Yearning for Goodness

That's a Bad Word!

2012-01-20T07:05:00.001-08:00

True confession time: if you hear my four year old use a curse word sometime in the next few weeks, it's my fault. It was a hectic morning, the baby was fussy, something dropped all over the kitchen floor and...it just slipped out.

And it was definitely noticed. "Why did you just say s---, Mama?" my daughter asked, charmingly mispronouncing the word. "That was a bad word I said," I responded. "I shouldn't have used it and I'm sorry I did. It was a bad word."

The topic dropped easily enough, and I haven't heard it again (and I'm hopeful that the mispronunciation will make it indistinguishable!). But the whole thing has me thinking about the concept of "bad" words...the way what's bad changes generation to generation, how bad words are arresting when we hear them but sometimes so satisfying to say, and what the heck it means to have a word be bad, anyway.

Of course, one reason is cultural mores, and those are strong: check out Carolyn Hax on this topic today and the campaign to pull Modern Family from ABC because of an episode featuring a swearing toddler (which was hysterical, by the way).

I am someone who tends to be relatively bound by societal expectations for behavior--unless, and this is a big unless, I think a justice issue is at play. I don't swear a lot, and I don't want to see my four year old swearing. But I'm intrigued by the idea of what makes a word bad one decade and okay the next, and by the idea that our "bad" words are almost always connected to our bodies or to hell. There's something there about religion and embodiment that's worth exploring!

Just not by my preschooler.

Guest Blogger: Response to "Act As If"

2012-01-19T17:00:00.000-08:00

From Barbara Searle, WES Member and Alert Reader!

I am far from qualified to argue with neuroscientists, but nevertheless I think there's a fatal flaw in the kind of argument you reported. The underlying assumption seems to me to be that if we can't find a scientific explanation for a phenomenon now (or can't even imagine a conceptual framework within which an appropriate explanation might be developed) then the only possible recourses are either to adopt a non-scientific explanation (God, or god or whatever) or to deny that the phenomenon exists. There are many serious scientists who are strictly deterministic -- they believe that since such experiences as free will and consciousness must arise in the brain, and they can't imagine how something that arises in the brain could produce such experiences, they don't exist. (Another camp accepts that they exist, but holds that such things are beyond human understanding, an equally useless position, in my view, since if true there's no point in even looking.)

This is very reminiscent of the way many biological observations have been treated in the past. To take just one example, many reputable scientists in the early 20th century denied the reality of genes because they couldn't imagine either how they were constructed or how they could carry out the functions attributed to them. It took both new tools (to allow appropriate experiments to be carried out) and new conceptual frameworks, for it to become obvious that genes are real. (Sort of -- but that's another story altogether!)

In my view, not only is behaving 'as if' a reasonable way to go, but it is betting on the right side!

Acting As If

2012-01-17T10:24:00.000-08:00

I just came across an interesting Slate article on evil and neuroscience. Contrary to how I just wrote that sentence, it's not suggesting that neuroscience is evil!

Actually, the article talks about how neuroscientists suggest thttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifhat evil may not really exist--that evil acts can all be blamed on faulty wiring. Extending this idea, some neuroscientists would posit that all that wiring means that we don't really have free will; in other words, "my brain made me do it."

I've been interested in the problem of evil for a while, and wrote two platforms on it: one about evil specifically, one connecting evil to fear. And now I'm really interested in the interaction of evil and free will.

For me, though, the best part of the Slate article is an ethicist's suggestion, toward the end, that we act "as if" we had free will to choose between good and evil. I love the concept of acting "as if" and I use it in my life. I've written here about acting "as if" the world bends toward justice, whether it does or not, and I also act "as if" people are all connected in a deep and spiritual way. And frankly, I don't care much if they are. I like the effects on my life of acting as if.

How about you? Does it work to act "as if?" Or does it feel more important to know the truth? Can we know the truth? What is most effective as you seek to live the life you hope to live?

Everyday Awareness: Sorting Socks

2012-01-05T07:45:00.000-08:00

I do a lot of laundry. Actually, my husband really does the laundry; my job is folding and sorting. The scenario is usually the same: me on the bed, at the very end of the evening, surrounded by a huge pile of clothes--some inside out, some stuck together with that ferocious static cling, some balled up and still damp.

Since I have to fold the laundry one way or another, I figure I might as well do it with some attention to the moment, some mindfulness. Spiritual sorting, if you like.

Here's what I was aware of last night:

I sort socks last, after everything else has been folded. When I first approach the pile of socks, which belong to four different people and range from very tiny and mostly pink to large and mostly black, I have a moment of despair. It's too much, I'll never find the matches, I've reached the limit of my tolerance for laundry. But as I begin to sort, the matches make themselves clear. What once looked like a huge mass of black socks, all the same, start to distinguish themselves--these have a slight herringbone pattern, those have a little pinstripe. As each match is found and set aside, the remaining socks and their matches become clearer. Order emerges from the chaos, and I can see which socks really don't have matches; I scoop them up and put them to the side, where they await the next load of laundry and the hope of finding their mates once again.

How many things in life, I wonder, are we unable to see because of all the balled up socks lying around them? What matches would emerge if we began to clear the clutter, if we matched first the easy ones--the bright pink, the rainbow stripes--and then allowed our eyes to adjust to the subtler shades, to see with clarity the variations presented to us?

A little mindfulness while sorting socks.

Santa Claus and Inherent Worth

2012-01-03T13:13:00.000-08:00

Christmas with a four-year-old, I have found, is very Santa-centric. I think my daughter could have skipped the rest of her presents as long as she new the big guy with the white beard had come, eaten the cookie she left for him, and filled her stocking.

The whole thing had me wondering about why the gifts from Santa are always the most exciting, even if they're not the biggest or the most expensive. Of course there's an element of magic and fun which Santa brings. But I wonder if there's not something deeper...something about our worth in the universe.

Our parents (when we're four) have to get us presents, of course...just the way they have to love us. But to receive presents from, and to be seen and noticed and cared for by, this magical and unrelated individual seems somehow more wonderful. My daughter picked up a little from some books about the naughty-nice list, and she was very clear that she was on Santa's good side, and that he'd be sure to bring her presents. Somewhere in there, I think, is an affirmation of her place in the world, her worth as an individual, and the love that the world returns to her.

So how do we tap into that affirmation in a religious community? For some, it's found in a call to connection with God, or with the divine understood broadly as love. For others, it's found in each other--that is, we can be Santa, and affirm someone's worthiness, when we give them our love just for being who they are. Another human being.

I'm thinking about all of this as I prepare for my address on Sunday, focusing on inherent worth and dignity, a key value in both Unitarian Universalism and Ethical Culture. Will Santa make an appearance in my remarks? Maybe so. You never can tell where that jolly guy will show up next.

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

2011-12-18T14:37:00.000-08:00

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?

2011-12-13T07:01:00.001-08:00

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

2011-12-11T12:09:00.000-08:00

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

2011-12-08T06:48:00.000-08:00

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

2011-11-22T10:24:00.000-08:00

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

2011-11-18T09:08:00.001-08:00

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...

2011-11-08T08:43:00.000-08:00

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

2011-11-04T11:15:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-22T11:03:00.001-07:00

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

2011-10-13T06:38:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-07T16:43:00.000-07:00

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?

2011-10-02T11:40:00.000-07:00

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

2011-09-27T08:34:00.000-07:00

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

2011-09-20T11:00:00.000-07:00

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?

2011-09-14T08:20:00.001-07:00

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

2011-09-12T09:30:00.000-07:00

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

2011-07-01T06:01:00.001-07:00

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

2011-06-27T17:43:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-06T13:53:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-26T18:42:00.001-07:00

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

2011-04-04T16:54:00.000-07:00

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

2011-03-23T17:51:00.000-07:00

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

2011-03-15T18:18:00.001-07:00

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

2011-02-25T11:48:00.000-08:00

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!

2011-02-09T10:42:00.001-08:00

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.

Let Them Eat Cake

2010-12-29T07:31:00.000-08:00

I stopped this morning for my morning bagel at my usual spot...and saw outside the usual panhandler, bundled up against the cold. My practice is to not give money to panhandlers, but sometimes I offer to pick something up from wherever I'm headed. So that's what I did this morning--"I'm heading to the bagel place. Can I get you a bagel?" "Get me some cake" was the reply.

Of course I switched (in my head) into always-right Mama mode. Cake? You're sitting outside asking for money and you don't want some protein, some vegetables? Maybe a nice egg sandwich?

On the other hand, sometimes I feel like eating cake. So after a confirmation that cake was indeed what he wanted, cake is what I bought him: apple cinnamon coffee cake, because he didn't specify and because I thought that way at least there'd be some fruit.

It's a funny dance we do, reaching out to help those in need but wanting to do it in a way that's consistent with our values, with our needs. And who's to say we're wrong? I offer to buy food because I don't want my money being spent on alcohol, and I think that's fair. I also support homeless services organizations, because I know they're part of the real answer...that even apple cake is never going to solve the problem. (For a good conversation on panhandlers in the DC area, check out Petula Dvorak's column from a month ago, and for information on the very cool Housing First model of homeless services, read this posting from the NYTimes).

Every time I stop for a bagel, I ask myself what the right response is. What I'm realizing is that there might not be one right response, that connecting and helping in a difficult situation might not ask for a right, but just a kind, or a right-for-today, response. Maybe instead of getting caught up in exactly what's right, we should just buy the cake some days and hope that it's enjoyed. It surely won't solve homelessness and panhandling. It might make someone a little happier.

Philosophy on a Tuesday morning

2010-12-07T07:52:00.000-08:00

Some of you might have seen a new series in the NY Times, called The Stone. It's looking at philosophical questions with a slant toward modern life. I must say I resisted reading it, not generally considering myself much of a philosopher...but I gave in this week. And it's great! So good I'd like to comment a bit on it here, and try to do so each time a new topic comes up. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the original essay and on my comments, too.

This week the essay tackled nihilism, the idea that our old concepts of morality are gone and we are now foundering with no way to move forward. The most famous example of this is Nietzsche's pronouncement that "God is dead."

The author of this essay debated two possibilities: that we have indeed sunk into nihilism and everyone who thinks otherwise is deluding themselves, or that we have actually moved past nihilism into a post-monotheistic understanding of the world where we find meaning in our own particular lives without the need to universalize them.

I'd like to think the latter is the case, and not just because it's a nicer view of the world. I actually think it's a distinctly Ethical Culture view, or perhaps one shared by a number of liberal religious traditions. It depends on the idea that we can experience our own truth without necessarily applying that truth universally...and it values the unique perspective that each person brings, a core tenet of Ethical Culture.

Of course there can be tricky parts to this post-nihilistic, post-universal understanding of morality and the world. As we acknowledge the validity of other truths, we can feel our own truth tested. But I think that can be a good thing--both because it forces us to constantly re-affirm our faith and our values, and also because it opens us up to the possibility of transformation if we experience a different kind of truth that holds more meaning for us than our own.

Is this wishful thinking? Can society really function as a community of people with individual truths, trusting and caring for each other despite their differences? The philosopher in me thinks it's an interesting question. The practical leader in me thinks we'd better work pretty hard to make sure.

Yearning for goodness in ad campaigns

2010-11-18T07:46:00.000-08:00

Do you want to know how optimistic I am? When I first saw the headlines that the American Humanist Association (AHA) was doing an ad campaign that involved Biblical passages, I thought..."Hey, that's great! That's what I did in the class I taught last spring. They'll find passages in the Bible that speak to the humanistic impulse, like love your neighbor, and talk about how humanism and traditional religion share so many of the same ideas and values. I love it!"

I was wrong. I do not love the new AHA ad campaign, which actually juxtaposes negative passages from the Bible and the Koran with positive things that famous humanists have said, in an effort to prove that humanism has the real moral high ground over traditional religion.

The ad campaign was intended, I suppose, to be sensationalistic, and it's succeeded. People are certainly talking about humanism, and especially about the AHA. But I so wish the conversation could be different.

It's easy enough to find less-than-wonderful passages in any religious tradition, including humanism. Holy texts are created over hundreds and sometimes thousands of years, and one of the interesting things about them is that they display the range of human behavior. I love the Bible's psalms of lament, even some which are pretty violent, because they are essentially poems of mourning--and they truly do speak to the depths of grief that we sometimes experience. The Bible also has prophetic passages that are inspiring, poetry that is just beautiful and life-affirming, and plenty of humanistic ideas about our connection to each other and our care for the world.

But more importantly, I'm just not that interested in talking about all the ways humanism is different from traditional religions, all the things we are not. I'm so much more interested in talking about what we share in common, and about what we are. To me, humanism is about the dignity of the human spirit, the preciousness of life and the world we live in, our deep connection to each other. There are Jewish humanists and Christian humanists, Buddhist humanists and all kinds of other people who find the ideas of humanism to resonate for them.

I don't know that what I think about the new ad campaign matters much. I'm not a member of the AHA, and neither is my congregation. The American Ethical Union, of which my congregation is a part, has a national relationship with the AHA, but no control over what they do. But when I see those ads, I know I want to raise my hand and say they don't speak for me!

I'm not willing to cede the idea of humanism, though. It's too beautiful, too deep. It's about human dignity and cherishing a faith in human goodness, even in the face of evidence to the contrary. So I suppose what I want to say to the AHA marketing experts is: despite what you've created in this ad campaign, I'll keep the faith.

Everyone Loves a Baby

2010-11-11T07:38:00.000-08:00

I was taken by the recent story in the New York Times about a new anti-bullying curriculum that uses babies to teach empathy to schoolchildren. The idea is simple: a parent brings a baby to the class every month for a year, and the teacher helps the children to experience life from the baby's perspective, to imagine what the baby might be thinking or feeling, to identify the baby's personality. Studies have found that the children are engaged and excited by interacting with the baby...and that they begin to understand their own different perspectives and experience empathy among their peers, as well.

The same day I read that article, I read this one, about a baby in a stroller who was separated from her mother on the DC metro. It was presented as a kind of sensationalistic story, and of course it must have been quite traumatic. But--also of course--the baby and mother were quickly reunited, the baby watched over by fellow train travelers to the next stop and then handed off to metro police, sleeping the whole time.

I say of course because there's something about us that can't help but care for a baby, I think. When I get within 20 feet of an infant, I can feel my face pulled into all kinds of strange contortions, as I play peek-a-boo almost against my will. It taps into that hard-wired empathy we all have, and it's difficult to resist.

And so I really loved the idea of using babies with children who might otherwise get a lot of practice in empathy...using our natural pull toward the littlest among us to encourage seeing different perspective and, ultimately, to cut down on bullying. As Felix Adler says, the human spirit really does yearn for goodness. And sometimes babies can help show us the way.

Saying Thank You

2010-11-05T05:35:00.000-07:00

November has begun, and with it the flurry of "I am grateful for..." postings on Facebook. I participated last year, and I'm doing it again this year. I like the idea, of posting something I'm grateful for each day, and the way that it really does keep me attuned to the bounty in my world.

But this year I wanted to try something a little deeper. As clergy in a tradition that places emphasis on human relationships, I wondered about being grateful not just for something, but to someone. Sometimes my gratitude really does go out to the universe in all its mystery, but often there's a person who can be seen as the source of the bounty, a person who deserves my thanks.

So this November, I'm writing thank you notes. Schooled in the art from a young age by my mother, I think that thank you notes really are a hallmark of a civil society. But more than that, they connect my experience of gratitude to the person who's given me something. And they give me a chance to spread gratitude, to share my feeling of abundance.

I've been wanting to try thank you notes as a spiritual practice for a while, and this is the right chance for me. I invite you to join me this month. Spread a little gratitude around. They're like the best kind of chain letter: nothing will happen if you don't send a thank you note, but something wonderful might happen if you do.

Sanity Restored

2010-11-02T06:28:00.000-07:00

It seems as though everyone I know was at the Rally to Restore Sanity this past Saturday...although of course I didn't see ANY of them because the crowds were so huge. My husband, daughter, and I walked through the slightly-less-packed areas and looked at the signs.

I had my favorites, of course, which included "Everyone needs to take a deep breath" and "God hates...when you go around saying God hates things." But what I really loved was the combination of equal parts earnest beliefs and wacky humor. For every sign about health care, there was someone dressed up in a goofy Halloween costume. And for me, that seems to be about the right ratio.

It's not that I don't feel passionately about injustice in the world--I do, and I feel strongly that there are some things that are so serious we must act. But I also know that if I don't hang on to a sense of humor, things will get so overwhelming that I won't be able to act. For me, humor is a key part of sanity.

Humor and connection, which is the other thing I felt on Saturday. Many of the signs were asking people to listen to each other, to stop shouting and try just talking. Humor and connection aren't unrelated, I think. Sharing a funny moment is almost as good as sharing a meal in the bonding-with-strangers category.

And of course humor and connection are both missing when the national conversation devolves into name-calling, pundits, and 10 second soundbytes. I want more people dressed up like Yoda and fewer people yelling. There. Sanity restored.

You Can't Stop the Leaves from Falling Down

2010-10-26T19:32:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I spent some time raking leaves in my yard—the first time this fall. I know it’s far too early to bother, I can see the trees still heavy with green leaves (not even turned orange yet!). But there’s something about creating a little order in a disordered world that appeals to me this morning.

So much of life, really, can be seen as raking too early, or raking when we could just as well not bother. Why make our beds each morning, when we’re just going to pull the covers back a few hours later and crawl in? In fact, why bother getting up at all?

There’s nothing like fall to bring on an existential crisis, a collective wondering of what life means. And it’s one place where I think our religious tradition is a true salvation. We are the meaning-makers, our history tells us…the point of it all is whatever we make it. For me, it helps to think of the biggest we I can. We, the people of the world. We, the people spanning all history. We, the deeply connected ecosystem.

We are writing a story together, a story that is so big and so long we won’t ever get a chance to read it. But every day, we have the opportunity to add to the story, and to make our addition, our chapter, one that tells of hope and love, of relationships and giving, of hard work and attention in the world. We won’t have the chance to see how the story ends—and I won’t ever have a completely leaf-free lawn—but we can make our contribution to the kind of story we think we’d like. Rake on.

Library Meditations

2010-10-19T09:46:00.000-07:00

I spent part of yesterday in the library, renewing a couple books and looking for new ones. My practice is to head right over to the new fiction section, and then to indulge in exactly what we were taught not to do in elementary school. I love judging books by their covers.

I stand in front of the shelves and pick them up, the slim volumes with high impact graphics, the big hardcovers with faded sepia pictures on the front. I read the title, see who's quoted on the back, occasionally glance at the description inside the book jacket. And then I assemble my little pile, based entirely on what they look like.

I've almost never heard of any of the titles I bring homes, and few of the authors. This book selection practice is, for me, a moment of trusting what I see, and what others tell me. It's also a chance to try something out about which I have almost no knowledge...to open myself to whatever lies between that front and back cover that I found appealing.

Occasionally I find that the book and I just don't agree--not the genre I had hoped for, or writing I find tedious. But most of the time I'm invited into a world, a life, a story that I hadn't expected and that I love suddenly knowing. Which, when you think about it, is true in life, too. So this week, I invite you to pick up all kinds of different books, all kinds of different people, and welcome the adventure of finding out what's inside.

Blog Action Day: Water!

2010-10-15T09:39:00.000-07:00

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Welcome to blog action day! As someone who feeds on human connections, it's no surprise that I love the idea of people around the world talking about the same thing. The topic this year is water, and I wanted to take the chance to talk about one of the Washington Ethical Society's social justice initiatives, a partnership with a small village in El Salvador called El Rodeo.

Actually, what I really want to tell you about is buckets and terracotta filters. That's what goes into a water filtration device that can bring clean water to anyone in the world. Water from any source is poured into the filter and collects in the bucket, then is dispensed through a spigot on an as-needed basis. Because the water is contained in the bucket, re-contamination is avoided. Clean water significantly decreases disease, particularly in children, and I don't need to tell you why that's important.

Those buckets and filters were one of the things that the El Rodeo community identified as a need when they met a delegation from the Washington Ethical Society for the first time this past summer. The emphasis of the delegation was connection building, relationship building--you know, religious stuff. But at the end they talked about concrete needs, and clean water was it.

I invite you to come hear more about the buckets and filters, and about the El Rodeo-WES partnership, on Sunday, October 31 at 12:30pm at WES. Until then, enjoy all the clean, de-contaminated water you drink today, and may every sip inspire a little gratitude.

And the world celebrates...

2010-10-13T18:11:00.000-07:00

Could the world have gotten better news than all 33 miners being pulled to safety today? All day long I kept hearing reports: two have reached the top, half are now out, they expect to have them all up by . Facebook status updates applauded each success. Apparently even the president is watching.

We love these stories, stories of human courage and salvation. And it is that love--not the stories themselves, but the way we love them--that convinces me that we as a species truly have the capacity for incredible goodness.

I thought the same thing at a visit to the Chicago Ethical Society a couple of weeks ago. No miners were pulled to safety there, but I had the chance for a wonderful conversation with members about human dignity and worth, about human kindness. Person after person, they recalled stories of people who helped them carry their luggage in foreign countries, taxi drivers who brought them to their hotel and waived away the fare. What I marveled at was not the stories, which happen all the time, but the way that the tellers cherished those stories. They were reminders, for them, of the goodness of humanity.

Then came the story from the Holocaust survivor. He lost his entire family in the camps, walking to Switzerland as a boy. And he spoke about the kindness he found there, about the people who took him in--"me, a boy, who had nothing to give them!"--who fed him and cared for him and sent him to university. I never lost my faith in people's essential humanity, he told me.

This is true faith. May we all believe in it.

It Gets Better...Someday

2010-10-01T18:09:00.000-07:00

My heart has sunk each time I've read about another teen killing himself because of bullying based on his sexual orientation. One would have been tragic. At four in the last few weeks, the situation is truly frightening.

Of course people are responding with sadness and with outrage. They should. But some people are also responding with love. Dan Savage, the very funny (and usually very adult) advice columnist started the It Gets Better Project, which airs on YouTube and features gay adults talking about their experiences of bullying and saying, basically, that it gets better. It doesn't change the horror that millions of teens experience every day. But it's something.

We can all do something. The heart of the religious life, in Ethical Culture and in many religious traditions, is the impulse to do good. In Ethical Culture, that impulse is based in our belief that every single person is precious, is worthy. If you know someone, or see someone, who needs to hear that good news again, be sure to say it. If you need to hear it again, be sure to say it. Be good to each other. It gets better, someday, because we make it so.

It's Not the Soup

2010-09-13T17:46:00.000-07:00

I just saw a commercial that started with beautiful images--families hugging, a toddler being tossed in the air, an older woman swimming in the surf. The narrator asked us, "what are you doing to get happy?" I thought back to my platform address on Sunday, to the comments I heard from people later that day about what makes them joyful--dancing, playing with their children, doing good for someone else.

Cut back to the commercial, as we see a delighted looking woman and the narrator asks another question: "Have you tried soup to make you happy?"

I love soup. Especially on a cold day, it really does warm you up. It makes me, I suppose, a little happy to have a good bowl of soup.

But I have to tell you, buying soup is not, in the end, going to make you happy. If I could have added one more layer to my address on Sunday, it would have been considering the way that real human connection, religious human connection, is fulfilling in a way that our material culture never will be. Urged to buy more and more of whatever people are selling today, we think we'll find some kind of joy in that experience. I'm here to tell you, it's not the soup. It's the people across the table.

When All Is Not Well

2010-09-08T07:12:00.000-07:00

Last night I watched a movie about super hero kids which turned out to be surprisingly violent. It was cartoon violence--the movie was actually a comic book adaptation--but the blood looked plenty real to me. In an attempt to disengage from the gore on TV, I opened my laptop and scrolled through the headlines.

It wasn't better. A man had barricaded himself in a burning building, shots were fired somewhere else in the city. Even People, my refuge of ridiculous pop culture, was no better, highlighting a tragic story of a child lost.

The world is sometimes simply too much for me. I reach my limit of bad things for a day, and I want to shut my eyes and pretend it's all a comic book, none of it heartbreakingly real.

At those times, I often remember words from Barbara Brown Taylor, an Episcopal priest whose writing I find deeply resonant. This morning, it's these few paragraphs I remember; the whole piece can be found here. May these words be a reminder to you, too, of the beauty that always lies beneath and behind the heartbreak.

There is always tragedy somewhere, as the news reminds us so well. But there is not always tragedy everywhere, which the news does not make quite so clear. The good news, also known as the gospel, is that where ferries are going down, brave people are diving into water to lift thrashing children to safety. Where crops are failing, generous people are providing relief for farmers and migrant workers, and where a young girl is kidnapped from her bed, an entire community is turning out to hunt clues, post flyers, cook food and keep watch with her family.

Meanwhile, there are entire towns where nothing terrible is happening for an hour or two, where parents are caring for children with remarkable tenderness, where nurses are tending patients, mail carriers are delivering packages, and at least one man who owns a small business is taking off work early to coach a girl's soccer team. Terrible things will continue to happen in these places, which the best efforts of such people will not be sufficient to prevent, but their bursts of gratuitous kindness are the mustard seeds from which healing bushes sometimes grow. They constitute the alternate reality that I want to live in, even if it means limiting my exposure to other kinds of news.

When I resist the economy and despair of the dominant world in which I live, I resist from a minority viewpoint that I learned in church. In that alternate reality, which operates on the divine economy, human beings are worth more than what they can buy or sell, and suffering breaks open as many hearts as it breaks down. There are many kinds of evangelism, I know, but here is one I can embrace: in a culture of fear, addicted to the bad news of sin and death, to keep telling stories of human kindness and divine grace—without commercials of any kind. In a world like ours, the church may be the only corporate sponsor that can afford to deliver such good news for free.

Riding the Bus

2010-08-31T10:14:00.001-07:00

I took the bus back to WES last Thursday, returning from a rally for DC voting rights (and a celebration of the 90th anniversary of the 19th Amendment, one of my favorites). I don't take the bus that frequently these days, but I always enjoy the experience. Even more so than the metro, the bus feels like the transportation of the people: families, office workers, teens, tourists.

This past Thursday we were joined by a preacher--or rather, by a young man who was definitely preaching. He was sharing his gospel, one I would describe as American conservative Christian. The main message was a personal relationship with Jesus and the possibility of salvation through that relationship.

This isn't my truth, but I wasn't bothered by his sharing of what was obviously important to him. I was more interested, though, in the reactions of my fellow bus-riders. The young man testified for at least 20 minutes, from the time I got on until he got off. The riders, who were I imagine from a variety of faiths and from no faith background, were...tolerant. There were a few sidelong glances, some subtle seat shifts, but for the most part people kept chatting with their seatmates, or reading their books. They sidled past him to get off at their stops, and stood up to let each other sit down, just as bus riders always do.

What struck me, then, was not the unusual situation of a bus ride combined with gospel revival, but the experience of witnessing human toleration for different behavior in a very condensed setting. My guess is that there were plenty of other people on the bus for whom, like me, this man's gospel was not exactly their own. But he wasn't intending to bother anyone with his words, and indeed he didn't. People managed just fine, adjusting their earphones as needed or listening if they cared to. In a time of incivility and division--at least as it's presented in the mainstream media--it was a little window into quiet respect for difference.

That day, the bus got me where I needed to be in more ways than one. So thanks, S2, and all your Thursday afternoon riders.

Changing Chairs

2010-08-24T17:57:00.000-07:00

We're trying out some new (well, re-purposed) chairs in the WES library. The new ones are much smaller than the big, clunky ones we've been using...and as I sat in them today I got to thinking about how the big ones kept us just a bit further apart from each other. They even had wheels, so we could make a quick getaway!

There are so many ways we try to keep other people at arm's length. I especially notice this when I'm driving--I encounter so many people on the road, but encased in our own steel boxes I don't really see them at all. And how about buying groceries or pumping gas? We might murmur "thank you" or nod hello, but do we ever actually look into the eyes of the person no more than five feet away from us? The other human being sharing our space?

I came across a wonderful passage about the power of really seeing another person during my summer fiction-reading blitz. Like the best fiction, it starts out with the very particular and becomes a treatise on how to live. I'll leave you with it, from Alexander McCall Smith's wonderful Sunday Philosophy Club series:

"She moved away from the rug shop. A man inside, anxiously waiting for customers, had seen her and had been watching her. Isabel had looked through the glass, beyond the piles of rugs, and had met his gaze. She was sensitive to such encounters, because in her mind they were not entirely casual. By looking into the eyes of another, one established a form of connection that had moral implications. To look at another thus was to acknowledge one’s shared humanity with him, and that meant one owed him something, no matter how small that thing might be. That was why the executioner was traditionally spared the duty of looking into the eyes of the condemned; he observed him by stealth, approached from behind, was allowed a mask, and so on. If he looked into the eyes, then the moral bond would be established, and that moral bond would prevent him from doing what the state required: the carrying out of its act of murder."

Tomatoes: Pay What You Want

2010-08-17T14:03:00.000-07:00

Driving around rural Maryland this past weekend, I saw the lowest-key farm stand: a card table on the side of the road, with a plate of tomatoes and a big sign reading "Tomatoes. Pay What You Want."

It was the kind of experience that makes us nostalgic for a simpler time, or a smaller community, where we had that kind of trust in each other. But two ventures happening now--and not in rural Maryland!--make me wonder whether we aren't more trustworthy than we give ourselves credit for.

Panera, the sandwich cafe, has opened a non-profit branch in Clayton, MO where customers are invited to pay what they can (and volunteer their time if they can't pay at all). Here's an article about it: http://www.bizjournals.com/stlouis/stories/2010/05/17/daily21.html. The upshot is that it's working--people are mostly paying what the items go for in a regular Panera, and sometimes popping in a little extra to cover those who can't.

Then I read about a completely free store in New York City, where people are dropping off items they aren't using, and picking up what they need. Here's the article: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/16/nyregion/16free.html?_r=1.

The sign at that store reads "Take what you want. Share what you think others might enjoy (not limited to material items)." Seems as though if we try, we can put up that roadside stand anywhere we want.

Marriage equality, one pop culture moment at a time

2010-08-11T13:14:00.000-07:00

I've been working this week to get ready for the Big Commit, a marriage equality rally in DC on Sunday afternoon. The rally is bringing together a number of gay rights and advocacy groups, and it will serve as a counter demonstration to the National Organization for Marriage's One Woman One Man summer tour.

I love a rally--the flags waving, the music, the great speakers. But I'm also aware that in the end, rallies aren't going to change the hearts and minds of America. That's what we have People magazine for.

Earlier this summer, I picked up an issue of People (a favorite escapist read for me). One of the human interest stories was about a woman with a rare and difficult to diagnose disease. The article followed her journey from doctor to doctor, the toll it took on her professional life, the light at the end of the tunnel now that she's received a diagnosis. Pretty standard stuff, and of course accompanied by a couple of photos, including the usual shot of the woman in the hospital, hand held by her spouse. Who was a woman.

The fact that this article featured a same-sex couple wasn't even noted; not a single line about their status, their families' opinions about the relationship, nothing to suggest that it was the least bit unusual. Because, of course, it isn't. And that's what gives me real hope: when People magazine thinks your same-sex relationship isn't the interesting part of your human interest.

Here's hoping I'll see you at the rally, and that in a few years we won't have to rally anymore.

Cold drink, anyone?

2010-07-30T09:37:00.001-07:00

I write this post in beautiful weather, but the last few days have been just scorching--especially for those without power. Monday I drove around town doing errands, and I was struck by odd sensation of passing through powerless neighborhoods, with plenty of air conditioning and functioning street lights just across the road. The power grid works, apparently, in mysterious ways.

I was also struck by how patient the drivers were, how everyone brought out their best behavior for a day they knew would be a little hectic. At one of those powerless intersections, I watched as a small, woman police officer, working solo, directed a complicated traffic pattern. Her hand flipping up, then making a fist, then pointing, she looked like a uniformed conductor, leading a silent symphony of obedient musicians.

And then a car pulled up next to me, a delivery vehicle. It stopped a little fast for my taste, and I could see the driver lean out the window and begin to gesture to the police officer. Great, I thought. Here comes the wise guy, thinking he knows best when to go.

The police officer turned to him, and I tensed for the confrontation I could already see coming.

The police officer nodded briskly, and pointed toward the median. The delivery man darted out of his vehicle, and set down the cold drink he'd offered, complete with a straw. They waved, and he got back in his car, ready to follow her next instruction.

Sometimes people are just plain nice. The little tiny drama on Monday morning was a reminder to me not to be so surprised.

Ripping up the pansies

2010-06-07T17:58:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about all the wonderful words shared by our Coming of Age graduates this past Sunday, and especially about one young woman's story about learning that mistakes are okay. That learning is part of my ongoing journey, and I don't think I've figured it out yet!

But today I spent some time gardening with my father and we decided that the pansies, which had gotten leggy (not enough sun) and yellow (not enough water), really needed to go. We picked a few plants to save in a pot, but mostly turned the soil right over, raking through the green and preparing the bed for a new life with vinca minor--a much more appropriate choice for the location.

And it felt great! Almost as good as the time that I ripped out the half a sweater I'd been knitting, having finally accepted that the pattern just wasn't a good one. Somehow, even though making mistakes can feel scary, realizing mistakes and taking action to fix them feels great.

So I wonder if in some ways we can re-frame mistakes as solutions waiting to happen...and if that helps us to plant with abandon, knowing that we can always pull it up and turn over the earth if we did it wrong.

Filling the time...

2010-05-25T13:33:00.000-07:00

I've always thought of myself as a multi-tasker in work settings, listening to my voice mail while I do a first glance at the mail and keep an eye out for any emails with those little red exclamation points. But I've realized in the past couple of days that I'm also a multi-tasker when it comes to rejuvenation...and that may not be such a good thing.

Like most of us, my busy days give me little pockets of time for mind breaks: three minutes to read an interesting article online, four minutes to drink my tea while looking at the comics, thirty seconds to admire my pansies before shutting the door and starting dinner. This week, though, I'm spending time up at my parents' house between speaking engagements and I suddenly find myself with a whole 30 minutes and nothing planned. It's too long to fritter away checking the Washington Post online, but not long enough to dive into a novel.

I've already picked up a book of short stories, but I want to invite you to think with me about what else I--and we--could do during these longer-than-a-blog-post moments. I'm challenging myself to find ways to be quiet this summer: to take those thirty minutes and just sit outside, or walk and let my mind wander, or lie down and allow myself to exercise my imagination (possibly in the form of an actual dream while napping). Being quiet doesn't come naturally to me, so it really is a challenge. But I think it's worth it. After all, multi-tasking is okay in its place, but life really deserves our complete attention once in a while.

I hope you...have bad karma?

2010-05-12T07:13:00.000-07:00

I have what is, by Washington standards, a VERY easy commute. 10 minutes in light traffic to drop off my daughter, then 5 minutes in even lighter traffic from there to work. So I know I have no right to complain...but even so, this morning I waited through a couple cycles of a light while watching a woman in another car engage in a series of not-quite-dangerous-but-definitely-annoying driving maneuvers. First she blocked the traffic going in the other direction as she tried to swing into her lane from the gas station. She forgot to inch forward when possible, since she was reading the paper. When the light changed, she took up two lanes--as it turned out, because she wanted to get to the right and turn, but no one could have known that since she didn't use her blinker. ARGH! Gee whiz, I thought to myself as she drove off, I hope you...

What? Get a ticket? Nothing she did was illegal or really dangerous. Get in a fender bender? Even in my worst moods, I wouldn't wish that on someone. Do I hope that she has a crummy day, or that she's kept waiting behind some other car on her travels to wherever she's headed?

It's an interesting thing, the human need for revenge--however small we'd like that revenge to be. I suppose it's natural to wish that the person who cut in line at Starbucks later burns their tongue on their coffee, but it's surely not the high road we ought to be taking. And I know that on the days when I'm able to stop myself and turn my wish for minor revenge into a wish for better driving, or a wish for serenity for the impatient line-cutter, I feel as though I'm engaging in the world more in the way I'd like to.

On the other hand, having secret little wishes that we don't act on isn't the worst thing in the world. As a child, my mother (a psychologist) helped me identify aggression toward a friend by imagining that her beautiful blond hair turned green. I didn't DO anything to make it green, and of course it stayed blond, but being aware of the emotion and using my imagination to address it helped me to move on.

Like many things in life, my guess is the answer is about balance. Go ahead and notice when you're annoyed, and when you harbor a secret wish for minor, traffic-ticket-level revenge. Allow yourself just a moment to access that side of yourself, and to acknowledge that you're human, and humans like things to be fair, and you feel that something wasn't (which is often what's behind our minor revenge fantasies, I think: a wish for justice). But then take a deep breath, and remember that part of being human is growth. And see if you can let go of the traffic-ticket fantasy and replace it with a hope for better driving on everyone's part.

Anyway, that's what I'll be doing on my very low-key commute to work tomorrow. Will it work? I'll keep you posted.

Hand Over Your Papers

2010-05-06T11:28:00.000-07:00

I was so proud to serve in DC this week, as the DC City Council brought forward a bill that essentially condemns Arizona's new immigration law--by forbidding the DC police chief to share immigration information with federal officials and asking DC to divest of all business with Arizona. All 13 members of the Council co-sponsored the bill, as they talked about human rights, racial profiling, and the need to take a strong stand. Yes!

It does have me thinking, though, about the ways in which our country feels divided these days. I don't know if it's really more than usual, or if the media's just covering the divide more. But when we have states divesting from business with other states, when we have some jurisdictions legalizing same-sex marriage while others actively prohibit it...it poses, for me, interesting questions about what unites us. The whole concept of a country made up of individual jurisdictions, with some laws universal and others local, is a slightly crazy one. How do we find the thread that defines us as a country, when we seem to be retreating into our little red/blue territories?

I don't have the answer, although my guess is it has something to do with talking to each other more. And perhaps there's a need for people to find the ethical underpinnings that bind us together, even when they lead us in different directions. I'm curious if others think that the country is unusually divided these days, or if it feels as though this is how it's always been. And is that division just part of democracy, messy and volatile and exciting...or is it a rift we need to heal?

In Praise of One-Car-Only Bridges

2010-04-30T17:44:00.000-07:00

I recently heard Michael Schuler speak--he's a minister in Madison, WI and the author of "Making the Good Life Last: Four Keys to Sustainable Living." One of those four keys calls on us to "exercise patience." Dr. Schuler talked about all the times in life when we get the chance to exercise patience, to practice our "patience muscle," as he put it.

It made me think of a moment just a few weeks ago, when I was driving through Howard County to visit a colleague. My GPS had taken me on a strange route, through back roads and along a number of twists and turns. As I rounded a curve, I saw the speed limit: 30 mph. Only 30! I could feel the frustration mounting--why wasn't I on route 29, zipping along at a nice normal 55? But suddenly I remember that I was in no rush, had no deadlines. It took a conscious effort to slow down the speed not just of my car but of my body, to relax back into the drive. I could actually feel my heart rate begin to drop, my breathing calm. This was nice, I realized. This was just...driving.

And so that was my mood when I came to the little bridge with only enough room for one car to pass. I actually go over a bridge like this every, taking my daughter to daycare--but then I'm usually intent on reaching my destination quickly. I always stop appropriately, of course, but I'm looking across to see if there's a car waiting, craning my neck to make sure it's safe, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel while I wait for the car to cross. This time, on this bridge, I just stopped, enjoying the view while the car coming toward me passed over. And as the woman driving went past me, she gave me a big, wide smile. A moment of instant connection, of gratitude for safe driving, of recognition that we aren't just 1-ton steel machines but people driving those machines.

These days, when I go over that other one-car-only bridge on the way to daycare, I try to remember the bridge in Howard County, the bridge on the day when I wasn't rushing, the bridge on the day when I felt calm and peaceful. I try to remember the bridge on the day I exercised patience. I slow down the drumming of my fingers, I take a breath, and I wait.

Love the whole wide world...

2010-04-22T09:22:00.000-07:00

I took a walk with my toddler this morning, which included a stop at a playground where we saw a baby in his stroller. We didn't have a chance to really meet the baby--just waved across the mulch on our way back from the slide--but as we left my daughter waved goodbye and called out "Bye bye baby! We love you!"

My daughter is telling everyone she loves them these days: babies we hardly know, fish at the pond we visited, our new porch furniture. As we left the playground, I almost started a conversation with her about who we say I love you to, and the possibility that the baby-whose-name-we-don't-know might not qualify.

And then I thought...wait a second! I'm going to teach my daughter about how to appropriately circumscribe love? How to keep love within conventional boundaries, how to maintain our usual social structures so that love doesn't grow too wildly in the world?

What if we all had that toddler impulse--what if we all loved a little too wildly? Today, I'm thinking about how I can love as broadly as possible. Not just how I can show respect, or behave with tolerance, but how I can love.

And so on the 40th anniversary of Earth Day: I love you, world.