One thing I've been learning about in seminary is social location. Now, this is not a new idea to me. I grew up learning about and knowing people from other cultures. I enjoy seeking out new experiences from different cultures that I haven't experienced before in order to better understand where someone is coming from. I am a student of history, so I know how to locate and incorporate the historical backgrounds of other cultures into my experiences and interactions with people from that culture.
On the other hand, I am aware of my own cultural-historical background, and it's generally pretty ugly. White guys are not kind in most of the world's history; even educated and supposedly highly ethical and religious white guys can be bad folks. We all know the laundry list. American white guys have their own special place in the history of really terrible things done to other people, and I am a part of that group, not given a choice to reject that history.
In this process of recognition, it's hard to not feel guilty. White men brought over slaves from Africa. White men broke treaty after treaty with the indigenous people of the Americas. White men established Jim Crow laws. White men locked up Japanese citizens during World War II. White men sponsored bad people in country revolutions across the globe, and so here we are today with many people around the world hating the people of our country without having met them.
Does this get in the way of acknowledging who I am, and where I come from? In some ways, yes, and in others, no. But even in basic identities, I'm confused. For example, there is an option for your Facebook profile to list your hometown. What is my hometown? I was born in Omaha, NE. But by the time I was a senior in high school, I had lived in Omaha for seven years, Lincoln, NE, for three years, San Anselmo, CA, for two years, and Novato, CA, for six years. In Omaha, I lived in at least four different places, in Lincoln, one, in San Anselmo, two, and in Novato, three. Meanwhile, I was visiting back and forth between my parents all year long, earlier between Omaha and Lincoln after my parents divorced, and later between California and Nebraska. For college, I went to Crete, NE, for four years, visiting home in California every year (and moving in California one summer), before heading to live in Greeley, CO for three years after college. Leaving Colorado led me to Santa Rosa, CA, for two and a half years, before a short move to Petaluma, CA, for almost a year, and then to my present location in Berkeley, CA for the last four months.
So which of those is my hometown? I haven't a clue. I've most closely identified with Marin County, CA, as my "hometown," but some days I feel Nebraskan and some days I feel Californian. I haven't lived anywhere recently that I've felt I could really claim as my home. I feel like a transient spirit, just moving through the phases of life.
Who am I, then? In a world where geography can play an important role how we are perceived (just check out the electoral maps if you don't believe me...), how do I find a place to hold on to? Where is my home for the holidays?
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Gratitude for Thanksgiving
It's that time of year when we all may stop a moment and reflect on what we are thankful for throughout our lives and, perhaps more specifically, within the last year. How coincidental then that we address the practice of gratitude in Spiritual Disciplines class this week? Probably not very.
I try to be grateful to many things in my life, but sometimes I wonder if I am not intentional enough about it. Is it simple enough to be grateful for the big things in my life? I could list them with ease: my wife, my family, my friends, my health, my apartment, my car. We can be grateful for these things because they are the easy things to point to, and sometimes consider the process finished.
Ah, but it cannot be so. We are where we are based on every moment that his come before us, in our own history and in our past generations. So, if we are grateful for where we are, and we are grateful for where we are going, we cannot extend that gratitude without considering all that has brought us here, for good or for ill.
That said, I am grateful for the down moments that make me appreciate the good ones. I am grateful for uprooting myself so many times in my life, leaving so much behind but establishing myself anew again. I'm grateful for all those failed attempts at relationships, learning from them to make this one count. I am grateful for all those years the Giants didn't win, and all of those close calls, for how else could the joy of winning the World Series mean so much to millions of people, including me? I am grateful for five and a half years of working at Walmart, some times much more trying than others, which led me to find what may be my true calling in life.
But I am also grateful for the good things: soccer Fridays, sunrise walks, realism in movies, late night chats, long roadtrips, piano driven rock and roll, Golden Gate Park, falling snow, and so much more.
And the Giants. Of all the things that put a smile on my face in the morning, they're pretty near the top right now.
I try to be grateful to many things in my life, but sometimes I wonder if I am not intentional enough about it. Is it simple enough to be grateful for the big things in my life? I could list them with ease: my wife, my family, my friends, my health, my apartment, my car. We can be grateful for these things because they are the easy things to point to, and sometimes consider the process finished.
Ah, but it cannot be so. We are where we are based on every moment that his come before us, in our own history and in our past generations. So, if we are grateful for where we are, and we are grateful for where we are going, we cannot extend that gratitude without considering all that has brought us here, for good or for ill.
That said, I am grateful for the down moments that make me appreciate the good ones. I am grateful for uprooting myself so many times in my life, leaving so much behind but establishing myself anew again. I'm grateful for all those failed attempts at relationships, learning from them to make this one count. I am grateful for all those years the Giants didn't win, and all of those close calls, for how else could the joy of winning the World Series mean so much to millions of people, including me? I am grateful for five and a half years of working at Walmart, some times much more trying than others, which led me to find what may be my true calling in life.
But I am also grateful for the good things: soccer Fridays, sunrise walks, realism in movies, late night chats, long roadtrips, piano driven rock and roll, Golden Gate Park, falling snow, and so much more.
And the Giants. Of all the things that put a smile on my face in the morning, they're pretty near the top right now.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Thoughts on Bullying
In the spring of 2000, I was in high school, and probably a bit naive. In the primary elections that year, we had a number of things to decide on, but I could not participate. Alas, I turned 18 on March 26, and the election was held on March 7. I was optimistic, however, concerning a certain measure on the ballot, Proposition 22.
The entirety of Prop 22:
I wondered how the people of California could add discrimination to the state constitution. I didn't see it as possible. California is a progressive state, and we don't like discrimination.
How wrong I was. Prop 22 not only passed, but did so with 61% in favor. I was crushed. I took little solace in the fact that I lived in one of six California counties to oppose the passage. I took little solace in the fact that I didn't have a chance to vote, so it wasn't my fault. I took little solace in the fact that my mother planned a wedding despite the lack of legality to it.
I think this is the moment I first felt spurred to action, but I didn't know what to do. We went over the election results in government class the next day. When it came time to review Prop 22, I couldn't bite my tongue. Holding back tears somewhat unsuccessfully, I mentioned to the class that the government and the people of California did not consider my family a family. They would not consider my family a family.
Think about that for a second. Try to imagine the people you know telling you that just because your parents live together doesn't mean they can claim taxes together. Just because your parents live together doesn't mean that if one dies, the other inherits the shared possessions. Just because your parents live together doesn't mean that they can visit each other in the hospital in times of critical illness. What if you were in the hospital, be it for a minor infection or on your deathbed, and they told you that only one of your parents could be with your for comfort. Or a final goodbye.
I couldn't take it. I couldn't' understand it. I wanted to slap someone. Thankfully, I didn't. Instead, I tried to find my voice while I went to college in Nebraska. That November came another election, and Nebraska voted on Initiative 416:
Fast forward a decade. We still argue over the legality of same-sex marriage, but it's come a long way. In the last few months, there has been a turn to focus on bullying in school of GLBT youth. A noble cause, I think. So many people say, "It gets better." For many it does, but not for all. And while we work to save the lives of GLBT youth with this campaign, what about those that are bullied for other reasons?
Why does bullying exist? We let it exist by establishing norms and then ridiculing those outside the norms. We codify it in our laws by decalring yes to some and no to others. We don't allow gay people to marry or join the military now. We are very selective in who we let into this country, even if those that want to come will do the jobs we don't want to do. We used to encourage discrimination through Jim Crow laws, and limiting women's suffrage. We clearly don't have a good record on this, but we are making progress, ever so slowly.
I wouldn't say I was bullied in the traditional sense of the word, but I know I felt the effects. I had to pick who I would bring home from school. I had to endure teasing. I was egged. I once had to go to a Boy Scout meeting and listen to a conservative pastor talk about moral rightness. This from a troop in Marin County, California, run entirely by mothers. One may wonder why I was never an Eagle Scout, but I don't.
In the end, I am supportive but distant of the "It Gets Better" campaign, because I feel that while it was encouraging, it didn't address the root of the problem. Then, today, I found something that did. Not only did it speak to what I believe, but it did if from across the political spectrum with the inclusion of Cindy McCain, wife of current Arizona Seanator and former Republican Presidential nominee John McCain.
I feel reinvigorated today. The Washington Post has reported on a leaked document that seems to support the ending of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" in our military. Gavin Newsom, the mayor that started such a brouhaha when he started marrying same-sex couples in 2004 in San Francisco, won an election for Lieutenant Governor of California. Things are looking up, despite the results of this year's elections.
I challenge myself the same challenge I give to others: Now is not the time to despair. Now is not the time to give up. Now is not the time to wait to figure out what to do next. Now is the time to look around and give each other a hand. Now is the time to stand up and rejoice. Now is the time to move our feet in action. Now is the time to continue that fight we feel is right. Now is the time to go singing into the night, with voices high. Now is the time to say enough is enough. Now is the time to say we all belong in this world equally: gay, straight, left, right, nerd, jock, black, white, Christian, Muslim, Nebraskan, Californian: we are all human. We all deserve the freedom to speak and live and love. And while we may disagree, we can do so with the respect we have for our own brothers and sisters to end the spiral of hate that has held the grip of this country. The challenge? It starts with you.
The entirety of Prop 22:
SECTION 1. This act may be cited as the "California Defense of Marriage Act."
SECTION 2. Section 308.5 is added to the Family Code, to read:
308.5. Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California.
I wondered how the people of California could add discrimination to the state constitution. I didn't see it as possible. California is a progressive state, and we don't like discrimination.
How wrong I was. Prop 22 not only passed, but did so with 61% in favor. I was crushed. I took little solace in the fact that I lived in one of six California counties to oppose the passage. I took little solace in the fact that I didn't have a chance to vote, so it wasn't my fault. I took little solace in the fact that my mother planned a wedding despite the lack of legality to it.
I think this is the moment I first felt spurred to action, but I didn't know what to do. We went over the election results in government class the next day. When it came time to review Prop 22, I couldn't bite my tongue. Holding back tears somewhat unsuccessfully, I mentioned to the class that the government and the people of California did not consider my family a family. They would not consider my family a family.
Think about that for a second. Try to imagine the people you know telling you that just because your parents live together doesn't mean they can claim taxes together. Just because your parents live together doesn't mean that if one dies, the other inherits the shared possessions. Just because your parents live together doesn't mean that they can visit each other in the hospital in times of critical illness. What if you were in the hospital, be it for a minor infection or on your deathbed, and they told you that only one of your parents could be with your for comfort. Or a final goodbye.
I couldn't take it. I couldn't' understand it. I wanted to slap someone. Thankfully, I didn't. Instead, I tried to find my voice while I went to college in Nebraska. That November came another election, and Nebraska voted on Initiative 416:
Only marriage between a man and a woman shall be valid or recognized in Nebraska. The uniting of two persons of the same sex in a civil union, domestic partnership, or other similar same-sex relationship shall not be valid or recognized in Nebraska.Imagine my lack of surprise when it passed with 70% of the vote. I had friends that were let down, and I noted: if the most progressive state in the country wasn't going stop this, why would one of the most conservative? But this is where I found my voice. I wasn't going to let anyone tell me different from what i know as the truth: I have a loving family, and it is a valid as any other on this world.
Fast forward a decade. We still argue over the legality of same-sex marriage, but it's come a long way. In the last few months, there has been a turn to focus on bullying in school of GLBT youth. A noble cause, I think. So many people say, "It gets better." For many it does, but not for all. And while we work to save the lives of GLBT youth with this campaign, what about those that are bullied for other reasons?
Why does bullying exist? We let it exist by establishing norms and then ridiculing those outside the norms. We codify it in our laws by decalring yes to some and no to others. We don't allow gay people to marry or join the military now. We are very selective in who we let into this country, even if those that want to come will do the jobs we don't want to do. We used to encourage discrimination through Jim Crow laws, and limiting women's suffrage. We clearly don't have a good record on this, but we are making progress, ever so slowly.
I wouldn't say I was bullied in the traditional sense of the word, but I know I felt the effects. I had to pick who I would bring home from school. I had to endure teasing. I was egged. I once had to go to a Boy Scout meeting and listen to a conservative pastor talk about moral rightness. This from a troop in Marin County, California, run entirely by mothers. One may wonder why I was never an Eagle Scout, but I don't.
In the end, I am supportive but distant of the "It Gets Better" campaign, because I feel that while it was encouraging, it didn't address the root of the problem. Then, today, I found something that did. Not only did it speak to what I believe, but it did if from across the political spectrum with the inclusion of Cindy McCain, wife of current Arizona Seanator and former Republican Presidential nominee John McCain.
I feel reinvigorated today. The Washington Post has reported on a leaked document that seems to support the ending of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" in our military. Gavin Newsom, the mayor that started such a brouhaha when he started marrying same-sex couples in 2004 in San Francisco, won an election for Lieutenant Governor of California. Things are looking up, despite the results of this year's elections.
I challenge myself the same challenge I give to others: Now is not the time to despair. Now is not the time to give up. Now is not the time to wait to figure out what to do next. Now is the time to look around and give each other a hand. Now is the time to stand up and rejoice. Now is the time to move our feet in action. Now is the time to continue that fight we feel is right. Now is the time to go singing into the night, with voices high. Now is the time to say enough is enough. Now is the time to say we all belong in this world equally: gay, straight, left, right, nerd, jock, black, white, Christian, Muslim, Nebraskan, Californian: we are all human. We all deserve the freedom to speak and live and love. And while we may disagree, we can do so with the respect we have for our own brothers and sisters to end the spiral of hate that has held the grip of this country. The challenge? It starts with you.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
What is prayer?
prayer
It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
This week, we did another lectio divina in Spiritual Disciplines class using this Mary Oliver poem. In reflection now, almost a week later, it still speaks to me in this crazy, hectic week of mine.
Monday: two classes (including NT midterm bomb first thing in the morning), skipping the third to watch the Giants win the World Series.
Tuesday: chapel, one class, trip to San Francisco for the Dia de los Muertos parade.
Wednesday: trip to San Francisco for the Giants victory parade, washing dishes.
Thursday: meeting to figure out how to pay for remaining balance due to seminary for this semester, meeting with Financial Aid office, meeting for recap of Tuesday's parade, birthday shopping, washing dishes.
Friday: baking two cakes, a batch of cookies, washing dishes, soccer, set-up for Kelse's surprise birthday party, surprise birthday party.
I know that isn't all that I did. And I'm pretty sure I slept somewhere in there, but not nearly enough homework, and thus I have my OT midterm due on Monday and I haven't started it yet.
But in those tense moments, the ones where I felt most frazzled, I took a moment to stop and breathe. Of course, I had to remind myself to do this, or sometimes someone else had to remind me to do this, but a moment of silence and solace was a good opportunity to center myself. I know I couldn't have accomplished a lot without these moments. I suppose you could all them prayer, unnamed and unthought.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Pure. Genius.
So, a little while back I had a campaign video from Meg Whitman up, a video that got me pretty riled up. In contrast, here's a video from Jerry Brown, and I just can't stop laughing.
Less than a week to go. Vote, and make your voice heard!
Less than a week to go. Vote, and make your voice heard!
Friday, October 22, 2010
For him, I mean
He spent his last year, tired and tried.
I often looked at him, seeing wisdom
Evaporate from his droopy eyes.
These were not the hands that held me in the pool.
He spent his last year slowly dying
In front of our invisible eyes.
He sat in his chair, covered and sleeping;
I thought he wasn’t long for this world.
I didn’t mean next week.
We sat around his hospital room singing happy birthday,
(This wasn’t supposed to be her present.)
Gathered in our familial way,
Full of bodies but not all souls.
He was sleeping again, as he had all week?
The word “surreal” wandered into my vocabulary.
I said a prayer of comfort and kissed his cheek.
I think I was exhausted.
All I wanted was peace.
I often looked at him, seeing wisdom
Evaporate from his droopy eyes.
These were not the hands that held me in the pool.
He spent his last year slowly dying
In front of our invisible eyes.
He sat in his chair, covered and sleeping;
I thought he wasn’t long for this world.
I didn’t mean next week.
We sat around his hospital room singing happy birthday,
(This wasn’t supposed to be her present.)
Gathered in our familial way,
Full of bodies but not all souls.
He was sleeping again, as he had all week?
The word “surreal” wandered into my vocabulary.
I said a prayer of comfort and kissed his cheek.
I think I was exhausted.
All I wanted was peace.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Taking a moment to disagree
I was a little surprised to find myself watching Fox News today. I have to say, I feel a little dirty. I can't stand how one sided Fox News can be. I can't stand how the shows are just a collection of yelling heads not talking to each other. I can't stand how Fox News watchers find themselves less informed on issues than if they had picked almost any other news source.
And yet... I watched Fox News today. OK, I'll be slightly more accurate and say I watched a few clips on the internet from Fox News, which was inspired by reading a news story about the firing of NPR's Juan Williams following comments on The O'Reilly Factor. As I read the article, something seemed incongruous in the actions of NPR after the comments he made. So curious, I decided to venture to the Dark Side for a bit, and I watched the clip of the show that contained the comments.
Now, watching The O'Reilly Factor was mostly what I expected. A few folks on for commentray that don't really get to say much for all the interruptions. Really, it's a show of mostly iterruptions. That's why I was curious: did Juan Williams have more to say? In essence, my question was really: are we (and NPR) so quick to jump on bigotry that we take quotes out of context?
Here's what I saw: Mr. Williams made a statement that, at best, was ill-advised. He made the mistake of telling the truth in a personal manner. But I could tell as I watched that there was more he was trying to say, and that's where the format of the show does a disservice to its viewers. He did say later in the show (or tried to say) that we can't allow for those biases we initially feel to rule us, and we shouldn't take an experience with a minuscule segment of a population (terrorists) to interfere with our day-to-day interaction with other members of that population (Muslims). He reiterated that today in another appearance on Fox News. He went on to say that
But that's the failing of the format of the show: his initial statement was let said quite clearly, and his later addendum was cut of numerous times by either Bill O'Reilly or the other panelist. Did Mr. Williams try to make a point about interacting with people beyond experience based on fear and appearance? Yes. But, did Mr.Williams frame his point in the right way? No. So, Mr. Williams was fired.
I don't know that I've heard anything on NPR by Mr. Williams. But I do know that I'm less inclined to give them money following this action. How can we be for freedom of speech if we disallow those who disagree with us from speaking? How can we be for justice and compassion when silence voices that are trying to be heard? How can we hope to overcome fear of others and have a conversation about finding the right way to move forward when we push aside those that may struggle with it?
What an excellent opportunity for NPR to start a national conversation. What an epic failure on the part of NPR to take an opposite course of action.
Well, I suppose NPR did start a national conversation. Just not that one we might have been better served by.
And yet... I watched Fox News today. OK, I'll be slightly more accurate and say I watched a few clips on the internet from Fox News, which was inspired by reading a news story about the firing of NPR's Juan Williams following comments on The O'Reilly Factor. As I read the article, something seemed incongruous in the actions of NPR after the comments he made. So curious, I decided to venture to the Dark Side for a bit, and I watched the clip of the show that contained the comments.
Now, watching The O'Reilly Factor was mostly what I expected. A few folks on for commentray that don't really get to say much for all the interruptions. Really, it's a show of mostly iterruptions. That's why I was curious: did Juan Williams have more to say? In essence, my question was really: are we (and NPR) so quick to jump on bigotry that we take quotes out of context?
Here's what I saw: Mr. Williams made a statement that, at best, was ill-advised. He made the mistake of telling the truth in a personal manner. But I could tell as I watched that there was more he was trying to say, and that's where the format of the show does a disservice to its viewers. He did say later in the show (or tried to say) that we can't allow for those biases we initially feel to rule us, and we shouldn't take an experience with a minuscule segment of a population (terrorists) to interfere with our day-to-day interaction with other members of that population (Muslims). He reiterated that today in another appearance on Fox News. He went on to say that
But that's the failing of the format of the show: his initial statement was let said quite clearly, and his later addendum was cut of numerous times by either Bill O'Reilly or the other panelist. Did Mr. Williams try to make a point about interacting with people beyond experience based on fear and appearance? Yes. But, did Mr.Williams frame his point in the right way? No. So, Mr. Williams was fired.
I don't know that I've heard anything on NPR by Mr. Williams. But I do know that I'm less inclined to give them money following this action. How can we be for freedom of speech if we disallow those who disagree with us from speaking? How can we be for justice and compassion when silence voices that are trying to be heard? How can we hope to overcome fear of others and have a conversation about finding the right way to move forward when we push aside those that may struggle with it?
What an excellent opportunity for NPR to start a national conversation. What an epic failure on the part of NPR to take an opposite course of action.
Well, I suppose NPR did start a national conversation. Just not that one we might have been better served by.
Monday, October 18, 2010
A story today
A man works hard in his village, and has to go to the well to get his water. He carries them in two jars balanced with a beam across his shoulders, as he has done many years of his life. One jar is full and complete, but one is cracked. The cracked jar felt ashamed for his performance, and decided to speak to the man about it. "After all these years," he said to the man, "why have you continued to use me? I cannot supply all that you need at home." The man look at the jar and replied, "When I go tomorrow to get water, look back at the path we walk along."
The next day, the man again drew his water from the well. On the journey back, he again spoke to the jar: "Look down on your side of the path. What do you see?" The jar looked down to see vegetables growing along his side of the path, and none on the other side. Then the man said, "See what has happened. I knew you could not carry all that was needed at home, but I scattered seeds along your side of the path. These vegetables help provide for my family. How could they have grown without your crack?"
This story was given to us at the beginning of out Spiritual Disciplines class today, and it resonated with me in a way that was somewhat unexpected. It's an interesting idea to think of all the things we have done in our lives, all the people we have touched, without knowing what we have done.
I didn't think much of the words that my manager spoke to me as I left Walmart. She said to me that I had touched the lives of the people at that store, and to no forget that. Here is another reminder for me. I liked to think of myself as a manager that I hadn't experienced much before. I wanted to be open for my associates to come to me with their own concerns, and they did. Major events happened in my time as assistant manager, eventually I think for the better of the store, that I wonder if they would have happened if I had not been there in that capacity.
I still miss the fun I had with my associates. While I knew it was time for me to move on from Walmart, it was the joy I found in the people I worked with that made it such a hard decision for me to take. And yet, I have moved on to something else now for the better of me, which is something I was not doing while at Walmart.
Sometimes it's OK to let go of things you hold close when you know in the end it will be better.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
TV ads tend to just aggravate me...
I voted this past week. Absentee balloting is just one of the best inventions ever created. I'm all about sending in my paper ballot, but I'm really waiting for online voting to become viable. Everyone knows I love technology. But that's not why I'm writing. Instead, I want to put forth that the top of my ballot contained a mark in column for Jerry Brown for Governor. I say this not because I expect other people to follow my example, but because I am so relieved I made that choice.
I don't watch television anything like I used to. In fact, I really only watch live sports on TV, or perhaps a very important news event. Part of it is that I feel like I can find better things to do with my time than just let the television tell me what my time-spending options are, and part of it is that I can't stand commercials. Especially ones like this one, seen during today's Niners-Raiders game:
Now, I'm highly supportive of our law enforcement officers. I am happy to pay the part of my taxes that goes to pay their salaries. They are not my problem with this video. No, Meg Whitman has chosen these cops to convey her message: the death penalty is awesome.
Isn't that the message you get? It's a flashy commercial, with quick cuts, panning shots, and flashing lights. It's an action commercial. And in just 15 seconds, she uses these law enforcement officers to smoothly tell you that the most important reason they can think of to vote against Jerry Brown is because of his "real story": Jerry Brown opposes the death penalty. ("Even for cop killers!")
I've actually spent the last few days thinking about the death penalty. It started with a Newsweek article from a few weeks ago. Money quote:
That question led me to another article mentioned in the Newsweek story, this one from The New Yorker. This is the story of Cameron Todd Willingham, written last year. I warn you, it's a long read, but I guarantee that you'll never look at the death penalty in the same way again.
Full disclosure: before reading these, I was already a staunch supporter of abolishing the death penalty. I think that there is no reason to take anyone's life, via war, crime, or death penalty. I think that anyone that commits a crime currently deemed death penalty worthy should instead sit in a cell for the rest of their lives, not able to be freed. The death penalty takes someone's life, but additionally allows for someone to escape guilt (should they have any). I think the death penalty is no deterrent, especially for people like gang members or drug cartels. Don't they face death every day in their life?
So, it's not hard to get me started down this direction, but I wasn't quite fired up about it until today, when I saw the Meg Whitman ad. In California, we almost had an execution a few weeks ago, stayed only by the hand of the court in allowing more time to decide if the new method of execution is the constitutionally right way to do it and the expiration date of the drugs involved in the lethal injection. So it's no surprise to me that this issue has made it onto the airwaves and into the gubernatorial debate. And I want to ask Meg the question: what happens when the state executes an innocent person? How do we rectify the situation? What are you going to say to the families involved of the deceased? How is any apology going to make up for the most enormous error on our part?
I say our part, because it really is our choice. We, as residents of the state of California, currently as the state to perform functions in our stead, functions we are unable to complete on our own. We do this in full knowledge that the state is operating on our behalf. Sometimes this is good (roads!). Sometimes, this isn't (execution). Don't we worship "We, The People" for a reason. It is a government of us, by us, and for us. So when the state does something, really it is the "We" of the entire state doing something. The next time the state executes a person, we have killed a person. The next time the state executes and innocent person, we will have murdered an innocent person.
Can you live with that? I can't.
I can't abide lacking compassion for the downtrodden, even those who may have slighted us in the worst ways. I can't abide disregarding the importance of life everywhere, for everyone. I can't abide love taking backseat to vengeance and hatred.
I voted for Jerry Brown for many reasons. I don't claim him to be the perfect choice. I don't claim to be excited about choosing him. But I am satisfied today in the vote I made because I choose life and love, and I couldn't abide myself if I had done otherwise.
I don't watch television anything like I used to. In fact, I really only watch live sports on TV, or perhaps a very important news event. Part of it is that I feel like I can find better things to do with my time than just let the television tell me what my time-spending options are, and part of it is that I can't stand commercials. Especially ones like this one, seen during today's Niners-Raiders game:
Now, I'm highly supportive of our law enforcement officers. I am happy to pay the part of my taxes that goes to pay their salaries. They are not my problem with this video. No, Meg Whitman has chosen these cops to convey her message: the death penalty is awesome.
Isn't that the message you get? It's a flashy commercial, with quick cuts, panning shots, and flashing lights. It's an action commercial. And in just 15 seconds, she uses these law enforcement officers to smoothly tell you that the most important reason they can think of to vote against Jerry Brown is because of his "real story": Jerry Brown opposes the death penalty. ("Even for cop killers!")
I've actually spent the last few days thinking about the death penalty. It started with a Newsweek article from a few weeks ago. Money quote:
The government, GOP politicians suggest, can’t run a three-car funeral. It’s unaccountable, intrusive, and has too much power to revoke people’s rights. But when it comes to the ultimate right—life—these same conservatives almost invariably view the government’s actions as flawless and not subject to review even if injustice surfaces. Who’s arrogant now?Indeed. The article raises such an important question: What happens when we execute an innocent person? Additionally, I'm left to wonder: how many innocent people have we already executed?
That question led me to another article mentioned in the Newsweek story, this one from The New Yorker. This is the story of Cameron Todd Willingham, written last year. I warn you, it's a long read, but I guarantee that you'll never look at the death penalty in the same way again.
Full disclosure: before reading these, I was already a staunch supporter of abolishing the death penalty. I think that there is no reason to take anyone's life, via war, crime, or death penalty. I think that anyone that commits a crime currently deemed death penalty worthy should instead sit in a cell for the rest of their lives, not able to be freed. The death penalty takes someone's life, but additionally allows for someone to escape guilt (should they have any). I think the death penalty is no deterrent, especially for people like gang members or drug cartels. Don't they face death every day in their life?
So, it's not hard to get me started down this direction, but I wasn't quite fired up about it until today, when I saw the Meg Whitman ad. In California, we almost had an execution a few weeks ago, stayed only by the hand of the court in allowing more time to decide if the new method of execution is the constitutionally right way to do it and the expiration date of the drugs involved in the lethal injection. So it's no surprise to me that this issue has made it onto the airwaves and into the gubernatorial debate. And I want to ask Meg the question: what happens when the state executes an innocent person? How do we rectify the situation? What are you going to say to the families involved of the deceased? How is any apology going to make up for the most enormous error on our part?
I say our part, because it really is our choice. We, as residents of the state of California, currently as the state to perform functions in our stead, functions we are unable to complete on our own. We do this in full knowledge that the state is operating on our behalf. Sometimes this is good (roads!). Sometimes, this isn't (execution). Don't we worship "We, The People" for a reason. It is a government of us, by us, and for us. So when the state does something, really it is the "We" of the entire state doing something. The next time the state executes a person, we have killed a person. The next time the state executes and innocent person, we will have murdered an innocent person.
Can you live with that? I can't.
I can't abide lacking compassion for the downtrodden, even those who may have slighted us in the worst ways. I can't abide disregarding the importance of life everywhere, for everyone. I can't abide love taking backseat to vengeance and hatred.
I voted for Jerry Brown for many reasons. I don't claim him to be the perfect choice. I don't claim to be excited about choosing him. But I am satisfied today in the vote I made because I choose life and love, and I couldn't abide myself if I had done otherwise.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Spiritual Disciplines Class
Today, we had discussion from the following questions:
We all had our pet injustices. It seems funny to have so many to choose from that it's hard to decide, but sad all the same. How do we decided what to devote ourselves to? I am one person, I have only limited resources and time to spend, and even if I lived it 24 hours a day, I still couldn't accomplish all I would want for every issue I felt was important.
Caroline, our visitor from TCU thinking of coming to PSR, had an excellent point: we create these injustices by telling ourselves we deserve something based on our own background, but other people don't because they don't come from where we come from. Indeed, a common element in the stories chosen by each of us was social injustice based on out individual backgrounds.
It's hard for us to consider sometimes where others are coming from. I noted that often times, when I hear arguments for or against gay marriage (my own pet social injustice issue), they are framed in the sense of straight people. How will gay marriage affect the institution of marriage as a whole? What will society be like for straight people when gays marry? I think this is a false line of questioning.
Well, I suppose it's really not a false line of questioning, just questions framed in the wrong way. My difference: how will gay marriage affect gay families? How will gay marriage affect the children of the marriage? I've seen so often these commercials asking how gay marriage will affect the institution of marriage. I don't see commercials of gay and lesbian families, defying conventional beliefs to call themselves families. I don't see images of the love and the care that comes from families of all shapes and sizes.
We continued in our small groups with a practice of drawing prayer. Another practice I had never used, I couldn't help but imagine what I had on my brain: the Giants. I drew a diamond shape, and surrounded it with red and blue, filling the middle with green. I wrote victory in orange and black, but it wasn't for the Giants (well, it mostly wasn't...). Instead, in the blueness outside the diamond I made a rainbow, for it is National Coming Out Day, and I look to victory as when we no longer need to celebrate this day.
I deserve to not have to dedicate one day to coming out, and so do you.
Consider a form of social injustice that concerns you. What would be required to say "no" to this injustice? What "yes" would be tied to the "no"? Reflect on what this yes and no would mean for you as an individual, as a family, as a group or community.
We all had our pet injustices. It seems funny to have so many to choose from that it's hard to decide, but sad all the same. How do we decided what to devote ourselves to? I am one person, I have only limited resources and time to spend, and even if I lived it 24 hours a day, I still couldn't accomplish all I would want for every issue I felt was important.
Caroline, our visitor from TCU thinking of coming to PSR, had an excellent point: we create these injustices by telling ourselves we deserve something based on our own background, but other people don't because they don't come from where we come from. Indeed, a common element in the stories chosen by each of us was social injustice based on out individual backgrounds.
It's hard for us to consider sometimes where others are coming from. I noted that often times, when I hear arguments for or against gay marriage (my own pet social injustice issue), they are framed in the sense of straight people. How will gay marriage affect the institution of marriage as a whole? What will society be like for straight people when gays marry? I think this is a false line of questioning.
Well, I suppose it's really not a false line of questioning, just questions framed in the wrong way. My difference: how will gay marriage affect gay families? How will gay marriage affect the children of the marriage? I've seen so often these commercials asking how gay marriage will affect the institution of marriage. I don't see commercials of gay and lesbian families, defying conventional beliefs to call themselves families. I don't see images of the love and the care that comes from families of all shapes and sizes.
We continued in our small groups with a practice of drawing prayer. Another practice I had never used, I couldn't help but imagine what I had on my brain: the Giants. I drew a diamond shape, and surrounded it with red and blue, filling the middle with green. I wrote victory in orange and black, but it wasn't for the Giants (well, it mostly wasn't...). Instead, in the blueness outside the diamond I made a rainbow, for it is National Coming Out Day, and I look to victory as when we no longer need to celebrate this day.
I deserve to not have to dedicate one day to coming out, and so do you.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Rule of Life
Throughout my life I have often not considered myself a religious person. Despite that, I have often considered myself a spiritual person. Now that I have come to seminary, it is important to me to meld these two concepts, not forcibly, but in an amicable way that will result in growth and fulfillment in both measures.
So how do I do this? Well, I need to make sure to focus on my spiritual practices during my busy year, using them to keep my life healthy as they have in the past. In addition, I’m going to look to incorporate more theological thought to some of these practices, enriching my life in a religious way as well.
What are these practices, and how might I use them?
These are the things that keep me going. You may notice that there isn’t a real “church” event or some sort of religious experience. That doesn’t mean I don’t have one to add, but more it means I just haven’t found the right one to add yet. I am still trying to find the right church for me, and I will continue that search throughout the semester and year. And yet, a great option may be right here on campus: Tuesday morning chapel. The more I experience it, the more I would like to get involved in that. Alas, the planning sessions are Monday during our marathon classes. However, there’s always next semester.
So how do I do this? Well, I need to make sure to focus on my spiritual practices during my busy year, using them to keep my life healthy as they have in the past. In addition, I’m going to look to incorporate more theological thought to some of these practices, enriching my life in a religious way as well.
What are these practices, and how might I use them?
1. Stay connected to my family. My family has always played an important role in my life, whether near or far. Staying connected to my family keeps me grounded in my roots in life, and provides an excellent level of support that I cannot get anywhere else.
2. I listen to music. Music has always been an influence in my life, starting from an early age. While I always look for a sound to groove to, I have more recently been finding meaning in songs I hadn’t thought would be meaningful before. As I move forward through seminary, I look forward to finding meaning in new music and old alike to grow for myself and share that meaning with others.
3. I follow sports. Sporting events have been a defining part of my life since an early age, instilled in me from both of my parents. As I write this I am listening to a San Francisco Giants baseball game, but I also follow the San Jose Sharks, the San Francisco 49ers, and the Nebraska Cornhuskers. In every instance, I have someone I can consort with to create a sense of community, and sometimes that might be strangers. There is joy and pain in sports like there is joy and pain in life, and well all celebrate or commiserate with each other in sports as we should in every other aspect of life, so I cannot think of a better example of camaraderie to follow.
4. I write. Sometimes I write papers, sometimes I write poetry, and sometimes I write free form. Each time I write I’m given a chance to express myself in a way that I might not be able to do orally. Sometimes it may not be in the most interesting way I find, as in writing papers for school, but that will help grow my knowledge. Poetry and free form allow me to have a cathartic release of what I am thinking and feeling so that I might go forth aware of my inner self.
5. I cook for others. Many of my efforts are individual in some sense and communal in another. This is another great example of this, for in my individual efforts I find figurative and literal sustenance for myself and others around me.
6. I listen to nature. This may not be a practice I pay attention to as much as I should, but it important to me all the same. This is the spiritual blessing that has always stayed with me, and shown me the way. I observe what the world is telling me, and react accordingly. Sometimes it may be as small as a bird at the window, or sometimes it might be in a more majestic location, like the ocean or the woods. But nature is always there, and always will nurture me.
These are the things that keep me going. You may notice that there isn’t a real “church” event or some sort of religious experience. That doesn’t mean I don’t have one to add, but more it means I just haven’t found the right one to add yet. I am still trying to find the right church for me, and I will continue that search throughout the semester and year. And yet, a great option may be right here on campus: Tuesday morning chapel. The more I experience it, the more I would like to get involved in that. Alas, the planning sessions are Monday during our marathon classes. However, there’s always next semester.
Monday, October 4, 2010
On a roll...
In our spiritual disciplines class today, we did a lectio divina centered on Psalm 139:1-12. It was an interesting experience , which resulted in reading the scripture five separate times and trying to frame it in a different perspective each time. It was a new experience, and I'm not sure how I feel about it.
Alas, I had a very hard time concentrating, and had to slip out of class soon after we finished because my phone lit up in the middle of the practice. Plenty of people were trying to inform me how the hearing went regarding the custody of my nieces and nephews, and knowing a response was there made it difficult to focus on what the lectio divina experience was.
As it turns out, the answer is yes, maybe, sometimes, a bit. While I wasn't there, the synopsis I received essentially came down to this: joint custody still. However, there's a victory in that. My sister, on her days off, can take the kids to do whatever she wants in whatever capacity she wants, as long as it is a safe space for them. So mother gets to see the children as well. What remains unclear is the status of mother seeing the kids on her own.
He argues she is trying to turn the kids gay. Or something to that effect. I wonder how he can question the validity of her upbringing practices, since she raised two children with at least a moderate amount of success, one of which he was married to for a decade.
I awoke this morning to his posting of an article written for Fox News about gay parenting, which he had posted on his Facebook. I'm not sure exactly what it means, or whether or not it means anything. It's hard for me to take anything from Fox News seriously, but this quote jumped out at me:
Is it the bully?
I've been thinking all week about the tragedies we've seen this year resulting from bullying, but I haven't felt a way that the outreach seen really connects with me, or connects with the me that was. Did I always know things would get better? Maybe, maybe not, but that didn't stop terrible thoughts from running through my head sometimes. I know I never saw anyone in which I could truly relate my experience to, despite the vast support of my family, and to some extent, my friends. It took an experience with meeting a new friend late in high school to show me what life could be like when I believed in who I felt I was, and be comfortable, and that translated well to college (and beyond). I want to help others, but that was my own way, and everyone's path is their own.
Do I feel successful today, having been raised by a lesbian? Do I feel like I don't behave in less traditional masculine ways? Do I support gays in parenting? Yes, yes, and yes. Do I think that my mother should have a hand in raising my nieces and nephews? Well, my sister and I seem to have turned out OK (in a generic sense of the word), so why not?
Ah , but the important question: he's the father, she's the mother. If his wishes clash with her wishes, who wins? Well, the joy of joint custody is that on his days, he gets to do what he wants with the kids. On her days, she gets to do what she wants with the kids. And if her days involved being cared for by my mother, then it seems to me that is my sister's decision to make on her days, and he has his chance on his days. Clearly, I'm not lawyer or judge, but in the logical sense of the situation, that's just what seems right to me.
And how does this relate to Psalm 139? Well, it doesn't.
Alas, I had a very hard time concentrating, and had to slip out of class soon after we finished because my phone lit up in the middle of the practice. Plenty of people were trying to inform me how the hearing went regarding the custody of my nieces and nephews, and knowing a response was there made it difficult to focus on what the lectio divina experience was.
As it turns out, the answer is yes, maybe, sometimes, a bit. While I wasn't there, the synopsis I received essentially came down to this: joint custody still. However, there's a victory in that. My sister, on her days off, can take the kids to do whatever she wants in whatever capacity she wants, as long as it is a safe space for them. So mother gets to see the children as well. What remains unclear is the status of mother seeing the kids on her own.
He argues she is trying to turn the kids gay. Or something to that effect. I wonder how he can question the validity of her upbringing practices, since she raised two children with at least a moderate amount of success, one of which he was married to for a decade.
I awoke this morning to his posting of an article written for Fox News about gay parenting, which he had posted on his Facebook. I'm not sure exactly what it means, or whether or not it means anything. It's hard for me to take anything from Fox News seriously, but this quote jumped out at me:
Lesbian mothers reported that their children behave in ways that do not conform to "sex-typed cultural norms." And the sons of lesbians are reportedly less likely to behave in traditionally masculine ways than those raised by heterosexual couples.And I wonder: isn't that a good thing? Of course, my perspective is one from a child of a lesbian, so I may be just a little biased, but what is the traditional masculine way? Is it the brute jock that demands the head at the table and dominance of others? Is it the warmongering leader that sends souls to die on a whim? Is it the greed-infused focus that worships the almighty dollar? Is it the slave holder, the misogynist, the adulterer? These are all "traditional" masculine ways.
Is it the bully?
I've been thinking all week about the tragedies we've seen this year resulting from bullying, but I haven't felt a way that the outreach seen really connects with me, or connects with the me that was. Did I always know things would get better? Maybe, maybe not, but that didn't stop terrible thoughts from running through my head sometimes. I know I never saw anyone in which I could truly relate my experience to, despite the vast support of my family, and to some extent, my friends. It took an experience with meeting a new friend late in high school to show me what life could be like when I believed in who I felt I was, and be comfortable, and that translated well to college (and beyond). I want to help others, but that was my own way, and everyone's path is their own.
Do I feel successful today, having been raised by a lesbian? Do I feel like I don't behave in less traditional masculine ways? Do I support gays in parenting? Yes, yes, and yes. Do I think that my mother should have a hand in raising my nieces and nephews? Well, my sister and I seem to have turned out OK (in a generic sense of the word), so why not?
Ah , but the important question: he's the father, she's the mother. If his wishes clash with her wishes, who wins? Well, the joy of joint custody is that on his days, he gets to do what he wants with the kids. On her days, she gets to do what she wants with the kids. And if her days involved being cared for by my mother, then it seems to me that is my sister's decision to make on her days, and he has his chance on his days. Clearly, I'm not lawyer or judge, but in the logical sense of the situation, that's just what seems right to me.
And how does this relate to Psalm 139? Well, it doesn't.
If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me become night,” even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you. (11-12)Right?
Monday, September 27, 2010
Drum Call
I'm sitting in my Spiritual Disciplines for Leadership class, and we've started with a demonstration of African spiritual practices. While we are currently involved in an African praise/prayer, the example started with drumming. This is not the first time since I have arrived here that I have experienced drumming in a spiritual sense, and in all instances I have been reminded of the drum call that often started a howie&scott show.
These drum calls were often some of my favorite parts of their shows. It was like a centering force, a way to recognize that I am here instead of coming here. It was a call to recognize what I am experiencing. Of course, there were also ending drum calls, to release us to the world. They were like brackets on the experience, showing us when it would begin and end, but also to show the experience was different than what one normally would see or hear. That's not to say h&s were an experience like none other, or superior to what else might have been going on (though an ego-driven reading of the situation might see that). It was just more like a signal flare, to set aside what was to come or what had happened.
I've had visions in my head of calling to worship through these drum calls. Drums are becoming more prominent to me in a spiritual way of thinking. Example: Jeremy drumming during the Taize service on Wednesday that was rooted in the pagan Equinox celebration. While I was unfamiliar with a number of the rituals during the service, the drumming was able to center me to the experience and recognize there was a spirit involved in the service.
I don't have drums. I don't have any instruments. I don't have any musical talents. But I've decided to add a resolution to my time at seminary, really two: learn basic guitar, and learn to drum.
I don't know what I want to do when I leave seminary, but an idea that has recently entered my head is working on a church (or perhaps just a service) geared towards youth and young adults, and what may be a good start to that may be a drum call.
These drum calls were often some of my favorite parts of their shows. It was like a centering force, a way to recognize that I am here instead of coming here. It was a call to recognize what I am experiencing. Of course, there were also ending drum calls, to release us to the world. They were like brackets on the experience, showing us when it would begin and end, but also to show the experience was different than what one normally would see or hear. That's not to say h&s were an experience like none other, or superior to what else might have been going on (though an ego-driven reading of the situation might see that). It was just more like a signal flare, to set aside what was to come or what had happened.
I've had visions in my head of calling to worship through these drum calls. Drums are becoming more prominent to me in a spiritual way of thinking. Example: Jeremy drumming during the Taize service on Wednesday that was rooted in the pagan Equinox celebration. While I was unfamiliar with a number of the rituals during the service, the drumming was able to center me to the experience and recognize there was a spirit involved in the service.
I don't have drums. I don't have any instruments. I don't have any musical talents. But I've decided to add a resolution to my time at seminary, really two: learn basic guitar, and learn to drum.
I don't know what I want to do when I leave seminary, but an idea that has recently entered my head is working on a church (or perhaps just a service) geared towards youth and young adults, and what may be a good start to that may be a drum call.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Feeling Ill
The longer I worked for Walmart, the more likely I became to ignore what was going on with my body. I'd find someway to look past deficiencies, to push through sickness or injury to get the job done, and then maybe think about what is going on later. Of course, this was helped by a pretty decent track record of not needing to head to the doctor to get myself well. Drink orange juice, rest when not working, and sleep well.
Now seems different. Maybe it is harder for me to focus on pushing past things when I am trying to do homework. Maybe I'm getting older, thus it is getting harder to bounce back. Maybe things are starting build up, and affect me more.
In any case, I don't feel well today as I try to focus on getting homework done. On the one hand, I have muscle aches leftover from moving and then hiking yesterday. On the other hand, something hasn't been right with my digestive tract for a little while, and I wonder if my diet has something to do with that.
I want to go to the doctor to get that figured out, by my experience with doctors lately has been lacking: hand over some money to get no answers. Now that I'm in seminary, I can't afford to spend money if it is not in a useful way.
I've been trying to stay active since I've been here. Am I doing too much, trying too many new things? Am I not focusing on myself as much as I need to? Or is it all scientific, and medicine the answer? Or is there another way?
Friday, September 17, 2010
The Catalyst?
I come to this magnificent house of worship tonight, because my conscience leaves me no other choice. A true revolution of values will lay hands on the world order and say of war:
This way of settling difference is not just. This business of burning human beings with napalm,
Filling our nation's homes with orphans and widows, of injecting poisonous drugs of hate into veins of people normally humane. Of sending men home from the dark and bloody battlefields physically handicapped and psychologically deranged, cannot be reconciled with wisdom, justice and love.
I've spent much of my free time this week listening to the new Linkin Park album, A Thousand Suns, and this selection of a sermon is included as an interlude between tracks. It's quite a different direction than other Linkin Park albums. However, I do notice an expansion of a theme from the previous album, Minutes to Midnight: advocacy for peace and justice, perhaps best exemplified by the MLK quote, and this one as well:-Martin Luther King, Jr.
We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried, most people were silent. I remember the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad-Gita. Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty and to impress him takes on his multi-armed form and says: "Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds." I suppose we all thought that, one way or another.
Thinking about war breaks my heart sometimes. There is a opposition inside myself, on the one hand compassionate caring for the people of the world, a love that doesn't leave room for intentional harm against another, let alone murder. On the other hand, I understand there are those that would act to remove me from this world, a stance I can't see myself agreeing with.- J. Robert Oppenheimer
So how does personal (and country) defense reconcile with the idea of do no harm? Most of the time, for me, love wins out. I stand opposed to war in all forms. Yet, isn't there honor in defending your way of life against all odds? How can I not advocate action when our fundamental being is under attack?
When I was in college, after 9/11, my grandmother was constantly pressing me to stand as a "Conscientious Objector." She feared that there would be a draft, and I would be the first to head to the front lines. While I never believed for a second that the politicians in Washington would actually dare to enact a draft, I also felt that, if it came down to it, I might join the military in some capacity, in order to help defend the country. While I vehemently opposed the war in Iraq from its inception, I understood why we attacked Afghanistan, and didn't so much support it as not oppose it as much as I might have.
Here we are, nine years after 9/11, and the war in Iraq is finally drawing to a close (Mission accomplished?). The war in Afghanistan is still full of action, full of killing, full of dying. I wonder now why we started, if it seems as it does now that we never want to finish. I think it was never meant to last this long, and the longer it goes on, the sadder I feel.
Is this why I came to seminary? Could this be another direction to go?
Or is this just what happens when you listen to A Thousand Suns twelve times in four plus days?
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Class: Day 1
I had my first class yesterday, Poetry and Theological Imagination. So far, it looks to be a fun class that might help reinvigorate a passion for writing. A jump-start is always welcome. Here, the result of an in-class session of writing:
Gravity revealed in the deftness against aging windows,
Wind whips whispers along panes and pages.
Nights wrapped in marshmallows run on,
Still with the turning of each page.
Children of eighty, eighteen, and eight
Ease the eons of passing moments,
Dancing and twirling, roundly righting ills
From details that sting.
Reflections on the snow and on the mind
Fall in silence, muffled by the white wetness.
Cold weather warms the soul from within.
Gravity revealed in the deftness against aging windows,
Wind whips whispers along panes and pages.
Nights wrapped in marshmallows run on,
Still with the turning of each page.
Children of eighty, eighteen, and eight
Ease the eons of passing moments,
Dancing and twirling, roundly righting ills
From details that sting.
Reflections on the snow and on the mind
Fall in silence, muffled by the white wetness.
Cold weather warms the soul from within.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Reflections
I've spent my week reflecting a lot on what brought me to PSR. I suppose this event was the formation of the inkling of a far off idea in my head. I miss my grandfather daily, and I know he would be so proud to see this new path in front of me.
Written for and read at Papa's memorial service:
Papa’s favorite color was orange, and there was no better place he could put it on display than a Giants game. I can’t recall going to a game at the Stick without him. Sometimes Grandma would be there, sometimes Melinda, and sometimes other folks, but sometimes it was just me and him. One time, when I was fourteen, we came to the game early and sat in the family pavilion, watching batting practice for the visiting Cubs. I stood just inside foul territory, next to the foul pole, waiting in anticipation with my glove on. Sure enough, here came a long line drive, straight into my glove with a loud thwack…and then right back onto the field as I failed to catch it. Luckily the player shagging flies picked it up and tossed it back to me: my first actual major league baseball! Triumphantly, I returned to my seat and showed Papa in celebration before putting it away safely.
After the game started, I returned to the ball, just to peek at it again, but as I opened my glove, it wasn’t there. We searched our bags, our pockets, the surrounding seats, and the front row, all in vain for a ball that was no longer there. It was disappointing to no longer have that ball, but I quickly moved on because they were letting children fourteen and under run the bases after the game. How could I pass at a chance to be on that cherished field? But as I jogged around the diamond, I saw Papa walking up to one of the workers standing on the field. I later found out that Papa asked about the area behind the fences under where we were sitting to see if there was a way for us to get that ball back.
That was Papa. He never stopped thinking about what was important to each of us, and he never gave up on anything. He was the definition of patience. When he first moved to Santa Rosa, he saw in his small front and back yard some aging planter boxes and a lot of small rocks. So, over the course of the next few summers, Papa and I set to work on his grand plan for a new yard. First was removing the old planter boxes, then came removing the pebbles, then digging, digging, and digging some more. We took out rose bushes and replanted rose bushes. We cut through the hard Santa Rosa clay and replaced it with much better digging dirt. We put together planter boxes, planted trees, laid bark, and finished with laying brick. Papa had his vision, stuck to it, and eventually we got it done. So, naturally, the next summer I helped pack up the house so Grandma and Papa could move to Colorado.
That sort of irony wasn’t lost on Papa, who found the humor and joy out of every situation in life. I remember going to a jazz show in Golden Gate Park and seeing him dance in the aisles. I remember him driving the hills of Diamond Heights in San Francisco like they were a roller coaster, delighting my sister and me, and terrifying Grandma. I remember him not getting lost, but just having driving adventures.
But he wasn’t just interested in his own joy; he made sure those around him were having fun too. He took us to the beach. He took us travelling around the country to see nature everywhere. He spent time with us in the pool, letting us ride on his back far past the age he really should have. He even took those fun times and used them as teaching moments. He took us to zoos and museums. He sat with us while we were learning to drive. He showed us how to create and to build. For many years, I had a small, ugly, wobbly table that really couldn’t hold anything, but I kept it because I got to build it with Papa.
He was willing to do anything for anyone, and I think this was the core of his being. His capacity for love was never ending, and he made sure to pass that to the rest of his family. One year, as I prepared to return to college in Nebraska after a nice Christmas break, my sister was almost ready to give birth to her second child in San Jose. I was to fly out Sunday morning, and on Friday night we got a call in Cotati that it was time to head to the hospital in San Jose. As Mom and Erin, and Grandma and Papa scrambled to dive in the car and drive down south, I took the opportunity to speak up, “Uh, I’m leaving in two days and I need to get stuff tomorrow, like a suit, and food, and school supplies.” So, Papa volunteered to possibly miss the birth of his second great-grandchild in order to take me around town on Saturday, and then to the airport on Sunday after maybe four hours of sleep.
But that’s who Papa was, and that’s who I try to be. From teaching to travelling, from humor to love, I grew up most of my life living not far from Papa, and spent my time incorporating the best of Papa into my life. I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to model my life after. And when next I go to a Giants game, I know Papa will still be there, too, guiding me to that elusive foul ball.
Written for and read at Papa's memorial service:
Papa’s favorite color was orange, and there was no better place he could put it on display than a Giants game. I can’t recall going to a game at the Stick without him. Sometimes Grandma would be there, sometimes Melinda, and sometimes other folks, but sometimes it was just me and him. One time, when I was fourteen, we came to the game early and sat in the family pavilion, watching batting practice for the visiting Cubs. I stood just inside foul territory, next to the foul pole, waiting in anticipation with my glove on. Sure enough, here came a long line drive, straight into my glove with a loud thwack…and then right back onto the field as I failed to catch it. Luckily the player shagging flies picked it up and tossed it back to me: my first actual major league baseball! Triumphantly, I returned to my seat and showed Papa in celebration before putting it away safely.
After the game started, I returned to the ball, just to peek at it again, but as I opened my glove, it wasn’t there. We searched our bags, our pockets, the surrounding seats, and the front row, all in vain for a ball that was no longer there. It was disappointing to no longer have that ball, but I quickly moved on because they were letting children fourteen and under run the bases after the game. How could I pass at a chance to be on that cherished field? But as I jogged around the diamond, I saw Papa walking up to one of the workers standing on the field. I later found out that Papa asked about the area behind the fences under where we were sitting to see if there was a way for us to get that ball back.
That was Papa. He never stopped thinking about what was important to each of us, and he never gave up on anything. He was the definition of patience. When he first moved to Santa Rosa, he saw in his small front and back yard some aging planter boxes and a lot of small rocks. So, over the course of the next few summers, Papa and I set to work on his grand plan for a new yard. First was removing the old planter boxes, then came removing the pebbles, then digging, digging, and digging some more. We took out rose bushes and replanted rose bushes. We cut through the hard Santa Rosa clay and replaced it with much better digging dirt. We put together planter boxes, planted trees, laid bark, and finished with laying brick. Papa had his vision, stuck to it, and eventually we got it done. So, naturally, the next summer I helped pack up the house so Grandma and Papa could move to Colorado.
That sort of irony wasn’t lost on Papa, who found the humor and joy out of every situation in life. I remember going to a jazz show in Golden Gate Park and seeing him dance in the aisles. I remember him driving the hills of Diamond Heights in San Francisco like they were a roller coaster, delighting my sister and me, and terrifying Grandma. I remember him not getting lost, but just having driving adventures.
But he wasn’t just interested in his own joy; he made sure those around him were having fun too. He took us to the beach. He took us travelling around the country to see nature everywhere. He spent time with us in the pool, letting us ride on his back far past the age he really should have. He even took those fun times and used them as teaching moments. He took us to zoos and museums. He sat with us while we were learning to drive. He showed us how to create and to build. For many years, I had a small, ugly, wobbly table that really couldn’t hold anything, but I kept it because I got to build it with Papa.
He was willing to do anything for anyone, and I think this was the core of his being. His capacity for love was never ending, and he made sure to pass that to the rest of his family. One year, as I prepared to return to college in Nebraska after a nice Christmas break, my sister was almost ready to give birth to her second child in San Jose. I was to fly out Sunday morning, and on Friday night we got a call in Cotati that it was time to head to the hospital in San Jose. As Mom and Erin, and Grandma and Papa scrambled to dive in the car and drive down south, I took the opportunity to speak up, “Uh, I’m leaving in two days and I need to get stuff tomorrow, like a suit, and food, and school supplies.” So, Papa volunteered to possibly miss the birth of his second great-grandchild in order to take me around town on Saturday, and then to the airport on Sunday after maybe four hours of sleep.
But that’s who Papa was, and that’s who I try to be. From teaching to travelling, from humor to love, I grew up most of my life living not far from Papa, and spent my time incorporating the best of Papa into my life. I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to model my life after. And when next I go to a Giants game, I know Papa will still be there, too, guiding me to that elusive foul ball.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
A beautiful day in the neighborhood
What a whirlwind week it had been! Funny how orientation can make you feel more disoriented.
I had a fantastic day yesterday to close orientation week, a day better than many than I've had in a very long time. Really, there were only three things that happened, but they were so very profound to me.
First, a small group of us went to a labyrinth in Oakland. There was a short hike high the hills to find a very decent sized labyrinth in an old quarry pit, brimming with nature. It was a hot and dry day, yet right next to the labyrinth was a marshy area full of green plants. The labyrinth itself was make of stones and plants meandering about each other. The path was narrow and wide, the plants we dying and living, and the area was open and sometimes covered. I had never been to a labyrinth before this, and it was a powerful experience. It was a chance to stand in the presence of thoughts I had been running from this week, and to let spirit move and shape me without the idea of control of the situation. We, as a group, were silent as we individually participated, yet in the times I needed them, I never felt alone.
Afterwards, I went to my last free meal at the cafeteria. I sat with friends, but ended up having a long conversation with Patrick, telling him of my journey to PSR and my reasons. We both agreed the really beautiful part was essentially a great kick to my head in the form of slipping on a bit of water in my kitchen. Small things can be so profound.
While I was at the labyrinth, I decided I really wanted some root beer floats, and then Patrick suggested a movie night when we were talking at dinner. A, meet B, and celebration is formed. I found the grace of Kelly to take me to the store for supplies, and soon enough four others were in my studio to watch Where the Wild Things Are.
It seems so simple, yet so powerful of a movie to make me smile so when it ends. Monday is a holiday that I am so very excited to celebrated, and then classes are in again. Let the great rumpus start!
I had a fantastic day yesterday to close orientation week, a day better than many than I've had in a very long time. Really, there were only three things that happened, but they were so very profound to me.
First, a small group of us went to a labyrinth in Oakland. There was a short hike high the hills to find a very decent sized labyrinth in an old quarry pit, brimming with nature. It was a hot and dry day, yet right next to the labyrinth was a marshy area full of green plants. The labyrinth itself was make of stones and plants meandering about each other. The path was narrow and wide, the plants we dying and living, and the area was open and sometimes covered. I had never been to a labyrinth before this, and it was a powerful experience. It was a chance to stand in the presence of thoughts I had been running from this week, and to let spirit move and shape me without the idea of control of the situation. We, as a group, were silent as we individually participated, yet in the times I needed them, I never felt alone.
Afterwards, I went to my last free meal at the cafeteria. I sat with friends, but ended up having a long conversation with Patrick, telling him of my journey to PSR and my reasons. We both agreed the really beautiful part was essentially a great kick to my head in the form of slipping on a bit of water in my kitchen. Small things can be so profound.
While I was at the labyrinth, I decided I really wanted some root beer floats, and then Patrick suggested a movie night when we were talking at dinner. A, meet B, and celebration is formed. I found the grace of Kelly to take me to the store for supplies, and soon enough four others were in my studio to watch Where the Wild Things Are.
It seems so simple, yet so powerful of a movie to make me smile so when it ends. Monday is a holiday that I am so very excited to celebrated, and then classes are in again. Let the great rumpus start!
Friday, August 27, 2010
Holding On
In reading this article at SFGate.com today, I was not astounded.
But it did get me thinking. What is it that makes us reject something when evidence is directly presented to us? There are plenty of examples in today world, such as the idea that autism is caused by vaccines. Despite a decent amount of evidence to the contrary, some parents still will put their children more in harm's way by not getting vaccinated against devastating diseases. It's a choice that gives all risk and no reward. What of the children with autism that were not vaccinated?
But this isn't the only example. There are people out there that believe our current President wasn't born an American, or that the government staged the moon landing, or that the sun revolves around the Earth (See this Newsweek article for some more...).
I can understand arguments for viewpoints I do not agree with. Sometimes, there is an absence of certain evidence, and we are left to fill it ourselves. We can go many different directions, as we can only decide based on what we see and how we see it.
I don't know sometimes. I see science and fact as absolute, but how many times have we revised science? Maybe this is why there are those that reject findings, no matter how proven they are. Even I am skeptical sometimes: there are constant stories of new planet findings around other stars, and I wonder how accurate they can be. These are gigantic planets often, but what if they aren't? What if the calculations are wrong? And what if they are right. but only to a point?
I like to try to understand different points of view. That can be harder than it sounds. But how do I really know that I am right if I haven't understood the other points of view? How do I really know that I am right if I have?
But it did get me thinking. What is it that makes us reject something when evidence is directly presented to us? There are plenty of examples in today world, such as the idea that autism is caused by vaccines. Despite a decent amount of evidence to the contrary, some parents still will put their children more in harm's way by not getting vaccinated against devastating diseases. It's a choice that gives all risk and no reward. What of the children with autism that were not vaccinated?
But this isn't the only example. There are people out there that believe our current President wasn't born an American, or that the government staged the moon landing, or that the sun revolves around the Earth (See this Newsweek article for some more...).
I can understand arguments for viewpoints I do not agree with. Sometimes, there is an absence of certain evidence, and we are left to fill it ourselves. We can go many different directions, as we can only decide based on what we see and how we see it.
I don't know sometimes. I see science and fact as absolute, but how many times have we revised science? Maybe this is why there are those that reject findings, no matter how proven they are. Even I am skeptical sometimes: there are constant stories of new planet findings around other stars, and I wonder how accurate they can be. These are gigantic planets often, but what if they aren't? What if the calculations are wrong? And what if they are right. but only to a point?
I like to try to understand different points of view. That can be harder than it sounds. But how do I really know that I am right if I haven't understood the other points of view? How do I really know that I am right if I have?
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Scorcher!
I just checked the temperature gauge on my phone, and I'm not that shocked to find it to be over 100 today. It certainly feels like it. I'm glad we did all the moving yesterday, when it was only in the high 80s/low 90s.
Ah, my move to Berkeley is complete. Well, at least phase one is complete. I have (more or less) finished unpacking last night and this morning after moving things in trucks and cars yesterday. While we were waiting to see the place before deciding if Kelse was going to move here as well, it appears we will both fit, if not snugly. So now it is up to her to pack up the rest of the apartment and prepare to join me here, whenever correct timing allows.
When I awoke this morning, my fridge had apple juice, Kool-Aid, and leftover garlic cheese bread in it, and otherwise a lot of empty space. So I set off in search of basics at the local Safeway, only a mile away. I managed to fit everything I wanted into my backpack on one reusable cloth bag, which I had to buy. But everything made it home and intact, including the two cartons of eggs. What am I supposed to do when they have them on sale for buy one, get one free? Thirty-six eggs!
I took a nap this afternoon for a few hours. For some reason I could not get myself to sleep last night, and then woke early this morning. I still have to get used to living in the heart of a bustling city, quite different than anywhere else I've lived before. Alas, three hours of sleep was not enough. Thus, the nap.
Tonight holds a fantasy football draft online with Carl, and possibly much Simpsons viewing, if I can get myself to find a place where I can find the newly released (today!) season. If it cools enough, I might try baking something, but that may wait for another, much cooler day.
Ah, my move to Berkeley is complete. Well, at least phase one is complete. I have (more or less) finished unpacking last night and this morning after moving things in trucks and cars yesterday. While we were waiting to see the place before deciding if Kelse was going to move here as well, it appears we will both fit, if not snugly. So now it is up to her to pack up the rest of the apartment and prepare to join me here, whenever correct timing allows.
When I awoke this morning, my fridge had apple juice, Kool-Aid, and leftover garlic cheese bread in it, and otherwise a lot of empty space. So I set off in search of basics at the local Safeway, only a mile away. I managed to fit everything I wanted into my backpack on one reusable cloth bag, which I had to buy. But everything made it home and intact, including the two cartons of eggs. What am I supposed to do when they have them on sale for buy one, get one free? Thirty-six eggs!
I took a nap this afternoon for a few hours. For some reason I could not get myself to sleep last night, and then woke early this morning. I still have to get used to living in the heart of a bustling city, quite different than anywhere else I've lived before. Alas, three hours of sleep was not enough. Thus, the nap.
Tonight holds a fantasy football draft online with Carl, and possibly much Simpsons viewing, if I can get myself to find a place where I can find the newly released (today!) season. If it cools enough, I might try baking something, but that may wait for another, much cooler day.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
As Good A Place As Any To Start
Here begins a chronicle of the coming years of my life.
Tomorrow morning, I move to Berkeley, California, to begin life as a student again at the Pacific School of Religion. I left behind a good job at Walmart almost three months ago, and now I leave behind a good apartment and good life in Petaluma to follow where my heart tells me to go. Seminary should take three years, and beyond is quite unknown.
Life, as always, is tumultuous. I could not have guessed this direction a year ago or a decade ago (coincidentally, a time when I was starting as a new student again, in college). Strangely, I'm not apprehensive about the coming challenges. Time will tell if I meet them, but I stand here ready to take them on, and I suppose that's as good a start as any.
This space will tell my tale in more ways than one. Of course, the basic day-to-day happenings of my life will be related, as well as one could. But also there will be musings on issues of the day that weigh on my mind, or exploration of deeper thoughts, trying to explore my own context in the larger world, spiritual or not. And, perhaps, an effort to work on and improve my writing, creatively.
I chronicle this future not for you, dear reader, though I do hope you will come along for the ride. Instead, I want something I can look back upon days, weeks, months, years from now, to see where I came from and where I'm going. I welcome any and all input from family, friends, and passers-by.
We can only know we've grown by looking back to see where we came from. To new beginnings!
Tomorrow morning, I move to Berkeley, California, to begin life as a student again at the Pacific School of Religion. I left behind a good job at Walmart almost three months ago, and now I leave behind a good apartment and good life in Petaluma to follow where my heart tells me to go. Seminary should take three years, and beyond is quite unknown.
Life, as always, is tumultuous. I could not have guessed this direction a year ago or a decade ago (coincidentally, a time when I was starting as a new student again, in college). Strangely, I'm not apprehensive about the coming challenges. Time will tell if I meet them, but I stand here ready to take them on, and I suppose that's as good a start as any.
This space will tell my tale in more ways than one. Of course, the basic day-to-day happenings of my life will be related, as well as one could. But also there will be musings on issues of the day that weigh on my mind, or exploration of deeper thoughts, trying to explore my own context in the larger world, spiritual or not. And, perhaps, an effort to work on and improve my writing, creatively.
I chronicle this future not for you, dear reader, though I do hope you will come along for the ride. Instead, I want something I can look back upon days, weeks, months, years from now, to see where I came from and where I'm going. I welcome any and all input from family, friends, and passers-by.
We can only know we've grown by looking back to see where we came from. To new beginnings!
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