Choosing to Be in Community

Sometimes you have to hear something you know in a new way to really understand it. This past Sunday I was chatting with a member of WES, waiting for the line to the post-Spring Festival brunch to get shorter. Like most Sundays in my life, it was a hectic morning: getting the family ready to go, arriving at WES and helping people find what they needed to put the morning together, attending to some of the little details that make a Sunday "happen." And at that particular moment I was hungry for brunch myself, and worrying about whether people were finding places to sit, and trying to focus on the conversation. The conversation in which this member, gesturing around him, said something like, "Look at all of these people, choosing to be in community together. It's so great." And you know, it was! It is! All of the details of a Sunday, all the details of any day in a congregation's life, really boils down to something as simple, and remarkable, as people choosing to be in community together. It's common for clergy to complain about consumer culture, about the way that people choose this congregation or that church or this synagogue because they want to get something, because they like this music better, because they've heard this one has great donuts. The idea behind the complaint is that American society has lost its staying power, that we have choice in so many aspects of our lives that we bring it to our religious lives too, and expect the congregation to mold itself around our interests. And there's something to that (in fact, I gave a whole platform about that once). But this past Sunday, I thought instead about the power of choice, and that a culture of choice makes it all the more wonderful when what we choose is to be together, to be in community. So here's a shout-out to the WES member who reminded me that there's a reason we run around on Sunday making sure all the details fall into place--and that, even more amazingly, we choose that reason, every week.

Violence, Violation, and Those That Help

Again I turn to writing as I grapple with the news from Boston today. I have been thinking about gun safety so much over the last few months, and the events today remind me that although I do want legislative changes passed--and I think they are vitally important--that what I want even more deeply is for the culture of violence to shift. I want that not just for America, where in many ways we have less violence than in other places (and in other ways we have more). I want it for the whole world, for humanity, for us to begin to wake up to the violence we do to ourselves when we live caught in the cycles of so many kinds of violence: physical, mental, emotional, inflicted on those we know and those all the way across the world. When I was growing up, my minister at the First Unitarian Universalist Society of Albany took a non-violence pledge and encouraged the congregation to do the same. She vowed to try to eliminate all conscious acts of violence from her life, including thinking violent thoughts--thoughts of negativity or harm or even ill wishes toward others. I was a middle schooler at the time, so I'm not entirely sure how it went over, but I remember the congregation resisting the pledge. It was too unrealistic, they thought, and they didn't want to vow to something they could never really do. I understand the sense of integrity they might have been holding onto, but I wonder whether we can't do better, whether aspiration isn't more important than the likelihood of success. So many of us find, I think, that with all the violence in our culture we end up feeling numb when yet another report comes through the news. I admit to feeling that way sometimes. And then I read about the first-responders, the police who run toward danger instead of away, the parents who shield their children, the citizens who try to save each other. Mr. Rogers called these people the helpers, and he reminded us that they were always there, in every terrible story and every terrible image. I can't feel numb at all when I hear those stories, when I am confronted with this wonderful, awesome reminder of our shared humanity. We have a natural instinct to care for each other, to save each other. That's what gives me hope in times of violence, what makes me think that not only could we take that vow...we might even be able to fulfill it one day.

Love Is More Fun

I spent the morning with five other folks (at least, that we could find!) from the Washington Ethical Society in front of the Supreme Court. We were there in a sea of red, showing our support for marriage equality as the Court began hearing arguments in two cases: one on Prop 8 and the other on DOMA. I love rallies, so it was a great morning for me, and the whole first part felt like a big reunion: colleagues from a variety of faith traditions, members of other congregations I've worked with over the years, all getting together to cheer and hoot and smile at each other. Of course then the opposition came in. Or maybe we were the opposition? Anyway, a big parade of folks with "One Man + One Woman" signs marched along the street that we were lining on the sidewalk. The interaction was pretty respectful, from what I saw; lots of chanting on both sides, a little bit of singing, and all of us trying to figure out each other's signs. But what I noticed most was that my folks seemed to be having so much more fun than the other side. They were angry, or scared, or just present. We were--well, at times the mood bordered on jubiliant, although this was not a celebration of anything. We chanted about love, and all our signs had hearts on them and rainbows...and aren't love and hearts and rainbows just inherently happy? But mostly it felt as though we had won already. Now I may be an optimist, but I'm not stupid. I know that there is a long road ahead, with likely setbacks, before we see marriage equality throughout America. But as the polls shift, and the legislators have gay sons who make them realize that people just want basic rights, well, it's hard not to see where this is heading. And it's heading (in my opinion) somewhere good. The WES contingent came up with a few new chants while we were together, often in response to the signs the opposition was holding up. They speak, I think, to the sense of possibility that I felt, at least, rallying there with all my compatriots in red. "2, 4, 6, 8; Kids do best with love not hate!" "We have love, we have pride; history is on our side!" What would you be chanting? Or singing?

Who Am I, the Fashion Police?

My five year old daughter is...a creative dresser. That would be the polite way of saying it. Most of the time I'm really pretty welcoming of that creativity but every once in a while I just reach a limit. This morning, for instance. She appeared in the hallway wearing a sleeveless summer dress over a turtleneck (of course they weren't the same color, not even the same pattern), with horse-themed pajama pants underneath. In an attempt to thwart this outfit, I told her the pajama pants were too long and she couldn't wear them to school. No problem: she gathered the bottoms together and stuffed them into her socks, so that they kind of billowed out over the socks like bizarre, pink pony harem pants. So what did I do? Did I support her creative mind? Complement her on her use of color? Bite my tongue and remind myself that her individuality is important? Nope. I told her I thought the outfit looked weird. And she changed. Technically it was because she didn't like how the turtleneck fit, but I did notice she changed into a much more socially-acceptable outfit. And while part of me was pleased, the other part of me was overwhelmed with guilt. Why was I the fashion police? Her preschool doesn't care what she wears. Her friends likely wouldn't comment. Officially, our rule is "modest and seasonally appropriate" and that's it. Why did I care so much that my child looked normal...and what's normal, anyway? I don't have answers, but I'm curious about the questions. Is this about how I'm perceived by other parents? Would I feel differently if my child were a boy? What does my investment in her outfits have to do with my own internalized understanding of gender, of culture, of societal expectations? How do I balance what I see as two parts of my role: both to help her navigate society successfully, and to teach her to deconstruct and sometimes rebel from that same society? How about you--what rules do you have, or don't have, for your children's clothing choices? How about for yourself? Is allowing creativity to flourish always the highest goal? For me, the reassurance is that even though I chose society over creativity this time, I feel very confident my daughter will present me with plenty more opportunities to come down on the side of creativity!

Parenting, Museums, and Having No Goals

My family and I--that's me, husband, and two kids, ages 5 and 20 months--headed to downtown DC today for some museum hopping. We couldn't decide between Natural History and American History so (perhaps totally unwisely) we went to both. And we hadn't realized there was a marathon in DC today, so we ended up bailing out of our car early and taking the metro part of the way. The whole thing was a lesson in...having no goals. It started in the traffic, which was horrible even by DC standards. Still in the car, my husband and I furiously pecked away at our phones to try to find a clear route downtown. Finally we gave up and then had to map a route to the closest metro with parking. We got out, then had to find the elevator, then go stuck on the platform because the train was single tracked...all while increasingly stressed about all the museum time we were missing with this terrible delayed journey. Finally I looked at the kids and realized they were SO excited about the elevator and then the train, that perhaps the length of time getting down there was not such a bad thing. We finally made it down to Natural History, and started wandering around. Usually I start a museum with a map, checking off the must-see exhibits, the rotating exhibitions I don't want to miss, plotting out snacks along the way. That is not, it turns out, how a 5 year old approaches a museum. So we saw some butterflies quite briefly, a whale from the balcony only, and early humans in a very non-linear format. I was doing pretty well with my type-A self, I thought. Of course then we needed a nap, lunch, and time at American History...so we had to hustle between the two museums. My husband and I split up with the girls, and I had the 5 year old, rushing her along so we could get something to eat. But she was so slow! She wanted to look at the popcorn vendor's truck. At the tents set up on the Mall. She wanted to walk on the little riser instead of the sidewalk. But it wasn't until I snapped at her for taking too long smelling the daffodils that I realized I needed to get a grip. It's fun, really, when the universe offers you a particularly obvious message. Allowing your 5 year old to, literally, stop and smell the flowers is a good goal, I realized, just in and of itself. If it meant that we didn't see a single thing at the American History museum, it would still be a great day. So go ahead and have a goal-less day. See if you don't accomplish something even more important.

Leading by Non-Example

I had a meeting tonight. I was completely unprepared for it, I did almost nothing while there, and I left with no action items. It was great. This was a group of eight WES members who have been working on gun safety, springboarding off the resolution WES passed in December. They've been going to summits, to congressional hearings, to coalition briefings. They've been reading (like, entire books) and thinking and, most of all, caring about this issue. They have a diversity of viewpoints on how to move forward, but they're all committed. The interesting thing for me about the meeting was that it was clear during the opening go-round that I wasn't the one bringing the most passion, or the most well-researched information, or the most helpful coalition connections. I wasn't the one bringing the most radical ideas, and I wasn't even the one bringing the most spiritual grounding. Of course I'm never the one at meetings that brings all of those things, but more often than not I bring at least ONE of those things. This time, I was an observer, a listener, a learner. And I loved the very different kind of leadership, the show up and get out of the way leadership, that it required. They're still finding their focus and they're not sure yet exactly what will emerge from their shared commitment (and WES people, if you care about this issue too I urge you to get on the bandwagon--details will be coming your way in the next couple days). I'm not sure I have a point here, except to say that it was an honor to spend time with these folks. And for this type-A, in-charge kind of person, a delight to spend my time as a Leader simply following.

I See You

I had an experience today at the doctor's (just a check up, no need to worry!) that made me realize, or rather, remember how important it is to be really seen. I love this doctor; I've been a patient of his for ten years and he's taken wonderful care of me, been there for the tricky time as we were figuring out my diagnosis (auto-immune, like so many women), and helped me with ongoing management so that really most of the time I feel just great. So I'm very fond of him, and for that reason I endure rather long wait times at his office--partly because in years past I've been the unexpectedly long appointment or the emergency overbook that causes the wait times. This morning was par for the course. I brought a book (which I read in its entirety). I played Words with Friends. I did my crossword app. All was well. When I was finally rescued from the waiting room and put into an actual exam room, I was perhaps ready to move along with the appointment, but not what I'd call impatient. Then the intern came in. There really was nothing terribly wrong with how she behaved. I'm sure she's a caring and competent doctor, who was in a rush because the appointments were backed up. She started talking to me before I could see her, as she was outside the exam room door, and then asked what the problem was, but kept starting the next question before I finished my answer. She asked the same question three times--as it turned out, because my response wasn't what she thought it should be. And her questions themselves made it clear that she hadn't read my chart, didn't know why I was regularly seen in this office or how I'd been treated in the past. Finally I told her that I was finding it hard to talk with her, because it appeared she didn't know who I was and wasn't listening well enough to find out. Before we were able to resolve much in our communication, my regular doctor came in and all was well. But the whole experience made me think how frequently we--certainly I--rush through things, don't bother to read up first, don't bother to read the face of the person in front of me, listen to the tone of voice. This doctor certainly meant no harm, but neither do I, neither, most of the time, do any of us as we hurry through. And how quickly we can feel that we simply don't matter, how quickly it can frustrate us and made us feel lonely and sad and invisible. I'm white and formally educated and financially comfortable, and so I only have to experience this once in a while...and I feel secure enough in the reality that I do matter that I speak up when it happens. How would I feel, how would I be, if I didn't have those identities as a shield from marginalization? And even with all the shields I have, how is it that I still feel such emotion when I am not fully seen? Today I'm thankful for a relatively painless reminder of the importance of noticing the people right in front of us.