I love October. Finally the weather is cooler, and there are so many scary movies. It seems like every channel on television is showing some sequel to Friday the Thirteenth or Nightmare on Elm Street or Halloween. On any given night of the week, I can flip the channels from one screaming teenager to another, and I love it.
I love scary movies. I love the suspense. I love the characters making stupid decisions to run barefoot in the woods or enter the dark basement because the lights went out. I love the more traditional films where there is always a heroine, and she escapes the psycho creep in the end. I am not really crazy about the gross out torture pictures. I prefer to use my imagination which is ten times scarier and not nearly as gory.
I love the element that the heroine must eventually confront the killer. There is an ultimate, usually bloody, showdown. After the movie, I sigh with relief that it is over and check under my bed and in the closet.
I think that might be what I like about the movies. Sure, you are taken on an emotional roller-coaster, but eventually the fear goes away. Either the dragon is slayed or the heroine is eaten, but the movie is over.
The fear ends with scary movies, and upon reflection, I start to feel kind of silly about being afraid. I mean really, if I hear a creepy noise coming from a basement and all the lights are out, am I going to check it out in my skimpy nightgown? For that matter, I do not even have a basement. If any doll I own comes alive, I am grabbing a pair of scissors and cutting off arms and legs. Also, I will never grab a butcher knife; I am grabbing my fully charged cellphone and an iron frying pan.
The movies make me laugh because they are so good at making me afraid of the ridiculous. I end up fearing the most unlikely things. I get nervous in the woods because a crazed woodsman might chop me into pieces, but I am not fearful of the gunshots I can hear from Central City only a few blocks away? I think the movies help us escape what really frightens us.
Somehow, shooting zombies seems much simpler than figuring out how to stretch a budget when one is unemployed. Freddy Kruger is pretty scary until you think about your family member’s health. Frankly, vampires are much more welcome than dealing with sexism or racism or bigotry.
These fears are real, and just like what the heroine must do, so must we. We must confront those fears. We must look them straight in the eye. We must pick up our frying pans (because I know better than to grab a knife), and we attack that fear. We cannot cower in the corner anymore. Sure, we might not win, but we will not be afraid.
I am not sure how we actually conquer these fears, these realities, but at least we know that we are not alone in the dark. There are others who have walked and fought before us. There are those who will walk and fight after us. And there is one who walks and fights with us, giving us the strength we need for the moment. That one also gives us light to see the fear for what it really is.
We see in that light that whatever our fear is: unemployment, economic hardship, bigotry, violence can only control us because we believe that it is more powerful than us. In the light, we see that fear’s power is an illusion, and our weakness in the face of that fear is also an illusion. We are not really weak, and we are never alone.
Still, I think that I will curl up on my couch and turn on a few scary movies. Somehow, I would much rather deal with a vampire or Jason than with those real monsters.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Wisdom of Prostitutes and Addicts
Another Tuesday night at St. Michael's. Just in case I forgot the day (which, however strange, does happen on occasion when I've over-extended myself), the growl of the motorcycles on Tuesday evening would remind me. From the Rectory, I can hear the parking lot noise of the Tuesday evening 12-Step group that gathers at St. Michael's. It's a well-attended group. The parking lot is filled with snazzy cars nicer than anything I'll ever drive, tripped out motorcycles that cost more than any car I'll ever drive, regular cars, and even some bicycles. Some don't have cars; they walk from the bus stop. In other words, that meeting draws a gathering that looks something like the Kingdom of Heaven.
You can probably imagine the people that drive these vehicles. I see them often as I walk from the church to the Rectory, or as I take Sophie out on her evening walk. Some professionals, some young men and women looking fearful, some men and women looking like they instill fear with the amount of leather and chains they wear. Many know each other. Like many 12-Step groups, some of these men and women have been coming for years. Some are new, hesitant to come into a room and be as vulnerable as perhaps many humans get, to stand in front of strangers and admit they are broken.
Then to hear that they are welcomed.
Like I said, something of the Kingdom of Heaven.
Whether it's substance abuse, emotional trauma, or the wounds that happen because we live life, we are all broken. One of the great sins of the church is the aspect of pride that invites us to fool ourselves that we are all okay, that nothing rattles us, drives us to our knees, and leaves us bleeding. That pride seduces us to look with disdain on those who admit their wounds, as if they are weak, humbled, and just can't "deal" with life. I wonder if those times when we cuddle up to pride are really times when we are so fearful of our own brokenness that we are left with nothing but the mantra that tries desperately to convince us we are okay. Sort of like thinking you need to look in the mirror, wondering if you do have something stuck between your teeth, but refusing to do so because you're afraid of what you'll see. So you simply tell anyone who will listen that you either don't have anything between your teeth or you meant to cram a huge piece of parsley between your incisors.
Sure.
Those communities of faith, whether they are officially religious or simply religious because they are a gathering of those who admit they need community and help, preach a needed message to us. Their roots are often in monastic spirituality, where men and women joined together in community to live fully, not just to promote their successes, but to live into their failures. A modern community, Thistle Farms from the Community of Magdalene, has 24 Spiritual Practices that engender the grace of living in community. The Community of Magdalene is comprised of women who have survived lives of violence, prostitution, and addiction. They live by some beautiful rules from which we all could learn. A few of the ones that resonate with me: Take the Longer Path, Stand on New Ground and Believe You Are Not Lost, Remember You Have Been in the Ditch, and Find Your Way Home.
Perhaps one reason Jesus spent time with prostitutes, tax collectors, and other outcasts had much to do with his recognizing their wisdom. The Ancient Near East, much like our own, had a love affair with perceived power and strength. All cultures probably do. We like titles, accolades, and the appearance of "Aren't I Awesome!" that we often have to repeat over and over and over to others, mostly trying to convince ourselves. Having an affair with pride, that sin that invites us to comparative judgments and measuring oneself by externals, often justifies our mocking and denigration of those who are courageous enough to admit their wounds.
I've often wondered the impact if, when Episcopal clergy were ordained or were renewing their ordination vows, they had to stand before the gathered community and say, "Hi, I'm (state your name) and I'm broken in these places (details here)." I have a feeling that idea would cause some clergy blood to run cold.
Yet isn't that a core of love? Admitting that we are as much the beaten person in the ditch as we are the priest and Levite who ignore him/her and the Good Samaritan who eventually helps? The wisdom of the prostitutes, the addicts, the victims of life, and those whose brutal honesty makes so many of us uncomfortable, is that they go into their darkest selves, their deepest souls that have done hurtful things to themselves and others, and know they are loved by a God who knows them fully and loves them enough to urge them on the longer path of self-awareness.
I watched last Tuesday night as a man who looked rather imposing by his size and the message on his t-shirt about getting thrown out of hell because the devil was afraid he'd take over walked over to a young woman sitting alone on a bench. She was young and trying to reduce her presence to nothing. Many of us who have been broken know that pose. He put his hand on her shoulder and said nothing, but somehow acknowledged her pain, even perhaps her shame. She smiled. He nodded, and said, "I expect to see you next week." And in a voice that shook because it spoke the truth, she said, "Yes."
Like I said, something like the Kingdom of Heaven.
Want to know more about the amazing ministry of Thistle Farms and the Community of Madgalene? Click here
You can probably imagine the people that drive these vehicles. I see them often as I walk from the church to the Rectory, or as I take Sophie out on her evening walk. Some professionals, some young men and women looking fearful, some men and women looking like they instill fear with the amount of leather and chains they wear. Many know each other. Like many 12-Step groups, some of these men and women have been coming for years. Some are new, hesitant to come into a room and be as vulnerable as perhaps many humans get, to stand in front of strangers and admit they are broken.
Then to hear that they are welcomed.
Like I said, something of the Kingdom of Heaven.
Whether it's substance abuse, emotional trauma, or the wounds that happen because we live life, we are all broken. One of the great sins of the church is the aspect of pride that invites us to fool ourselves that we are all okay, that nothing rattles us, drives us to our knees, and leaves us bleeding. That pride seduces us to look with disdain on those who admit their wounds, as if they are weak, humbled, and just can't "deal" with life. I wonder if those times when we cuddle up to pride are really times when we are so fearful of our own brokenness that we are left with nothing but the mantra that tries desperately to convince us we are okay. Sort of like thinking you need to look in the mirror, wondering if you do have something stuck between your teeth, but refusing to do so because you're afraid of what you'll see. So you simply tell anyone who will listen that you either don't have anything between your teeth or you meant to cram a huge piece of parsley between your incisors.
Sure.
Those communities of faith, whether they are officially religious or simply religious because they are a gathering of those who admit they need community and help, preach a needed message to us. Their roots are often in monastic spirituality, where men and women joined together in community to live fully, not just to promote their successes, but to live into their failures. A modern community, Thistle Farms from the Community of Magdalene, has 24 Spiritual Practices that engender the grace of living in community. The Community of Magdalene is comprised of women who have survived lives of violence, prostitution, and addiction. They live by some beautiful rules from which we all could learn. A few of the ones that resonate with me: Take the Longer Path, Stand on New Ground and Believe You Are Not Lost, Remember You Have Been in the Ditch, and Find Your Way Home.
Perhaps one reason Jesus spent time with prostitutes, tax collectors, and other outcasts had much to do with his recognizing their wisdom. The Ancient Near East, much like our own, had a love affair with perceived power and strength. All cultures probably do. We like titles, accolades, and the appearance of "Aren't I Awesome!" that we often have to repeat over and over and over to others, mostly trying to convince ourselves. Having an affair with pride, that sin that invites us to comparative judgments and measuring oneself by externals, often justifies our mocking and denigration of those who are courageous enough to admit their wounds.
I've often wondered the impact if, when Episcopal clergy were ordained or were renewing their ordination vows, they had to stand before the gathered community and say, "Hi, I'm (state your name) and I'm broken in these places (details here)." I have a feeling that idea would cause some clergy blood to run cold.
Yet isn't that a core of love? Admitting that we are as much the beaten person in the ditch as we are the priest and Levite who ignore him/her and the Good Samaritan who eventually helps? The wisdom of the prostitutes, the addicts, the victims of life, and those whose brutal honesty makes so many of us uncomfortable, is that they go into their darkest selves, their deepest souls that have done hurtful things to themselves and others, and know they are loved by a God who knows them fully and loves them enough to urge them on the longer path of self-awareness.
I watched last Tuesday night as a man who looked rather imposing by his size and the message on his t-shirt about getting thrown out of hell because the devil was afraid he'd take over walked over to a young woman sitting alone on a bench. She was young and trying to reduce her presence to nothing. Many of us who have been broken know that pose. He put his hand on her shoulder and said nothing, but somehow acknowledged her pain, even perhaps her shame. She smiled. He nodded, and said, "I expect to see you next week." And in a voice that shook because it spoke the truth, she said, "Yes."
Like I said, something like the Kingdom of Heaven.
Want to know more about the amazing ministry of Thistle Farms and the Community of Madgalene? Click here
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Don't Comment on the Battles...
Self-appointed experts are quite a joy, and by joy I mean they make me roll my eyes across the table at the wonderful friends who can read me like a book. Those people who spend their time offering advice (almost always unsolicited) about problems, issues, and concerns that are not their own. You might know some. Those people who, when you are discussing a concern you have with your ministry or life or challenge with family or how to work with unruly hair on Sunday mornings, quickly tell you how to fix the issue. Yet when you say, "Oh, you've encountered this?" they respond, "No, I simply enjoy offering random advice to people about matters in which I have no practical experience."
Well, they don't say that, but they should. That truth would be so helpful. But instead, we toss out advice or solutions to problems that may or may not be helpful. Perhaps we feel compelled to fix others so we can assure ourselves that whatever problems we personally face have a solution (and someone will give us the quick and easy fix). Perhaps we need to validate ourselves by showing how dandy and insightful we are. Perhaps we are simply fearful about saying, "Wow, that sounds really hard," because that might imply we aren't the best person ever.
Perhaps, perhaps, we simply forget that offering a quick (and almost always wrong) solution isn't helpful because we aren't in the midst of the problem.
Or, as Ice-T writes in his autobiography, "Don't be commenting on the battle if you ain't fighting the war."
Ice-T (who, I admit, is one of my favorite celebrities because he's just so real about his life) writes about his experience when the Republican party and eventually a portion of the entire country decided that his song, "Cop Killer," was the root of every problem ever in America. We all know how much power a song that doesn't even get radio play has on the country. But I digress. Ice eventually decided to pull the song from the album (because way back then, in between dodging dinosaurs to get to school, we bought actual CD's from the store). Obviously, he got flak for what some perceived as giving in to pressure. His quote is actually from a friend of his who reassured Ice that Ice himself was the one to make the best decision in the middle of the situation.
Don't be commenting on the battle if you ain't fighting the war.
We humans are quite adept at commenting on battles that we watch from a safe distance. We think that our academic insight can give us real experience. Maybe, but truthfully, that type of wisdom is pretty rare. Most of our insight comes not from academic discourse and reading books, but from the battles of life. And notice I said battles. We don't learn much about ourselves from our successes. The wounds and the scars disappointments, hurts, and mistakes leave can truly give us wisdom if we offer that pain to God to heal. Success does a better job of validating our egos. Not always a bad thing, but not exactly an invitation to delve into the deepest part of our souls where God has some impressive treasures to share with us.
When people comment on battles and wars and the ensuing scars they often leave while watching it all from their recliner? Not particularly helpful. Or loving. Don't. Just don't.
Don't assume, if you have never been a woman, that you empathize with the experience of gender discrimination. Don't assume, if you've never been a racial minority, that you "get" oppression. Don't assume, if you've never done the hard work of grief, that you can tell people what to feel and when to feel it. And even if you can share the experiences because you've been in similar situations that they path you walked is the one another should walk.
That isn't helpful. It's simply hubris.
This isn't to say that you cannot be present to another's challenges and pain. The wiser way is simply to listen to the story and experience and honor its originality. If you have never had that experience, saying, "Wow, I have never had that experience," is really okay. If you are invited, share yours if you have a similar one. We all have been through battles, and the ones among us that have done the hard work to do more than simply blame the other and have, in the process, gained some wisdom, can share what that experience was and is. Yet we simply must recognize the holiness of our experience and the holiness of the other's experience.
Usually, when people are going through the battles of life, they need to know they aren't alone in life, that they are loved, and that sorrow won't kill them. That, we are all able to do. That is what we can trust.
Trust that we almost never have all the facts. Trust that it's not our job to fix anyone else. Trust that commenting on another's troubles or problems is almost always more about us that them.
Trust that the gift of simply listening is more valuable that many of us realize.
And read Ice-T's bio if you want some good, fun reading about the battles and wars of a gang-banger from L.A. who is really, really grounded and would make a great next-door neighbor.
Well, they don't say that, but they should. That truth would be so helpful. But instead, we toss out advice or solutions to problems that may or may not be helpful. Perhaps we feel compelled to fix others so we can assure ourselves that whatever problems we personally face have a solution (and someone will give us the quick and easy fix). Perhaps we need to validate ourselves by showing how dandy and insightful we are. Perhaps we are simply fearful about saying, "Wow, that sounds really hard," because that might imply we aren't the best person ever.
Perhaps, perhaps, we simply forget that offering a quick (and almost always wrong) solution isn't helpful because we aren't in the midst of the problem.
Or, as Ice-T writes in his autobiography, "Don't be commenting on the battle if you ain't fighting the war."
Ice-T (who, I admit, is one of my favorite celebrities because he's just so real about his life) writes about his experience when the Republican party and eventually a portion of the entire country decided that his song, "Cop Killer," was the root of every problem ever in America. We all know how much power a song that doesn't even get radio play has on the country. But I digress. Ice eventually decided to pull the song from the album (because way back then, in between dodging dinosaurs to get to school, we bought actual CD's from the store). Obviously, he got flak for what some perceived as giving in to pressure. His quote is actually from a friend of his who reassured Ice that Ice himself was the one to make the best decision in the middle of the situation.
Don't be commenting on the battle if you ain't fighting the war.
We humans are quite adept at commenting on battles that we watch from a safe distance. We think that our academic insight can give us real experience. Maybe, but truthfully, that type of wisdom is pretty rare. Most of our insight comes not from academic discourse and reading books, but from the battles of life. And notice I said battles. We don't learn much about ourselves from our successes. The wounds and the scars disappointments, hurts, and mistakes leave can truly give us wisdom if we offer that pain to God to heal. Success does a better job of validating our egos. Not always a bad thing, but not exactly an invitation to delve into the deepest part of our souls where God has some impressive treasures to share with us.
When people comment on battles and wars and the ensuing scars they often leave while watching it all from their recliner? Not particularly helpful. Or loving. Don't. Just don't.
Don't assume, if you have never been a woman, that you empathize with the experience of gender discrimination. Don't assume, if you've never been a racial minority, that you "get" oppression. Don't assume, if you've never done the hard work of grief, that you can tell people what to feel and when to feel it. And even if you can share the experiences because you've been in similar situations that they path you walked is the one another should walk.
That isn't helpful. It's simply hubris.
This isn't to say that you cannot be present to another's challenges and pain. The wiser way is simply to listen to the story and experience and honor its originality. If you have never had that experience, saying, "Wow, I have never had that experience," is really okay. If you are invited, share yours if you have a similar one. We all have been through battles, and the ones among us that have done the hard work to do more than simply blame the other and have, in the process, gained some wisdom, can share what that experience was and is. Yet we simply must recognize the holiness of our experience and the holiness of the other's experience.
Usually, when people are going through the battles of life, they need to know they aren't alone in life, that they are loved, and that sorrow won't kill them. That, we are all able to do. That is what we can trust.
Trust that we almost never have all the facts. Trust that it's not our job to fix anyone else. Trust that commenting on another's troubles or problems is almost always more about us that them.
Trust that the gift of simply listening is more valuable that many of us realize.
And read Ice-T's bio if you want some good, fun reading about the battles and wars of a gang-banger from L.A. who is really, really grounded and would make a great next-door neighbor.
Monday, October 10, 2011
The Difference between Helpful and Useful Information
I had a strange moment before church yesterday. A person decided he needed to tell me a few things about what I should be doing at the church. Next he shared what he thought of my sermons thus far. Finally he added that he did not know why I had not contacted him yet for help. He then looked at me and said, "don't cry."
Just then, the service began. I tried not to burst into tears and bolt from the building into the streets of the city of New Orleans. I tried to think about the situation logically. I have tried to put aside my ego and feelings and listen to what this person was sharing with me. Frankly, I am really ticked off.
I am ticked off because this was an attack. I realize that now. I am ticked off with myself because I did not call him on it right then and there. Instead, I let him offer his helpful two cents, and I barely made it through the service. I questioned every move I made throughout the service, and throughout the last month at the church, and I realized he was wrong. He was just attacking me.
I find it can be a very fine line between being willing to hear constructive criticism and being open to an attack. One might say you should not listen to people who do not care about you, but I think that we still need to be willing to listen to what someone has to say. The information might not be helpful, but it might be useful.
That might sound strange, but this is how I distinguish between the two. Helpful information is letting you know that you have spinach in your teeth and handing you a toothbrush. The person who shares the helpful information cares about you and wants you to succeed. He or she does not force their opinions or ideas on you, he or she asks first. You know that the information comes from a kind and loving place. Non helpful but useful information is letting you know that you look terrible. This type of information tells you more about the giver of information. He or she is coming from a place of hostility, but he or she is using a piece of useful data to express that hostility. It might not hurt to look in the mirror and check.
Still, I can be as logical and understanding about yesterday morning's attack, but I was attacked. My feelings are hurt. I have looked in the mirror, and I realize it was not helpful information. I believe that many of us open ourselves up, and allow others to offer their "helpful" advice. Perhaps because we believe that person really has something important to teach us or we want to be easy going or we feel unsure. We might even think that everyone wants to help us, so we need to listen, right? Well, we can listen, but we do not have to accept it. We do not have to accept being attacked.
We absolutely should seek help and advice, but that is point, isn't it? We need to seek the help and advice we need. That is up to us, and it is not someone else's responsibility to "set us straight" or "teach us the ropes."
So, my work is cut out for me. I have parishioners to visit and call. I have a sermon to write, translate and check. I also have a conversation that needs to happen- after church. Maybe the most important part is I need to stay open, willing to learn from others and listen, but remembering the difference between helpful and useful information.
Just then, the service began. I tried not to burst into tears and bolt from the building into the streets of the city of New Orleans. I tried to think about the situation logically. I have tried to put aside my ego and feelings and listen to what this person was sharing with me. Frankly, I am really ticked off.
I am ticked off because this was an attack. I realize that now. I am ticked off with myself because I did not call him on it right then and there. Instead, I let him offer his helpful two cents, and I barely made it through the service. I questioned every move I made throughout the service, and throughout the last month at the church, and I realized he was wrong. He was just attacking me.
I find it can be a very fine line between being willing to hear constructive criticism and being open to an attack. One might say you should not listen to people who do not care about you, but I think that we still need to be willing to listen to what someone has to say. The information might not be helpful, but it might be useful.
That might sound strange, but this is how I distinguish between the two. Helpful information is letting you know that you have spinach in your teeth and handing you a toothbrush. The person who shares the helpful information cares about you and wants you to succeed. He or she does not force their opinions or ideas on you, he or she asks first. You know that the information comes from a kind and loving place. Non helpful but useful information is letting you know that you look terrible. This type of information tells you more about the giver of information. He or she is coming from a place of hostility, but he or she is using a piece of useful data to express that hostility. It might not hurt to look in the mirror and check.
Still, I can be as logical and understanding about yesterday morning's attack, but I was attacked. My feelings are hurt. I have looked in the mirror, and I realize it was not helpful information. I believe that many of us open ourselves up, and allow others to offer their "helpful" advice. Perhaps because we believe that person really has something important to teach us or we want to be easy going or we feel unsure. We might even think that everyone wants to help us, so we need to listen, right? Well, we can listen, but we do not have to accept it. We do not have to accept being attacked.
We absolutely should seek help and advice, but that is point, isn't it? We need to seek the help and advice we need. That is up to us, and it is not someone else's responsibility to "set us straight" or "teach us the ropes."
So, my work is cut out for me. I have parishioners to visit and call. I have a sermon to write, translate and check. I also have a conversation that needs to happen- after church. Maybe the most important part is I need to stay open, willing to learn from others and listen, but remembering the difference between helpful and useful information.
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