So last Saturday was up there among the most exciting days I've had in a while. I was arrested for civil disobedience, along with 11 other activists, in front of the White House. We were rallying for voting rights and home rule in the District of Columbia, and I was proud to stand up (and then, sit down) for the cause.
Folks have been asking me what jail was like, and I wanted to share a few reflections. First, we were within the jurisdiction of the Park Police, and they were really very respectful and accommodating. They cuffed me in front so I'd be more comfortable, and they arrested me last so that I'd have the least amount of time in the van. At the processing station, they brought me a chair so I wouldn't have to stand, and although they did put me in a cell for a bit while I waited for my husband to bring the $100 for the forfeiture fine, they actually let me out after a bit and had me wait in the main area, which had more comfortable seating than the metal bench in the cell itself. I couldn't have asked to have been arrested by nicer officers.
But all of that kindness and care they showed me has me thinking about privilege. Of course they were accommodating partly because I'm 8 months pregnant, but plenty of the accommodation came because I'm white, was well dressed, am clergy, was arrested for civil disobedience...the list goes on. As nice as the officers were, I'm sure they can be pretty tough. I felt so clear that all the privileges I carry with me meant that they weren't going to be tough on me. Only once did I even feel some awareness that we weren't all just hanging out: when one of the officers, with whom I didn't interact much, decided my plastic handcuffs were too loose. He pulled them tight with conviction, and suddenly I realized that I really couldn't get out of them.
As I reflect on the experience, I think about all of the people in our country who can't seem to get out of handcuffs. The ones who are not always treated with kindness and respect, whose lives appear to point them in the direction of our extensive penal system...and not because of chosen, righteous civil disobedience. My day in jail was no big deal. A lifetime in jail--a generation in jail--is something very different.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
Pulling Up Weeds
I spent the morning gardening, which always gets me in a reflective mood about congregational life. I can't help but make every aspect a metaphor: the length of time it takes for perennials to really show their beauty and the length of time we need to see the fruits of our labors in a congregation; the way I learn more about my plants each year, just as I learn more about the people that I serve; even the grow-throughs that I use to support my taller plants and all that we need to support our lay leaders as they reach for the sun. I'm telling you, it can get a little over the top!
Some days when I'm gardening I find myself with a kind of deep respect for weeds. There they are, no less a plant than any flower I've chosen to put there, tenacious and deep-rooted and awfully hard to get rid of. I start ruminating on the inherent worth of plants, and why we decide some are better than others...and how much easier it would be if we decided the invasive weeds were really what we wanted surrounding our houses and in our flower gardens.
Today, though--perhaps because my seven months pregnant self is finding it harder and harder to bend and get those darn weeds up--I was a little short on weed-love. Instead, my thoughts turned to the weeds in our own lives, the things about ourselves or about our environment that we really do want to tear up, root out, remove. Whether they are bad habits or ways of reacting to certain situations, we all have parts of ourselves that we wish we could change. And so often, they feel like the most deeply-rooted parts of ourselves!
Like so many things, I think our ability to change our own weeds is tied to our ability to be self-reflective and self-aware. And that, I believe more and more, depends on our ability to be quiet, to be still, to listen to the movement of the world around us.
So maybe working in my garden--one of my more meditative pursuits--is actually a way to rid myself of weeds both literal and metaphorical. Certainly the lavender is breathing a little better, and so am I.
Some days when I'm gardening I find myself with a kind of deep respect for weeds. There they are, no less a plant than any flower I've chosen to put there, tenacious and deep-rooted and awfully hard to get rid of. I start ruminating on the inherent worth of plants, and why we decide some are better than others...and how much easier it would be if we decided the invasive weeds were really what we wanted surrounding our houses and in our flower gardens.
Today, though--perhaps because my seven months pregnant self is finding it harder and harder to bend and get those darn weeds up--I was a little short on weed-love. Instead, my thoughts turned to the weeds in our own lives, the things about ourselves or about our environment that we really do want to tear up, root out, remove. Whether they are bad habits or ways of reacting to certain situations, we all have parts of ourselves that we wish we could change. And so often, they feel like the most deeply-rooted parts of ourselves!
Like so many things, I think our ability to change our own weeds is tied to our ability to be self-reflective and self-aware. And that, I believe more and more, depends on our ability to be quiet, to be still, to listen to the movement of the world around us.
So maybe working in my garden--one of my more meditative pursuits--is actually a way to rid myself of weeds both literal and metaphorical. Certainly the lavender is breathing a little better, and so am I.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
The changing of the guard
Of course I've been following the royal wedding--who hasn't? I can't wait to see Kate's dress, and I think it's great they're having an extra chocolate cake for Will.
But one of the most interesting things to me is the renewed interest in who will be king next. The headline on the Washington Post online said it all: "In Britain, Prince William Threatens to Eclipse His Father." Even more telling was the picture that accompanied it, of both of them in their military dress uniforms. Charles, a little stooped, walked in front. Will, the picture of youthful vitality, stood taller behind, smiling at the camera.
There may be good reasons for Will to ascend to the throne and Charles to be skipped over. But it seems to me that the reasons given in the press tend to boil down to the same thing: Will is younger, he's cuter, and he hasn't yet messed up his life.
And what I wonder is what all this says not about our fascination with royalty (that's a whole different blog post) but about our fascination with the unspoiled fantasy of youth. Charles seems to have made some decisions that weren't perfect, certainly to have led a life that hasn't turned out perfectly. But what life has? If the only argument for Will's immediate kingship is that his life looks perfect so far, the people who clamor for his ascendancy now are only likely to be disappointed.
Age, it seems to me, brings with it the realization that perfection is impossible. Perhaps we find it disheartening because we want to cling to the idea that it is possible, at least for the royals among us. It seems to me, though, that the realization often makes for a more honest, more genuine human being. And isn't that what one might want in a king?
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?
Monday, April 4, 2011
Risking a Connection
Last Friday I went out to get lunch as usual, to a part of town with wide sidewalks and about a dozen different restaurants. As I headed toward the burrito place, my bag over my shoulder and my cell phone (of course) glued to my ear, I saw someone coming toward me out of the corner of my eye. A woman pushing a baby stroller--common enough in this area. But something made me do a double take, and I realized that this was no stranger, but a friend from childhood I hadn't seen in 15 years.
I knew she'd moved to the area, but I lost track of her a long time ago. And here she was, with a daughter who looked to be about my daughter's age, right in my own neighborhood.
I looked. And then I kept walking.
Of course I had to attend to the conversation on the phone, and of course she looked busy and distracted, and of course I was hungry and didn't have very long for lunch. But in truth, I think it was less the busy-ness of the moment, but the chance that she wouldn't recognize me, wouldn't be interested in a connection, wouldn't want to stop herself.
As soon as the moment passed me by, I realized how much I wished I'd stopped and talked. And I wondered how many connections we miss because we're afraid to take the risk...the risk of rejection, or of lost time, or even of a few awkward moments.
Next time I'll try to make the connection. How about you?
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?
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
The whole world is green
I celebrate St. Patrick's Day last Thursday as any good slightly Irish American would do: I wore green. And I noticed green. On St. Patrick's Day every year I suddenly notice green all around me. Hey, I think, the milk bottle cap is dressed up for the day! So is that traffic light! And even the grass is getting in the spirit! The same thing happens to me on Valentine's Day. Look, I suddenly notice, my toothbrush is pink! How perfect!
Of course the milk bottle cap is always green, and my toothbrush is always pink. But every year I'm struck by the way I suddenly notice those colors, how the world seems magically filled with just the color I want to see that day.
It makes me wonder about what else I'm missing on regular days...not just the green bottle caps, but the awe-inspiring sunsets or the particularly loving way a parent looks at a child. The world, I know, is full of these tiny, beautiful moments. On days when I especially remember to look, I actually see them.
Maybe the thing to work toward is not just remembering to look, but reminding myself that they're still there even on the days when I don't see them. That the bottle cap is always green and the toothbrush is always pink, just waiting for me to notice their colors.
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.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Caught in the act
Typical morning commute: the line of traffic ahead of me slowed down to fit into the little construction lane, bound by orange cones, and then suddenly stopped. Impatient, drivers craned their necks to see around the car in front of them. The culprit was clear--a stopped taxi, with its rear door actually opening but no one coming out. One car, impatient to get going, started inching out of the lane, past the orange cones, ready to flout the construction workers and make his own way. A construction worker came running across the lane, motioning the car to wait, and ran toward the taxi. Finally, he would tell this darn taxi driver not to stop there! Instead, the construction worker walked around to the open door of the cab and reached in. Slowly, he helped out an elderly woman with a cane, getting her onto the sidewalk and headed toward her house. One imagined he had done it before.
The horns stopped honking, the impatient car pulled back in line. None of us minded waiting a little longer. The construction worker waved his thanks, and the lost minute seemed pretty well worth it.
Human beings, caught in the act of treating each other with grace and dignity. Have you caught anyone recently?
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?
Friday, February 25, 2011
Thankful for Thievery
My home was broken into a few weeks ago. Obviously, that was not a great moment in the life of my household. A window was opened with a prybar and then smashed the glass. Whoever came in walked through the house, opened up drawers, and left with my laptop (and the power cord).
And the end result of the whole thing was that I felt pretty grateful.
Partly I felt grateful because all that was taken was my laptop...no jewelry, nothing irreplaceable. Partly I felt grateful because I have automatic backup so I didn't lose any pictures or documents. Partly I felt grateful because I have homeowners' insurance, so the window repair and the new laptop will be covered with just a modest deductible.
Mostly I felt grateful because I realized just how privileged I was to have all of those things...and because I could imagine being someone who didn't have any of those things, whose life had evolved in such a way that breaking into a house with a prybar was a good idea, and I felt grateful that this person had only taken a laptop and not wandered around my house smashing things.
I want to be clear--lots of people have difficult lives and do NOT choose crime and that is by far the better path. Breaking into people's houses is never right. But somehow this experience made me feel the full weight of my financial privilege, to be aware of how lovely my house is and how filled it is with things that indicate my privileged status in the world. And I can imagine that coming into that lovely house, when your own house and your own life might look very different, would be an experience that reinforced your own sense of not being privileged.
I suppose one of the things I wish is that those of us who are privileged and those who are not were in each others' houses not just when we are breaking into them. And I realize that my privilege is nothing compared to the privilege others experience--I've been starting to study up on wealth disparities in America and the data is eye-opening.
Stealing people's laptops isn't right. And my sense of gratitude isn't that impressive, since it's based in part on homeowners' insurance and backed-up data. But for what it's worth, this whole experience has me thinking about privilege, income disparity, and why there are people in the country who can lose laptops like it's nothing and others who break into houses to steal them.
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.
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