A new blog to add to your "check it out" list...

I haven't had much to say lately - wait, no, I've had a lot to say and no time to write. And that's not even accurate - truth is, I'm having a dry spell on writing. It will come back, but it's tough right now.

But I've begun following a very thoughtful blog. It's not a Unitarian Universalist blog. It's called On Being Both. I'd say this blog would be of particular interest to folks involved in interfaith work, and religious education.

Today's post features a long, but beautiful poem.
I highly recommend it... but don't just read the poem. Read on, and on, and on. I especially like the post about her daughter's interfaith identity. Theologian Rita Nakashima Brock, who wrote about interstitial integrity and her own multicultural identity, couldn't have said it better.

Autumn Meditation

I grew up calling this season "fall," but the leaves are mostly still on the trees on this wet and rainy day. A friend mentioned crunching in crunchy leaves the other day - and I fondly remember crunchy leaves from my childhood.

You see, my school was called "Oakwood," which referred to the gigantic oak trees surrounding it. This was a school surrounded by vast stretches of lawn, too. Of course, we had some playground equipment: two teeter-totters (you might have called them seesaws, a word I learned from books), some "monkey bars" to hang from and climb on, a few swings, and a rickety merry-go-round which regularly deposited splinters in hands and legs of me and my fellow students. None of the equipment would pass inspection today - this was long before liability insurance became a major expense in a public school's budget.

Yes, I realize the trees were probably not as big as I remember. They were big enough to drop their crunchy brown leaves all over the school grounds in the fall. Enough leaves to shuffle through, running, and playing tag. Enough leaves to gather in great armloads to stuff down the backs of each other's jackets. Enough leaves to rake into "leaf forts" where one could hide and share secrets with a best friend. Enough leaves to pile into mountains to jump into, scattering them around to gather up and do it all again.

I have fond memories of those leaf piles. I remember being allowed to put on my corduroy pants under my required skirt (no, this was not a parochial school) to play at recess. I remember zipping up my new-for-school fall jacket, and hoping the neckline was tight enough to repel leaves. I remember piling up leaves in a sheltered space at the far edge of the lawn & lying behind it with my best friend, who was the only other girl in my class. I remember getting my first kiss in one of those leaf piles, too.

When my friend mentioned crunchy leaves, I thought of the slippery leaves rapidly decaying in the street where I'd parked the night before - visiting my daughter in a big city. She lives on a street with lots of trees, which shed lots of leaves, which get raked into the gutter where they rot and become mud and eventually wash away into the sewers. And so, the thought of crunchy leaves made me a little sad - I was missing the scents and sounds of fall in this rainy week.

But yesterday afternoon and again this morning I noticed something about leaves in the rain. They look washed - the color on the maples is striking, a soft yellow tinged with green and orange. Impressionist painters strove for just this effect: edges blurring, colors melting into one another, puddles of liquid gold on green carpets. One maple, caught half-undressed, looks like a bright yellow flag with leaves clinging to just one side. The burning bush in my neighbor's yard is aflame with a deep, vivid red. The sedum in the front garden adds an intense shade of purple. Like a fireworks display, nature is offering a grand finale before the truly gray days of winter that begin and end in darkness.

Blessed Be!

Who Says an Atheist Can't Be Spiritual?

This tribute to the late Carl Sagan, and the still-living Steven Hawking, expresses deep awe, wonder and reverence for the natural world. This is my kind of spirituality...
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Freedom Of/From Religion (updated)

Billboard seen in South Carolina last spring

My copy of the Fall, 2009 UU World just arrived this afternoon. Some of my fellow bloggers have already posted their opinions of the full-page color ad for the Freedom from Religion Foundation (FFRF) inside the front cover.

I’m… well, I’m unsurprised. I know this organization. I support its mission to maintain the wall of separation between church and state. Its co-president, Dan Barker, has spoken at my UU church a couple of times – as well as other UU churches in the area. Knowing that Barker has a reputation for being… provocative, I’m not surprised the FFRF uses clever and provocative quotes for bus sign advertising – and you’ve got to admit, they’re catchy. Whoever is responsible for this ad campaign deserves some credit.

Is the ad offensive? Well, I think a few of the quotes are guaranteed to offend someone. I'm bothered by the ad for other reasons.

The quotes in the ad (which can be found here) convey what I consider a “fundamentalist” atheism. These are intelligent people – but they’ve limited their view of God. One of my theology professors calls this “putting God in box,” and warned us against it. This sort of fundamentalism is as offensive to me as religious fundamentalism that claims to know who are saved and who are damned.

These quotes are also negative. “Unpleasant,” “don’t believe,” “ain’t so.” Isn’t that one of the criticisms of our own faith? That many of us find it easier to say what we don’t believe in, than what we do? I’d rather listen to Penn Gillette’s “This I Believe” essay on his non-belief. It is at least clearly stated and rational enough to engage. I think he's also put God in a box, but there's a difference. In a snark-free way Gillette clearly defines what his belief means to him, and it's actually kind of cool.

I'm very interested in interfaith dialogue. I spent a lot of time on internship talking with people who aren't UU, since my supervisor is very involved in local clergy and interfaith groups. I learned a lot by listening, and sharing ideas with people whose beliefs differed from mine. It is far better to begin a dialog from a place of "this is what I think, and why," than from a place of "you couldn't possibly believe something so stupid."

I do like the quote from Katharine Hepburn: “I’m an atheist, and that’s it. I believe that there’s nothing we can know except that we should be kind to each other and do what we can for other people.” Ms. Hepburn’s quote is plain, and not derogatory to others’ views. Again - beginning from "this is what I think."

Several months ago I was in a southern state where I observed the above billboard while driving on the freeway. It gets the point across without being derogatory to others. I know some have been offended by it, but I don't find it so. The FFRF should make a note of it...

UPDATE: After posting this, my DH & I had a long conversation about this ad this morning. We see the basic problem with this ad as being (a) that it's not immediately obvious that the FFRF is not part of the UUA; and (b) that the message gleaned from the quotes is anti-religious, equating religion with theism (and a particular form of theism, as well). The DH and I have different beliefs - but a common faith. We've had this conversation about inclusiveness for theists and nontheists for years. There seems to be no end to it.

For What It's Worth: The UU World's business manager responded to one blogger's direct communication and she posted it here.

And now I'm tired of all this - and just plain tired. I seem to have been taking a blogging holiday unofficially. I'm making it official now. I'm discerning how and whether this blogging thing fits into my ministry. Be back next month, or so.

Katrina Blues

Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast during my seminary orientation week, four years ago. During the days, we were immersed in activities and exercises designed to help us get to know our classmates. In the evenings we gathered at a local pub and watched the images on television in stunned disbelief: people desperately clinging to the roofs of their homes; streets of New Orleans transformed into canals; debris from homes being swept along as the water flowed. As the week went on, the images became more horrific: overcrowded conditions at the Superdome; dead bodies floating in the water or recovered from flooded homes; and makeshift memorials to victims erected after the waters receded. The inequitable ineffectiveness of other government agencies after Katrina ripped apart the meta-narrative of the dominant culture allowed a view of institutional racism and oppression in all its meanness.

This event dominated my first year at seminary as Katrina refugees were offered student housing and shared in our community meals. Our responsibilities as people of faith to speak out on the issues of justice raised by Katrina and its aftermath were discussed in classes and preached on in chapel. My roommate (African American, middle class, and middle-aged) and I (white, middle class now but born to and raised by working class parents, and middle-aged) shared space and stories with each other, finding common ground that led to frank conversations on topics often taboo between the races – topics like prejudice and “passing,” and how we each perceived and experienced (or didn’t experience) institutionalized oppression.

Two summers ago (while I was in the midst of my chaplain internship) my spouse & child went to NOLA to help in the recovery. They demolished 3 homes - removing refrigerators with rotting food in them, washing machines with mildewed laundry, precious possessions left behind in the rush to escape. They also tore down walls, leaving the bare studs - framing - for eventual rehabbing. I wonder if those homes have been rehabbed, or if they are destined to remain abandoned. We will never know.

I know the experience changed them - and the others who went with them. I know the experience of Katrina's aftermath changed this country. It certainly gave me one more measure by which to evaluate candidates in the last presidential election. That was the summer the midwest suffered devastating floods. Two Democratic candidates made speeches about the destruction, one actually visited his home state, rolled up his sleeves and helped fill sandbags. Yeah, it might have been a strategic photo-op. But, still. He did it, and he got my vote.

Anyway, a new class is beginning orientation at my alma mater this week. I'm remembering my orientation week - and the people of New Orleans. I pray the new class will have their own appropriate formative experiences - but not like this. Not at such a cost.

And people still can't go home. Sigh. A blogger I read regularly has posted a musical set, sort of a blues tribute to the survivors of Katrina. You can find it here. "Somebody say yeah..."

The Boy Who Lived

Before Harry Potter there was another “boy who lived.” The metaphor falls apart quickly, but it’s what I thought of when I heard the news this morning.

His name was Edward “Ted” Kennedy. He had three brothers. One died in war. One became president and was assassinated in 1963. One ran for president in 1968 and was assassinated the same year (as was Martin Luther King, Jr.). Ted lived. He was human, he loved, he made mistakes... he also made a lot of good deals that led to good law. And some deals he may have regretted, in the end.

I had a conversation with a philosophy professor friend a few years ago, talking about defining moments in our lives. I observed, as have others, that a defining moment for my generation (I was born near the end of the baby boom) is knowing where one was when President Kennedy was shot. I was in school – first grade. My spouse was also in school – a Catholic grade school – and he remembers the nuns weeping as they dismissed classes early.

So I asked my friend where he was when Kennedy was shot. He smiled and said that raised metaphysical questions he really didn’t want to discuss. Oh. He hadn’t been born yet. What about the other Kennedy, I asked. Same answer.

Now I can ask my friend where he was when he heard that Ted had died. Ted was in the Senate longer than my friend has been alive. Surely he’ll remember.

Rest in Peace, Sen. Ted Kennedy, and thank you for all your years of service.

Have a Happy & Safe Holiday...