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Writing about what I have been reading and encountering in the media. |
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WELCOME TO MY BLOG! I comment on things I am reading, thinking about, encountering in media, and spiritual issues. I hope you will find something interesting. PS. I love feedback... |
| There has been a lot of talk about the apocalypse, the second coming, the end of days in the media. Today, I ponder this. When I moved to the Ozarks I soon heard the word “rapture.” When it was defined for me, I was quite puzzled. Why were people talking about it so much? I never really learned the answer. It would be fun to research. Meanwhile, I have thought a lot about that and about my experience of Christianity. As a small child, I learned the song “Jesus Loves Me.” It was such a warm and comforting thing to know that a total stranger loves me no matter what, and I could trust that was so because “the Bible tells me so.” What a happy life for a child, until the other learning comes along, like you can’t trust strangers and you can’t even trust some people you know. I learned this from their actions. Then there were the rules and codicils: Jesus loves you only if you confess your sins and turn away from sin; you can’t be ordained into the ministry because you are female, no matter what you do; if someone hurts you and you tell, you will be asked “and what did you do to make him hurt you like that?”; God speaks to you in your heart, but you will never receive new truth or knowledge from God because it was all revealed 1700 years ago and put into a book called the Bible; and, love your neighbor always has exceptions. There are many others. Very slowly, the church became more of a source of hurt than of comfort, but, the song did not. I realized somewhere along the way that Jesus loves you is true, no matter what, and thank goodness for that. How would I have survived all of the rejection without that? As an adult I pondered the “death on the cross for your sins.” I am horrified by the gruesomeness of the image. If God would kill his son because I sinned, how could I live with that? I can’t stop making mistakes of judgment. As soon as I get one under control, another pops up. And, I study and practice Social Work. All of the research into social learning is contrary to the idea that use of aversives and fear of aversives is the best teacher. How do I reconcile the opposites present in the story as it was presented to me? How do I love and trust a god that kills his son, no matter what the reason? How do I trust that all wisdom is in a book put together by men (not one woman,) and the wisdom of women was deliberately excluded? How do I find my way through all these contradictions? I looked at the Bible I was presented at my confirmation. It was a “red letter edition” of the King James translation of the Bible. I read the red parts. It became clear to me that Jesus is not quoted anywhere as saying he was going to die for my sins. When asked “what is the greatest commandment?” he is quoted as saying “the first, love your God with all your heart and all your mind and all your spirit, and the second, like unto it, love your neighbor as yourself.” Well, that is much more understandable. And, there are all the stories of Jesus welcoming and loving all of his neighbors equally. Here is my answer. The church can really confuse all of this. I quit attending because I was sick of the pain, the confusion, and the gruesomeness. I really miss church, the music, the liturgy, and the conversations I had there. But I can’t truthfully say the Apostles Creed. I can’t say that I believe Jesus died for my sins. I don’t think he did. I think he lived to help me with my humanity. I don’t want to focus on life after death. That is relevant to death, but not to life. I don’t believe God will judge “the quick and the dead.” I believe God loves me, like the song says. |
| According to CBS, reporting that their information was from government statistics, there are 31 fires in faith related buildings every week in the USA, and 16% are arson. This includes some funeral homes. No records are kept of ethnicity or race. So, what seemed like an outbreak was probably not as significant as it seemed. However, three are considered arson, and another remains under investigation. Of the 7 churches, in question, one no longer housed a congregation. The FBI denies finding evidence of hate crime or terrorism. I hope this is accurate. It makes me wonder, though, what is causing all those fires? A visiting friend asked, laughing, “Is that because so much of the work is done by volunteers?” It also makes me wonder, if there are that many church fires, why have I seen so few? I know the church of my childhood was burned, some time after the congregation abandoned it to move into a new, much larger building. I think that is about all I’ve known. Is it comforting to learn this information? I think churches need to meet fire codes like hospitals and schools. I bet some do get regular fire inspections, just to be on the safe side. I wonder if they are required anywhere. It is amazing where the mind can go. I think I’ve gone as far as I want today. I hope to have a new topic tomorrow. |
| Another predominantly black church burned this evening in South Carolina. It seems highly improbable that this would be coincidence. I can’t imagine what purpose an arsonist would expect the fires to serve. I’ve read many comments on Facebook about possible culprits including Vladimir Putin, ISIS, God, the weather, and angry white men. There are many conspiracy theories. The way that I agree with them is that it looks like terrorism. Personally, I put my hope on the FBI to figure out what is happening and my confidence in the body of spiritually focused citizens to work together to get this stopped. Meanwhile, I wish I could follow the idea of moving my RV into the parking lot of one of the churches that appear to be at risk to keep a constant presence. Unfortunately, I have no RV. I am trying to figure out what this really is about. It started with the mass murder in Charleston. Then, a lot of talk about removing the Confederate Flags from public buildings and a lot of opinions about the symbolism of those flags. With the churches burning, it seems to suggest the truth of history is the truth today: that flag is about racism, just as it was when created. There certainly is a lot of rage and anguish slamming around like a bouncing meteor and all of it is happening under the “Star of Bethlehem.” It kind of makes one wonder. Right now, as I face north, because that is how my chair is situated in the house, I wish I knew the correct direction to face, the right words to say, the right number of times to say them to get this stopped. As usual, it seems that playing my recording of Hildegard Von Bergen music with the lighting of a candle is my best option. And so, it will be. |
| Thinking of the burned black churches in the American South, I can almost smell the soot, feel the anxiety of those Christians confused, wondering if hate took their church home from them, or, looking at their in-tact churches fearing losing their spiritual shelter. I saw photos of one church, its sagging organ drenched in ashes and hose water, the cross still hanging over the burned altar, the wall built to protect the spiritual life inside, gone, lying in shambles on the ground. Whatever forces are doing this have no right. It feels like the 1960’s resurrected and crying out. I would roll in the ashes, rub them on my face and in my hair and trail around town saying this song: Burn my church The black and white keys to music Burn the cross from the roof The step up to the altar The altar itself But you can’t burn the gifts That have flowed from that altar From those pews From those voices raised in praise And try as you might You cannot burn away The love and grace common to us all That ties us to our Father, God, Our creator, yours and mine, The DNA that makes us brothers and sisters. |
| Yesterday, the net rang with celebration and disgust over the two Supreme Court decisions this week dealing with the Affordable Care Act (Obamacare,) and same sex marriage. I enjoyed jumping into the talk with my opinions. I feel more hopeful today than when I last posted. Perhaps we really are moving toward greater mutual respect and inclusiveness. I just wish I could be more effective at reaching those who feel insulted, shut out, and downright frightened by the process. They say things like “you will get yours on judgment day,” and “this country will suffer the wrath of God.” They seem to truly fear we will all be struck down by lightening or something. They say things that suggest the judgment I face will be judgment on them, too. When I say “you need not worry about my judgment day,” they make no response. I had someone accuse me of hating FOX news. I had made no mention of FOX news at any time in our dialogue, so I was totally at a loss. I commented about that but got no response. There are many posts on Facebook about all of the horrendous things the USA has done to Native Americans, Africans, Japanese, and the environment asking how marriage equality and increased access to healthcare is terrible in comparison. I see responses only from people who agree. It seems that reason just alienates the fearful people. In the midst of all the talk about ACA and marriage equality, there has been a mass murder in the oldest AME church in Charleston, SC which triggered talk about the flying of the “Confederate Flag.” We have received and shared factual information about the history of the Confederacy, of the Civil War and its relationship to slavery, and the history of the flag that never was the official Confederate flag. We have been educated about the history of the AME church and the particular congregation where the shooting took place. We have witnessed the removal of the Confederate flag from Statehouse poles, and several large merchandisers, including Wal Mart and Amazon stopped the sale of the flags. Now, there are reports of black churches being burned in the south. This is the saddest thing of all. People who claim that God is the center of their belief system are burning churches, houses of worship of the God they claim to respect. I can see that their hearts and spirits are on fire: they seem to lack even the basics of self-respect and concern for their neighbor encouraged by the scripture of their faith. They seem unable to identify with the basic document of their nation, The Constitution of the United States of America. In the middle of my increased hopefulness that all, including them, will feel more welcome and valued here, they seem to feel less hope. The nine people shot in the AME church in Charleston stood in their faith as they faced the terror of their end. At the funeral of that church pastor, President Obama sang “Amazing Grace” with all his heart in his human, imperfect voice, and the people around him joined in that lovely musical meditation on Grace. I remember at the end of the many worship services I have attended: “May the Grace of God which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.” And thus, the President reminded me that peace comes through Grace and Grace is hanging around us in every direction at all times. There is a family photo of me and one of my brothers picking grapes. I was a toddler wearing a very simple feed-sack dress and my brother, not quite two years older, had on shorts. The grapes look very large in my small hand. I imagine Grace is like that: when received by my little child hand, it is large and round and sweet. I hope that sometime, the people who are so fearful and angry will reach out with their child hands and receive “the Grace of God which passes all understanding,” and I hope I can always stand firm in my faith even in the face of certain death. |
| When I was 20 years old, in 1968, I witnessed a teenage boy beaten with billy-clubs by 4 police officers during a peace rally in Grant Park, Chicago. This is not the sort of thing one easily forgets, so, I’ve thought about it often over the years. At the time, it made national news and the controversy about it was: “He deserved it. He shouldn’t have been messing with the American flag” as opposed to “those pigs!” referring to the Chicago Police. The way I remember it, the young man had lowered the flag to half-mast and had just tied it in place when the officers jumped him. I was not 10 feet away. I felt pretty helpless because I chose not to step in and get beaten myself. Then, I was in awe of the stupidity of the choice the police had made to do that in front of hundreds of people who were already not happy with them. The crowd behaved as I expected. They moved in and started throwing anything loose at the police. Alan Ginsburg was on stage and he worked hard at getting the crowd to settle down. As I recall he did, by getting everyone to say “ommmm.” Some of the details are a little bit fuzzy now, but the experience remains important. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Bobby Kennedy were already assassinated, the Viet Nam War raged on, and the peace movement had blossomed leading to demonstrations at the Democratic National Convention. The night of the incident of the beating, there was a riot, soon called by many in the press “a police riot” because so many of their aggressive acts were unprovoked, or over-reaction to mild provocation. Over time, after that, there were many demonstrations and I participated whenever I could. Sometimes police would be wearing riot gear. In 1967, police with machine guns lined the tops of buildings in Washington, D.C. There were many confrontations between demonstrators and police and eventually, police killed demonstrators at Jackson State University in Mississippi, and a couple of weeks later, 4 students were shot at Kent State. We in the peace movement mourned with every death. We questioned about the police and their role. We were angered because the Jackson State shootings got much less attention in the press than Kent State and assumed it was because the Kent State Victims were white and the Jackson State victims were black. None of these events slowed my resistance to the war, and, probably, actually increased general intensity of opposition. Today, we have even more police violence than then, and it is, again, very racist, but not entirely so. We have war that goes on and on and on that we watch on TV, just like Viet Nam. The reporting is not as graphic as then, but the basics are so similar. I don’t feel good that I am not marching, but I’m a lot older, and further from the center of activity, and I feel defeated. I feel like government is much less responsive now than it was then, and I can’t say it was nearly as responsive then as we wanted. My younger self says a lot of unpleasant things about the entire situation, and longs to take meaningful action. My mature self says “you have obligations.” I feel like I’m making excuses. The thing I know that lies behind my lack of action; I don’t want to get shot. Even though these problems with the police are serious, I am much more fearful of the self-righteous, gun toting “patriots” who don’t understand the meaning of freedom of speech. The thing is, the terrorists are winning. The terrorists who carry swastikas, or “confederate flags,” and have been given permission to carry arms openly and frighten everyone who can see. The Congress and State Legislators have given them permission to terrorize their neighbors, little children in Wal Mart, people in churches and at funerals. I don’t understand this. It makes me very sad. |
| I almost made it to the Post Office but when I got there, a sign said “by act of Congress, the Post Office is discontinued.” I almost got my grandchild enrolled in school but when we got there a sign said “Tuition $5000.00 per year up front, by act of Congress and your State Legislature.” I almost got my retirement set up but when I got to the Social Security Office a sign said “by act of Congress, Social Security has been privatized. Call this number: 555-555-5555. When I called that number, I learned that I have to wait five more years to retire to be vested in the retirement system. I almost made it back home, but when I went to pull out of the Social Security Office driveway, a sign said: “this road is closed by act of the legislature. In order to travel, you must take the toll road.” There is no toll road here. So, I’m living in my car at the Social Security Office. I walk where I want to go. I am selling car parts for food. I have been thinking about who will get my vote for Congress and the state legislature and I'm less concerned about who I vote into the Presidency. |
| There are many ways to categorize people: short or tall, male, female, Immigrant, citizen etc. The problem with these categories: on the surface, they seem absolute, but not one is absolute. They are based on comparison and contrast. You are only short in the presence of someone taller than you are, but in the presence of people shorter than you, you become tall. This is most true of race. Recently, Ancestry.com has publicized tracing ancestry through genetic testing, and low and behold, at least here in the USA, many people we see as one race are mixed. I have long loved to say “I am a woman, but my father was a man so that makes me half male.” It has been a necessary part of my career to find my similarity to people. Without that identification, it is hard for me to engage in “unconditional positive regard” and maintain “non-judgmental stance.” To “love my neighbor as myself” has required constant vigilance and when I have failed to do this, I have always lived to regret it. This discipline has led me to think about my similarity not only to other people, but to all life. It led me through vegetarianism to the realization that all life depends on killing other life. It led me to understand that my life does not matter more than yours. It led me to admire people like those in the Charleston Church who stood in their humanity, their radical acceptance, loving their neighbor as themselves rather than packing a sidearm and shooting the shooter. The peace and love of their faith led them to keep the doors open generation after generation building a community of peace that sustains itself beyond the boundaries of their lives. I see this as a form of eternal life. I don’t know if this is what Jesus meant. I wasn’t there when he said it. It is, however an observable fact that the decision to love does not permit the opposite. When I say I love spinach, I mean I am grateful for the flavor and nutrition it provides and I want to sustain its existence so I can eat more. Unfortunately, I can’t grow it here. It just has never grown for me. So, I depend on others to do this for me. This is community, nurture, harvest, re-plant. If I plant a lot, I can grow less of something else. Then I can trade with someone who planted something else. I have engaged in conversation recently about abortion. I have struggled to articulate my understanding. To me, abortion is like thinning plants so there is enough room to grow healthy plants. I do not believe that human life is more sacred than any other life. I think our current ecological crisis is directly related to overpopulation and I deeply believe that we must reduce our reproduction dramatically. I see people around me who believe we are so important every fertilized egg must be protected. If we follow this course, we will crowd ourselves into starvation and our planet will eventually look like Mars. I believe in honoring life. I believe that irresponsible reproduction is the greatest danger the human race faces. It requires discipline and great love to sacrifice reproduction for the greater good, but it is badly needed. Change begins with me. It is not up to me to change you. It is up to me to live by my values. This is one of my highest values. |
| I didn’t read yesterday. I attended the Ozark Old Time Music and Heritage Festival in West Plains, MO. Friday, it rained, but yesterday was beautiful, and though it was very hot, it was still bearable, pretty much like every year. I love hearing the old music played by the best musicians and there was plenty of it. There were vendors of a wide variety of crafts, even some crafts from Africa. There were food vendors of all sorts, much like you encounter at a county fair. Among the friendly crowd, I saw old friends I hadn’t seen in years, and friends I only see at traditional music events. All in all, the event was worth braving the heat. I would have left much earlier than I did, but I wanted to hear the headliner, 88 year old Ralph Stanley and his band. The band, led by his grandson, Nathan Stanley, includes a banjo, guitar, standup base, fiddle, and mandolin played by young men. They came on stage and did their sound check before being introduced. When they started to play, the sound engineer inexplicably changed the settings so we could hear only the bass. As they performed, the leader would ask for changes and get them, but it was still not right. While they played for nearly an hour without Doc Stanley, I walked away in search of someone who could do something about the sound guy. I complained to a couple of people who didn’t have any power to change anything, then returned to my seat. On that little jaunt, I heard people complaining that Ralph Stanley was not on stage. I wanted to say to them “he’s 88 years old. Give him a break,” but didn’t. (Was the heat making me cranky?) Shortly after I seated myself once more, I saw CD Scott coaching the sound guy and the sound improved just as Ralph Stanley himself arrived. I had heard his name many times over the years, but since I am generally not a big fan of bluegrass music, had not heard him. The large crowd gave him a standing ovation as he was introduced and seated before the microphone. His grandson explained that Doc had fallen a couple of days ago, and even though nothing was broken, he was pretty battered up. Nevertheless, he had insisted that he would not let his fans down and came along to the gig. The grandson further explained that this is Mr. Stanley’s 70th year as a performer. The band played and Doc sang some of his most famous songs. It turns out that they were familiar to me and I had, of course, heard him many times over the years, but not like he sang yesterday. He has lost control of his voice. It is as if it is about to fledge and is teetering on the edge of the nest of his body stretching its wings awkwardly, getting ready to take off without him. It was a sad and wonderful experience to witness this great musician living his life as he always has so close to the end. I am so glad I went. This morning, he and his band are off somewhere on their way to their next gig in his big turquoise bus, and his voice is resting in preparation. |
| I received a link on my facebook by a young woman who suffers with depression talking about coping with the stigma. It is beautifully written. It is authentic. I hope it eventually reaches every Facebook page. The Semi-colon project in a great idea: “a semi-colon is a place in a sentence where you could have used a period and stopped, but you paused and decided to go on.” The author got a semi-colon on her wrist to remind herself to go on when having suicidal thoughts. She also sees it as a way to trigger conversation about mental health that fight the stigma. The story was placed by a relative who experienced severe mental illness in her family and received wonderful support from NAMI (National Alliance for Mental Illness), a national support group made up of people who suffer from mental illness and those who care about them. She has been a strong advocate over time, and talks openly against stigma. I am grateful to her and to the young author of the “semi-colon project,” and to NAMI for their efforts. I am thinking about the tattoo; will I do that? Links: http://www.thesemicolonproject.com/ http://www.nami.org/About-NAMI http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ Please join in by learning more, and supporting your friends and relatives who struggle with symptoms of mental illness. |
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