophet Speaks


This is the final scene from one of my favorite movies - Angels in America - Tony Kushner's brilliant, relentless piece.

Here are the final words from that final scene on the eve of National Coming Out Day:
This disease will be the end of many of us, but not nearly all.

And the dead will be commemorated and we'll struggle on with the living and. . . . .

. . . . . .we are not going away.

We won't die secret deaths anymore.

The world only spins forward.

We will be citizens.

The time has come.

Bye now.

You are fabulous, each and every one.

And I bless you.

More life.

The Great Work begins.

Amen!

Best Health Care Rant - EVER!


Hat Tip to Marcia for this from Daily KOS.

Here's the transcript.
"Madame Speaker, I have words for Democrats and Republicans tonight."

"Let's start with the Democrats"

"We as a party have spent the last six months, the greatest minds in our party, dwelling on the question, the unbelievably consuming question of how to get Olympia Snowe to vote on health care reform. I want to remind us all that Olympia Snowe was not elected President last year. Olympia Snowe has no veto power in the Senate. Olympia Snowe represents a state with one half of one percent of America's population."

"What America wants is health care reform. America doesn't care if it gets 51 votes in the Senate or 60 votes in the Senate or 83 votes in the Senate, in fact America doesn't even care about that, it doesn't care about that at all. What America cares about is this; there are over 1 million Americans who go broke every single year trying to pay their health care bills. America cares a lot about that. America cares about the fact that there are 44,780 Americans who die every single year on account of not having health care, that's 122 every day. America sure cares a lot about that. America cares about the fact that if you have a pre-existing condition, even if you have health insurance, it's not covered. America cares about that a lot. America cares about the fact that you can get all the health care you need as long as you don't need any. America cares about that a lot. But America does not care about procedures, processes, personalities, America doesn't care about that at all."

"So we have to remember that as Democrats, we have to remember that what's at stake here is life and death, enormous amounts of money, and people are counting upon us to move ahead. America understands what's good for America. America cares about health care, America cares about jobs, America cares about education, about energy independance, America does not care about processes politicians or personalities or anything like that."

"And I have a few words for my Republican friends tonight as well. I guess I do have some Republican friends."

"Let me say this; last week I held up this report here and I pointed out that in America there are 44,789 Americans that die every year according to this Harvard report published in this peer reviewed journal because they have no health insurance. That's an extra 44,789 Americans who die who's lives could be saved, and their response was to ask me for an apology."

"To ask me for an apology?"

"That's right. To ask ME for an apology!"

"Well, I'm telling you this; I will not apologize. I will not apologize. I will not apologize for a simple reason; America doesn't care about your feelings. I violated no rules by pulling this report to America's attention, I think a lot of people didn't know about it beforehand. But America DOES care about health care in America."

"And if you're against it, then get out of the way. Just get out of the way. You can lead, you can follow or you can get out of the way. And I'm telling you now to get out of the way."
"American understands that there is one party in this country that is favor of health care reform and one party that is against it, and they know why."

"They understand that if Barack Obama were somehow able to cure hunger in the world the Republicans would blame him for overpopulation"

"They understand that if Barack Obama could somehow bring about world peace they would blame him for destroying the defense industry."

"In fact, they understand that if Barack Obama has a BLT sandwhich tommorrow for lunch, they will try to ban bacon."

"But that's not what America wants, America wants solutions to it's problems and that begins with health care, and that's what I'm speaking for tonight."

"I yield back the balance of my time"

October 11: National Coming Out Day


It's not easy to come out.

It wasn't 33 years ago when I did it.

I can tell you, from conversations I've had with hundreds of young people, that while it's a bit easier today, it's still Very Hard Work.

These cards are a huge step forward in that process.

And it is a process. It starts with the person saying to himself, "I'm gay." Then, s/he says it to another person. Then, another.

Slowly. Over time. Testing the waters carefully. Until it doesn't matter any more.

It's like pulling the skin off an onion. The layers are very thin. It's often hard to tell one layer from another. There are lots of tears. But when you get to the core, it is firm and sweet.

Please do stay to the end of this video. The last card, and the artist's story, is amazing.

Coming out is not just about the LGBT person. It's also about heterosexual people who need to come out to Truth and Honesty and Love in their hearts.

That's often as difficult for them as it is for LGBT people.

The irony is that, in developing these 'coming out' cards, this artist has also Come Out. He has come out to Truth. He has come out to Honesty. He has come out to Love. In himself.

And, in the process, he's also helping other people - gay and straight - to come out, more and more, to Truth, Honesty and Love.

Happy National Coming Out Day!

May we all come out, more and more, to Truth. To Honesty. And so, to Love.

Friday, October 09, 2009

Minivan Moms Part Deux: Lady Minivan and the DWC incident


In my continuing saga of "That Was The Week That Was," I need to tell you about yet another frustrating encounter.

This one, however, led to a startling insight on Mark 10:17-31, this week's appointed gospel lesson for Sunday.

I've already gotten into hot water with some of you about this topic ("When Affluenza Meets Neurosis"). Let me state right up front - and again- that this is not about All mothers who drive a minivan. Most are responsible suburban moms who are good drivers.

Indeed, one of our own daughters lives in suburbia and schleps two of our grandchildren hither and yon to various after school and weekend activities in the frenetic way that has become the Gold Standard for Life in These United States in the Third Millennium. God forbid your child should not have a enrichment program to attend somewhere on any given day.

I'm talking about a particular kind of woman who lives in the affluent suburbs, who has all the accouterments of status: The McMansion, The Diamonds, The Rolex, The Country Club Membership, The Handsome, Successful-Even-In-This-Economy Husband, The Two Point Five Children, and, of course, the Lexus SUV or other top-end Minivan to drive them around town.

Oh, yes. And the cell phone. That would be the appendage on her left ear.

I call them "Lady Minivan".

I had stopped off at my local Starbucks in between appointments to get a little something to stave off the hunger. I was coming out of my parking space to exit the lot when I saw her.

Blue Mini van at 2 o'clock. Two kids in car seats in the back. Tail lights with white reverse lights on, but not moving. She is, of course, on the phone. Talking. Hands waving around wildly every so often.

I knew enough to proceed Slowly and with Great Caution.

It all unfolded as if in SloMo. Just I approached her car to pass by it to the exit, she started to move. She didn't bother to look. Couldn't. She was mid-thought of Something or with Someone Very Important.

I started to tap my horn. Just to get her attention. Nothing. I kept moving very, very slowly while tapping the horn. Still nothing.

Finally, I leaned on my horn. Several people in the parking lot started yelling at her. The guy in front of Blockbuster's pointed at her, caught her eye, then pointed at me. It took her a few moments before she finally looked up, saw me, and slammed on her breaks.

She came within inches of hitting my car. Sweet Little Lucy True Bug.

Several people came round to see if I was okay, several whispering angrily, "I saw it all. I'll be your witness."

I realized that I was trembling in the aftermath of almost having been hit.

"Lady Minivan" kept talking, this time reporting that "I almost hit some idiot who didn't stop to let me out of my parking spot." She said it as if it were some Great Inconvenience. A Terrible Annoyance.

I swear to God this is true.

Entitlement and Privilege look even uglier in the midst of a situation like that.

My body started moving before my brain was fully engaged. I saw myself get out of the car and walk to her car window.

The crowd pressed in closer. There had not been a real accident, but they smelled blood on the water, nonetheless.

"Are you okay?" I asked, seeing that she was. "Yes," she rolled her eyes, not really answering me but talking into the cell phone.

"Put the cell phone down," I said.

She stared at me blankly.

"Put. The. Cell. Phone. Down." I repeated with a calm that surprised me.

A mixture of confusion and caution came over her face as she slowly lowered the cell phone to her thigh.

"Good," I said, "Now, give it to me."

"What?" she said, now looking at me as if I were flat-out crazed.

"Give. Me. The. Cell. Phone." I repeated.

"Why?" she asked, as the crowd pressed in even closer.

"Because I'm going to use it to call 911," I said calmly.

"Why?" she shrieked at me, The Idiot in a no-name brand blouse and driving a lowly VW Bug. "No one was hurt. I'm fine. You're fine. The kids are fine."

"You almost hit me because you were talking on your cell phone. In New Jersey, that's a moving violation. I'm going to report it to the police."

She went from cool suburban housewife to hysterical woman in zero to five seconds.

"You can't do that. My husband will kill me. He's always telling me not to talk or text on the phone while I drive. You can't do this!"

"Well," I said, calmly, "I can see he's been very effective. Perhaps if there is a police report and a fine, you'll stop endangering yourself, your children and others by talking on the cell phone while driving."

She was now reduced to the level of one of the three or four year olds in the back seat. Hysterical is too mild a word for it.

Infantalized is better. More on this later.

I knew I wasn't going to get her cell phone, so I turned and walked back to my car to get mine. To my amazement, people stayed away from her. Several people called out to me, "Good for you. Good for you."

I called 911. I thought to take some pictures of just how close she had come to hitting me - just in case there were later allegations of injury. Or, she suddenly got smart and moved her car, destroying the evidence.

She could obviously afford better legal representation than I could. Perhaps she was even married to one.

I also got a snap of her license plate - just in case.

In the time it took me to do that, the police arrived. I was grateful. Lady Minivan let out a wail into her cell phone. The kids in the back seat where now hysterical, screaming about "the bad lady that made Mommy cry."

The officer looked over the scene as he made his way toward me. Several people called out to him their willingness to be a witness. He nodded solemnly.

He got my story, took my license and registration and then said, "I'll handle it from here," as he walked over to Lady Minivan.

The first thing she said, through tears and sobs was, "It's HER fault. She didn't stop to let me out of my parking place."

The cop responded by calmly asking for her drivers license and registration. That took five minutes of rummaging through her purse and glove compartment, all the while explaining how it wasn't her fault. Meanwhile, several people came up to tell the officer what they had seen.

He was great. Officer Friendly giving a stern paternal lecture about the perils of driving while talking or texting on a cell phone. As he talked, she started to calm down and became remorseful and repentant, sniffling and sobbing and repeating, "My husband is going to kill me."

She got a stern lecture, a citation to appear in court and a stiff fine.

Yes, this is a bigger problem than Minivan Moms. Yes, driving with cell phones or texting while driving is a problem that knows no boundary of gender or geography, age or class status.

In the aftermath of it all, I've gotten an insight into a modern cultural dynamic about which I'm just now thinking out loud.

It's always dangerous when I do this. Someone is going to take offense and accuse me of stereotyping. So be it. I'm trying to find a way to talk about a modern manifestation of a dynamic that is as old as the Garden.

Original sin? That would be Sexism.

'Lady Minivan' is the New Eve. She is the modern icon of the New Sexism. It is a much more subtle form, but equally pernicious and just as deadly to the soul.

The tip off was the infantilization. "My husband's going to kill me," she wailed over and over. She had become the naughty girl. "Daddy" was going to be angry.

I confess that I don't understand this dynamic, but I know I've participated in it so I recognize it immediately. I suspect it's subconscious or even unconscious behavior. Something in our genetic DNA encoding. Or, a powerful learned cultural behavior.

I sometimes find myself falling into it with bishops. I know how to be coy and flirty - to 'soften' the message in the presence of a male ego with authority. Or a "power" woman who is part of the patriarchy dressed in a tailored business skirt.

To be sure, some of it is just the politics of social discourse which cross lines of gender and class status. "Working the system" is sometimes just a smart political move. Something we all do - male and female - no matter who we are or what situation we're in.

It can be conscious or unconscious or subconscious. No matter. We all engage in it from either end of the power spectrum. It's part of the enterprise of being human.

I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the ways in which we continue to participate in our own oppression - and that of others.

I'm talking about how that leads to infantilization which stunts our growth as full, whole human beings.

I'm talking about how that deadens the soul.

I'm not making fun of Lady Minivan or reducing her to stereotype. I feel bad for her and I wonder how it is our culture helps to nurture and sustain her. And, why? What is the 'cultural benefit' of Lady Minivan?

It is recorded that Socrates, charged with heresy, said, "The unexamined life is not worth living." He was on trial for encouraging his students to challenge the accepted beliefs of the time and think for themselves.

Using one of the Socratic devices, I think it's fair to say that driving while talking on the cell phone is not bad because it is against the law, it is against the law because it is bad. It carries with it the potential to do great harm and is therefore dangerous.

My prayer for Lady Minivan is that she begin to take stock and start to examine her life. That, in fact, we all do.

What is so damned important about a conversation that it can't wait until we're out of the car?

Does driving and talking on the cell phone make us, then, feel important? As if we are so important that we simply have to have conversations that are so important that they can't wait?

What does that say about us - the status of our own egos and souls - that we need the illusions of status and importance in order to feel important?

It may still be an act of heresy to challenge the accepted beliefs of our times. If we don't, however, we not only participate in our own oppression and that of others, we participate in the muting and eventual death of the soul by cultural anesthesia.

It's the parable of the rich man (Mark 10:17-31) which we'll hear on Sunday. Eternal Life is not about the things we have or even the rules - spoken and unspoken - we studiously keep.

It's about dying to self, even in the midst of - or especially because of - the prevailing cultural expectations, wherein we gain it all. Or, at least, "treasure in heaven."

Jesus said to the rich man, "You lack one thing: go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me."

When the young man heard this, "he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions."

I'd like to think the rich man went away and spent some time examining his life.

I'd like to think Lady Minivan did the same.

She might, if she'd just put down that damn cell phone and stop talking.