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.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)