All sorts of issues arise when you realize you are actually writing a book. Among them are the whole, "Cool, there will be a book with our names on the cover in stores in November." And, "Hey, maybe people might actually buy this book."
And, "Oh, people are actually going to buy a book and expect something."
Which just gives rise to the voice that says, "And what do you think you have to say that's so awesome it needs to be in print?"
Which leads to the blank computer screen of death staring back at you and several phone calls and emails between the two of us about how we managed to get ourselves into this place and how many other bloggers out there are so much better than we are with thousands of followers and we're just w-a-a-a-a-y out of our league and our hair is not cooperating and our clothes are frumpy and this book will be the downfall of Western Christendom.
Hyperbole has never been a real issue for either Mary or me.
On the other side, we both have tremendous friends who are very good at listening to us whine with a nice glass of merlot, then telling us what we need to hear, which is, write what you need to hear. Write what broke your heart, and what healed your heart with enough wisdom to leave some scars so you will remember.
So we write. We write about grief, revisiting the pain of broken relationships and broken hearts. It's like intense therapy, except without the $125 an hour fee and with the realization that lots of people who don't know you will be reading your tears transformed into words. More than once, I've gone through a box of tissues as I write. Even pain that has been redeemed is still delicate.
We write about what we've learned, that some people who say they are friends are only friends as long as you are who they want you to be; that losing relationships because you can no longer fit those expectations is painful, but being untrue to your soul is deadly; and that we are often the ones who get ourselves into all sorts of unattractive situations, but God will find us in the middle of our disasters and sit with us until we are ready to decide we might live.
We write about how our own expectations of who we are supposed to be are as helpful as a pig wearing stiletto heels. It ruins a good pair of heels and just annoys the pig. Too often, we women often try to mold ourselves to whom the world needs us to be instead of being who God is calling us to be. Getting from the world's personas into our most authentic selves is nasty hard work. Some people call these periods times of growth. As we grow in life, we begin to sort through those expectations, throwing out the ones that don't fit anymore, the ones that are toxic, and the ones that give us blisters.
And we tentatively trust the voice that is wholly without expectation and filled with faith. That voice isn't always nice. In fact, in my writing, I realize that voice is the one that drinks bourbon at places on the wrong side of the tracks and doesn't care too much what other people think or how this will look on the resume. That voice is all about truth, humility, and trust.
She does, however, prefer Four Roses Bourbon.
A colleague remembered that the hardest part of giving birth is the space between feeling the impulse to push and trusting the body's need to allow for muscles to loosen until the right time. The muscles are still loosening with writing. Some of what needs to be birthed in our writing is not yet ready to appear, but we feel it.
Not so far removed from life, either. That space between knowing what is coming, but also knowing it isn't yet fully ready to appear is difficult and annoying. We like fast food, instant movies, and instant life. God, however, was born into the world in God's own time. A deeper wisdom resides in our souls; sometimes we should just shut up and listen and trust.
So, it seems will be the words of our book, and the chapters of our life. We just thought we'd share our thoughts.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Speech
I swear, a lot. I have a total potty mouth. When I am driving, I drop a few choice word bombs, somehow I hope they hit my targets. If I am in the house, looking at a bill, I might toss a few expletives here and there. As a potty mouth, I took great satisfaction from some scientific discovery that swearing can reduce pain. Well obviously that is true if you have ever jammed your toe on the way to the bathroom at 2 AM.
I love violent movies as well. One of my favorite scenes of all time is from "The Untouchables." The four "untouchables" gallop down a hillside toward a bridge that ends in a gun battle with gangsters. The music is so stirring. The action is intense. The scene brings me to tears when one character is shot.
I mention these two darling aspects of my personality and character because while I support the freedom of speech, I now shout out "fudge" when I stub my toe and change the television station when there is blood, shouting or shooting. This change in me started about 18 months ago, and is not complete. Thankfully, I have not yet become one of those people who gives the stink eye to anyone who lets loose a few word bombs in the presence of children, nor have I stopped watching television completely. However, I have started to notice these two aspects of violent speech and violent imagery a lot since I have limited my use and access to them.
My change towards violent language and imagery began with the entrance of a new life in my life. That new life has brought out every protective instinct I never knew I had. That new life propelled me out of bed at all hours of the night and early morning, ready to feed and comfort on demand. Many of my old habits have become old habits in the face of the new reality in which I live. I started to notice more and more how I spoke, how I lived, what I ate, what I thought. Little by little, my life adjusted to my new love, my new community.
I live in a new community now. I am not alone. I am responsible for and to someone else. I must feed and cloth another. What I say, how I act, what I permit into my presence affects not just me, but my community. Am I comfortable with those influences in my community? Was I really comfortable with those influences in myself?
Or to put it more bluntly: do I want my child swearing and watching violence? I say no, but I needed to understand why I feel that way, after all, I support people expressing themselves. As repugnant as I find some speech, writing, art, music, movie or television show, I still believe that individual is free to express him or herself (even if I believe he or she is wrong). Speech might be free, but speech is not without consequence, without power.
Speech can be powerful and dangerous. Speech can uplift and devastate. Whether we like it or not, we are influenced by what we watch and what we hear. So the question arises, what will I allow?
I am not comfortable anymore with violent speech and images, especially in front of my child. I understand someone might feel the need to express him or herself. I understand that an artist might be using the violence as a means to some end. I want my brothers and sisters to continue to express themselves, but for right now, I am not speaking violence, nor watching violence.
I am not kidding myself that I will never watch television again nor drop the f-bomb at some point, but I do want to be intentional in what I will allow to influence my family and myself. I am not naive that my child will not see violence or hear violent speech somewhere in her daily life, but I do not want her to believe that her mother condones violence because she does nothing to prevent it from entering her home through casual swearing and violent images on television.
Will limiting my viewing of violence and my speech make the world less violent? Maybe not, but it might change my family and community. I hope through my example that my child will see that there are a world of choices that do not have to include violence. I hope that when she is older, we can sit down and watch mom's Dirty Harry films, and wonder together if violence is necessary.
I love violent movies as well. One of my favorite scenes of all time is from "The Untouchables." The four "untouchables" gallop down a hillside toward a bridge that ends in a gun battle with gangsters. The music is so stirring. The action is intense. The scene brings me to tears when one character is shot.
I mention these two darling aspects of my personality and character because while I support the freedom of speech, I now shout out "fudge" when I stub my toe and change the television station when there is blood, shouting or shooting. This change in me started about 18 months ago, and is not complete. Thankfully, I have not yet become one of those people who gives the stink eye to anyone who lets loose a few word bombs in the presence of children, nor have I stopped watching television completely. However, I have started to notice these two aspects of violent speech and violent imagery a lot since I have limited my use and access to them.
My change towards violent language and imagery began with the entrance of a new life in my life. That new life has brought out every protective instinct I never knew I had. That new life propelled me out of bed at all hours of the night and early morning, ready to feed and comfort on demand. Many of my old habits have become old habits in the face of the new reality in which I live. I started to notice more and more how I spoke, how I lived, what I ate, what I thought. Little by little, my life adjusted to my new love, my new community.
I live in a new community now. I am not alone. I am responsible for and to someone else. I must feed and cloth another. What I say, how I act, what I permit into my presence affects not just me, but my community. Am I comfortable with those influences in my community? Was I really comfortable with those influences in myself?
Or to put it more bluntly: do I want my child swearing and watching violence? I say no, but I needed to understand why I feel that way, after all, I support people expressing themselves. As repugnant as I find some speech, writing, art, music, movie or television show, I still believe that individual is free to express him or herself (even if I believe he or she is wrong). Speech might be free, but speech is not without consequence, without power.
Speech can be powerful and dangerous. Speech can uplift and devastate. Whether we like it or not, we are influenced by what we watch and what we hear. So the question arises, what will I allow?
I am not comfortable anymore with violent speech and images, especially in front of my child. I understand someone might feel the need to express him or herself. I understand that an artist might be using the violence as a means to some end. I want my brothers and sisters to continue to express themselves, but for right now, I am not speaking violence, nor watching violence.
I am not kidding myself that I will never watch television again nor drop the f-bomb at some point, but I do want to be intentional in what I will allow to influence my family and myself. I am not naive that my child will not see violence or hear violent speech somewhere in her daily life, but I do not want her to believe that her mother condones violence because she does nothing to prevent it from entering her home through casual swearing and violent images on television.
Will limiting my viewing of violence and my speech make the world less violent? Maybe not, but it might change my family and community. I hope through my example that my child will see that there are a world of choices that do not have to include violence. I hope that when she is older, we can sit down and watch mom's Dirty Harry films, and wonder together if violence is necessary.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Hornets versus Mavericks
I really know nothing about sports. I do not follow any sports either. Sure, I can watch a game, and I know sort of what is going on, but I do not really get it. Nor do I get particularly excited about sports. Instead I think that I should be more concerned with other things, more important things like foreign policy, the care and well being of my fellow person, the mystery of the Holy Eucharist, and delicious, delicious Hubig Pies. So, I wondered why I said yes to saying the prayer before the Hornets game last night.
I have prayed for them before, about a year ago. The whole process to me was fascinating. First, I arrived about two and half hours before the game started. Next, I practiced my 15 second, non God mentioning, non other team bashing "prayer." Then I waited, sitting court side watching both teams practice until the game was ready to begin. Dozens of people scurried around the arena making preparations, all very serious. It was neat to watch how they put together a game, but I did not give a whit about the game. So before the singing of the National Anthem, I walked to center court, did my prayer for the crowd, and went home. What was the point of staying and watching a game I did not care about from the nosebleed section by myself?
The call came on Wednesday. They wanted me to come again and say the prayer. I thought about it. Would this be a waste of my time? I have so many other things to think about and worry about right now than some stupid basketball game. I said yes, prepared my "prayer," and I asked my 11 year old nephew to go with me.
Now I should tell you, that unlike his aunt, my nephew actually loves sports. Not that I am biased, but he is also really good at sports as well. It is a mystery to me, but somehow he got some really athletic genes (must be from the other side of his family). So, like I said, I asked him to go.
I picked him up about two and half hours before the game. I warned him that it might be really boring, and we could leave as soon as I was finished with the prayer. He shrugged, and said: "Okay." When we entered the arena, the players were practicing on the court. I watched my nephew's eyes light up. He asked if he could take a picture. I said yes.
We walked around the court and sat in the fancy front row seats, while he took pictures of the home team and the visiting team. He told me who the players were, groaning when I would say: "Who is Lamar Odom?" He said quietly to me: "This isn't as boring as I thought it would be. It isn't boring at all really."
It wasn't boring at all really. He was right. We went to the VIP cafeteria (which did nothing for him or me for that matter). He got to stand where the visiting team ran in right past him. I walked to center court and gave my prayer. Then we made our way to the highest section and watched the game.
As I sat there, smiling and clapping and watching that game with my nephew, it dawned on me that I had not thought at all about my worries. All I was concerned with was whether or not he was having fun, and soon enough his fun was infecting me. I thought I was doing something nice for him, and his joy did something wonderful for me.
It wasn't boring, it was cool even! I was so wrapped up in myself and my problems that I could have very easily missed this opportunity for joy. I still do not care about sports. I certainly have some theological/political questions why they feel the need to have a prayer before a game. I could have very easily said: "No way, too boring and not my theological cup of tea," but somehow being able to offer this to my nephew made the game amazing to me. Being able to share in his enthusiasm and joy, made me enthusiastic and joyful.
I got an opportunity to share something neat with someone I care about. How often does that happen? How often do we just push those opportunities aside because we are not all that interested or we have "more important" things to do? How often do we offer others a gift- maybe one we do not care about as much, but means the world to the other? Are we able to joy in another's joy, even if it is not our taste or style or interest? We do not often get to share in another's joy maybe because we are too caught up in trying to fulfill our own joy.
Well, I am not sure I will go to many more games, maybe if I get a free ticket or something, but I hope I get the opportunity again to offer joy to someone and get to share in it.
I have prayed for them before, about a year ago. The whole process to me was fascinating. First, I arrived about two and half hours before the game started. Next, I practiced my 15 second, non God mentioning, non other team bashing "prayer." Then I waited, sitting court side watching both teams practice until the game was ready to begin. Dozens of people scurried around the arena making preparations, all very serious. It was neat to watch how they put together a game, but I did not give a whit about the game. So before the singing of the National Anthem, I walked to center court, did my prayer for the crowd, and went home. What was the point of staying and watching a game I did not care about from the nosebleed section by myself?
The call came on Wednesday. They wanted me to come again and say the prayer. I thought about it. Would this be a waste of my time? I have so many other things to think about and worry about right now than some stupid basketball game. I said yes, prepared my "prayer," and I asked my 11 year old nephew to go with me.
Now I should tell you, that unlike his aunt, my nephew actually loves sports. Not that I am biased, but he is also really good at sports as well. It is a mystery to me, but somehow he got some really athletic genes (must be from the other side of his family). So, like I said, I asked him to go.
I picked him up about two and half hours before the game. I warned him that it might be really boring, and we could leave as soon as I was finished with the prayer. He shrugged, and said: "Okay." When we entered the arena, the players were practicing on the court. I watched my nephew's eyes light up. He asked if he could take a picture. I said yes.
We walked around the court and sat in the fancy front row seats, while he took pictures of the home team and the visiting team. He told me who the players were, groaning when I would say: "Who is Lamar Odom?" He said quietly to me: "This isn't as boring as I thought it would be. It isn't boring at all really."
It wasn't boring at all really. He was right. We went to the VIP cafeteria (which did nothing for him or me for that matter). He got to stand where the visiting team ran in right past him. I walked to center court and gave my prayer. Then we made our way to the highest section and watched the game.
As I sat there, smiling and clapping and watching that game with my nephew, it dawned on me that I had not thought at all about my worries. All I was concerned with was whether or not he was having fun, and soon enough his fun was infecting me. I thought I was doing something nice for him, and his joy did something wonderful for me.
It wasn't boring, it was cool even! I was so wrapped up in myself and my problems that I could have very easily missed this opportunity for joy. I still do not care about sports. I certainly have some theological/political questions why they feel the need to have a prayer before a game. I could have very easily said: "No way, too boring and not my theological cup of tea," but somehow being able to offer this to my nephew made the game amazing to me. Being able to share in his enthusiasm and joy, made me enthusiastic and joyful.
I got an opportunity to share something neat with someone I care about. How often does that happen? How often do we just push those opportunities aside because we are not all that interested or we have "more important" things to do? How often do we offer others a gift- maybe one we do not care about as much, but means the world to the other? Are we able to joy in another's joy, even if it is not our taste or style or interest? We do not often get to share in another's joy maybe because we are too caught up in trying to fulfill our own joy.
Well, I am not sure I will go to many more games, maybe if I get a free ticket or something, but I hope I get the opportunity again to offer joy to someone and get to share in it.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
When we hurt each other
A priest I know reflected on when she knew her relationship with her then-boyfriend was over. They had been going through one of those proverbial rough patches all relationships enter, "rough patch" also being a euphemism for a time of growth and learning, which is never particularly fun for us humans. Expectations are challenged, and that impacts the relationship. Individuals change, and that impacts the relationship. Life happens, and that impacts the relationship. Both people have usually engaged in some not so loving behavior that has impacted the other. All of those circumstances settled into the lives of these people, and they were now at this place.
"This place," was sitting across from one another, and he was telling her all the things she'd done to hurt him. Then, after he finished speaking his truth, he said, "Don't ever hurt me like that again."
She started looking for a new place to live the next day.
Perhaps your response is that she wasn't too nice or she reacted badly to hearing what he said. Perhaps, but her reaction was not at the things he'd experienced her do, which, by the way, were not of the caliber of having an affair. The hurts were the mundane, painful hurts we all do to each other. Her reaction was to the last line: Don't ever hurt me like that again. She realized in that moment, that the person she thought loved and respected her and the person she did love and respect, had no understanding of relationship as she did.
Firstly, his words were a threat. When someone throws out that kind of ultimatum, beware, because the unspoken part is scary - or else. What, if during the course of life, she did hurt him again? Would her shave her head or assassinate her character? Threats in relationships are nice little signs that there may be some creepy boundaries going on, like one person is supposed to be the puppet of another, and if you dare deviate from their almost-always impossible expectations, you will pay the price and perhaps be the subject of a Lifetime movie. Good boundaries state clear and realistic expectations, like telling someone, "Don't ever run me over with the car again." Telling someone to never hurt you again is wishful thinking and a sign of some deeper, darker stuff.
Because we do hurt each other, even in the best of relationships. The prayers in our marriage liturgy and the vows in our Baptismal Covenant don't say, "If you are ever silly and foolish with another person's heart, you can repent, if you deem yourself responsible for said actions." Nope, the wise people who write our prayers figured us out - that we WILL hurt each other. The prayers say, "When." When you hurt each other, when you fall into sin, when you act out in hurtful ways, you can repent and return to the Lord.
We will and do hurt each other in all of our relationships, from marriages to friendships to our pastoral relationships. What is Godly about these loving bonds between humans is not that they are without failure or shortcomings or misunderstandings or even the downright petty hurting of the other, but that they are capable of naming that hurt and moving onward. When we hurt each other, we are called to hear each other's pain and to respond to it, maybe with explanation, but mostly with compassion. When we hurt each other, we are called to recognize the powerful fragility of trust and love among humans. When we hurt each other, we get a stripped-bare view of the truth of our relationships.
Those that collapse under the weight of the impossible standard of never hurting one another are not relationships - they are thin, one-dimensional expressions of the interactions with others or the pithy line in a cheesy 70's movie. The relationships worth keeping around are the rich ones grounded by not only the joys and laughter between the people, but also the disappointments and sorrow caused by each other. In that mysterious and often annoying way God works, the darker parts of our relationships ground and give dimension to the lighter parts. We appreciate and value the joy, perhaps, because we have gone through the struggles.
A note here - there are some relationships where the darkness does overcome the light. Physical or emotional violence and/or constant boundary violations are not the hurt of which I'm speaking. When you see these signs, do what the people in Amityville didn't do soon enough - Get Out.
I understand the impulse to say to someone, "I'll never hurt you again," and sprinkle fairy dust on the situation and ride off into the sunset. I like the idea of perfection, too. I wish my friends wouldn't do things that hurt me, and I wish I didn't do things that hurt them.
I also wish I could eat all the cupcakes I wanted to eat and never gain a pound.
We, however, do not live in such a world. We live in a world God saw at the end of the initial burst of creation and proclaimed it good, not perfect. Goodness is not about never hurting one another. Goodness is having the courage to sit in the pain and disappointment with one another WHEN you have hurt each other and wait until God and love do their redeeming. Goodness is trusting that rough patches to give way to new growth and new depth of relationship.
So when we hurt each other, we can learn to love each other more deeply and honestly. You know, more like Christ's love.
"This place," was sitting across from one another, and he was telling her all the things she'd done to hurt him. Then, after he finished speaking his truth, he said, "Don't ever hurt me like that again."
She started looking for a new place to live the next day.
Perhaps your response is that she wasn't too nice or she reacted badly to hearing what he said. Perhaps, but her reaction was not at the things he'd experienced her do, which, by the way, were not of the caliber of having an affair. The hurts were the mundane, painful hurts we all do to each other. Her reaction was to the last line: Don't ever hurt me like that again. She realized in that moment, that the person she thought loved and respected her and the person she did love and respect, had no understanding of relationship as she did.
Firstly, his words were a threat. When someone throws out that kind of ultimatum, beware, because the unspoken part is scary - or else. What, if during the course of life, she did hurt him again? Would her shave her head or assassinate her character? Threats in relationships are nice little signs that there may be some creepy boundaries going on, like one person is supposed to be the puppet of another, and if you dare deviate from their almost-always impossible expectations, you will pay the price and perhaps be the subject of a Lifetime movie. Good boundaries state clear and realistic expectations, like telling someone, "Don't ever run me over with the car again." Telling someone to never hurt you again is wishful thinking and a sign of some deeper, darker stuff.
Because we do hurt each other, even in the best of relationships. The prayers in our marriage liturgy and the vows in our Baptismal Covenant don't say, "If you are ever silly and foolish with another person's heart, you can repent, if you deem yourself responsible for said actions." Nope, the wise people who write our prayers figured us out - that we WILL hurt each other. The prayers say, "When." When you hurt each other, when you fall into sin, when you act out in hurtful ways, you can repent and return to the Lord.
We will and do hurt each other in all of our relationships, from marriages to friendships to our pastoral relationships. What is Godly about these loving bonds between humans is not that they are without failure or shortcomings or misunderstandings or even the downright petty hurting of the other, but that they are capable of naming that hurt and moving onward. When we hurt each other, we are called to hear each other's pain and to respond to it, maybe with explanation, but mostly with compassion. When we hurt each other, we are called to recognize the powerful fragility of trust and love among humans. When we hurt each other, we get a stripped-bare view of the truth of our relationships.
Those that collapse under the weight of the impossible standard of never hurting one another are not relationships - they are thin, one-dimensional expressions of the interactions with others or the pithy line in a cheesy 70's movie. The relationships worth keeping around are the rich ones grounded by not only the joys and laughter between the people, but also the disappointments and sorrow caused by each other. In that mysterious and often annoying way God works, the darker parts of our relationships ground and give dimension to the lighter parts. We appreciate and value the joy, perhaps, because we have gone through the struggles.
A note here - there are some relationships where the darkness does overcome the light. Physical or emotional violence and/or constant boundary violations are not the hurt of which I'm speaking. When you see these signs, do what the people in Amityville didn't do soon enough - Get Out.
I understand the impulse to say to someone, "I'll never hurt you again," and sprinkle fairy dust on the situation and ride off into the sunset. I like the idea of perfection, too. I wish my friends wouldn't do things that hurt me, and I wish I didn't do things that hurt them.
I also wish I could eat all the cupcakes I wanted to eat and never gain a pound.
We, however, do not live in such a world. We live in a world God saw at the end of the initial burst of creation and proclaimed it good, not perfect. Goodness is not about never hurting one another. Goodness is having the courage to sit in the pain and disappointment with one another WHEN you have hurt each other and wait until God and love do their redeeming. Goodness is trusting that rough patches to give way to new growth and new depth of relationship.
So when we hurt each other, we can learn to love each other more deeply and honestly. You know, more like Christ's love.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Bullies don't exist
At least that's the viewpoint held by some who think that the intentional harm they cause to others is just what happens in the course of a day's work or in the course of human relationships. And yes, we who live in community together do things to each other through thought and word and deed that hurt others.
Bullying, however, is another matter. Bullying by adults covers a range of behaviors from teasing which gets out of control (i.e. the person being teased has said or indicated that it's troubling, but the person doing the teasing refuses to stop) to serious criminal activity like verbal threats and physical assault.
A troubling truth is that every organization, including the church, has those within it who are bullies. This gets some air time at Dirty Sexy Ministry because of work we're doing in the Diocese of Lexington that looks at deeper issues as we strive for healthier congregations. The work we do in the church around sexual misconduct and safeguarding our children is good and worthwhile, yet many of us have wondered aloud how can we identify and intervene BEFORE horrible things happen, before relationships are damaged beyond repair, before the breakdown of community is so vast and deep, and before souls are broken and misconduct charges filed. How can we help people be aware of their behaviors that are damaging to another? How can we give voice to the emotional pain almost always drives bullying behavior? How can we help us all better respect the dignity of every human being?
One of the first observations is that many people either don't know what bullying is or refuse to admit it exists in the church. Bullying is, in short, repeated actions that cause harm to others through verbal manipulation, intimidation, gossip, psychological assualt, and even physical assault. Most bullying behavior is extremely covert and subtle. Studies of people who engage in bullying behavior show that they use verbal and/or physical intimidation, that they demean others to promote themselves, and use guilt as a way of manipulation and control, and they are obsessed with authority (their own and others).
A sickness of bullying to the system (and it is something that a system/community allows and even encourages) is how people who bully act out their need to promote themselves and their obsession with authority. To quote an article written by the newsletter of the Society of Mary and Martha: Bullies are often superficially charming people who boost their own poor self-image by dominating others. This domination is not loving to another, and it is almost always detrimental to all the people involved. When the person who is being bullied speaks of these uncomfortable feelings or simply begins to act out, another level of damaging behavior begins. When another is percieved as a threat to that dominance, the bully will systemically undermine that person's confidence, reputation, and self until that person complies or leaves. Or, as a clergy therapist friend says, "When you don't bend to a bully, s/he spends time convincing everyone that you are incompetent, immoral, and insane until you actually believe you might be."
Eeek.
Bullies are a magnified example of how our own hurts and wounds can hurt and wound others. Most bullies don't see their actions as bullying; they may not even be aware of just how damaging their personal actions are to others. Perhaps a first step to healing may be admitting that there are bullies in both clergy and laity and, even more difficult, admitting that all of us are capable of bullying others. I've yet to meet a person that didn't have places in our self-image that were sensitive and lacking. I've yet to meet a person that didn't, on some level, have issues with authority and issues with misuing it at times. I've yet to meet a person who didn't crave acceptance and attention, and who didn't coerce someone to salve that craving.
So part of our job is recognizing the potential for bullying behaviour within ourselves, listening very carefully and prayerfully when someone describes being hurt by our words and actions, and working to heal our own pain instead of inflicing pain on others.
Yet there remain those people whose interior damage is so painful that they may not be capable of offering it for healing. What do we do then? I wish I had some sassy comment or observation to make, but I don't. I hope that as the Church gets braver, we will talk more openly about bullying and work more dilligently to address it. I hope that when those in authority hear someone say that s/he has been bullied, they hear it with utmost sensitivity and concern and do something other than blame the victim or dismiss bullying as "whining" or "something that happens to everybody." I hope that we who are leaders, both clergy and lay, will do more to educate ourselves on types of bullying and be commited to do our own spiritual work to acknowledge our wounds.
I hope that the day comes when I no longer hear stories how bullying in the church broke people's hearts.
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