Light Streaming Through

Two years ago, we moved into a house with a great back yard. It looked like this:

As of this morning, it looks like this:

(Side-note to anyone who may want to rent a house to us in the future: if you say that we can do "whatever" with the backyard, we will take you up on it. We are also excellent tenants...)

I started to notice a few days ago that there is a line of new growth across the garden - one of two columbine plants is full of flowers that are opening up (the other is not); tulips are opening up; one half of a tree (just outside the frame to the left) is leafing out; a rosemary bush is filling out much more than the rosemary in another part of the garden. A couple of days ago I looked out and saw that there is a line of light that streaks right across the path of growth (you can kind of see it in the photo). I stood in awe for a moment - I mean, yeah, I get it that light makes plants grow; but, I was struck that you could almost draw a clear line across the garden, that the difference in growth could be seen - clearly - between those plants that have that morning light and those that do not.


That got me to thinking about the way light moves, and how it just needs a break in whatever is obscuring it from the sun to get some of that photosynthetic goodness.  In August I'm sure I'll write about the ways too much sun is hellish on plants, and the lack of water, etc; but, right now I cannot help but think of the way the light breaks through....

What Kind of Times are These

On Sunday a friend of mine told me the story of a time she went down to South Carolina to visit some of her people.  They took her to a forest thick with trees; and as she walked toward the edge of them, she said, she just felt like something wasn't right - like something bad had happened there.  My friend isn't particularly clairvoyant that I know of, but she said she just felt...off. She asked her hosts what the story was with the forest, and they told her to look up to the higher branches.  When she did, she saw the remnants of chains - the trees had grown around them over the last 50 years, but they were still there - chains from old lynchings.  To be honest, my first thought was about why they hadn't cut the trees down. I then stopped myself and realized that there are some memories that are so painful, some versions of ourselves so ugly, that to try and cut them down is to try and forget something that should not be forgotten, to cover something up that needs to be revealed if it's ever going to be healed.  

I've been reading a lot lately in the news that makes me think about the ways people keep trying to keep hidden the dark underbelly of racism that is still very much a part of our national identity.  This is something that people of color know about every day - deal with every day.  Every day.  As a white person, I don't have to think about it if I don't want to, because the system is set up for people who look like me, by people who look like me, and was built on the backs of men, women, and children whom people claimed they had the right to own.  I keep trying to find a nice way to say that we white people are foolish to even begin to tell ourselves that we do not live in a racist society; but, I don't think things like that can or should be said in a nice way - as in, not in a way that cleans it up, or in a way that allows us to sweep it under the rug.  Only if we can start to be honest about the things that make us most ashamed, about the things that scare us the most, can we begin the process of healing.

The poem below, "What Kind of Times are These" was written by the poet and activist Adrienne Rich, who died today at the age of 82.

There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill

and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows

near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted

who disappeared into those shadows.

I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled

this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,

our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,

its own ways of making people disappear.

I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods

meeting the unmarked strip of light—

ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:

I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you

anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these

to have you listen at all, it's necessary

to talk about trees.

Check yourself.  When you find yourself getting anxious, or scared, or angry when you see some stranger on the street, be honest about why that feeling comes up - what is it about them that gets to you?  Is it their skin color, their nationality, the way they dress, who they date, the way they identify themselves?  Then remind yourself that the person you're looking at is a child of God - just like you.  They have had different life experiences from yours, but they are part of the human family with you.


We are all in this together, my friends.  I know that it may seem easier to only love people who look or act or dress like us, but I don't think God works that way (and....come on, that gets kinda boring, doesn't it?).  Open yourself up to the opportunity to be amazed by the power of the Spirit moving through you and connecting all of us.  Let yourself be opened up.  Be honest. Say what scares you.  Say what gives you hope.  Say what makes no sense to you - ask questions.  Listen when people talk - try to hear them, even if what they say makes no sense to you.  Recognize their humanity.  Know that they are a beloved child of God.  Know that you are, too.

Conscientization

Tonight with the youth we talked about transphobia. We started off the night by working with the youth to define transphobia, to have the youth not only say what it is, but how it is manifest and why it happens.  I could go on and on about having learned the process in ethics classes, and that it stems from Paulo Freire's pedagogical approach to critical consciousness, but I'll hold off on that.  What I'm really interested in sharing is one comment shared by a youth after we wrote the definition.  After 45 minutes of working on the definition, making sure all voices were included, this youth said that the process of adding the "how" and "why" to the definition was "brutal."  We asked why.  The youth responded:


"It was brutal because...well, once you define something, you can't ignore it - it's real.  You can't turn off what you know, or close your eyes to it anymore.  Once it's defined, it's personal, it's specific; it means something in a new way."


I could add to that, and go on and on about how powerful it was to hear the youth articulate things like this, but I think I'll just sign off with that.


Peace.

Poem Sunday 5

Thinking about Trayvon Martin today, and all of the conversations going on around his death. There is a whole lot to unpack on that, but I want to try and keep Sunday for poems. So, below are two things: a poem by Nikki Giovanni about the vision of Abraham Lincoln, and an excerpt from Abraham Lincoln's second Inaugural Address.

The American Vision of Abraham Lincoln

AT THIS MOMENT

by Nikki Giovanni, Feb 2009

At this moment

Resting in the comfort of the statue

Of the 16th president of the United States

Missing

An equally impressive representation

Of his friend and advisor

Frederick Douglass

We come

On this day

Recalling the difficult and divisive war

We are compelled

With a prayer in the name

Of those captured and enslaved

Who with heart and mind

Cleared the wilderness

Raised crops

Brought forth families

Submitted their souls

Before a merciful and great God

To acknowledge that The Civil War

Was fought not to free the enslaved

For they knew they were free

But to free the nation

From a terrible cancer eating at our hearts

At this moment

In which we are embarrassed

By the Governor of our fifth largest state

Who appoints a man to the United States Senate

To which both he and his minion agree:

The Letter of the Law

Is more important than

The Spirit of the Law

Now

When we are dismayed that the accidental

Governor of the Empire State can find

Just one more reason to rain pain

And rejection on a family that has offered only

Grace and graciousness

After two hundred years

When we rejoice that another son

Of the Midwest has offered himself

His wife and his two precious daughters

To show us a better way

We gather

In recognition and understanding

That today is always and forever today

Allowing us to offer this plea

For light

And truth

And Goodness

Forgiving as we are forgiven

Being neither tempted nor intolerant of those who are

We come

At this moment

To renew and refurbish

The American vision

Of Abraham Lincoln

And, excerpts from Abraham Lincoln's second Inaugural Address:

Neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease with or even before the conflict itself should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces, but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered. That of neither has been answered fully.....

With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.

We still have a long way to go.

Why I Wear Neckties

Sometime in the last six months or so, I started wearing neckties on a pretty regular basis. While I'd worn them a time or two before, I'd always borrowed them from friends; I didn't own any ties, or ever think to buy one for myself. Last summer, though, just after my dad passed away, I took home some of his ties, as kind of a way I could remember him. My dad was pretty notorious for wearing his ties too short, so they kind of hit him in the middle of his belly, which was funny on his 6'4" frame. So, I had a couple of his ties hanging in my closet, and at some point early in the fall I wore one of the ties and found that I really liked wearing a tie. Part of it was feeling a connection to my dad, and part of it was that I just found that I liked wearing ties.

One of the interesting things about being in relationship with someone of the same gender is that straight people don't always seem to know how to make sense of us. Many gay or lesbian people have had people ask, very sincerely, "so, which one of you is the man, and which one is the woman?" This question is confusing to me because, well, we're both women. Or, I've heard things along the lines of, "but...women don't wear ties, so that must make you the 'man,' right?" Nope, sorry - we're still both women.

One of the things that is nice about gender norms is that they give you a clear outline of what is "masculine" and what is "feminine." Those norms are helpful in a way because they define what is....well, normative. However, the challenge with gender norms, especially as they become more and more narrowly defined, is that they often allow people to live unexamined lives, to accept the status quo - the outward markers begin to define the inward character of a person. Those who don't fit into what is defined as normative are seen as trouble-makers, or dangerous, a threat to the stability of the family, the institution, the nation, even the natural order of things; that which is different is perceived as wrong. To protect this stability, then, it is deemed necessary to do what can be done to prevent "them" from getting out of line - it becomes a moral issue, a faith issue, a God issue.

I should be clear that I am not saying that women who dress in a manner that is typically "feminine," or men who do so in a way that is typically "masculine" are living unexamined lives. I am saying that it is important that we allow ourselves to ask questions about how or why we make the decisions we make, and to recognize that there is a tremendous amount of fluidity in gender expression. If we allow rigid definitions of what is 'normal' to define our existence, how are we to make sense of it when something completely 'abnormal' happens?

This comes in on issues of faith as well. My ethics professor, Dr. Cannon talks about one of the reasons for doing theological ethics is to clarify norms, particularly in contentious issues. In the process of norm-clarification, and in understanding what others deem as normative, people are empowered to stretch beyond their individual selves by seeing that there is a myriad of experiences within any group of people. In understanding the experiences and faith of other people, I am encouraged to understand my experience, my faith. "The only thing that gets rid of fear," she says, "is faith....What is there to be afraid of if you know what you believe?"

Basically, in my shortest answer, I wear neckties because I like to wear them. I wear them also because I know that when I go into a seminary classroom in a tie, or into a church in a tie, I am helping to norm something, to show that women do indeed wear ties.

Change

Listening to Tracy Chapman with my Beloved this morning. As we both sang along with the lyrics to "Change," she made the comment that this is a really good song for Lent (as we then both simultaneously post them to various places). Ahh the age of technology.

Peace.

If you knew that you would die today,
Saw the face of God and love,
Would you change?
Would you change?

If you knew that love can break your heart
When you're down so low you cannot fall
Would you change?
Would you change?

How bad, how good does it need to get?
How many losses? How much regret?
What chain reaction would cause an effect?
Makes you turn around,
Makes you try to explain,
Makes you forgive and forget,
Makes you change?
Makes you change?

If you knew that you would be alone,
Knowing right, being wrong,
Would you change?
Would you change?

If you knew that you would find a truth
That brings up pain that can't be soothed
Would you change?
Would you change?

How bad, how good does it need to get?
How many losses? How much regret?
What chain reaction would cause an effect?
Makes you turn around,
Makes you try to explain,
Makes you forgive and forget,
Makes you change?
Makes you change?

Are you so upright you can't be bent?
If it comes to blows are you so sure you won't be crawling?
If not for the good, why risk falling?
Why risk falling?

If everything you think you know,
Makes your life unbearable,
Would you change?
Would you change?

If you'd broken every rule and vow,
And hard times come to bring you down,
Would you change?
Would you change?

If you knew that you would die today,
If you saw the face of God and love,
Would you change?
Would you change?
Would you change?
Would you change?

If you saw the face of God and love
If you saw the face of God and love
Would you change?
Would you change?

New Online Resource!!! (and a request)

Very exciting evening!!!

I had a conversation this evening with a couple of friends about a new online resource we are working on, and I am really excited to share it here. Okay, so the resource doesn't yet exist (this was just our first conversation), but the wheels are turning, so I'm posting to solicit some help....

A handful of friends and I, who all love the church and want to help make it a more affirming place for sexual minorities, have started working on an online resource that addresses some of the questions we've seen raised in the church. Basically, it's a way to help educate people in the church about stuff that we think is important for the care of queer folks.

As we begin the process of getting the site off the ground, we are trying to build content; one part of that content is questions people may have about things related to sexual minorities. For example, I've had people in the past ask me what the "T" in LGBT means (does it mean "transvestite" or "transsexual" or "transgender," and what is the difference between those things?). I've had other people ask about how to refer to a significant other of a gay man or lesbian, or whether it's appropriate to ask someone if they identify as a man or woman, or how I understand what the Bible says about homosexuality. Other people have asked about how to help their church to be more intentional about being "welcoming" to sexual minorities, or who wonder about what it means to be welcoming.

So, here's where I need your help. If you have a question, any question, about anything related to sexual minorities, please post it in the comments section of this post. No need to identify yourself - you can post anonymously. I likely won't answer the question here, but will add it to a list of other questions we're compiling for the site. Or, if you have heard other questions, or have seen issues raised that need to be addressed, please post them.

I'm so excited about this that I could do cartwheels (and, trust me, that is quite an aerobic feat - I haven't done a cartwheel since middle school).

Spring

Okay, so technically I've been kind of keeping poems to Sunday, and technically yesterday was the first day of spring (not today), but, well, I was just looking at The Writer's Almanac, and the poem below was the poem from yesterday; and, dang, it's just so good....

Spring, by Mary Oliver

Somewhere
a black bear
has just risen from sleep
and is staring

down the mountain.
All night
in the brisk and shallow restlessness
of early spring

I think of her,
her four black fists
flicking the gravel,
her tongue

like a red fire
touching the grass,
the cold water.
There is only one question:

how to love this world.
I think of her
rising
like a black and leafy ledge

to sharpen her claws against
the silence
of the trees.
Whatever else

my life is
with its poems
and its music
and its glass cities,

it is also this dazzling darkness
coming
down the mountain,
breathing and tasting;

all day I think of her—
her white teeth,
her wordlessness,
her perfect love.

Ashes

Andrea Gibson has recently become one of my favorite spoken word artists, and Chris Pureka has been one of my favorite musicians for the last several years. Together, well....

Why "Queer" is not the New "Black"

I made a comment in a post a couple of weeks ago that I didn't want to draw too close a parallel between the marginalization felt by African Americans and queer people. I had a couple of conversations today about this very thing, so I guess today is the day to write about it.

I was talking this morning with an African American friend who is also queer, about the ways marginalized people can get pigeon-holed into specific categories (be they "queer," "black," "feminist," "womanist," "Latina," "lesbian," "transgender," etc). The problem with conflating the experiences of marginalization felt by different groups is that it tends to minimize the particularities of different forms of oppression. For instance, I've been reading James Cones's The Cross and the Lynching Tree as part of a Lenten book study on my seminary campus, and Cone talks about how the juke joint and the church became places of refuge for many African Americans during the Civil Rights Movement. Juke joints gave them a way to sing and laugh on Friday and Saturday night; churches gave them a way to hope. As my ethics professor Dr. Cannon states, "Church was where we were told we were loved." For people who have been felt the weight of oppressive social structures, there is an understanding that one's faith and faith community remain a way to live into God's promises.

Many queer people, however, are forced to make a decision between holding on to their faith community or their sexuality/gender identity. The rejection many have felt at the hands of people of faith (even well-meaning people of faith) runs so deep that the church is the last place they want to go on Sunday morning. That some parents' religious convictions are so deep that they see forcing their gay children into homelessness as a righteous thing speaks to the church's power on issues dealing with sexual minorities.

The nuances of each of these situations are multiplied exponentially when you begin to talk about gender, class, or nationality: how does my experience as a college-educated, white lesbian who grew up in an upper-middle-class home with two parents vary from that of a black transgender woman who was raised with her three siblings by a single mother in a two-room apartment?

The problem with lumping all kinds of oppression into the same group is that it minimizes the experiences of oppressed groups. This minimizing can then allow us to skim over how deeply embedded our assumptions are about what is normative, or it can make space for resentment among marginalized people, leading to a sort of comparative analysis of "which group is most oppressed" - both situations merely reinforce the barriers that are already constructed by systems that classify and quantify people based on their social location. This is why it is essential that, in any conversation about heterosexism, we are also talking about racism, classism, transphobia, sexism, and any other forms of marginalization that happens in society.

Theoethicist Gary Dorrien states that, "wherever white people are dominant, white culture is transparent to them. It is hard to see because it is everything that is not specifically African-American culture, Native American culture, and so on" (Social Ethics in the Making, 2011, p 679). Being white means that when I turn on the tv, or go to a movie, it is likely that the majority of people I see will look like me. Being queer, however, means that much of what I have learned about relationships or gender identity has been refracted through a hetero-normative lens that doesn't really fit my reality. The experiences and identity of the friend I mentioned at the beginning of this post have been refracted through a number of different lenses, and the way she understands the world and her faith is going to be different than the way I understand mine. Part of the beauty of getting to know people of different races, nationalities, sexual orientations, and gender identities is that I have the opportunity to learn about the ways in which our experiences of suffering and joy bind us together as a part of the human family. I can recognize that my race and class privilege are not things for which I need to continually atone, but it is vital that I remain aware of how these privileges affect the ways I understand the world.

I'll close with a quote from Marvin M. Ellison's book Erotic Justice: A Liberating Ethic of Sexuality:

"The sacred movement of the Spirit is revealed in our full-bodied yearning for mutual relation and communal well-being. A powerful reclaiming of this sacred Spirit takes place whenever people assert their power to seek communal justice, to name the Sacred for themselves, and to draw their own conclusions about the gospel for their times.

In joining this movement, we may recognize ourselves as heirs to a freedom tradition, no matter how marginal or fragile that tradition appears to be. We are recipients of an awesome, though long ignored, moral legacy from those who preceded us in the faith and refused to reconcile either God or themselves to oppression. When we hunger and thirst for justice, they become our people, and we become theirs. Their God is our God, and our passion for justice only increases."

Peace.

Poem Sunday 4

I've been out of town for much of the last week-and-a-half, taking some much-needed rest and family time. It's nice to be back, gearing up for the last couple of months of school.

The poem below is one of my favorites. I've been thinking of a friend of mine who recently reminded me that "we are the people we've been waiting for." If there's something that needs to be said, someone (or a group) whose been ignored or pushed aside, whose voice needs to be heard, and you don't hear it - say it. Say it with respect for all of the voices that need to be heard, with gratitude for those who want to listen, with patience for those who don't realize how they are culpable for the silence, with confidence for those who say it needn't be heard, with courage for those who say it shouldn't, and with reverence for the beauty and wonder of this life.

Peace.

Refusing Silence, by Tess Gallagher

Heartbeat trembling

your kingdom

of leaves

near the ceremony

of water, I never

insisted on you. I admit

I delayed. I was the Empress

of Delay. But it can't be

put off now. On the sacred branch

of my only voice - I insist.

Insist for us all,

which is the job

of the voice, and especially

of the poet. Else

what am I for, what use

am I if I don't

insist?

There are messages to send.

Gatherings and songs.

Because we need

to insist. Else what are we

for? What use

are we?

Marketing

Just had someone share this video with me. I mean, heck, if she can figure it out...

I believe, help my unbelief

I had a meeting yesterday with a woman in the area who has done a lot of work with LGBTQ people, mostly college-aged, and is currently a life coach for many of those people. She had a couple of particularly poignant comments, which I thought would be appropriate to share here. So, I've written them in her voice below (taken from my memory).

"I had a gay student come in and talk to me, and then another, and then another, and then it built from there. All of the queer students were coming to talk to me, some of them needing help with the coming out process, others just trusted me as a person to talk to. I didn't get it, why the would talk to me of all people. I mean, here I am a white, straight, Catholic woman, and all these people are coming to me as they were in the process of discerning their sexuality or gender identity. So, I asked them why they trusted me, why they came to me.

'Because you believe me.' was their overwhelming response.

'Because you believe me.'

"I think that's something the church needs to hear. That just because I believed these students as they though they tried to make sense of who they were, they came to talk to me. Now that I have my own practice, they still come and talk to me - they make up a huge part of my client base, and they never miss an appointment. What does it say that all they need is someone who takes them seriously, and that they never find it?"

I think a lot about all of the stuff that is left unsaid, and about the shame that comes with the feeling of not being able to share one's self with others, to be known. I think of friends I know who had been abused, or abandoned, or got pregnant, or lost a job, or sunk in financial debt.....Rather than being a place to take this stuff, the church was a place where they had to make sure they were especially hidden.

Pardon me as I step on my soap box here, but I think we are missing out on a huge opportunity in the church when we fail to make room for the experiences of all people who are present, and when we believe people when they honor us by honestly opening up who they are.

It is an uncomfortable thing to be vulnerable - often even more so if we hear someone share something that seems foreign or unfamiliar. I don't think the call is for us to remain stoic, or to act as though we have an answer for every question people bring, but I think it's important that we allow people to be honest, and to make a space for people to be comfortable sharing who they are.

[Back to digital diary again] I can remember thinking at one point in college that I would rather die than have anyone know that I had feelings for women. I don't think I could even articulate at the time that I was gay, but I can distinctly remember the feelings of shame that came around even the idea of someone knowing what I perceived to be one of the deepest, darkest secrets I had. The weight of the shame I carried was so dense that it was better for me to hold it in my gut than to share it with anyone. The process of letting go of that shame and fear took a long time (and quite a bit of therapy); in all honesty, it still creeps up from time to time, but without the same force it had before. In letting go of that shame, I made room for a lot of other stuff - stuff like hope, empathy, trust in myself and others, compassion.

I wonder about that weight we carry, and wonder if the church could be a place where we could build relationships with people that make the space for us to let go of some of that weight. I'm reminded of the Ani DiFranco song "The Garden of Simple," where she says that:

In the garden of simple

where all of us are nameless

you were never anything but beautiful to me

and, you know, they never really owned you

you just carried them around

and then one day you put 'em down

and found your hands were free

What could we do with those hands, if they were free?

Poem Sunday 3

Jumping out there a bit this week and posting one of my own poems. I wrote its original last January, while taking a class on writing the faith. Crocuses are coming up and, even at the end of a winter as mild as the one we've just had, it is always nice to have a reminder of the promise of spring. It was conceived as a response to Augustine's Confessions, and his observation of nature as it served his inner journey.

What do I love in loving you?

In loving all

creation that longs to sing

your praise, O God,

I am loving you.

In an awe-struck

gaze at a spectrum of light

splayed across the sky,

I am loving you.

In trusting the crocus

breaking forth from the ground

as a promise of spring,

I am loving you.

In the taste of

honey drizzled over

bread still warm from the oven,

I am loving you.

In the embrace of my

beloved, breathing softly

into my ear as

she drifts to sleep

I am loving you.

In weeping tears

that fall in the face of a

world thirsty for your grace,

I am loving you.

Do not all of these things

sing your praise,

O God?

Does not creation,

even in its moaning, long

to sing your praise?

Is not every embrace of

love a response to love

given by you?

And why, O God,

would you ask that I not

share these holy delights?

How could I keep from

sharing such wondrous

joys, such abiding

light, such divine love?

The Obligatory Indigo Girls Post

Okay, so it was only a matter of time before an Indigo Girls song showed up on the blog. Thinking tonight about those moments when the world feels overwhelming and we feel so relatively small, and making the choice to be open, to be honest, to feel the heaven's rejoice. Sometimes it's just a matter of caring for and being cared for by the people in my life. I found myself last night being cared for by a group of friends - I'm not even sure they realized what they gave me by their presence, but it was such a gift to be loved on by such a group of women. Feeling filled with gratitude.

The Wood Song

The thin horizon of a plan is almost clear.
My friends and i have had a tough time
bruising our brains hard up against change
all the old dogs and the magician.
Now i see we're in the boat in two by twos
only the heart that we have for a tool we could use
and the very close quarters are hard to get used to
love weighs the hull down with its weight.
But the wood is tired and the wood is old
and we'll make it fine if the weather holds
but if the weather holds we'll have missed the point
that's where i need to go.

No way construction of this tricky plan
was built by other than a greater hand
with a love that passes all OUR understanding
watching closely over the journey.

Yeah but what it takes to cross the great divide
seems more than all the courage i can muster up inside
although we get to have some answers when we reach the other side
the prize is always worth the rocky ride
but the wood is tired and the wood is old
and we'll make it fine if the weather holds
but if the weather holds we'll have missed the point
that's where i need to go

Sometimes i ask to sneak a closer look
skip to the final chapter of the book
and then maybe steer us clear from some of the pain it took
to get us where we are this far
but the question drowns in its futility
and even i have got to laugh at me
no one gets to miss the storm of what will be
just holding on for the ride
the wood is tired and the wood is old
we'll make it fine if the weather holds
but if the weather holds we'll have missed the point
that's where i need to go

Clouds....Witnesses

I have a, shall we say, longstanding fascination with clouds. I have thousands of photographs of them - little memories of places I've been, or days I don't want to forget. I don't know if it's just a habit I got into at some point in my process of learning to see as a photographer, but somewhere along the line I learned that I could learn a lot, or remember a lot about a situation if I looked up. The sky becomes a way I can interact with a place or a memory. I know, it's almost painfully sentimental in a way, but there it is. For a good while during my time getting my MFA in photography I had the idea to cover a room with thousands of 4x6" photographs, all just taped to the wall. I can still see it - corners of each of the images kind of coming out, almost blowing in the wind - years of memories each put right there together.

I was writing an e-mail to someone earlier today, and I paused, laughing at myself that I never made a connection between my love of clouds and my sense of vocation. I was writing to someone who is a bit older than I am, and went through seminary at a time when it wasn't safe for her to be out as a lesbian. I was replying to an earlier message she'd sent me, about being called to help bridge the gap between sexual minorities and the church. As I wrote, I started thinking about the cloud of witnesses that surrounds us as we make this journey. There are moments when I feel totally overwhelmed by the reality of the situation, when it seems as though things will never really be any different. In these moments I find myself humbled by the strength and integrity of those who have paved this path for me, and I remember that I'm not the first or only one to stand in that gap. It shakes me out of myself in a good way, reminds me of the community of which I'm a part, of the friends and family who are in this journey with me.

The image of the thousands of clouds still comes to me. Only, instead of moments or places, they represent the people, past present and future, who refuse to believe that we are all alone in this world, and who refuse to give up until we are all free to live fully into the people we are created to be. Maybe I'm a slow learner, or just need visual reminders, but I'll take 'em. Every time I look up I'll take 'em.

Apples to Apples

Feeling kind of worn out tonight - more on the plate than I can digest at one point, and more to do than I feel like I can get done. However, I spent the last couple of hours playing Apples to Apples with the youth, and laughing over who chose which answers to which questions - always a great way to feel rejuvenated. I still think I have the greatest internship on the planet.

It's always good to remember that ultimately, this job or call or whatever it is in my life, is about the relationships that are formed along the way. It may be that my weariness is giving way to nostalgia, but I find myself so thankful for those moments and those spaces that allow for real presence. It's an unanswerable question (or maybe a question we could answer in about 500 ways), but I find myself wondering how we are expected to thrive as human beings in a world where real presence is such a rarity, where no space or time is given to allow people to be known.

A co-worker of mine teases me about my blog, calling it my online diary. It seems at the moment that the potential that I might start moving a bit too much into online diary territory is high, so I'll say goodnight.

Poem Sunday 2

Poem Sunday, week 2. Thinking today about love, and courageous love - not just romantic, but embodied, incarnational. The kind of love that makes you break down all of the boundaries that have been set between the world as it is and the world as it should be. The kind of love that makes you walk on water.

The Truelove,

by David Whyte

There is a faith in loving fiercely

the one who is rightfully yours,

especially if you have

waited years and especially

if part of you never believed

you could deserve this

loved and beckoning hand

held out to you this way.

I am thinking of faith now

and the testaments of loneliness

and what we feel we are

worthy of in this world.

Years ago in the Hebrides

I remember an old man

who walked every morning

on the grey stones

to the shore of the baying seals,

who would press his hat

to his chest in the blustering

salt wind and say his prayer

to the turbulent Jesus

hidden in the water,

and I think of the story

of the storm and everyone

waking and seeing

the distant

yet familiar figure

far across the water

calling to them,

and how we are all

preparing for that

abrupt waking

and that calling,

and that moment

we have to say yes,

except it will

not come so grandly,

so Biblically,

but more subtly

and intimately in the face

of the one you know

you have to love,

so that when we finally step out of the boat

toward them, we find

everything holds

us, and confirms

our courage, and if you wanted

to drown you could,

but you don't

because finally

after all the struggle

and all the years,

you don't want to any more,

you've simply had enough

of drowning

and you want to live and you

want to love and you will

walk across any territory

and any darkness,

however fluid and however

dangerous, to take the

one hand you know

belongs in yours.

From The House of Belonging