Life After Prop 8

Posted on November 10, 2008 by revrose

What can I say?  What a bummer it was to wake up to the glory of Barack Obama’s election as President of the United States, and then to know that Proposition 8, banning same-sex marriage, won in California.  Talk about a buzz kill!  And that doesn’t even count the conversations I’ve been having since then, with all kinds of people in all kinds of places, including members of my congregation who want to know how it could be that 70 percent of African Americans could vote in favor of Prop 8.

It was a relief to know that this was a statistical falsehood—many thanks to Jack and Jill Politics for posting the Daily Kos link that gives the lie to this propaganda!  Nonetheless, I have been through this before, a long time ago, when one group of marginalized people (the LGBT community) felt marginalized by another group of marginalized people (African Americans).  The first time someone presented the issue to me then, I drank the Kool-Aid, and was willing to imagine the extreme homophobia of the Black community.  But I’ve lived a long time since then, seen firsthand the homophobia in white communities of the so-called “enlightened,” learned how many of my own family members were gay or lesbian, realized how committed I am to this issue, and discovered how easily the white LGBT community is willing  to overlook its own racism and condescension for a chance to scapegoat an entire community.

Some of the conversation we are having right now is based in reality:  in many quarters, the opposition to same sex marriage in the (not-at-all monolithic) Black community is theologically based.  It takes a literal reading of Leviticus to get there, and I’m a totally non-literal lover of Scripture.  But I also imagine several things:  first, that there is what’s in the Good Book, versus what’s going on in real life–thus the persistent reality of African-American congregations populated with a host of gay and lesbian people who neither ask nor tell.  Second, there is the legacy of racism, expressed via a horror among African Americans about any kind of sexuality that would even hint of our “abnormality,” and thus our non-humanity.  Remember that, for centuries, we were the people who were the object of sexual fantasy and nightmare.  We were exotic and unusual and dirty and bad and other.  So many of us have, for a very long time, overreacted by being totally “straight-life” when it came to issues of sexuality. (Any black woman who’s been present for a  late-night conversation about the boundaries around oral sex will know what I mean!)

Those of us who have learned to let go of the public relations version of black sexuality, however, and be our true selves, whatever our sexual preferences, nonetheless partially recognize the drill.  Ours is also a recognition of the breadth and depth of sexuality and love, combined with real-life exposure to men who have loved men and women who have loved women longer than some of us have been in the world. And some of us continue to understand that nothing—least of all, sexuality—absolutely nothing, can separate us from the love of God.  As a minister, it is this nuanced understanding I am working and praying for!

Posted in Barack Obama, God, Marriage Equality, Prop 8, Unitarian Universalism | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Today’s The Day…

Posted on November 4, 2008 by revrose

I’m on my way home from a study group/retreat for ministers seeking to build large UU churches, and it was an inspiring and educational experience.  The only thing that kept the weekend from being perfect was that it is also Election Day weekend, and I had to forego my poll monitoring work with Election Protection.  Last time, in 2004, I was in Philadelphia, PA.  This time, I’m on my way home from Boston, after having voted via absentee ballot before I left town.

Good thing, too–according to my husband, who arose early to vote near our Upper West Side apartment and found the lines circling the block in triplicate!  He decided to go to work and come back at lunch, when they expect lines to be only about an hour long.

The feeling I am sitting with is almost like being pregnant, waiting for something wonderful to be born, pretty clear that all will be well, but never really being sure until you can see it with your own eyes.  I will be up all night if I have to, but I just can’t sleep through this moment in history.

1 Comment

South Side Girls

Posted on October 29, 2008 by revrose

I’ve always been a newshound, and the election frenzy has only made it worse.  But the last few days I have been watching TV for every scrap of news about Jennifer Hudson and the tragic murders that have befallen her family.  No amount of fame or success could ever compensate for the loss of her mother, brother and nephew; she has been in my prayers since Friday.

I have haunted the television for the scenes outside her mother’s home, watching the shots of the makeshift memorial constructed against the chain link fence, and the faces of her neighbors, at once shocked and compelled to bear witness.  I don’t know any of these people I have seen, but I recognize them.  They are the men and women, the boys and girls that populated the first 18 years of my life, the working-class, “round the way” folks I’ve been looking at all my life.

Like Jennifer Hudson, like Michelle Obama, I’m a South Side Girl. Watching the Skycam shots of Yale Ave., I found myself lonely for the six-story buildings that line the streets in neighborhoods like Englewood, and Kenwood-Oakland, where I grew up.  All my life I have loved those streets; those buildings; those loud, earnest, hard-working, aimless, church-going, hilarious and loving people who hang out with each other, take care of each other, hurt each other.   I am not romantic about where I come from. Much as I loved the South Side, I knew I had to go, a long time ago.  But just because you leave home doesn’t mean home leaves you.

Many of us leave behind people we love.  Sometimes, we leave the people we have to leave behind; it’s either us or them.  Here in New York, a long way from my childhood life, I heard someone on the street wondering how someone like Jennifer Hudson could even know “people like that” –meaning, I presume, the estranged brother in law who is being investigated for the triple murder.  Plenty of us from humble beginnings know “people like that.” I don’t know anybody black who doesn’t know somebody who hasn’t been to jail–usually a relative.  (That is a fact that often says more about the criminal justice system than it does about our relatives.)  But it also speaks to the complex loyalties of black family life, the unwillingness to disown someone unless you really must, and the paradoxical desire to both separate yourself from and belong to the people who make you who you are.  It is really nothing new; I have felt it periodically for decades. Rarely, though, have I felt it so intensely as these last few days, when the divergent stories of two South Side Girls–Michelle Obama and Jennifer Hudson–are everywhere.

Posted in Chicago, Neighborhoods, Reflections | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Going Hog Wild

Posted on August 27, 2008 by revrose

I think I have the most interesting friends in the world. One is an ED doc who paints and writes poetry; another is a children’s book writer; a third is a recovering tax lawyer. A whole lot of them are ministers or ministers in training (curiously enough, that was true even before I started seminary; I’ve always felt it was a sign!)

My Most Interesting Friend of the Month Award for August goes to Helio Fred Garcia, CEO of Logos Consulting Group, a crisis communications firm in NY. Aside from his masterful skills at shaping coherent messages and avoiding public relations disasters, Fred is a foodie, an intellectual of prodigious skills–and a biker, as in Harley-Davidson. For the past week, Fred’s been blogging about his adventures on the road from NY to Milwaukee for the 105th anniversary of HD, enlightening us on the way with views of life along Rt. 80 and providing insight into the culture of camaraderie experienced by bikers everywhere, as he did Sunday night.

It was a wonderful post that served to remind me of all the times I get the equivalent of what Fred called a side-ways wave. There is no such thing, for example, as a knitter who won’t acknowledge another knitter, or ask what we’re working on. When I was working on a baby sweater and found myself in a knitting store in Greensboro, NC, I got advice, commiseration and an answer to the problem I was having with stitch tension. (ok, you had to be there….)

More viscerally, it happens to me as an African-American when I encounter another African-American in a place where we are rare. I go to Maine every summer, and there has never been a time when I or my children have seen other black folks in Saco or Damariscotta or somewhere similar when we have not done “the nod”–the almost imperceptible acknowledgment that we know the other is there, and that we are both glad. It is a lovely recognition, but one step removed from the admonition from my mother that still carries weight in my world: ” ‘speak’ to everybody.” Where I come from, on the South Side of Chicago, black folks still speak–from the basic ‘Hey,” to the more detailed, ‘How you doin’?”

I have to admit there was (and is) a sense of differentiation at work: no matter who or what we are, we are not too good to speak to you, no matter who or what you are. And the unspoken corollary was–We don’t know about those white people; they might see you and speak to you, they might not. But we know who *we* are.

It’s amazing what a single post on camaraderie can reveal. But it’s worth checking out Fred’s blog, not only to learn more about the fascinating world of bikers, but also for the nightly slideshows with music—they are a hoot.  Who knew this many people loved motorcycles?  One unexpected result of following Fred’s adventures is that is has sparked a desire in me for a few adventures of my own. Lately, I find myself looking at Vespas, notably an LX150–but that’s another post altogether!

Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Rock On, Girl!

Posted on August 26, 2008 by revrose

So I told everybody who thought they had a plan for me on Monday night that they needed to postpone it; I had to be at home in time to hear Michelle Obama speak at the Democratic National Convention. It’s true that I was glad I got to hear Ted Kennedy, and the elegant, elegiac introduction of him by his niece, Caroline Kennedy. But that was lagniappe; I was waiting–one South Side girl to another–to see how she would confront the relentless public desire to define her as the Angry Black Woman (whoever THAT is…)

Well, girlfriend rocked. She was so warm, so kind, so personable, so grounded and clear. (And she looked good, too!) I had to call my mother when she was done, and we two managed to commiserate as sister Chicagoans about how proud Michelle made us feel.

I wasn’t watching the speech to gauge wither she would influence swing voters, or bring the Hillary renegades back into the Democratic fold. I watched Michelle because she was reflective of me–a black woman/wife/mother/daughter/sister of a certain age–and part of her task was to persuade people that she existed and was real. That is a task I know and understand, and she succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. I watched women in the convention center wiping away tears as she spoke, and was reminded that, rightly done, the particular is always universal.  Michelle was speaking on behalf of these women’s lives, and out of the experience of their lives, in a way few in the political arena ever do. I was so very proud, in a way I didn’t expect to feel. She is living the way I try to live–loving my husband, taking care of my sons, working to make a difference in the world. She wasn’t a fantasy black woman, or a stereotype. It was a relief to see her up there, and a blessing. It will be as much fun to see her in the White House as it will be to have Barack there!

Tagged , , | 1 Comment

When You Make Other Plans….

Posted on August 26, 2008 by revrose

My original plan for Saturday evening was sipping wine and seltzer water with my husband on the terrace of the parsonage–a two-bedroom apartment overlooking both the local bodega and Central Park—a juxtaposition of the gritty and the elegant that is typical for New York. I almost made it, too. Instead, my cell phone rang and the voice on the other end spoke of a pastoral emergency–C, a long-time congregant, had gone into cardiac arrest at his nursing home, and as his health care proxy, I needed to come in time for decisions to be made.

Yes, I have heard it all before: ministers shouldn’t act as health care proxy for members of congregations. That would be great in a perfect world, where all our congregants had families who loved them, or at least lived as long as they did. But I minister in this world, where some of my people have outlived their families, and others have no family but us. And who knows more than we do about the lives of some of these largely forgotten folks, men and women who talk to us and instruct us on their last wishes because there is no one else, or at least no one who cares to be bothered on a regular basis? This is not to say that everyone doesn’t have an opinion. But certainly not one they wish to support with action….I came too late to stop them from trying to resuscitate him, but not so late that I couldn’t ride to the hospital and be there in the ED in time to repeat, over and over again, “He didn’t want this; no extraordinary measures. Help me to let him go.”

My affiliated community minister, J., already owned words I did not have. Together we cut a path through the bureaucracy that would allow the hospital staff to free him. The staff made his ending so much easier, and in spite of all we see on TV and read in the papers about health care structures and rules, every single person was *so* very kind. They understood what we were prepared to fight for, and they blessed us all simply by making a fight unnecessary. They helped us let him go.

They let us stay with him in the brilliant, equipment laden trauma bay in the Emergency Room; they let us talk to him as his respiration slowed, they let us reminisce about his extraordinary life. They let us remember together the horrified expression he would bestow on us if he even thought I would mention his name and God’s in the same breath, and they did not flinch as J and I laughed together at the very thought. They let us hold his hands while everything mechanical around him stopped, and they came into the trauma bay with words of consolation for us, even as we put aside our mourning in favor of a breathless relief. We kept faith with what C wanted for all the years we knew him. We didn’t let them hook him up to machines that would keep him breathing, but never keep him alive. C died so peacefully that, had we not been standing there, we would have missed it. I’m glad we were there.

Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Moments of Gratitude

Posted on August 13, 2008 by revrose

What a long, strange summer it’s been. It’s a good thing I just had a sabbatical, because I don’t yet feel I’ve had a vacation. Instead, I had a General Assembly I wouldn’t attend on principle, post-sabbatical church drama (in which the names will be omitted to protect both the guilty and the innocent!), logistical nightmares with children, not one moment of quiet time with my husband, and the hard work of responding to the tragedy in Knoxville.

And yet, I have found so much for which I am grateful, even amid the turmoil of these last two months. I am held in the embrace of such dear friends, women and men who care about me a lot and look after me–both up close and long distance–even when I forget to look after myself.  I have a large, loud and loving family, most of whom showed up in Boston for the wedding of my favorite brother, to a wonderful woman who was crazy enough to marry him.

I had a chance this summer to do ministry I don’t usually do–with elementary-age children (at The Mountain) and youth (at Ferry Beach), and discovered that such ministry to our young people has a very particular set of rewards. I was reminded of how important it was to mark the milestones of losing a tooth, as well as the difficulty of losing a parent at a time when you need her most. I had the chance to experience and honor the fierce independence of youth moving to adulthood (with none of the angst I feel when it is my own teenager!), and to remember how much it mattered to me oh-so-many-years-ago that the adults in my life honored my own awkward struggles.

I am privileged to minister for the first time at the Ferry Beach conference “In the Company of Women,” which for some years now has been a place for both lesbian and straight women to be in safe and women-affirming community. I have been pastor as well as participant this week in a variety of activities that range from the sublime to the ridiculous—Lesbian Jeopardy, for example, was a non-stop scream! The women I have met here are people of great courage and character. I have been especially moved by the stories of women whose coming out was delayed by ignorance and prejudice, who have come into their own and found the loves of their lives at an age when society dictates that women are fit only for inertia. There is a great deal of joy and laughter here, even amid the rain-drenched days.

It was laughter I really needed after the pain and sadness of working in Knoxville as part of the UU Trauma Response Ministry, in response to the shootings at Tennessee Valley UU Church. People don’t always remember that, though the attack occurred at TVUUC, members of that congregation, Westside UU Church and Oak Ridge UU Church were all deeply affected. I was so very proud to be part of the small group of us who decided, several years ago, that our liberal faith community needed a group of trained ministers and lay people who could respond to our congregations during disasters and traumatic events. (It was a need I personally discovered the hard way, as I started my ministry in NYC on Sept. 9, 2001.) The early years of UUTRM were a struggle for respect and recognition of what we trained so hard to do. But with each heartbreaking event, we earned a chance to serve this faith we love with more diligence and greater skill. It is always a nightmare when something as terrible as an armed intruder disrupts the sacred space that is meant for worship and praise. But it is an honor to be called upon to support our sister congregations through such times, so that they know without a doubt that they are not alone.

As my husband was driving me to LaGuardia Airport for my flight to Knoxville, he asked with genuine curiosity, “Why do you like doing this so much?” He was right: for all the horror we are exposed to when we are called, I love this aspect of my ministry. I know that some of it is just how I’m wired. But I also realize it is because of the privilege it offers those of us who serve: in the midst of the most dreadful situations imaginable, we have a window into what is most gracious, compassionate and blessed about being human. We get to see the Holy at work: not as it wipes away the terror of what has happened, but as it reveals some unexpected beauty that coexists with terror; not as it eliminates sorrow, but as it promises something else that can move us beyond sorrow. So long as there is the chance to glimpse that small part of the Holy as it moves, I will go.

Posted in Ferry Beach, TVUUC, The Mountain, Unitarian Universalism, rain, youth | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Barack in Berlin

Posted on July 26, 2008 by revrose

At first, I was not going to write about Barack Obama’s Berlin speech here, in keeping with my evolving policy about which things I would choose to blog about in my several venues. But I found I could not help myself, nor resist the soaring affect of his words. I imagine that it has occurred to others before that listening to Obama is a religious experience, but I tend to think people regard that feeling as a rhetorical gimmick, or a side effect of his life in the African-American church, or some other mythology that the cynical among us construct to protect ourselves from being deeply moved.

After the Hillary-Barack wars, I must confess to being more than a little weary, and I admit to taking a break from political news in its entirety as the summer began. I was ready to let everything rest until the conventions, maybe even until Labor Day, before I resumed my relentless tracking of every Obama-McCain poll known to humanity. But so much had been made of this big overseas trip, so many people followed his every move. And I recalled how eagerly people from other countries spoke to me about Obama when I was in Europe and Africa earlier this year. So I decided to watch a few minutes of the Berlin speech, just to catch up.

I ended up watching every word, entranced by a leader who might represent me without shaming me, persuaded to listen as he asked people who couldn’t even vote for him to join forces against the narrow, fundamentalist hatreds that are threatening life on our planet. I sat for 25 minutes, imagining what it might be like to hear this man speak with the mandate of the American people at his back. I envisioned the possibility that I might actually have to change my life if he asked it of me, because for the first time since I was a very little girl, someone might be president that I might actually be compelled to listen to.

Someone who can ask us to live into our best selves, to make common cause with the people of the entire world so that those at risk might live better, safer lives–these are sacrificial requests, the currency of faithfulness. Barack Obama may not be a minister, but he has the skill and the vision to speak to the hearts of people, to our deepest longings to make a difference, to our desires to be proud of our country and to ensure its commitment to values that matter to each of us. Perhaps he has given better, more important speeches since his campaign began. And I know that I am not in agreement with him on some vitally important issues–most notably, marriage equality. But I maintain that it was a near-religious experience to hear him call on each of us to live into history, to grasp this moment and reverse the near-fatal course on which our nation has been set. May it be so….

Posted in Barack Obama | Tagged | 4 Comments

Oh, the Horror!

Posted on July 21, 2008 by revrose

Imagine my dismay to learn that my sites have been identified as “reputed attack sites” by Firefox, Google and others!

ICK.

It’s come to my attention that spammers and other evil types have done weird things to my blogs, and made life miserable for some of you, my loyal readers. My apologies, everyone, and many thanks to Scott Wells, Steve Caldwell, John Cooley and others who were kind enough to send heads up while I was off in the Great Smoky Mountains!

Please be assured, gentle readers, that the good people at Welcoming Websites will be working with me to solve this issue and clean things up ASAP. This goes for those who read Trustee Talk, as well as the still-in-development No Home Training blog, too. Many thanks for your patience…..

Posted in SPAM--AARGH!, Welcoming Websites, nohometraining.org, trusteetalk.net | Leave a comment

Pen and Ink

Posted on July 20, 2008 by revrose

This summer has given me a chance to return to my old-school roots as a writer. Long before my MacBook, or my Dell, or even my Kaypro 4-84 (oh, my God–I’m dating myself!), even before my IBM correcting Selectric or my trusty Royal office typewriter, I wrote in notebooks and on legal pads with fountain pens.

There is something so elegant and elemental about writing with a fountain pen on crisp paper. Of course, you are reading the words of a woman who cannot pass a stationery store without going inside, and who often lusts after engraved correspondence cards. (And no, thermography is NOT the same; feel the back of an engraved sheet and notice the difference!) Paper as luscious as that deserves a lot more than a cheap ballpoint or even a rollerball. Italian paper with deckle edging, or letterpress engraved paper with delicate watermarks–these are things that deserve a fountain pen.

It’s not that I don’t own other kinds of pens, and use them all the time. But when I really want to think, or when I need what I write to be beautiful, or when I need the words to pour from my brain, down my arm into the tips of my fingers and onto the page, I need a fountain pen. I own a smaller, burgundy version of the classic Montblanc, a parting gift from my very first congregation, but write with it only at home for fear of losing it. I have two Cross Matrix multi-function pens, with attachments that include a highlighter and rollerball, along with a fountain pen that writes with a broad, firm hand.

Lately, though, I am in love with a Pilot-Namiki retractable fountain pen, gifted to me by a very dear friend. I carry it everywhere, write with it constantly–letters, notes, possible liturgies for the coming church year, poetry composed in the fading light of a North Carolina evening. I jot reminders for myself with it in my tiny Moleskine notebook, and marvel at the smooth flow of blue ink against the creaminess of the ruled pages. This month, the red and gold pen has become a constant companion, reminding me of the days when I spent every summer afternoon immersed in words and the love of language; its weight in my hand is, among other things, a talisman of a fully creative life, a life I strive for even amid the daily work and worry of ministry.

Posted in fountain pens | Tagged | Leave a comment