friday mountains… one step at a time
The power of suggestion is fierce and the suggestion is writer’s block. Honestly, as a pastor-mom, the possibilities for pondering seem endless so it is rarely a matter of finding a topic but more often a struggle between choices of worthy topics. But a lively conversation about writers block earlier in the week stands between me and the keyboard. A small wave of panic danced at the edges of my mind, “what if?” it taunted.
But like most things in my life, I pondered it. I pondered this thing called writer’s block and I discovered a most interesting and obvious fact about writer’s block. A block is not a vacuum. A vacuum would be much harder to navigate, the unseen energy fields dangerous. But a block is something that can be scaled or walked around or, my personal favorite, taken apart.
On this Friday morning, with a deadline looming, I can choose to stand in awe of the mountain or I can tackle it. The choice is mine. Awe has its place, especially when it comes to the sacred. But for ponderers, awe is but a gateway for ever more questions.
Of what is this writer’s block composed? Most likely the assortment of daily human emotions that came upon wonderment, stopped too quickly, and melded into a tangled mess. Like a knot in a skein of yarn, the harder I pull the more set the knot. With a tangle of the ordinary, the prudent course is present patience. The jumble will not like dissolve of its own accord, at least not within the time allotted, making my intention important. But intention needs to be matched by a willingness to allow the feelings to have their own integrity. I cannot force them into patterns that do not belong to them. Coming to know each strand, I can see how it connects, helpfully, and not, to the one beside it. Working in concert, the knot unwinds. Except when it doesn’t. There are some tangles with which we live, some Gordian knots that stubbornly refuse to be resolved. These we must hold carefully. But even knowing which ones are immovable requires a substantial investment of emotional capital.
From a distance, writers block looms mammoth. Up close it is fairly small and largely navigable. Unfortunately, though, it isn’t very pretty. You never hear people talk about a writer’s façade wall or writers courtesy screen. Nope, it’s writer’s block. A block of cheese is yummy but rarely ascetically noteworthy (apologies to my Wisconsin friends). A block of rooms is functionally descriptive but never used in the hotel marketing ‘zines. The fact is that writer’s block is not pretty and rarely comes with so much as a decent coverlet. Of all the Friday morning companions one might choose, writer’s block is probably just about rock bottom on the list.
Yet as I sit with this writer’s block on an otherwise gentle Friday morning, I realize the size of this dread condition is, at least for today, quite small and despite the unattractive exterior, the jumble that belongs to me is quite intriguing. I can see within the tangle the procrastination and … well, the whole list of character defects that I am slowly beginning to recognize as my own. And while I don’t care to make public my accounting of these messy strands, my awareness of them is the only hope for ultimately untangling them. Walking around the block works until it doesn’t; thankfully when we are ready to tackle the block there are sages around us who can coach as we face each tangled piece.
That which is dread from a distance loses its power when held up close in the bright light of day.
bumper sticker watch… looking for purple
Charged political times yield interesting bumper stickers, and we have been living in stormy waters. Perhaps the most audacious stickers are those that match faith with politics. Almost always these stickers inflame passions in one extreme or another.
A friend emailed today when a co-worker arrived in a car decked out with “Christian or Democrat – Pick One”. My friend happens to be both and was deeply offended by the implication that they are in opposition, the suggestion that she must divest herself of either her faith or her politics.
Her offense is well placed. The essence of the Democratic party is a belief in the power of the spirit at work in the people, certainly a plank consistent with faith in the God made known in Jesus’ continual embrace of his community. Our current cultural wedge issues place Democrats on the side of ‘choice’ when it comes to women’s bodies and ‘respect’ when it comes to marital partners and ‘empowerment’ when it comes to serving the vulnerable. All of these values are rooted in Christianity and visible in all religious traditions with which I’ve become accustomed. Christians can easily ally themselves with the Democratic party and many do.
Likewise the Republican party is rooted in values that are fundamental to Christianity (and other religious traditions). At the heart of the Republican party is a belief in the power of the spirit at work in the individual, a plank consistent with faith in the God made known in the person of Jesus. An instinctive preference for private vs. public sharing emanates from a commitment to an individual’s inherent worth. Although our current wedge issues place Republicans and Democrats on opposite sides, this means only that they are successful wedges.
Recent years have seen a remarkable rise of ill will in relation to both religion and politics. Personally I am supportive of a woman’s right to choose, the right of same-gender couples to marry, and generous public social service dollars. In fact my beliefs are rooted in my understanding of Jesus and his teachings. But I know many compassionate people who love Jesus and hold beliefs different from mine. Though I may ardently disagree with them, I do not question their quality of their faith experience nor does their stance on any particular wedge issue invite such judgment. Quite frankly, liberals and conservatives alike have been far too generous with the use of God’s name on human ideas.
A couple of years ago, Kris Kristofferson offered a new collection with a song entitled “Not in my name”. His voice, aged since “Bobby McGee”, offered a moving plea to leave God’s name off of our penchant for consumption, war, and meanness:
“Burning up the atmosphere and cutting down the trees
The billion dollar bombing of a nation on it’s knees
Anyone not marching to their tune they call it treason
Everyone says God is on his side”
Kristofferson ends with the charge:
“Don’t blame God, I swear to God he’s crying too.”
What I appreciate about Kristofferson’s poetic challenge is that he unmasks our human inclination to place God’s name on our dubious endeavors. It seems to me that the more uncertain we are of our chosen path, the more militant we are oft to become that it is ordained by a higher power. Our most heinous acts throughout human history invariably bear our feeble attempt to give God the credit.
The alternative of tending politics without our faith is equally fraught. One need look no further than the brutal communist (read: ‘no god’) regimes for a reminder that politics devoid of faith are no more compassionate than those with an overabundance of god-talk. Perhaps it is our talk that is the problem; perhaps we need to talk less and listen more. What would happen if we stopped arguing for a couple of conversations and listened to an alternative viewpoint? Not simply to hone our debating skills, but to hear what is important to another person?
Maybe our bumper sticker might read: “I vote with compassion.” Of course, that offers no wedge and thereby no profit margin. Still, bumper stickers promoting compassion might foster a world worthy of our children.
40 million gallons and counting… saying ‘no’ to big oil and hamburgers
By the time you are reading this, an estimated 40 million gallons of crude oil have poured into the Gulf of Mexico. [PBS counter] This is quadruple the total spill of the Exxon Valdez. This is an amount that is beyond our human imagining. And it isn’t done flowing.
The bane and blessing of this tragedy for the average American is that it is happening in a place we know. For more than a decade, our family spring vacations were spent along the shoreline towards which this oil is sliding. A friend recently shared that they had canceled their vacation to the Gulf, fearful of placing their young children in the water. Heroic efforts to save the beauty by pouring synthetic oil-globulents in the ocean pour poison in the wound. According to the Christian Science Monitor, BP has been pouring undisclosed amounts of a ‘dispersant’ called Corexit into and onto the water, a dispersant that is 10-20 times more toxic than the those recommended by the EPA. The long term effects of this toxic dump are unknown and potentially horrifying. Oil is naturally messy, Corexit unnaturally toxic. Strange bedfellows are already causing illness among workers and marine life.
And still the oil pours. In the time it took to track those details and type that paragraph, about 15 minutes, 900 gallons of oil have poured into the gulf. At the same time, Corexit continues to flow.
Like most of my Facebook friends, I’ve joined the “I,000,000 Against Offshore Drilling”. I ‘liked’ a friend’s post about boycotting BP. But I wonder if we’re closing the gate after the horse has bolted. Or worse, that the chickens born of our human greed have come home to roost.
Although holding BP accountable for it’s use of dispersement agents is critically important, and identifying human errors contributing to the explosion of the well are likewise worthy, the tragic fact is that it is our consumption ‘needs’ that placed the wells in the deep waters. BP, and all of the oil companies for that matter, are simply acting on market demand. Were we to stop using crude oil, there would be no market incentive for BP or others to drill for it.
Crying over spilt milk (or in this case oil) may be inevitable, but the blame game is not the best use of our limited resources. We need to be saner and smarter as a people. Some choices need to come from leadership, like investments in alternative energy sources; but some of the choices need to happen more locally. Unfortunately as the camera looks closer to home, we begin the slippery slope from preaching into meddling. Case in point: the crude oil necessary to feed our hunger for hamburgers. Because we want our burgers fast and cheap, most cows that we eat are kept in lots and fed a diet of grain (corn) and antibiotics with a total crude oil consumption of about 200 gallons per cow. Not even accounting for the unimaginable cruelty, our American hunger for beef costs about 6 billion gallons of crude oil each year (Bard Center for Environmental Policy). Grass fed and/or free range options are of course more environmentally friendly, but if we’re serious about no more deep water wells, we might skip the burger altogether.
Meanwhile, another hour has passed while I’ve pondered the dilemmas and checked my facts. And another 3600 gallons of oil have flooded into the dark waters.
No one of us can solve this problem, but likewise no one of us is innocent. At the root of the gushing oil are the timeless human sins of greed and arrogance. Only when we recognize our own greed and arrogance can we begin to change our behaviors. Repentance is an ancient concept not about guilt and shame, but rather about changed action. Perhaps now is the time to stop pointing fingers and begin a season of repentance.
Remembering Ted… with a laugh and a tear
Ted Hattori died this week. If you ever had the chance to know Ted, you know this has been a very sad week in our church office. For those who did not have the honor, I share this week’s ponderings.
Ted was charming, the kind of charming that only comes when people are extra smart. I was new in town, my office was still unpacked, when Ted arrived with a single carnation, a story, and an invitation for lunch with he and another church member. He made old fashioned words like chivalry and gallant come alive with the twinkle in his eye. When heading a search committee for a staff position at church some years back, he penned a report to the pastor under the allonym Albert Camus, introducing the candidate as the ‘one who will be a stranger no more’. Strangers for Ted were unmet friends. The pastor saved the letter, and in the days after Ted’s death I stumbled across it. Ted was still making me laugh.
Ted was compassionate, the kind of compassion that is rooted deep in one’s soul, the kind that reflects the choice to live when the world says die. Ted spent too many of his young years behind barbed wire when his California family was sent to a camp just south of Missouri during WW2 for the sole crime of being born with Japanese heritage. When Ted and Carolyn married in 1962, their pastor travelled with them to Illinois because the law in Missouri forbade their marriage. Perhaps it was because his own heritage was publicly scorned that Ted learned not only pride in his heritage but also the importance of moving beyond tolerance towards embrace. Having been the one excluded, his life was a gentle but persistent stream of inclusion.
Ted was the kind of guy who was friends with both the quarterback and the geek. He had a circle of close friends with whom he socialized and traveled, and a much beloved family, but his embrace was open and his capacity to accept new people and new ideas appeared endless. And he noticed people whom others were prone to overlook; he made a point of inquiring about them, inviting them, including them… until they became us. I’ve no doubt that much of who we are as an Open and Affirming congregation committed to increasing diversity is a testimony to Ted’s gentle but persistent work in our midst.
Ted was a private man. Although his stories included bits of his own life story, they were never about him. In fact his stories were often a fascinating web of fact and fiction, and as I collected bits of his own story over the years, I routinely did ‘fact checks’ with Carolyn while Ted smiled coyly in the background. Not surprisingly he didn’t talk much about his illnesses in these most recent years. The illnesses slowed his stories, made it hard for him to be in groups that had once been lifelines. Gradually he slipped from the daily life of our community, and those of us privileged to know him missed him deeply.
We will gather at church on Saturday at 2pm to bear witness to God’s love made known in Ted’s life, made at once easy for the plentiful example and hard for the depth of our loss.
remembering Ted… with a laugh and a tear
Ted Hattori died this week. If you ever had the chance to know Ted, you know this has been a very sad week in our church office. For those who did not have the honor, I share this week’s ponderings.
Ted was charming, the kind of charming that only comes when people are extra smart. I was new in town, my office was still unpacked, when Ted arrived with a single carnation, a story, and an invitation for lunch with he and another church member. He made old fashioned words like chivalry and gallant come alive with the twinkle in his eye. When heading a search committee for a staff position at church some years back, he penned a report to the pastor under the allonym Albert Camus, introducing the candidate as the ‘one who will be a stranger no more’. Strangers for Ted were unmet friends. The pastor saved the letter, and in the days after Ted’s death I stumbled across it. Ted was still making me laugh.
Ted was compassionate, the kind of compassion that is rooted deep in one’s soul, the kind that reflects the choice to live when the world says die. Ted spent too many of his young years behind barbed wire when his California family was sent to a camp just south of Missouri during WW2 for the sole crime of being born with Japanese heritage. When Ted and Carolyn married in 1962, their pastor travelled with them to Illinois because the law in Missouri forbade their marriage. Perhaps it was because his own heritage was publicly scorned that Ted learned not only pride in his heritage but also the importance of moving beyond tolerance towards embrace. Having been the one excluded, his life was a gentle but persistent stream of inclusion.
Ted was the kind of guy who was friends with both the quarterback and the geek. He had a circle of close friends with whom he socialized and traveled, and a much beloved family, but his embrace was open and his capacity to accept new people and new ideas appeared endless. And he noticed people whom others were prone to overlook; he made a point of inquiring about them, inviting them, including them… until they became us. I’ve no doubt that much of who we are as an Open and Affirming congregation committed to increasing diversity is a testimony to Ted’s gentle but persistent work in our midst.
Ted was a private man. Although his stories included bits of his own life story, they were never about him. In fact his stories were often a fascinating web of fact and fiction, and as I collected bits of his own story over the years, I routinely did ‘fact checks’ with Carolyn while Ted smiled coyly in the background. Not surprisingly he didn’t talk much about his illnesses in these most recent years. The illnesses slowed his stories, made it hard for him to be in groups that had once been lifelines. Gradually he slipped from the daily life of our community, and those of us privileged to know him missed him deeply.
We will gather at church on Saturday at 2pm to bear witness to God’s love made known in Ted’s life, made at once easy for the plentiful example and hard for the depth of our loss.
