A friend sent this to me today in an email with other cute stories of kids and religion: “One particular four-year-old prayed, “And forgive us our trash baskets as we forgive those who put trash in our baskets.”
This one struck me as a wonderful example of how children may interpret something into their own experience and enlighten us poor adults with their truth.
We’ve probably all heard the phrase about our past being baggage that we carry around unnecessarily. I like the imagery of a debt or trespass being trash. One person’s treasure is another’s trash: therefore, something I allow to upset me becomes trash in my basket. Something I dump on another person un-righteously is still my trash and rightfully belongs in my trash basket.
This works ecologically too. I saw a picture today of a landfill where erosion from a massive rainstorm uncovered trash that was probably buried in the 1960 – over 50 years ago. Plastic bags and a tire were still very clearly NOT much degraded by half a century of being underground. Mother Earth, please, please forgive me my trash basket.
And the theme of forgiveness: I think a lot of our unprocessed emotional baggage may be from not having forgiven previous injuries. So if we can do the hard work of forgiveness, we can empty our own trash baskets and quit putting trash in others’ bins. No recycling of old hurts needed or wanted. Just clean up.
Ah, if it were just this easy. Forgive us our trash baskets as we forgive those who put trash in our baskets. Out of the mouth of babes…straight into g-d’s ear, please and thank you.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Friday, October 14, 2011
The names have been changed...
Once upon a time there was a child named Kelly. Kelly really liked doing all kinds of things, whether drawing flowers and birds and oceans or fixing wooden boxes and frames, mowing the lawn or chasing butterflies and even pulling weeds.
Kelly studied music: clarinet, bass clarinet, flute, oboe, guitar, tenor saxophone; classical and jazz (and a little rock & roll). Kelly ran track, low hurdles, high jump, swimming and gymnastics, tennis, volleyball, bicycling, skateboarding and riding motorcycles.
In school, Kelly excelled in math, music, chemistry, languages and literature.
As a teen ager, Kelly thought Donna Summers was the sexiest person alive and Peter Tork and Mike Nesmyth were the nicest rock & rollers around. OK, so Kelly was a bit warped – Kelly admired talent more than looks (although Donna Summers certainly had and still has both) and didn’t suffer fools gladly.
Kelly’s parents taught the neighborhood kids, including Kelly, how to cook and how to make a mitre box and the best ways to climb trees and also how to fall without cracking a bone. It was a pretty good, all-around childhood.
As Kelly grew up, similar activities filled Kelly’s time and life. Kelly had a series of long-term, loving relationships and even helped raise a child or three. At one point, Kelly was living alone and decided to get back to motorcycling. After taking a class to remember how to ride (and finding out how much motorcycles had changed in the past 40 years), Kelly bought a beautiful, big, powerful motorcycle and began riding at every possible chance. Because it was easier, Kelly had short hair, but liking being a bit different (and maybe being a bit of a hippie, had a long ponytail in the back.
Returning from a nice, long ride one day, one of the other riders told Kelly, “You ride pretty well.” Kelly was pleased to hear the complement, but wondered if Kris told all the other riders similar things. The next time Kelly and Kris were on a ride together, Kris told Kelly, “Riding with you is just like riding with the guys.”
Now Kelly was confused. What did gender have to do with motorcycle riding? But being raised to be polite, Kelly simply said, “Thank you,” and wondered. Kelly rode competently, shared costs fairly and listened and took part in conversations just like everyone else seemed to do.
Kelly was looking forward to being a minister after retiring from selling insurance, and was trying to figure out how to fit motorcycling and golf and surfing into a minister’s schedule. Kelly wondered if the same type of gender-biased comments would be made on the golf course or in the church? Being less than 6-foot tall didn’t mean Kelly was a woman, just as being good at math didn't mean Kelly was a man.
Kelly decided to ignore the weird genderized comment and continued riding every day and living the best life possible, as just Kelly, "the art-loving, musical, motorcycling ministerial duffer."
Kelly studied music: clarinet, bass clarinet, flute, oboe, guitar, tenor saxophone; classical and jazz (and a little rock & roll). Kelly ran track, low hurdles, high jump, swimming and gymnastics, tennis, volleyball, bicycling, skateboarding and riding motorcycles.
In school, Kelly excelled in math, music, chemistry, languages and literature.
As a teen ager, Kelly thought Donna Summers was the sexiest person alive and Peter Tork and Mike Nesmyth were the nicest rock & rollers around. OK, so Kelly was a bit warped – Kelly admired talent more than looks (although Donna Summers certainly had and still has both) and didn’t suffer fools gladly.
Kelly’s parents taught the neighborhood kids, including Kelly, how to cook and how to make a mitre box and the best ways to climb trees and also how to fall without cracking a bone. It was a pretty good, all-around childhood.
As Kelly grew up, similar activities filled Kelly’s time and life. Kelly had a series of long-term, loving relationships and even helped raise a child or three. At one point, Kelly was living alone and decided to get back to motorcycling. After taking a class to remember how to ride (and finding out how much motorcycles had changed in the past 40 years), Kelly bought a beautiful, big, powerful motorcycle and began riding at every possible chance. Because it was easier, Kelly had short hair, but liking being a bit different (and maybe being a bit of a hippie, had a long ponytail in the back.
Returning from a nice, long ride one day, one of the other riders told Kelly, “You ride pretty well.” Kelly was pleased to hear the complement, but wondered if Kris told all the other riders similar things. The next time Kelly and Kris were on a ride together, Kris told Kelly, “Riding with you is just like riding with the guys.”
Now Kelly was confused. What did gender have to do with motorcycle riding? But being raised to be polite, Kelly simply said, “Thank you,” and wondered. Kelly rode competently, shared costs fairly and listened and took part in conversations just like everyone else seemed to do.
Kelly was looking forward to being a minister after retiring from selling insurance, and was trying to figure out how to fit motorcycling and golf and surfing into a minister’s schedule. Kelly wondered if the same type of gender-biased comments would be made on the golf course or in the church? Being less than 6-foot tall didn’t mean Kelly was a woman, just as being good at math didn't mean Kelly was a man.
Kelly decided to ignore the weird genderized comment and continued riding every day and living the best life possible, as just Kelly, "the art-loving, musical, motorcycling ministerial duffer."
Friday, July 22, 2011
Love thy neighbor
I like this photo - and don't give me any stuff about loving the person and hating the sin. Hate is a very strong emotion. I hope you never experience it.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
One reason for a UU Easter celebration
Unitarian Universalists are often accused of ignoring thorny (yes, an Easter-week pun) theological questions. Those of us who seek professional ministerial standing must be able to answer these and defend our answers to the credentialing committees. I will confess that it is difficult to find discussion partners that don’t rely solely on the Bible since I graduated seminary. (And because I attended a Methodist seminary, it was sometimes difficult to find those discussion partners there.) But in order to be theologically sound, we must find our answers to questions such as “What is sin?” and “What is reconciliation?”
And this time of year, one has to wonder why does a UU celebrate Easter? What are we really celebrating? A friend shared this with me in her email recently:
"I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic/and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short/and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish/or not wear nail polish
and she said honey - she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly/what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph/my letters
Sweetcakes God said - who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is/Yes Yes Yes"
"God Says Yes To Me" by Kaylin Haught, from The Palm of Your Hand
In the way of serendipity, that was in my head while, in response to a Trinitarian challenge to Universalist thought, I responded today with the following:
"Not identifying as a Christian, I approach theological questions from a systematic point of view. The version of Christianity that seems most logical to me would be a version of process theology wherein sin would be that which alienates or breaks relationship and all-that-is is ever desirous of closer connection with all entities. This then would be a "universalist" view, as an entity can never be separated from all-that-is.
Admittedly, I am not Trinitarian nor Christian as most Christians would define it. I encourage respectful exploration. Thanks for inviting me to deeper thought today. Blessings to you and your readers."
I don’t talk to any being that might be identified as a god/God/Goddess, nor does that type of entity speak to me (that I am aware of). However, I do believe in being in right relation with others and the world and the universe. This ties in with my definition of sin, above. Reconciliation then comes as a result of improving relationships.
If Easter is, in the Christian Church, a celebration of reconciliation with God, then I, as a good non-Christian Unitarian Universalist, can celebrate a day dedicated to improving relationships with the world and my kith, kin and others. In fact, this is why I participate in Communion at churches with an “open table,” such as that celebrated by my dear friend Mary Jo at All Peoples Christian Church. Anything that promotes peace between living beings is worthy of celebrating in as many ways as we can.
May your celebrations bring you peace and joy, in whatever form they take.
And this time of year, one has to wonder why does a UU celebrate Easter? What are we really celebrating? A friend shared this with me in her email recently:
"I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic/and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short/and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish/or not wear nail polish
and she said honey - she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly/what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph/my letters
Sweetcakes God said - who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is/Yes Yes Yes"
"God Says Yes To Me" by Kaylin Haught, from The Palm of Your Hand
In the way of serendipity, that was in my head while, in response to a Trinitarian challenge to Universalist thought, I responded today with the following:
"Not identifying as a Christian, I approach theological questions from a systematic point of view. The version of Christianity that seems most logical to me would be a version of process theology wherein sin would be that which alienates or breaks relationship and all-that-is is ever desirous of closer connection with all entities. This then would be a "universalist" view, as an entity can never be separated from all-that-is.
Admittedly, I am not Trinitarian nor Christian as most Christians would define it. I encourage respectful exploration. Thanks for inviting me to deeper thought today. Blessings to you and your readers."
I don’t talk to any being that might be identified as a god/God/Goddess, nor does that type of entity speak to me (that I am aware of). However, I do believe in being in right relation with others and the world and the universe. This ties in with my definition of sin, above. Reconciliation then comes as a result of improving relationships.
If Easter is, in the Christian Church, a celebration of reconciliation with God, then I, as a good non-Christian Unitarian Universalist, can celebrate a day dedicated to improving relationships with the world and my kith, kin and others. In fact, this is why I participate in Communion at churches with an “open table,” such as that celebrated by my dear friend Mary Jo at All Peoples Christian Church. Anything that promotes peace between living beings is worthy of celebrating in as many ways as we can.
May your celebrations bring you peace and joy, in whatever form they take.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Why we hope
2011 Feb 25
I’m one of the lucky ones. I have documentation that I am a citizen of this United States of (North) America. I have a full time job. I have medical insurance. I have a retirement plan. I had parents who were considerate enough to die with money left over to leave to me and my brother (and who were nice enough to let me be born white and middle class). I own property. I have a college degree. I truly am lucky.
Next week I have the opportunity to experience “day-surgery” at my local HMO hospital. I have used this privilege before, and don’t have too many qualms about this upcoming opportunity. If all goes as hoped for, I’ll be out of work around a week (bless you scientists and pharmacists who have made pain killers readily available).
I am lucky. I live in the US of (North) A, and employed full time at a job where I have reasonably good medical benefits. I am having surgery that is technically elective, in that it is correcting something that more of a nuisance and is not currently life-threatening. Nonetheless, there is an easily identifiable medical need and I didn’t have to negotiate with my healthcare provider nor my employer. I am indeed lucky.
When all is said and done, my out-of-pocket expenses for this surgery will be around $100, plus some mileage and, if I am really looking at all of the expenses, a day of minimum wage for my good friend who will drive me to and from the hospital, and stay there for the anticipated five hours duration. So, call it $200 out-of-pocket for me.
Of course, I pay several hundred dollars a month for the insurance, and my employer also pays several hundred dollars a month towards the insurance premium. Oh yes, then there is the Family Medical Leave Act and short-term disability insurance that will pay the difference between my salary and the disability payment. For ease of discussion, let's call that around a thousand dollars. And let’s see, the average daily cost of a hospital stay in Southern California is $20,000. Now we’re talking more than chump change or pocket money. (Note to self, medical costs are the leading cause of personal bankruptcy filings in the US.)
I have a few thousand dollars of credit card debt, a mortgage, and am supporting two households on my salary. I have some inherited funds that are fairly liquid that I choose not to access, and part ownership of two dwellings. I also have a small defined pension plan and a relatively small 401 (k) plan. So, if push came to very hard shove, I could pay for my medical costs for this surgery.
But I am one of the lucky ones. I was born white in the US to middle class parents. I was able to go to college, and actually have bachelors and masters degrees. I have a full time job and a retirement plan.
But what if I weren’t white? What if my parents didn’t value education as much as they did? What if I had been in a different division and got “down-sized” a few years ago? What if my mother and father weren’t frugal and allowed me to inherit what I think of as a small fortune? If I didn’t have Mom’s cash still in the bank, and didn’t have insurance, I would not be able to have this surgery. The medical problem would continue and probably grow worse, causing me more and more pain, and ultimately, probably causing a painful and disgusting death within a few short years.
What are the societal costs of my earlier-than-expected death? Would my son be able to go to college? Probably not. Would my son inherit any property or cash? Probably not. This is the downward spiral that many of us are facing. And I’m one of the lucky ones: one with a job, papers and insurance.
What if I were like my high-school boyfriend: green-card immigrant with not even a high-school education; living on playing piano at bars and dealing drugs to put food on his mother’s table?
Or my college professor friend, whose husband was denied a green-card, leaving her to give birth to their son thousands of miles apart from him, and raising him on her own until she could find another job closer to his home?
Even as I take advantage of my privilege, I worry about those who have less. My religion (Unitarian Universalist) requires me to live my truth: to put my money, time and talent where my mouth is. This is (in my not-so-humble opinion) the purpose of religions – to cause us to act for the greater good; to create a better place here on earth; to remind us to be humble and grateful for what we have and to share so that others may also live.
We Unitarian Universalists have a program called Standing on the Side of Love which calls us to be prophetic voices (and non-anxious presences) for justice in this world. This is the reason for unions, for protest marches, for all prophetic witness in this world. This is the reason we have hope: that someone loves the world enough to stand up for someone they don’t know yet. Together we can change the world and create a better place for all of us. Even if we aren’t white, middle-class Americans.
I’m one of the lucky ones. I have documentation that I am a citizen of this United States of (North) America. I have a full time job. I have medical insurance. I have a retirement plan. I had parents who were considerate enough to die with money left over to leave to me and my brother (and who were nice enough to let me be born white and middle class). I own property. I have a college degree. I truly am lucky.
Next week I have the opportunity to experience “day-surgery” at my local HMO hospital. I have used this privilege before, and don’t have too many qualms about this upcoming opportunity. If all goes as hoped for, I’ll be out of work around a week (bless you scientists and pharmacists who have made pain killers readily available).
I am lucky. I live in the US of (North) A, and employed full time at a job where I have reasonably good medical benefits. I am having surgery that is technically elective, in that it is correcting something that more of a nuisance and is not currently life-threatening. Nonetheless, there is an easily identifiable medical need and I didn’t have to negotiate with my healthcare provider nor my employer. I am indeed lucky.
When all is said and done, my out-of-pocket expenses for this surgery will be around $100, plus some mileage and, if I am really looking at all of the expenses, a day of minimum wage for my good friend who will drive me to and from the hospital, and stay there for the anticipated five hours duration. So, call it $200 out-of-pocket for me.
Of course, I pay several hundred dollars a month for the insurance, and my employer also pays several hundred dollars a month towards the insurance premium. Oh yes, then there is the Family Medical Leave Act and short-term disability insurance that will pay the difference between my salary and the disability payment. For ease of discussion, let's call that around a thousand dollars. And let’s see, the average daily cost of a hospital stay in Southern California is $20,000. Now we’re talking more than chump change or pocket money. (Note to self, medical costs are the leading cause of personal bankruptcy filings in the US.)
I have a few thousand dollars of credit card debt, a mortgage, and am supporting two households on my salary. I have some inherited funds that are fairly liquid that I choose not to access, and part ownership of two dwellings. I also have a small defined pension plan and a relatively small 401 (k) plan. So, if push came to very hard shove, I could pay for my medical costs for this surgery.
But I am one of the lucky ones. I was born white in the US to middle class parents. I was able to go to college, and actually have bachelors and masters degrees. I have a full time job and a retirement plan.
But what if I weren’t white? What if my parents didn’t value education as much as they did? What if I had been in a different division and got “down-sized” a few years ago? What if my mother and father weren’t frugal and allowed me to inherit what I think of as a small fortune? If I didn’t have Mom’s cash still in the bank, and didn’t have insurance, I would not be able to have this surgery. The medical problem would continue and probably grow worse, causing me more and more pain, and ultimately, probably causing a painful and disgusting death within a few short years.
What are the societal costs of my earlier-than-expected death? Would my son be able to go to college? Probably not. Would my son inherit any property or cash? Probably not. This is the downward spiral that many of us are facing. And I’m one of the lucky ones: one with a job, papers and insurance.
What if I were like my high-school boyfriend: green-card immigrant with not even a high-school education; living on playing piano at bars and dealing drugs to put food on his mother’s table?
Or my college professor friend, whose husband was denied a green-card, leaving her to give birth to their son thousands of miles apart from him, and raising him on her own until she could find another job closer to his home?
Even as I take advantage of my privilege, I worry about those who have less. My religion (Unitarian Universalist) requires me to live my truth: to put my money, time and talent where my mouth is. This is (in my not-so-humble opinion) the purpose of religions – to cause us to act for the greater good; to create a better place here on earth; to remind us to be humble and grateful for what we have and to share so that others may also live.
We Unitarian Universalists have a program called Standing on the Side of Love which calls us to be prophetic voices (and non-anxious presences) for justice in this world. This is the reason for unions, for protest marches, for all prophetic witness in this world. This is the reason we have hope: that someone loves the world enough to stand up for someone they don’t know yet. Together we can change the world and create a better place for all of us. Even if we aren’t white, middle-class Americans.
Friday, November 19, 2010
To live as myself
19 November 2010
To live as myself…
Tomorrow is the National Transgender Day of Remembrance. I just read (to myself) the over 129 names of Transgender people (or their allies if killed with or while supporting Transgender issues). I read a brief statement of a young man in which he discussed his difficulties in gender changing while at a women’s college and in trying to travel and get a job when his “official documents” indicate one gender and he presents as a different one.
To live as myself…
I was fairly lucky in birth: white, Anglo-Saxon even (if the “Anglos” and “Saxons” accept Irish as human yet), working class. I am a woman born into a female body. I always had food and my parents always had a home for me while I was growing up in Southern California. Yes, my options may have been broader had my parents raised me to value money differently or pushed me into a “better” college, or even if I had been genetically able to be a tall man. So although the circumstances of my birth could have been more auspicious, overall, I have had a better chance at life than most of the rest of the world.
To live as myself…
One of the immediate things that caught my attention in reading the list of Transgender people/Allies who died in the past 364 days was how many died in Brazil. Almost every month, at least half of those murdered were killed in Brazil. In looking at the CIA’s website of information about Brazil, it compares in many ways with the USA. Most people claim a form of protestant or Roman Catholic religious preference, the top 2 consumers of cocaine. Brazil is the leading economic power in South America, and USA claims to be the leading economic power in North America. Nothing stands out to me as a reason for the higher transgender murder rate. (Not that there should be a reason to kill transgender people at all.)
To live as myself…
I understand that living as one’s self is a privilege of being a member of the dominant culture. When people ask me why I work for LGBT justice, I tell them, “Because I can and I must.” When I read these 179 names (think about it, one transgender person or ally was murdered every other day), I am glad that I was born who I am and that I can live as myself, without the fear that I will be murdered for my gender identity.
To live with myself…
I grieve for those whose lives ended brutally early, because of their transgender identity or their support for transgender people or because someone thought they exhibited signs of a “different” gender. To live with myself, I have to work for more and better justice. To quote Gustavo Gutierrez, “Without justice, there can be no peace.” I urge you to take a moment (or three, they’re free after all) to consider these 179 people, their families and friends and friends of friends. Take a breath and wipe your tears away. Now, think, “What must I do to live with myself?”
To live as myself…
Tomorrow is the National Transgender Day of Remembrance. I just read (to myself) the over 129 names of Transgender people (or their allies if killed with or while supporting Transgender issues). I read a brief statement of a young man in which he discussed his difficulties in gender changing while at a women’s college and in trying to travel and get a job when his “official documents” indicate one gender and he presents as a different one.
To live as myself…
I was fairly lucky in birth: white, Anglo-Saxon even (if the “Anglos” and “Saxons” accept Irish as human yet), working class. I am a woman born into a female body. I always had food and my parents always had a home for me while I was growing up in Southern California. Yes, my options may have been broader had my parents raised me to value money differently or pushed me into a “better” college, or even if I had been genetically able to be a tall man. So although the circumstances of my birth could have been more auspicious, overall, I have had a better chance at life than most of the rest of the world.
To live as myself…
One of the immediate things that caught my attention in reading the list of Transgender people/Allies who died in the past 364 days was how many died in Brazil. Almost every month, at least half of those murdered were killed in Brazil. In looking at the CIA’s website of information about Brazil, it compares in many ways with the USA. Most people claim a form of protestant or Roman Catholic religious preference, the top 2 consumers of cocaine. Brazil is the leading economic power in South America, and USA claims to be the leading economic power in North America. Nothing stands out to me as a reason for the higher transgender murder rate. (Not that there should be a reason to kill transgender people at all.)
To live as myself…
I understand that living as one’s self is a privilege of being a member of the dominant culture. When people ask me why I work for LGBT justice, I tell them, “Because I can and I must.” When I read these 179 names (think about it, one transgender person or ally was murdered every other day), I am glad that I was born who I am and that I can live as myself, without the fear that I will be murdered for my gender identity.
To live with myself…
I grieve for those whose lives ended brutally early, because of their transgender identity or their support for transgender people or because someone thought they exhibited signs of a “different” gender. To live with myself, I have to work for more and better justice. To quote Gustavo Gutierrez, “Without justice, there can be no peace.” I urge you to take a moment (or three, they’re free after all) to consider these 179 people, their families and friends and friends of friends. Take a breath and wipe your tears away. Now, think, “What must I do to live with myself?”
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