Resources from Platform - "Don't Worry, Be Happy!"

A member of WES asked today if I would share some of the resources I drew on for this morning's platform, called "Don't Worry, Be Happy!" and addressing the human experience of anxiety and the many different ways that religion tries to relieve us of anxiety.

So...sure! I looked at a lot of sources for this platform, because I wanted to offer a taste of many religious traditions' approaches. I drew from Matthew 6:28-34 in the New Testament, and from the Book of Job and Ecclesiastes in the Hebrew Bible. Both of those traditions, it seemed to me, invited people to see themselves as part of the much larger universe, and to search for a sense of trust as well.

Then I looked at Buddhism and Taoism, drawing especially from the Tao Te Ching in a great translation by Stephen Mitchell. I found so much wisdom in the Tao Te Ching; two phrases that especially resonated were "The Master stays behind; that is why she is ahead. She is detached from all things; that is why she is one with them. Because she has let go of herself, she is perfectly fulfilled.” and “Fill your bowl to the brim and it will spill. Keep sharpening your knife and it will blunt. Chase after money and security and your heart will never unclench. Care about people’s approval and you will be their prisoner. Do your work, then step back. The only path to serenity.” These traditions call us to let go of the need for control and to try to experience ourselves as both separate from and somehow also one with the whole universe.

At the very end of platform I quoted from Roger Walsh, a psychologist who wrote a really practical (think workbook) guide to spirituality that can appeal to many different theological viewpoints.

So there you have it! Some of what I drew on for this morning's platform. But what I REALLY want to know is what you think about it. How do you deal with anxiety in your life? What practices, resources, and ideas do you have to share?

Who's In Your Family?

You know those family stickers people put on the back of their cars? You can get a little mother, little father, kid playing soccer, baby, even your dog and cat. I find them entertaining to look at while I'm stuck in traffic.

But they get me thinking about how we define family, who we put up there on the back of our car. My daughter, when talking about her family, sometimes includes her grandparents and her cousins, and always includes our cat Mara, who died two years ago. Those people would not all fit in our car, and it would be really bad if we toted around a deceased animal. But in some way that is clear to her, they are part of our family...and I guarantee that if we had family car stickers they'd need to be up there.

So what makes up a family? The people who drive in our vehicle? Our children, grown up and moved away? The friends who join us every year for Thanksgiving? How about single people--they may be the primary person in their car, but their sense of family surely includes folks who don't happen to drive around with them all the time. Who would you need to include in your family stickers?

Fear and Courage

I often say the best platforms are conversations--and this morning a member of WES shared a comment with me during coffee hour that I wanted to keep thinking about and share with you.

First, she had a great quote which basically sums up part of my platform. It's attributable to Susan Jeffers: "Feel the fear and do it anyway." Love it when seven words say what I took 15 minutes to get around to!

But more, I loved what this person said next. She thought--and I agree--that what we're talking about when we talk about being scared and doing it anyway is really courage. Courage is so often seen as getting past fear or being brave without fear, but I think it's much more about experiencing fear and standing up, moving forward, taking a challenge on anyway.

What do you think? What do fear and courage mean for you?

Waving in the Rear-view Mirror

Apparently I do most of my philosophical musings in the car, because here's another post about traffic.

Or perhaps it's not philosophical musings, it's really just moments of annoyance. Although I don't have a terrible commute, it does have the usual hassles of people cutting me off, or zipping over the one-way bridge when I'm clearly the next in line, or obliviously not pulling forward when there's a lot of space in front of them and it would make the traffic pattern so much better.

Ahem.

Why do these things drive me so crazy? They're hardly major transgressions, and I imagine the people doing them are just not aware, or late to pick up a child, or any other number of very reasonable excuses.

I think the trick is that I have to imagine, though...that I don't have a chance to ask the people driving, or really to have a relationship with them at all. We're so much more able to forgive transgressions--large and small--when we have a solid relationship with the person transgressing. And we're better able to understand the context and realize that perhaps it's not a transgression after all!

All of this is what makes me an avid rear-view mirror waver. I wave when I'm let in to a line of traffic, or when I accidentally cut someone off and I'm sorry, or really anytime when I feel a tiny bit of relationship building might be helpful. Want to join me in my waving campaign?

Don't Forget the Good News

For the past few weeks, my daily commute has taken me past a house with ever-increasing signs in the yard: cat missing! White Himalyan lost! Please call! Reward! Even their minivan had its windows covered in pleas to call them with information. Like anyone, I've felt bad for the folks who lost their cat, especially one they obviously cared so much about.

Today as I drove in to work, I saw a new sign. "Cat found!" it read, "through Craigslist!"

First of all, it was nice to hear about something good happening on Craigslist. But even more, it was nice to hear about something good happening for the cat people--to hear the very happy end of the story. It made me think about the many times that we share only the bad parts of stories, and forget to fill people in on the good.

This happens online, especially. Who writes in to say that a doctor's office wait time was pretty reasonable? Or that the TSA employee was very nice, all things considered? In our personal lives, too, we all have that friend that we complain to about our (fill in the blank: mother, co-worker, neighbor, spouse). Do we also call them up to say that today that person was completely normal and actually rather considerate?

I'm pledging to remember to tell the good news, the happy endings. To post signs letting all the commuters know that the cat was found.

Justice work by day

Last night I was privileged to share the invocation--with a local rabbi--at a candlelight vigil with DC Vote. Six members of WES joined me there, and whttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gife all stood in witness as budget negotiations took place in the White House, budget negotiations that will almost surely include riders on the DC budget from congresspeople whose districts are nowhere near our city.

Like this vigil, much of my justice work occurs at night and is part of the ongoing work of the Washington Ethical Society; that is, it involves lay leaders and the whole community is invited to take part. But sometimes I do justice work by day, showing up at a council hearing or a clergy gathering to speak my mind.

I wanted to share with you some daytime justice work I did a couple of weeks ago, when I spoke at a DC Council hearing about hate crimes. The incidence of hate crimes against members of the transgendered community has risen sharply in DC, and the violence is tragic and disturbing. Here is my testimony, from the Human Rights Campaign blog.

My favorite part of Sunday...

I spoke this past Sunday about what it is that we're "doing" on Sunday morning--about why we gather. As usual, my favorite part of the platform is hearing everyone's responses, either during Community Sharing or afterward during coffee hour. And as usual, the responses were all different.

Actually, I think they were especially different this week, and that has me thinking about the very different things we bring to--and take away from--our Sunday morning experiences together. I know some WES members and visitors come for the music, while others far prefer the meditation. Some wish we had the greeting of one another for much longer, and others find that time awkward. Some can't wait to hear from everyone during community sharing, while others would rather slip out at the beginning of that segment. Some love the platform address best of all...but they're divided about whether they like it when we talk about intellectual and philosophical issues or about social justice issues of the day or about pastoral concerns.

In other words, we are a diverse bunch of people, and nowhere is this more clear than in our reactions to various elements of Sunday morning. Still, we keep coming together. What does all this diversity mean for us? Should we expect to like every part of Sunday morning, every Sunday morning? What is the point of Sunday morning, and does it have to do with enjoyment at all?

I'd love to hear from WES folks about these questions, and maybe find some times for us to talk about them in person. What do you all think?

Seeking Justice

I'm teaching a class at WES right now on humanism in world religions--although the best part of this particular class is the side discussions we get into! At the very end of our last session we started talking about the human need for justice. Not "social justice" kind of justice but "you ran that red light you ought to get a speeding ticket" justice. We were thinking about how many religions offer justice in the next life (as in reincarnation and the karmic system) or in a place beyond life (as in the heaven and hell model).


For those of us who don't subscribe to either of those systems...what do we DO with our very human, very real need to imagine that there's justice in the world? Not just for people who run red lights, but for people who do really terrible things. Or for really great people who seem to catch bad, or even tragic, breaks in life.

I wonder if the answer isn't in our internal experience of the world. When I see a really terrible driver, running red lights and refusing to stop for people in the crosswalks, I imagine that they must not be a particularly happy person. Have they already created their own hell? And is that kind of justice enough? Or, even if it's not enough, is it all we get?

Plenty of questions...post some thoughts of your own!

Occupy DC - The Beginning of a Reflection

I've been thinking about the Occupy DC (and sister) movements. I got a chance to visit Freedom Plaza when marching for voting rights last weekend. And it preparation for my platform this Sunday, I've been doing a lot of reading about the national movement--what it wants, what it means, what it tells us about America.

The movement will just be a small part of Sunday's platform, but I have a feeling I'll be thinking more about it in the weeks and months to come. In the meantime, I wanted to share the blog of a WES member who spent a night camping in Freedom Plaza this past week.

Somehow as I think about this I keep coming back to something a college friend said. From a former Soviet Socialist Republic, Irina was a tiny person with a strong accent and a very different experience in the world. As we talked about politics in America, she pointed out that eventually Americans could change the system. "If they don't have enough bread," she said, "they will revolt."

At the time I thought she just didn't understand how America worked, that I couldn't quite see the revolution for bread happening here. Now I wonder if she wasn't just ahead of her time.

Changing Like the Leaves

This seems to be the week that all the trees are suddenly changing color. Everywhere I turn, there's a burst of orange, a flame of red to greet me.

My daughter asked me the other day how the leaves change color, and I realized I didn't know. So we trooped off to the library to look for a book that would tell us, and found a great one that follows a tree's lifespan.

It turns out that leaves change color because, as sun becomes more scarce, they are no longer able to make the chlorophyll that gives them the vibrant green. As the green disappears, we see the oranges, reds, and browns that were already present in the leaf--but masked by the overpowering color of chlorophyll. This was a revelation to me, the idea that those deep and beautiful colors are already in the leaf, hidden away but waiting for their moment to appear. It gave me an interesting way of thinking about change, that sometimes we are not acquiring something new but rather allowing what was always there to come to light.

It made me wonder: what colors do we hold inside ourselves, masked by the green, waiting to show themselves?

Mourning Our Innovators

I've been thinking a lot about why so many of us have been affected by Steve Jobs' death. I had a moment of real sadness and shock when I saw the headline, and Facebook lit up that day with people's reactions to his death. Of course any death is sad, but why are we--who didn't know him--so sad?

I can tell you the answer doesn't have to do with how much we like our ipods. Or not exactly, anyway. My sense is that one reason we mourn people like Steve Jobs so deeply is that we are aware of how special he was; we know he was an innovator, a creator, on a scale that we don't see just every day. Just like Wangari Maathai, the Kenyan creator of the Greenbelt movement who also died recently, Steve Jobs was a rare human being.

And somehow, there is something human about us that instinctively recognizes that rarity, that celebrates their place as part of humanity--as giving to humanity in a particular way. Paradoxically, their celebrity in this case is really about our connection to them as fellow human beings, ones that we know have particularly contributed to our humanness writ large.

Apology Accepted?

My daughter goes to a Jewish preschool (sort of by accident--we loved the preschool and then realized it was Jewish), so of course she's been learning a little bit about Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Featured prominently is a song called "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm really really sorry." I heard her singing this at home and thought...oh great, another way for her to get out of doing the right thing.

Wait, what?! That's right, I am annoyed by my daughter saying sorry so much. She's great at apologizing, and I often find myself thinking (and sometimes saying) "Well, it's nice to apologize, but it would be better not to do the bad thing in the first place."

But how does this parenting experience resonate with my broader belief in the power of apology, and in the possibility of redemption? Does it all fall apart when I'm called on to actually walk the walk with a three year old?

I think the answer is found in what can, or should, accompany an apology. The times when I get frustrated are when I observe my daughter repeating the same behavior without trying to change it...and thinking that it's all right if she just apologizes afterward. So the solution, I think, is in the extent to which we are open to actually changing our behavior, to transformation. Mary, the other clergyperson at the Washington Ethical Society, gave a great platform about transformation last Sunday. And it turns out that the song my daughter learned has the idea embedded in it: the last verse goes "I won't do that again."

Apologies are wonderful. Transformations are even better. Here's hoping for both of them in all our lives.

Good News: Good for the Body and the Soul

Need a lift? Check out this New York Times series on simple advances in health around the world.

I just love stories like this; they are somehow both remarkable and totally unremarkable. And beyond all else, they remind me of how many people spend their lives working to make things a little better for others. Imagine all the folks who contributed to each of these health advances, and will continue to do so. There is something in us that yearns to be of use to humanity. These are great examples.

Reflections on the DADT Repeal

My, it's nice to get good news sometimes, isn't it? I'm celebrating the repeal of DADT today...and thinking about one of my favorite phrases (from UU minister Theodore Parker, and then rephrased by Martin Luther King Jr.): the arc of the universe is long but it bends toward justice.

Some days, like today, I think that must be true. Other days I'm not so sure. As the income gap in America widens and more people are worse off than their parents, I have my moments of despair.

I think there are two things I hold onto. First, although the universe might actually bend in lots of directions, not always toward justice, I am heartened by the fact that what we celebrate, in the moment and years or decades later, is the justice bending. Something in the human psyche can see that this is the right way to bend...something yearns for goodness, as Adler said.

And that's part of the other piece. Whether or not the universe bends toward justice, or frankly whether or not it bends at all, I choose to live my life as though it does...and as though I must be part of that bending, to help it along.

Today it feels as though we've rounded a corner. So, at least for a moment, the bending feels true enough.

America, Land of Persecution?

A couple years ago, I started out the WES year with a platform address about whether we were a secular nation or a Christian one. Then, and still now, I was struck by the number of people who thought we were entirely one or the other: the Christians who went on TV to complain about how the entire nation was becoming horribly secular, the atheists who sued various groups in complaint of the overwhelming and inappropriate Christianization of America. Surely, I thought, America can't be both too secular and too Christian?

When I spoke about this two years ago, I tried to explore what made us secular and what made us Christian, and how Ethical Culture--with its emphasis on diverse beliefs and united action--could bridge the differences. But I'm thinking now that I was barking up the wrong tree.

Because it's almost as if we want to be justified in thinking we're in the minority, want to be the persecuted party. You never hear a secularist talking about all the ways our society is secular, or a Christian noticing that there really is a lot of Christianity around. I guarantee that December will find the Christian pundits railing against the war on Christmas and the secularists writing long diatribes against the fact that you can't escape Christmas. I'm not saying individuals and groups don't experience persecution--they certainly do, at times--but I don't think it's ever quite as bad as the pundits would argue.

So my question today is--what is it about us that wants to be persecuted? Do we get points somewhere for being the most put upon? Is it just media hype and sensationalism? Or is there something deeper at work, something about American society and the appeal of being the victim? What do you think?

Mama Mindfulness

There are really only two ways to hold a baby.

First, you can devote your whole mind and body to the holding, cradling and bouncing the baby, inhaling her scent and gazing at her little dimpled knees. Or, you bounce and jiggle and rock while you're scanning the newspaper, or talking on the phone, or trying to listen to your spouse, or your other child, or the radio. If you're really talented, you can bounce and rock while checking email or reading a book (having a Kindle helps--much easier to turn pages with one finger).

The truth is that most of the time, both ways work just fine. A relatively happy baby doesn't mind that much if you are also reading the newspaper while you cuddle him. But just wait for the baby to turn sad--or hungry, or tired, or otherwise cranky--and you will find that there is suddenly only one way to hold a baby. I've never yet successfully calmed a fussy baby while also checking email.

As I ease back into my professional life, while still spending most of my time with my now 8-week old, I'm aware of how tempting it is to try to do everything at once. To check email while talking on the phone, to surf the net while watching TV. I've even tried multitasking meditation: surely I can get in a workout while doing a walking meditation and occasionally checking my cell for text messages?

Just like a baby, a happy and smooth day allows us to do a certain amount of multitasking. But when life gets rough, we need to drop the phone and let go of the newspaper and just calm the baby, or ourselves; just attend to the person in front of us, or the email that needs answering.

So here's to the times when we can do it all, and the times when we can do just one thing, but do it well.

Monogamy: Truth and Lies

The New York Times has a great article in this weekend's magazine about infidelity, monogamy, and what marriages are for. For me, it picked up on a lot of pieces that I explored last February, in a platform address I gave called "Ethical Sex." In the address, I wondered about what makes sex ethical: is it a covenant between two people, unbroken over years? Or is it about the respect and caring brought to the relationship, whether that relationship lasts decades or one night?

The NYTimes piece opens up the possibility that non-monogamy--rather than unsuccessful monogamy (which would be referred to as cheating)--might be a valid choice for some married couples. It also explores, though, what happens when someone does cheat, and what a strong marriage's reaction could be. The basic idea is that marriage is about stability, about creating stable families, not about two people being everything for each other for all time...and not about saying to heck with the stability offered if one of the partners isn't faithful.

Of course I was especially interested in two references to clergy in the article, and the preparation they do (or don't) offer to couples before marriage. I've changed my own pre-marital spiel to include some conversation about how fidelity is important--but can mean different things to different couples. I encourage couples to talk about and explore what it means to them, and to be aware of how it might change over time.

But I haven't specifically talked about betrayal--whether it's romantic or sexual, as in this article, or some other kind of betrayal--and the importance for married couples to see the value of the relationship as the higher good. I'm no advocate of staying in horrible marriages, of course, but I do agree with Dan Savage (the columnist highlighted in the article) that forgiveness is as important a value in a marriage as fidelity.

So maybe I should be asking the hopeful, excited couples I marry to think about betrayal a little bit more...and how their marriage can withstand it.

My Day in Jail

So last Saturday was up there among the most exciting days I've had in a while. I was arrested for civil disobedience, along with 11 other activists, in front of the White House. We were rallying for voting rights and home rule in the District of Columbia, and I was proud to stand up (and then, sit down) for the cause.

Folks have been asking me what jail was like, and I wanted to share a few reflections. First, we were within the jurisdiction of the Park Police, and they were really very respectful and accommodating. They cuffed me in front so I'd be more comfortable, and they arrested me last so that I'd have the least amount of time in the van. At the processing station, they brought me a chair so I wouldn't have to stand, and although they did put me in a cell for a bit while I waited for my husband to bring the $100 for the forfeiture fine, they actually let me out after a bit and had me wait in the main area, which had more comfortable seating than the metal bench in the cell itself. I couldn't have asked to have been arrested by nicer officers.

But all of that kindness and care they showed me has me thinking about privilege. Of course they were accommodating partly because I'm 8 months pregnant, but plenty of the accommodation came because I'm white, was well dressed, am clergy, was arrested for civil disobedience...the list goes on. As nice as the officers were, I'm sure they can be pretty tough. I felt so clear that all the privileges I carry with me meant that they weren't going to be tough on me. Only once did I even feel some awareness that we weren't all just hanging out: when one of the officers, with whom I didn't interact much, decided my plastic handcuffs were too loose. He pulled them tight with conviction, and suddenly I realized that I really couldn't get out of them.

As I reflect on the experience, I think about all of the people in our country who can't seem to get out of handcuffs. The ones who are not always treated with kindness and respect, whose lives appear to point them in the direction of our extensive penal system...and not because of chosen, righteous civil disobedience. My day in jail was no big deal. A lifetime in jail--a generation in jail--is something very different.

Pulling Up Weeds

I spent the morning gardening, which always gets me in a reflective mood about congregational life. I can't help but make every aspect a metaphor: the length of time it takes for perennials to really show their beauty and the length of time we need to see the fruits of our labors in a congregation; the way I learn more about my plants each year, just as I learn more about the people that I serve; even the grow-throughs that I use to support my taller plants and all that we need to support our lay leaders as they reach for the sun. I'm telling you, it can get a little over the top!

Some days when I'm gardening I find myself with a kind of deep respect for weeds. There they are, no less a plant than any flower I've chosen to put there, tenacious and deep-rooted and awfully hard to get rid of. I start ruminating on the inherent worth of plants, and why we decide some are better than others...and how much easier it would be if we decided the invasive weeds were really what we wanted surrounding our houses and in our flower gardens.

Today, though--perhaps because my seven months pregnant self is finding it harder and harder to bend and get those darn weeds up--I was a little short on weed-love. Instead, my thoughts turned to the weeds in our own lives, the things about ourselves or about our environment that we really do want to tear up, root out, remove. Whether they are bad habits or ways of reacting to certain situations, we all have parts of ourselves that we wish we could change. And so often, they feel like the most deeply-rooted parts of ourselves!

Like so many things, I think our ability to change our own weeds is tied to our ability to be self-reflective and self-aware. And that, I believe more and more, depends on our ability to be quiet, to be still, to listen to the movement of the world around us.

So maybe working in my garden--one of my more meditative pursuits--is actually a way to rid myself of weeds both literal and metaphorical. Certainly the lavender is breathing a little better, and so am I.

The changing of the guard

Of course I've been following the royal wedding--who hasn't? I can't wait to see Kate's dress, and I think it's great they're having an extra chocolate cake for Will.

But one of the most interesting things to me is the renewed interest in who will be king next. The headline on the Washington Post online said it all: "In Britain, Prince William Threatens to Eclipse His Father." Even more telling was the picture that accompanied it, of both of them in their military dress uniforms. Charles, a little stooped, walked in front. Will, the picture of youthful vitality, stood taller behind, smiling at the camera.

There may be good reasons for Will to ascend to the throne and Charles to be skipped over. But it seems to me that the reasons given in the press tend to boil down to the same thing: Will is younger, he's cuter, and he hasn't yet messed up his life.

And what I wonder is what all this says not about our fascination with royalty (that's a whole different blog post) but about our fascination with the unspoiled fantasy of youth. Charles seems to have made some decisions that weren't perfect, certainly to have led a life that hasn't turned out perfectly. But what life has? If the only argument for Will's immediate kingship is that his life looks perfect so far, the people who clamor for his ascendancy now are only likely to be disappointed.

Age, it seems to me, brings with it the realization that perfection is impossible. Perhaps we find it disheartening because we want to cling to the idea that it is possible, at least for the royals among us. It seems to me, though, that the realization often makes for a more honest, more genuine human being. And isn't that what one might want in a king?

Risking a Connection

Last Friday I went out to get lunch as usual, to a part of town with wide sidewalks and about a dozen different restaurants. As I headed toward the burrito place, my bag over my shoulder and my cell phone (of course) glued to my ear, I saw someone coming toward me out of the corner of my eye. A woman pushing a baby stroller--common enough in this area. But something made me do a double take, and I realized that this was no stranger, but a friend from childhood I hadn't seen in 15 years.

I knew she'd moved to the area, but I lost track of her a long time ago. And here she was, with a daughter who looked to be about my daughter's age, right in my own neighborhood.

I looked. And then I kept walking.

Of course I had to attend to the conversation on the phone, and of course she looked busy and distracted, and of course I was hungry and didn't have very long for lunch. But in truth, I think it was less the busy-ness of the moment, but the chance that she wouldn't recognize me, wouldn't be interested in a connection, wouldn't want to stop herself.

As soon as the moment passed me by, I realized how much I wished I'd stopped and talked. And I wondered how many connections we miss because we're afraid to take the risk...the risk of rejection, or of lost time, or even of a few awkward moments.

Next time I'll try to make the connection. How about you?

The whole world is green

I celebrate St. Patrick's Day last Thursday as any good slightly Irish American would do: I wore green. And I noticed green. On St. Patrick's Day every year I suddenly notice green all around me. Hey, I think, the milk bottle cap is dressed up for the day! So is that traffic light! And even the grass is getting in the spirit! The same thing happens to me on Valentine's Day. Look, I suddenly notice, my toothbrush is pink! How perfect!

Of course the milk bottle cap is always green, and my toothbrush is always pink. But every year I'm struck by the way I suddenly notice those colors, how the world seems magically filled with just the color I want to see that day.

It makes me wonder about what else I'm missing on regular days...not just the green bottle caps, but the awe-inspiring sunsets or the particularly loving way a parent looks at a child. The world, I know, is full of these tiny, beautiful moments. On days when I especially remember to look, I actually see them.

Maybe the thing to work toward is not just remembering to look, but reminding myself that they're still there even on the days when I don't see them. That the bottle cap is always green and the toothbrush is always pink, just waiting for me to notice their colors.

Caught in the act

Typical morning commute: the line of traffic ahead of me slowed down to fit into the little construction lane, bound by orange cones, and then suddenly stopped. Impatient, drivers craned their necks to see around the car in front of them. The culprit was clear--a stopped taxi, with its rear door actually opening but no one coming out. One car, impatient to get going, started inching out of the lane, past the orange cones, ready to flout the construction workers and make his own way. A construction worker came running across the lane, motioning the car to wait, and ran toward the taxi. Finally, he would tell this darn taxi driver not to stop there! Instead, the construction worker walked around to the open door of the cab and reached in. Slowly, he helped out an elderly woman with a cane, getting her onto the sidewalk and headed toward her house. One imagined he had done it before.

The horns stopped honking, the impatient car pulled back in line. None of us minded waiting a little longer. The construction worker waved his thanks, and the lost minute seemed pretty well worth it.

Human beings, caught in the act of treating each other with grace and dignity. Have you caught anyone recently?

Thankful for Thievery

My home was broken into a few weeks ago. Obviously, that was not a great moment in the life of my household. A window was opened with a prybar and then smashed the glass. Whoever came in walked through the house, opened up drawers, and left with my laptop (and the power cord).

And the end result of the whole thing was that I felt pretty grateful.

Partly I felt grateful because all that was taken was my laptop...no jewelry, nothing irreplaceable. Partly I felt grateful because I have automatic backup so I didn't lose any pictures or documents. Partly I felt grateful because I have homeowners' insurance, so the window repair and the new laptop will be covered with just a modest deductible.

Mostly I felt grateful because I realized just how privileged I was to have all of those things...and because I could imagine being someone who didn't have any of those things, whose life had evolved in such a way that breaking into a house with a prybar was a good idea, and I felt grateful that this person had only taken a laptop and not wandered around my house smashing things.

I want to be clear--lots of people have difficult lives and do NOT choose crime and that is by far the better path. Breaking into people's houses is never right. But somehow this experience made me feel the full weight of my financial privilege, to be aware of how lovely my house is and how filled it is with things that indicate my privileged status in the world. And I can imagine that coming into that lovely house, when your own house and your own life might look very different, would be an experience that reinforced your own sense of not being privileged.

I suppose one of the things I wish is that those of us who are privileged and those who are not were in each others' houses not just when we are breaking into them. And I realize that my privilege is nothing compared to the privilege others experience--I've been starting to study up on wealth disparities in America and the data is eye-opening.

Stealing people's laptops isn't right. And my sense of gratitude isn't that impressive, since it's based in part on homeowners' insurance and backed-up data. But for what it's worth, this whole experience has me thinking about privilege, income disparity, and why there are people in the country who can lose laptops like it's nothing and others who break into houses to steal them.

Fundamentalism - Your thoughts here!

A few weeks ago I gave a platform at WES about fundamentalism - you can listen to it here or read it here. It was fun to write, and it was one that generated a lot of conversation and feedback. At around the same time, WES folks articulated at a program summit that they wanted a way to talk more about platforms that piqued their interest.

So here's an attempt to foster that conversation...starting with a guest essay from WES member Ellen Post. Ellen wrote a response to my platform, particularly around my use of Sam Harris and his book "The End of Faith." I commend her essay to you, and I'd love to hear your own responses...either in the comments section or in your own essays!

Here is what Ellen wrote...

January 2011
On Fundamentalism
By Ellen Post

I was inspired to write this essay by a platform at the Washington Ethical Society given by our wonderful Senior Leader, Amanda Poppei, titled, “The Fundamentals of Division,” about “fundamentalism in its many forms and the division that it creates.” “Fundamentalist” is generally a pejorative term. You don’t hear people saying in a complimentary tone, “Yes, he’s a fundamentalist. Isn’t it admirable?” You might hear fundamentalists speak highly of the firmness and steadfastness of their beliefs. But such admiration generally comes from within the fundamentalist fold, not from outside it.

We often admire people who have strong beliefs and stand by them, people who have the courage of their convictions – but not if those convictions are fundamentalist in nature. So what, then, is fundamentalism? And how is it distinguished from just having strong convictions?

Well, I did what any self-respecting essayist would do at this point –I went directly to Wikipedia and read what it had to say about “fundamentalism.” From Wikipedia (on or about January 21, 2011): “Fundamentalism is strict adherence to [a] specific set of theological doctrines typically in reaction against the theology of Modernism. … The term has since been generalized to mean strong adherence to any set of beliefs in the face of criticism or unpopularity …, but has by and large retained religious connotations. Historically, for some constituencies fundamentalism connotes an attachment to a set of irreducible beliefs.” Other definitions stress the strict and literal interpretation of a religious text – the Bible, for fundamentalist Christians, for example, and the Koran for fundamentalist Muslims.
Wikipedia points out, however, that even some nontheists have been called fundamentalists – which is odd, since they don’t adhere to any theological doctrine, let alone one with a strict and literal interpretation of a holy book. But it is, perhaps, the strength of their nontheistic beliefs that draws the label “fundamentalist” from some quarters, the feeling that they are certain they’re right, just like the religious fundamentalists who are certain they’re right about what God thinks (because it is, after all, written right there in their holy book for all to read).

Richard Dawkins and other “new atheists” have been called “fundamentalists" by opponents who argue that they are as certain of their belief that there is no god as fundamentalists are about their belief that there is a god. But Dawkins and the other “new atheists” aren’t really saying they’re certain there is no god; they’re saying that there’s no evidence for a god, and in the absence of evidence it doesn’t make sense to believe that something exists. If evidence were to present itself, these so-called “fundamentalist atheists” would reconsider – just as a scientist would reconsider a long-held theory if evidence to the contrary became available. As Dawkins put it, the atheists' position is not a fundamentalism that is unable to change its mind, but is held based on the verifiable evidence. I suppose one could say that the atheist’s – or the scientist’s – certainty that belief should be based on evidence is itself a fundamentalism, in the sense of a certainty about something, but that, I think, extends the definition of “fundamentalist” too far. If not, then I guess I’m a fundamentalist too.

The inability or unwillingness to change one’s mind regardless of the evidence (or lack thereof) is, I believe, at the heart of fundamentalism. One problem with religious fundamentalism is that the beliefs that religious fundamentalists hold with such certainty are unverifiable. There can be no evidence to confirm or refute them. There can be no evidence, for example, that God believes homosexuality is sinful; Christian fundamentalists point to the Bible as evidence, but, then, there’s no evidence that the Bible is the literal word of God, nor that there is a God. So people who are sure that homosexuality is a sin against God cannot be dissuaded by evidence about God’s attitudes (nor do they seem to require evidence). And yet this belief, like other religious fundamentalist beliefs, has caused untold misery in the world and, in some quarters, even death. That’s the other problem with religious fundamentalism – the beliefs that religious fundamentalists hold with such certainty are often harmful.

If it weren’t for the harm caused in the name of some fundamentalist beliefs, we might just say, oh well, whatever; some people believe crazy things. But the harm caused in the name of these beliefs is just too great to shrug off; and with modern technology, the potential to cause harm on a massive scale is sobering indeed.
So, what to do? Let’s first ask if we’re absolutely sure that fundamentalists simply cannot be dissuaded from their beliefs. Well, actually, no. There is evidence that at least some people who had fundamentalist beliefs eventually let go of them. There have been fundamentalist Christians who believed in a literal interpretation of the Bible who gradually came to doubt; there are some who went so far as to doubt the existence of God. There have been fundamentalist Muslims in whom doubt similarly grew. So the evidence suggests that fundamentalist beliefs aren’t necessarily cast in stone for all time in those who hold them. So even if it may at first appear to be a lost cause, we shouldn’t write off having a dialogue with fundamentalists.

Which brings me back to Amanda’s platform. Being a good Ethical Culturist, Amanda finds the answer in talking, “in conversation that tries to see similarities, even among those who seem at first to be so different that the divide gapes wide between us.” That sounds good to me, and I actually believe it can sometimes help – conversations that look for commonalities rather than conflicts can show people who see us as “the other” that we’re really not so “other” as they might have thought – and show us that they’re really not so “other” – that beneath any theological or ideological differences, we are, in the end, all human beings, and that implies a wealth of commonality.

But while there are commonalities, there are also differences. If we focus on the commonalities in our dialogues with fundamentalists, we may (hopefully) come to realize that we’re not two different species of being, and they will (hopefully) come to realize that too. But what about the differences? Just coming to acknowledge the commonalities won’t necessarily, or even probably, make the differences disappear. And when the fundamentalist beliefs with which we disagree are harmful, these differences matter.

Amanda labeled Sam Harris, who wrote “The End of Faith,” a fundamentalist, presumably because he seems so sure he’s right and because “his atheism … extends beyond personal belief into a desire to change the beliefs of others…one of the hallmarks of fundamentalism.” Harris’s writing of “The End of Faith” was motivated by 9/11; he wrote it because 9/11 was such a spectacular example of what can happen if fundamentalists act on their unverifiable beliefs. If a desire to change the beliefs of others is a hallmark of fundamentalism, then perhaps I’m a fundamentalist – because I desire to change people’s beliefs about a variety of things. I desire to change people’s beliefs about homosexuality being sinful or sick; I desire to change people’s beliefs about women being inferior to men; I desire to change people’s beliefs about this being a Christian nation. You get the point. Not all people hold these beliefs, of course. But I desire to change these beliefs in those people who do hold them. I desire to change these beliefs because I can see the tremendous harm these beliefs have caused – and because there is no evidence to support these harmful beliefs.

Sam Harris perhaps rubs some people the wrong way because he’s critical of religion – not only the fundamentalists, but the moderates who give the fundamentalists a pass, until something catastrophic happens. Which brings me to the question of criticism: Is there a role for criticism in the discussion of religion? Should we avoid criticizing religious beliefs because so many people hold them so dearly? One of the reasons I so liked “The End of Faith” is that Harris was saying things I’d so often thought but was afraid to say outright, because criticizing religion has been so taboo.

But as Harris and others point out, belief isn’t solely a private matter; it has very clear public consequences – not just in horrific events such as 9/11, but in the more mundane arena of our public political discourse. Harris documented some examples of this. We don’t want to criticize others’ religious beliefs, but those beliefs are affecting us in so many ways, even though we don’t hold them ourselves.

I guess I’d say that, while dialogue is a good and necessary start, it alone is unlikely to succeed at effecting the kinds of change that would really make a difference. We should talk to – and listen to – religious fundamentalists, by all means. But we should also do more. I don’t believe in shouting – literally or metaphorically. Not only is it unseemly, but I think it’s counterproductive. I do believe in taking a stand, however, when we believe it’s necessary – the way Amanda took a stand against the “God Hates Fags” Westboro Baptists who picket funerals. If it’s done in the right way – in a way that reflects our underlying Ethical Culture attitudes – it will, I believe, eventually succeed.

Recent history in this country reflects just how successful a combination of dialogue and taking a stand can be. I am heartened by the incredible progress I’ve seen in my own lifetime towards more liberal, inclusive attitudes towards subgroups in the population that were previously oppressed and excluded – African Americans, women, gays. One of the few advantages of being older is that I can remember how things were decades ago. I remember, and I’m astounded and proud of how far we’ve come. A debate about gay marriage was simply unthinkable back in the sixties when the feminist and gay movements began breaking barriers on college campuses like the University of Michigan, where I talked to other young women in “consciousness raising” groups and where I first got to know gays and lesbians as real people. An African American president was, of course, also unthinkable back then.

Fundamentalist religious beliefs, formulated centuries ago and immutable, since they are thought to be handed down by a supreme being, stand apart from the centuries of human progress in reexamining who we are and what we’re really about, progress that has liberated millions of people. Simply put, life is so much better for so many people because we’ve applied our rational abilities to assess and reassess – and because we took stands to say that, in light of our reassessments, things should change.

What Sam Harris criticizes, I believe, is the mentality that says that, when it comes to religious beliefs, we should tread lightly, even when those beliefs are the cause of untold harm. It’s a mentality that says that it’s okay not to question, and it’s not okay to question, when it comes to religious beliefs – even when those beliefs are clearly harming others. It’s not just that these beliefs (e.g., attitudes about homosexuality, about women, about doubt) strike others as strange and outmoded. It’s that these beliefs are causing harm – and not just minimal harm, but major harm. These beliefs don’t just stay in the minds of those who hold them; they affect other people – they humiliate others; they radically limit others; they kill others. They tell others to close their minds to doubt.

So, yes, I think we should open a dialogue – and, in the best of all possible worlds, that might be enough. But since this isn’t the best of all possible worlds, it probably won’t be enough, and we should do more – in a thoughtful, mindful, non-shouting way, we should confront the harmful beliefs and, perhaps most important, the attitude that has allowed such beliefs to continue and flourish for so long.