A three month tour

Is the new year really only days away?  Seems like I was writing my last post only a week ago, not three months ago!

What a busy three months it has been.  The semester has come and gone.  In the meantime, a lot has happened to keep me busy and short on blog writing time.  In fact, I was so busy I barely had time to watch movies.  Only yesterday did I finally find three hours in which to watch Spartacus, a movie we've had from Netflix since September.  Anna and I have also been watching NewsRadio over the last week or so, and I think we'll complete the series tonight before moving on to Futurama.  But what happened over the last three months to keep me so busy?

Well, for starters, there were classes.  I worked particularly hard on my classes this semester, which, of course, required plenty of studying and homework time.  In reflecting back on this semester, I found it incredibly formative in my theological thought processes as well as better understanding different points of view.  Grades aren't in yet, though I know I did pretty well.  However, even if I didn't, I feel like I learned more this semester than all of last year put together.  It was an amazing journey.

In addition to my class work, I also had my internship.  I started at the beginning of September, had an official welcome in the middle of September, and my first sermon at the beginning of October.  I've also been a part of making dinner for the Wednesday night Arts Program, and once a month hosted a movie afternoon.  I've also preached three other times, including on Christmas day.  Part of my journey this semester was discovering how much I enjoy preaching, and how I can also preach well.

In November, I was accepted as a member in discernment with the Northern California Nevada Conference of the United Church of Christ.  It was great to have Diandra and Jim with me for that part of the journey.  Another step towards ordination!

In December, I was voted as a member of the Board of Directors at New Spirit Community Church.  I've never done anything like this before, but I wanted to join to give me experience in church administration as well as have a hand in continuing the efforts of New Spirit to keep it a vibrant church that will continue to grow.  Though I won't be in church for the next five months because of my internship, I'm looking forward to taking part in church life in this level of service.

Finally, I am heading to Taiwan in a week and a half for my intercession class.  This will be the first time I've ever left the United States.  It's an incredible opportunity, and I'm very excited about it.  I have no idea what to expect while we are there for two weeks, but I'm open to learning whatever I can in my time there.

So, bland blog post, I know, but it's something to help get me back on track.  I'm going to try to write more about my Taiwan trip, but I'm not sure about internet availability while I'm there, so it may all be on paper with the good bits posted later.  I'm also preaching again the Sunday after I get back, so there might be some great insights to be had there.  As for next semester, if it's anything like this past one, there won't be much time for updates either.  But I'll strive to do what I can, and hopefully that'll work out.

This is not the end. This is not the beginning.

God save us everyone
Will we burn inside the fires of a thousand suns
For the sins of our hands
The sins of our tongues
The sins of our fathers
The sins of our young

-Linkin Park, "The Catalyst"

If execution is a proper deterrent, why do we still have to use it?  One might think the possibility of losing one's life as retribution for actions taken would serve enough to keep people from committing said actions.  That said actions continue to occur, I can only conclude that it does not serve as a deterrent, and if it doesn't, then why are we killing people?

Tonight, Facebook is inundated with statements from friends regarding the execution of Troy Davis in Georgia.  Many of my seminary and clergy friends are weighing in on the injustice of everything this evening, while none of my friends beyond that sphere seem to have noticed.  The general sentiment is that the state of Georgia has just murdered an innocent man, as serious doubt emerged that he actually killed and off-duty police officer in 1989, but I'm not here to argue his guilt or innocence.  I didn't read the news at the time of the supposed crime, I didn't sit in the courtroom as the evidence was presented against him, and I did not sit on the jury to convict him.  In fact, before the last 24 hours, I'm not sure I knew anything about Troy Davis.

I wonder which of my friends did know something about him.

Glaringly absent from the commentary on the death of Troy Davis was commentary on the death of Lawrence Brewer.  While I didn't know his name before today, either, I did know his story, and you might too.  Lawrence Brewer was convicted for killing James Byrd, a name I didn't have to look up.  Byrd was chained to the back of a pick-up truck and dragged to his death in 1998 by Brewer and two accomplices.  I clearly remember it because it was a very high-profile case of modern racism by a white supremacist.

As I read about the stories of Brewer and Davis earlier today, I felt a sense of loss for both of them, but I must confess I felt more compassion for Brewer.  So many voices rose to the defense of a possibly innocent man to prevent an atrocity, with hardly a whisper of concern for a clearly guilty man facing the same atrocity.

Of course, the atrocity isn't that an innocent man would die.  The atrocity is that any person might be murdered by the government.  And, of course, as we are a government of the people, by the people, for the people, what we mean to say is that we are the murderers.  It's tough to stomach the thought that I had a hand  in someone's death.  Just because I didn't agree with it or didn't support it doesn't change the fact that I have, as have you, had a hand in numerous state deaths.

So I mourn for Davis.  And I mourn for Brewer.  And I mourn that Brewer death slid past us almost unnoticed.  Outside my window I can clearly hear the chimes of the clock tower on Cal campus every hour, on the hour, and when I heard the bell toll tonight I felt it was convicting me.  Who am I to recognize one death as more or less important than another?  But, more importantly, who am I to focus on this for the day of death for both men, and claim ignorance every other day?  How can I argue for an injustice when I only do so at my convience?  I'm pretty sure that's not how it works, or at least how it is supposed to work.

Did you know there are three more executions scheduled across the country this month?  Did you know there is one scheduled in Alabama tomorrow?  As I considered what I felt was my own failure to recognize the need for equal compassion to all condemned to die by the hands of the state, I found a desire to not let it happen again.  So I found a website that will give you all kinds of information concerning capital punishment in the United States, including a schedule for upcoming executions.  I hope to be more aware of these events moving forward.  Do with it what you will, but I feel the least we can do is pray for peace and compassion for the victims of those convicted of crimes resulting in the death penalty, as well as peace and compassion for the convicted.  For it is not up to me to say who lives and who dies, not matter what the cause.

I found solace tonight in music, as I often do.  While Linkin Park was a heavy dose for the evening, I also held on to a song I heard coming home from my internship tonight, a thought that surely echoes those of many affected families tonight:

Why can't we pantomime, just close our eyes
And sleep sweet dreams
Me and you with wings on our feet

-R.E.M., "The Great Beyond"

I'm left wondering about the divide between those that oppose the death penalty and those that support it.  I wonder how a roomful of humans can applaud a statistic that place Texas at the forefront of state killings.  I wonder how to start a dialogue with those people, to see what kind of injustice it is for any person to lose their life at the hands of another.  I wonder what kind of action we might consider as justice to soothe the pain caused by violent crimes.  I wonder a lot about how to make things better, and I'm no closer to an answer than I was when I started, but I feel as though I'm starting down some other unknown path.

Tonight, I pray for Troy Davis.  Tonight, I pray for Lawrence Brewer.  Tonight, I pray for Derrick Mason. Tonight, I pray for the day when I no longer need to pray these prayers.

A (brief) reflection of the last decade.

I spent this morning listening to music to help me remember.

I didn't do it to remember 9/11.  I don't need any help remembering that.  Maybe I was far removed from the events of that morning geographically as I spent hours in class, but I distinctly remember the images of planes and  buildings that day, replayed over and over on television for us to try to understand and fail miserably.  I remember the hurt and anger and confusion I couldn't get a hold on, and eventually finding myself in a long hug from Abeth where I finally sobbed it all out as I tried wrap my head around the concept of "why."

Instead, I listened to remind myself that, despite the pain, fear, and hatred that has spouted from far corners of the globe as a response to both that days events and our country's own reaction, those ways are not my ways.  I also remember the darkness of October 2001, when I felt so conflicted as our country invaded Afghanistan.  I wanted to be able to stand in defense of our country, but I also felt that killing people in a far flung country felt more like revenge than justice.  The day the war started, I found the lyrics to a howie&scott song, "Mightier Than the Sword," and posted them on my dorm door as I still searched for my own voice in support of love and peace:

Our hands are
Our feet are
Our words are
Our lives are…
Mightier than the sword

In the days, months, and years following 9/11, there was so much talk about victory over the terrorists. As true to me as it is now, the only way I can understand victory over terrorism is not backing down from business as usual: living life without fear of the other, spending our time loving and helping each other, and building together all things new so that we as humans around the world stand together as one.  What would life be like if we did that instead of tearing each other down through our words and actions of violence?

Now a year into seminary and a different kind of life for myself, I stand for love.  That's what I wanted to remember this morning, and what I want to remember every morning.

How I Spent My Summer "Vacation" Q&A

After my last post, I received some ideas to address in a follow-up.  If you haven’t read that post, you might want to head over there first, as these responses make less sense without that context.  Thanks for all for your questions, and feel free to add more!

As my last post was a summary designed to engage the positive things I could learn from the experience, some of these topics didn’t really fit, but they were nonetheless often part of my original observations that I have expanded some upon reflection.  Often, the lack of mention of certain aspects of my journey in my original post meant that I didn’t feel a way to learn something new that I might be able to incorporate into something new, instead reflecting what I thought of as what not to do.  So, to the questions:

What are the signs of emotional connection?  I think to help with this I need to establish a baseline of connection in my normal worship experiences.  In the past, as I have attended UCC churches, there is a variety of expression from the congregation within the service.  That is in no way a comprehensive experience, and indeed due to the nature of the UCC, each UCC church is different from the last.  But the common sense I have gotten in a UCC service is a calm demeanor from the congregation, with limited interaction between congregants and/or pastors within the service.  At the most basic, the service involves a very short time of greeting between congregants, and all other movement is based on standing or sitting at the appropriate time (hymns, calls to worship, offerings, blessings, etc.) but not often extended to lateral movement.  Additionally, there may occasionally be a music selection that includes some clapping, but not as often as weekly, or sometimes even monthly.  There is little to no response to the actions of the pastor, particularly during the sermon.  My own church (New Spirit Community Church) is expanded much beyond that, incorporating lateral movement for longer periods at various points in the service, and more energy-inducing music that contains clapping or even dancing at multiple points during a service in a mostly weekly basis.  Both of those situations do not necessarily mark the amount of emotional connection within a service, as emotion can often be inwardly expressed, especially in a group where the norms are not an open to movement, but they are not as readily apparent to a visitor.

In all of the churches I visited this summer, there was no question in the heightened emotional connection of the congregation through physical movement and vocal expression, far more than any church I have regularly attended.  Though lateral movement was not often apparent, vertical movement was.  During opening music, everyone stood, often with arms raised as a praise motion to receive the inspiration of the Spirit.  Singing was a primary expression of emotion, with volume of voice and extent of physical movement and dance increasing with increasing awareness of emotional connection.  In one church, I was particularly amazed at the volume increase of the congregational singing after an emotional and energetic sermon over the level established before the sermon.  There was also encouragement of emotional expression from the congregation by the pastors.  For example, if the pastor noted a particular reaction from the congregation he thought of as positive of expressive (in terms of emotional release), there would be a kind of pause in the service as that moment was stretched to heighten the experience.  Music from the band or choir would increase in volume, as would the singing of the congregation.  From this, I could see more hands in the air in praise, more swaying or dancing from the congregation, and sometimes some form of speaking in tongues.

Other forms of emotional connection throughout the service included shouting and crying.  Both of these were very common in all the churches I attended.  Shouting would occur at any point in the service as response to the music or the sermon.  Sometimes it was in response to the encouragement of the preacher (“Can I get an amen?”), but there were also plenty of moments of improvisational, inspirational shouting of praise.  If the music or the sermon touched a particularly strong nerve, the ultimate response was crying.  Some churches offered tissues by passing them, or by stocking them in pews, showing recognition of the power of emotional connection within the church.  The avenue of connection for this expression varied from church to church based on the theology of the sermon or music, but it was prevalent throughout the churches as a whole.

In summary, the emotional connection had a wide range of expression, from more movement in a stationary position (swaying, dancing, arms raised) to increased volume (shouting, singing, music) to cathartic release (speaking in tongues, crying).

What is the make-up of the congregation?  This was certainly something that varied by church.  One church I visited was mostly African-American through historic tradition.  The rest seemed to be mostly Euro-American in make-up to varying degrees, some having much more diversity than others.  Some churches offered services in languages other than English.  However, I do not recollect any mention of race, even within the church predominantly African-American.  Every church had a wide range of age groups, but I particularly focused on the large amount of inclusion of families, children, and young adults.  There was a specific focus of engagement to many different age groups, especially youth and young adults.  I also had a sense of middle to upper class engagement in every church except the African-American church, reflecting the geographical location of the churches (downtown Oakland versus Bay Area suburbs).  No church engaged sexual orientation or gender identification as a positive way of inclusion, and some were, to me, offensive in their opposition to that inclusion.

I did not feel that any church truly reflected diversity in terms of percentages of population in the area across a number of different demographics, but I did feel the diversity of congregational make-up was greater than most of my previous church experiences, both outside and within the UCC.  However, this diversity of congregational make-up was not reflected in the church leadership.  Every pastor (except at the African-American church) was Euro-American.  Every pastor was male.  Every senior pastor was older, though some had guest preachers that were much younger.  Diversity was never a topic of music or sermon in any church.

How did the preacher use scripture?  This was one of the largest difficulties I had with the churches.  Most churches did not have a separate reading of the scripture; it was folded into the sermon.  Within those sermons came some different uses of scripture.  One church used John 11 as a scripture, with the sermon as first-person perspective from the viewpoint of the writer of John witnessing the events of raising Lazarus from the dead.  Another church had ten different scriptural references, one or two verses apiece, within the sermon from six different books of the New Testament and the Old Testament.  Another church had six scriptural references from six different Old Testament and New Testament books, one to seven verses apiece.  At no point in any church did I feel the sermon was used to critically examine scripture, instead the scripture was often picked out of context to serve the needs of the preacher, including sometimes skipping lines within the same pericope to only use the verses that served the preacher’s needs.

How did these churches address social justice?  Most of the churches had some sort of outreach to the poor.  This seemed to mostly come in a way to feed the hungry in the local community once a week or once a month.  There may have been more efforts beyond, but they were not advertised within the service or other media present.  The focus for most churches was on prosperity/personal liberation as well as salvation.  Therefore, there wasn’t much of a social justice aspect of the church or worship, which I found highly disappointing.  I considered what one might be able to accomplish with so many people working towards one goal, and realized there are certainly very positive and very negative results that can come from that.  I would have been very interested to see what social justice might look like in a mega-church setting, but it just wasn’t there.

How I Spent My Summer "Vacation"

Earlier this year, I decided it might be a fun and enlightening exercise to take some time to visit other churches over the summer. The more I thought about it, I reasoned that I had been to plenty UCC churches in my lifetime, and I’ll have ample opportunity to experience other ones in the future, so this might be an excellent opportunity to search out places I hadn’t experienced before. As I continued to discern what might be the best churches to visit, I realized there was a large segment of Christianity I really had no background in at all: mega-churches. I wondered what made so many people come to these services. I really had no idea, and couldn’t accurately conjecture without any base of knowledge.

Therefore, I resolved to spend (usually) every other week of the summer to visit a mega-church somewhere in the Bay Area, with the off weeks spent at my home church, New Spirit Community Church in Berkeley. However, I didn’t know where to start in picking a mega-church, and that’s when the internet came to my rescue. I found the Database of Mega-churches after a fast Google search, and I was on my way. One can sort by Name, Denomination, State, and Size, and also search individual states. I looked at a number of candidates, and narrowed it down under the following criteria: each church should be in a different geographical sphere of the Greater Bay Area, each church should be a different denomination, and each church should be a large as possible. Through those criteria, I figured I could get a decent cross-section of what it might be like to attend a mega-church in California. Here are my selections, with date of attendance, size, and denomination included:

6 /19
Jubilee Christian Center – 10,000 (Non-Denominational)
105 Nortech Parkway, San Jose, CA

7/10
Greater St. Paul Baptist Church – 5,000 (Baptist)
1827 Martin Luther King Jr. Way, Oakland, CA

7/24
Menlo Park Presbyterian Church – 3,200 (Presbyterian Church, USA)
950 Santa Cruz Ave, Menlo Park, CA

7/31
Bayside Church – 9,983 (Evangelical Covenant)
8191 Sierra College Blvd., Roseville, CA

8/14
Calvary Temple – 10,515 (Assemblies of God)
1601 Coffee Rd., Modesto, CA

Each church was different from the last, as all churches are. There was a variety in theology among the churches, none of which I can say I was comfortable with. There was also imagery and language used within each church that I was uncomfortable with. I did not feel that I could attend any of these churches on a regular basis due to these conflicts with my own beliefs. However, I did not attended these churches to discover what I could find wrong about them, but instead to see what they were doing that worked well and could be useful in a progressive church setting. As such, I found a few common themes among the churches that were informative to me about why so many people might attend the churches.

Every church had a similar order of worship. Again, there were always variations dependent on the individual church, but there was not much deviation from a simple service structure: opening music, pastoral prayer, announcements, and offering, more music, message, music, and end. Some churches dwelled on certain areas longer than others as well. Some did more music, some had more message, and some had both. But they all carried the same simple structure of worship.

Every church used technology to enhance the sanctuary and the service. All five churches had at least two screens at the front of the sanctuary, one to either side of the center/stage area. Before church, these screens contained information on upcoming events and other announcements. During church, the screens contained words for all of the music, either taking up the whole screen or running along the bottom of the screen over live video of the congregation and musicians. Also, the screens focused on the pastor during the sermon, flashing any scriptural references made throughout the sermon. Additionally, there was often a video of upcoming events, and a few words from the head pastor if he was away for the week.

Because of these screens, most churches did not have a traditional bulletin, but instead passed out informational pamphlets about the church as people entered the sanctuary. In my opinion, the screens helped to create a better sense of community in the church; people were always looking up instead of looking down when singing, and people could see how the entire congregation or certain individuals were reacting to moments in the service, especially at moments of high emotion and connection.

Every church used music that was powerful: energetic, and emotional. Every church had a band that included at least a drum kit, electric guitar, electric bass, piano/keyboard and vocalist. Others included more instruments and vocalists, some many more. The music was always the start of the service, and generally centered on up-tempo, praise-type music. At times, the music dipped to a slower pace, but would often pick up the tempo again with the next song. Music was used in some places as an emphatic response to the message, but was mostly centered on the beginning of the service. Often, there was recorded music played over the sound system before and after the service as people entered and exited, but all music within the service was performed live by the band and choir.

Every church used the structure of the service to make an emotional connection with the congregation. From the first notes of the opening music to the message to the music to end the service, there was always an effort to make a community in the sanctuary based on an emotional connection with each other and the divine, often emphasized on the divine. Each message was crafted to have uplifting effect on the people of the congregation, and the congregation responded. There were often testimonies from the pastor within the sermon to drive home the point found within the scriptural references of the day. The music at the beginning was used as an emotional introduction to the service, to make initial connections, but the message was the heart of the emotional experience. The message varied in length from church to church, ranging from twenty minutes to over an hour, but was always delivered with an overabundance of energy to complete and enhance the emotional connection to the congregation. People were most expressive during the most intense periods of emotion in the service, whether brought on by the message or the music.
It was hard for me to understand why someone might want to find themselves in a mega-church. The size of the church removes the individuality of a person in church. But I realized that the emotional connection to each other, to the worship leaders, and to the divine were of profound importance, and overrode any thought of an individual lost in a sea of people. Each church also provided community opportunities outside of a worship service through smaller bible studies and congregational groups and events, as well as excellent child care and education from infants to young adults.

So my conclusion was that the draw of the mega-church was the inspirational and emotional experience brought through energetic expression in contemporary music and message delivery. Of all the churches I experienced, I found the most informative and most desirable to be the Bayside Church of Roseville, CA.

While I did not agree with the theology of Bayside Church, I was blown away by the presentation and involvement of the service. They are 100% committed to making the service a very positive experience, best seen in the performance of the music. All music was done by what could easily be called a rock band. They were so experienced and together in their presentation, I could easily see them as a successful opening act for a popular modern alternative rock act. Each song was performed with passion and spirit unmatched in any other church I attended. The message was met with equal passion and spirit, and the congregation responded energetically to both. If I could recommend any of these churches to go to in an effort to understand my church visiting experience this summer that would be the one.

My take away from this project is that there are ways to connect to people that are independent of theology. I think the attendees of these services are looking for a place to find inspiration and acceptance in a modern context, and these churches are very good at providing that. But I also found myself in question moving forward: what would a progressive mega-church look like? In other words, how can I take my experience at Bayside Church and translate it to a church with progressive theology? That’s the next step for projects on the horizon.

This was an amazing experience for me. I learned quite a bit that I’ll be able to reference as I move forward into ministry. I want to thank most especially Riess Potterveld for support on this adventure, as well as Nate Mazur for accompanying me on the last two church visits. Also thanks to support of friends and family as I went on this journey, particularly in events surrounding some of the visits. Finally, I encourage you to all to find your own journey, and experience something opposite of how you think or feel. You might be surprised what you learn!

Bath time and bananas would never be the same.

I'm sure you've seen the news this week.  It's been all over the place, as if we had nothing better to worry about this week.  Or maybe we just want to escape whatever roller coaster the stock market is sending us on?

Yes, people are getting up in arms about Bert and Ernie.  Sure, quite a few of us grew up singing about our rubber duckies, but I guess we can't just leave it alone.  Bert and Ernie are examples for children these days, as they always have been, and it appears we are concerned about what that example might be.

One might think, given my hefty support of same-gender loving marriage, that I would be in full support of the idea of a wedding for Bert and Ernie.  But they'd be quite wrong.

It's not that I'm opposed to the idea of them getting married.  Sure, if that's who they are, then go for it.  But is that who they are?  The good folks at Sesame Street keep telling us that Bert and Ernie aren't gay, and are instead best friends and roommates.  I don't think they were created as gay characters, and if they weren't then, why are they now?

In an age where we are fighting for a revolution in gender identity, is it fair for us to project our own ideas of who somebody is or isn't onto their lived experience absent their own input?  I understand they are puppets (as the folks at Sesame Street are also keen to point out) and subject to whatever character traits and thoughts created for them by human writers, but I know I didn't think about that when I was growing up. I knew of Bert and Ernie as people that are friendly with each other, because that's what they are portrayed as.  Anything else added to that is our own projection of what we want to see, for better or for worse.

Should Sesame Street have gay, married characters?  Well, I think an example of all forms of love, as well as an example of the different areas of gender identity would be good for an educational program to show, especially for those that might not get it in any other context.  But that's a different argument.  For us to decide that Bert and Ernie are gay and should be married is no better than us deciding who is gay based on how they dress, the people they hang out with, or how they speak.  Same goes for gender identity.  It is not for us to project our own desires and perceptions on other people.  That's how we end up with stereotyping and discrimination.

So if we want to petition Sesame Street to address gender and sexual orientation topics in an educational and positive way, I'm in.  But if we want to petition Sesame Street to address our own ideas of what people (or in this case, puppets) should do without respecting who they are, then I'm out.  I'll have fun with Bert and Ernie over bananas and bath time:

My Surreal Sunday

It was unexpected.  By that, I mean, having never been punched in the face before, I didn't recognize what was happening until after it happened.  It was a touch past surreal.  Maybe next time I'll know I should duck.

I have no idea how the day ended up this way.  The plan: head to Menlo Park Presbyterian Church for morning service, chill out in the area for a bunch of hours, and then head back to the church for the 7 PM young adult service.  As part of my day hanging around, I thought a movie would be a good time killer, so I found a big theater, drove over there after the service got out around noon, parked the car, and went looking for some food.

Ah, Redwood City, a fine downtown area indeed, if not a tad on the ritzy side.  As I rounded a corner towards the "food court" area next to the theater, I passed a man on the sidewalk that seemed to give me a strange look. So it goes sometimes, I thought, and continued on.  About halfway down the street, as I was checking out the many food options, I realized the man that gave me a strange look was following me, and that's when he approached me.

We had a short conversation about what I was doing and what my plans were, and I had a sense that something strange was going on.  We walked into the Chipotle together, as I figured burritos were a good choice of food.  Plus, it was a public establishment that might discourage any untoward action.  Or so I thought.  I stood in line, and he asked me if I knew what I wanted.  I told him I was still figuring it out, all the while trying to figure out how to separate myself from him, for the hair on the back of my neck grew straighter by the second.

That's when I didn't recognize his fist coming at me.  Like so often said, it was in slow motion.  Rather than reacting, I stood confused, trying to figure out what he was doing.  That was sorted out pretty quickly when he hit me, but I was still confused: why would someone want to hit me, much less someone I don't know?

I backed away with my hands in front of me, ready to try to ward of the next blow that never came.  At first the ladies at the counter implored us to take it outside, not wanting violence in their fine eatery.  I agreed vociferously, quickly winning them over with my consistent backing and asking for them to call the police.  The man was still saying things to me, but I wasn't paying too much attention to that so much as his location and my places of safe harbor.  After the ladies at the counter confirmed they were calling the police, the man left and walked down the street in a pretty normal manner.

One punch.  That was it. It's hard for me to call one punch an assault, but that's where the police were, so I wasn't going to argue.  Since they had him in custody due to some fast and fantastic police work, I was asked if I wanted to press charges.  It took me a while to decide.  All I could think about was compassion and love, and how it's so hard to love those who hate you, but that doesn't get you off the hook.  So I was leaning towards no, but I then I thought some more.

I'd had some time to reflect on what happened as I waited for the police to show up, and I ran everything over in my head.  I can't remember the specifics of what he was saying, but the general gist I was picking up was he didn't like me for some reason, and thought what I was doing was wrong.  I don't know what that's a reference to, since I had never seen this man before in my life, and we knew nothing of each other.  He didn't want my money, and he never said anything about how I might have wronged him.  I was clearly targeted by him, so a quick inventory of myself told me he thought I was gay.  Either that, or he didn't like my orange shirt?  I still wear my rainbow bracelet every day to show my support for the LGBTQ population, and that was the only thing I could think of that might have caught his attention.

Maybe I'm wrong, but it felt to me like a hate crime.  In the end, that's why I decided to press charges.  If he was disturbed, or high, or I had unknowingly wronged him, I might have let it pass and let go, but there was that nagging feeling in the back of my head that there was something else to it.  If he had hit me because I was gay, even if it was only a slim possibility, I couldn't let it pass.  How could I look my friends or family in the eye after fighting against things like that for so long, and then when the opportunity came upon me, just letting it slide?  How is that justice?

But maybe I'm just projecting an idea to understand these strange events.  It's easier to think that someone won't decide today that you're the one to be violent towards.  It's easier to think that everyone acts in a rational way, and that one need only show a person the "right" way to change a course of action.  It's easier to think that everything has a simple reason behind it, and that if we understand that reason, if in some way it all makes sense to us, then it just gets better.  But it's not easy.  Even if I can fully convince myself of his possible ugly intentions, I still don't see a way to clearing up the confusion I can't shake.  My mind works so hard to try to understand everything I can encounter, and it sure is working overdrive on this one, but I'm no closer to understanding now than I was as it was happening.

I never was angry at the man, and I'm still not.  Whatever his reasons were, in the end he needed some kind of help, and perhaps his arrest will point him towards that help.  Really, I felt sad for him.  I felt sad for all the points in his life that led him to the one of violence with me.  I felt sad for how his life may be so different now that he hit me.  I felt sad that he didn't even see the wrong in what he had done, with they way in which he casually walked away revealing so much.

The police officer told me I would most likely never see him again, and I suppose I'm fine with that.  But part of me wishes I could see him again, perhaps just in passing, just to say that I pray peace finds his life to free him from whatever led him to hit me, and that I forgive him.

Mid-Summer

It's nearing the end of July, and I've had a busy three weeks of Introduction to Christian History class.  Four hours a day in class, five days a week, plus reading homework and then papers to write.  Tomorrow is the final day, and the class had been great.  So tomorrow will be a great day of ending as we talk about the last 50 years of Christian history, and then I'll be (mostly) free for the month of August to do a lot of something and a lot of nothing.

Also, the Giants are having a good month.  Really, they are having a good year.  How do I know this?  Well, aside from checking out the Giants games, box scores, and stories, I find myself already checking the standings every day.  In mid-July.  With well over two months to go on the season.  Yowza.

What have I learned?  Well, as of tonight, the Giants are a fine four games in first place, tied for the largest division lead at this point.  For those counting at home, they have the same number of wins as the Evil Empire (aka the Yankees) while scoring 125 fewer runs.  Who needs high-priced free agents?  Or the ability to score runs?  Only the Phillies have allowed fewer runs than the Giants, which should make for an interesting series come October, should both get that far.

It's the same Giants as last year, but worse.  Somehow, they find a way to win those one run games (at 26-13), and that's all it takes.  A win by one run counts the same as a win by twenty.

If the Giants make it to the playoffs again, I'll be happy.  If they make it to the World Series again, I'll got nuts.  And if they win again?  Well, I wasn't sure how I'd react to the first one last year, so I have no idea how I'd take two in a row.  Of course, if they fall flat and miss the playoffs, I'll be sad, but then I can remember the glory of last October, for I'm sure I'll be feeling that one for a while.

But, seriously, it's too early for watching the standings every day.  So much can happen in two and a half months.  Just look where the Giants were last year at this time.  You never know who will come from behind to make a run at it.  You never know what Cinderella will fall apart (Pirates?  Indians?  Diamondbacks?).  So what's the use with all this scoreboard watching with so much time left.

Now, do as I say, not as I do.

Who casts the first stone?

Checking out links on Facebook today led me to this story about the "The Marriage Vow" and the willingness of Republican Presidential candidates to sign it.  Michele Bachmann and Rick Santorum have already signed on, and others may be on the way shortly.  If you'd like to take a look, read below.

The Marriage Vow

My quick summery after a read-through: the candidate pledges to "protect" marriage through various actions and legislation if elected to office.  As I am generally a liberal fellow, you are probably not surprised in my lack of support for this document.

In wandering though the experience of reading this, I was struck by two things.  First, the liberal reaction is mostly vitriol.  Is the left really surprised by this?  Here we see on paper exactly what a number of candidates have been talking about throughout their campaigns.  The reaction to this on the right, I presume, is one of affirmation.  These are, after all, Republican candidates looking for ways to distinguish themselves in a race full of a lot of look-a-likes.  Telling their base in no uncertain terms exactly what they want to hear when it comes to social issues, so, no, I am not surprised by the news of the Vow, or that candidates are signing it, because that's what the Republican base wants.

And that leads me to my second thought, which I find much more important.  If we describe ourselves as progressive, how are we to have a conversation with those that oppose us by starting the conversation with insults and belittling.  I see progressives so quick to claim the high ground on so many issues with a reinvention of moral superiority the marginalized have sought so long to eliminate.  Doesn't it seem the least bit hypocritical and pretentious to tell other people they need to stop bullying and name calling and finish by calling them stupid for not getting it?

Oh, I'm could talk about the problems I have with this vow and those candidates that support it, and I could for quite some time, but that's beyond the point.  We can disagree with each other on how we view the world and how we implement policy.  But if we truly believe that our vision for the country is better than some other vision, we cannot start down that road by stepping backwards into pettiness and thuggery.  After all, that's what it is to call someone stupid.

I was reminded in class this week that, despite a many and varied differences, we are all human.  It is important to remember that we all deserve compassion.  We come from different social locations, political systems, and spiritual beliefs, but we must remember that we must be compassionate for every human, not matter how badly we disagree with them.  Everyone had their bias on how they view the world, but if we add compassion to that bias, we can start a conversation about moving forward without moving backward.

Thoughts on New York

This beginning of this story is written elsewhere on this blog, but here's the quick summary: just over eleven years ago, I sat in my government class as a senior in high school fighting back tears as I explained why I was so upset a ban of gay marriage had passed in California.  It was such a moment of despair for me, and I felt so alone in that classroom, as if every one of my classmates were against me.

I have to remind myself constantly these days that laws like this were passed even though same-sex marriage was already unavailable.  Maryland passed the first law banning same-sex marriage in 1973, but by 1990, 40 of the 50 states had a law against it.  And, of course, in 1996, President Clinton signed the Defense of Marriage Act outlawing federal recognition of same-sex marriage.  Then Hawaii courts declared a law prohibiting same-sex marriage to be unconstitutional according to the state constitution.  The reaction came quickly in Hawaii and then spread around the country: amend the state constitution to get around the possible unconstitutionality of these laws.  Amendments like these have spread like wildfire, a wave sweeping the nation.  Every time a measure like this had come for a vote in front of the people, it has passed.

In 2000, there was no state in which same-sex marriage was legal.  In only Vermont was there even a place in which the same rights as marriage were given same-sex couples through the invention of civil unions.

And yet, there was hope.  Well, at least to me, there was hope.  While other nations were starting to make headway towards legalized same-sex marriage, Vermont was really that clue for me, that kernel of hope that something could come along.  To borrow from my friend, Howie, that was the whisper that started the wave.

In 2004, the city of San Francisco started issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples.  Other cities followed suit, and though those marriages were all eventually nullified, the voices were growing.  Just a few months later, Massachusetts became the first state to legalize same-sex marriage.

With last weeks amazing effort by the government of New York, there are now six states in which same-sex marriage is legal.  Another eight states allow rights equal to marriage to same-sex couples.  Do the math, that's  thirty six states in which same-sex marriage is not legal.  With the passing of Proposition 8 in 2008, California is one of those states in which marriage is not legal (though it was for a time) even though civil unions with equal rights exist.  I had friends that day that found the despair I had felt in my classroom so many years ago, and couldn't see how the future contained a place in which same-sex marriage existed.

Some might look at 36 states in which there are no equal rights, or question why eight states can't bring themselves to call a horse a horse and jump to legalized same-sex marriage.  But I realized so many years ago, after my experience in high school and again in college as a freshman in Nebraska, that there are outcomes that come against you.  There are people who want to keep you in your place and keep that status quo.  There are events that conspire to to convince you to give up.  It's so hard, but you have to ignore it all and keep focused on that shining light of victory.

Keep your eyes on the prize, hold on.

That is, in sum, what I told my friends then, and what I still say today.  Thirty-six states outlawing same-sex marriage got you down?  Need I remind you ten years ago, there were no states in which this was legal?  Need I remind you of the advance of anti-discrimination laws in the last ten years, or the parents that have adopted because of the changes in laws?  No, I'm not in despair of the states that still outlaw same-sex marriage.  I am overjoyed that New York has joined the other five states, and I'm ready to celebrate number seven, whenever that comes.  Because it will come.

Same-sex marriage may not be the be-all, end-all of equal rights for the LGBT community, but it's another step.  Things like this take time, no matter what it is.  So rejoice in this step, and then take another.  And then another.  And when that fight is done, move to the next one, until we are all equal in the eyes of the government, and, more importantly, in the eyes of each other.

Have you been following this story?

A college football player, returning to campus following the death of a friend, was pulled off a US Airways flight last week for not complying with the orders of flight attendants and the captain of the plane to pull up his pants that were sagging low enough to expose his underwear.  When I first read it, I thought it was a little bit of a strange story.  Are we really making big deals about what people are wearing on airplanes, in San Francisco no less?  I understand folks get nervous about security on flights these days, but doesn't it seem a little over the top?

Almost immediately there was a question on the motive of his removal from the flight.  Were they attempting to remove him from the flight because they thought he was dressed inappropriately?  Were they attempting to remove him from the flight because they thought he was a security risk based on his reaction?  Or were they attempting to remove him from the flight because they stereotyped him in the first place, letting his appearance tell a story that didn't match to what was going on.

But then the story deepens with a video posting of the interaction on the plane.  From the video, it's pretty clear that he is not doing anything that warrants concern beyond wanting to just get home.  According to the witnesses he had already complied with the request of the airline employees, albeit delayed from the timing desired by the airline.  So the police arrested him for, among other things, refusing to comply with the orders of the captain and resisting arrest.  Given the video, it seems a little odd.  I'm having trouble understanding why it had to get taken to the level it was.  Unless, of course, you consider that racial stereotypes played a role in the matter.

And then we arrive at today, where there is a report that a man exposing more of his body (in only women's undergarments, as the picture shows) travelling on a plane, where the airline employees ignored the complaints of the customers.  From the story: "A white man is allowed to fly in underwear without question, but my client was asked to pull up his pajama pants because they hung below his waist."

The airline can hide behind the company line of "he should have followed the directions of the flight crew."  I think there's a certain amount of that in this, but that's not the whole truth.  Not by any stretch of the imagination.  While the racial motive question was brought up quickly, the evidence is building more and more and more.

This is how trust is broken.  This is how peace falls apart.  This is how everything that has been gain disappears in just an instance.  We can say this is an isolated incident, or that we wouldn't do the same in a similar situation, or that we shouldn't let one (or a few) bad apples ruin it for the rest of us.  But none of that does justice to Deshon Marman, or his family, or his friend that passed so tragically a month ago.  How easily could this have turned into another situation like the tragedy in the loss of Oscar Grant, a story once again rehashed in the news even as this incident on the plane was happening?

It is incumbent upon all of us to ensure these things don't happen.  It is incumbent upon all of us to stand up and say when we see injustice.  It is incumbent upon all of us to recognize that this situation could happen in front of us any day, at any time, and speak the truth in those situations.  Without everyone recognizing as an individual the role we each play in creating justice in the world, there is still work to do.

In Your Eyes

Peter Gabriel is in town tonight.  I don't have the $50 for the cheapest ticket for myself.  Clearly, we do not have $100 so both Kelse and I could both go.  And then she's working tonight anyway.

It's an outdoor concert over on Cal campus, less than a mile from here.  In fact, a few hours ago I heard them warming up.  Yes, we can here it all the way over here.  I thought about walking over to campus and finding a place to sit and just listen.

But then, I thought, how could I enjoy hearing this without Kelse?

"In Your Eyes" is, of course, our song.  This version was the one we danced our first dance to at our wedding.  It was magical to spend over ten minutes dancing, and inviting others to dance with us, until the entire crowd was sharing the joy of the experience.  This song never fails to make me smile whenever I hear it. Ultimate mood lifter.

But I don't think hearing it live tonight while she is working would make me smile.  It'd be incomplete.  So I'm staying home tonight.  We'll get to see him someday, for sure.  And we'll dance, again, with everyone else.

A moment of reflection

After an intense month of school work, I've been taking some time to reflect on the last year on my life.  Yes, I just finished my first year of seminary last week.  A year ago, I was unaware I was mere days from abruptly quitting my job as an assistant manager at Walmart.  Quite a difference, eh?

When I sent in my application to seminary last July, I didn't know where I wanted to go with it, but I understood that I didn't feel like I could be the minister in front of the congregation.  Today, I am excited to have a field education placement in a wonderful church where I can learn about doing exactly that.  I am looking forward to creating my own worship experiences to share with other people.

When I moved into our studio apartment in Berkeley, I felt overwhelmed by the lack of experience I might have relating to church.  Today, I still feel that lack of experience, but I see it as an asset.  It's easier to look towards something different in the future if I'm not rooted in traditions of the past.

Traditions are good.  Traditions allow us to relate to each other and to our pasts in ways that we couldn't find in other avenues.  There is ceremony and ritual in tradition that can still great feelings within us of comfort and familiarity.  Breaking tradition can be intensely scary, especially if we've followed those traditions our entire lives.  If we're not careful, people are left behind when we change a tradition, let alone eliminate one.

Nebraska is built on tradition.  I have never been a part of traditions more than the time I spent in college at Doane.  It in the DNA of the state, and shows itself to the world through the football team.  I remember when they changed the uniforms while I was in college by adding a white stripe under the arms.  I don't think I met a single person that supported it because it wasn't what we were used to, and neither was the losing we were experiencing that year.  That season was the first time in my life that the team did not win nine games.  I even called a radio show once to blame the struggles of the team that year on the stripe.  We couldn't handle the losing that we were so privileged to avoid for so many years, and it was easy to blame it on the break of tradition.

But what if the traditions don't work?  I left church for over a decade because the traditions of the church didn't speak to me in any way.  Even now, as I continue my journey though seminary, I haven't found a church that really, truly speaks to how I want to worship.  New Spirit Community Church is doing it a lot better than any other churches I've been to recently, but it still doesn't fully feed me how I want it to.

I attended the Annual Gathering of the Northern California-Nevada Conference of the United Church of Christ.  I walked away inspired in many different ways, but I think I am most fired up about the future.  I didn't realize this when I got here, but we can change everything about how we think of worship in progressive Christianity, and we can start today.

Why not?  Why can't we?  What is standing in our way?  We are only limited by our lack of imagination.  There are churches out there that fill stadiums.  There are churches out there that feed the lives of youth and young adults in massive numbers.  I went to a church once in Denver that was a converted grocery store, and the sanctuary was full of young people (with plenty of older people as well).  We may disagree with how other churches do theology, but that doesn't mean they are doing something we can't.  

One of the important lessons I learned from my training at Walmart was how we examine the competition.  We can spend all day ripping them apart for all the things they are doing wrong, and we can revel in all the things we are doing better than them, but if we don't look intently for the things they are doing better than us that we can learn from, pretty soon they'll be passing us by.

So I'm ready.  I'm fired up.  I'm getting started now.  I want worship for me, and for people in my generation. I haven't seen it yet, but I know many things that it is not.  I'm ready to start with a clean slate, try any ideas people can think of, and learn from whoever comes across my path.  I want to hear from all facets of society to see what works for young people.  There are plenty of questions involving church functions, but I want to know about the secular world, too.   Why do we, as young people, flock to concerts?  Why are we, as young people, so passionate about sporting events, especially when they involve the colleges we go to?  Why did we, as young people, take Barack Obama from a politician and turn him into a rock star and help him become President?

This is the tip of the iceberg.  I don't know the answers to these questions and countless others, but I'm going to start asking.  I don't know where this journey is taking me, but I'm ready to receive it with arms wide open.  I don't know how this is going to work, but I know that it will work.  I have faith in that.  After all, when I quit my job a year ago, I didn't know how anything was going to work in my life anymore because I couldn't see the future.  But faith put me through it, with a healthy amount of support for my journey from my wife, my family, and my friends.  I'm the ever the optimist, and I have faith that this, whatever this is and wherever this goes, will work.

Really? That's what you're going to go with?

We had a conversation in the car yesterday that wandered around into a bunch of different areas, and it was interesting to hear different viewpoints and questions to consider.  We dove into politics and race at one point, and I offered my distaste of current politicians equating some politician of the day to Hitler (first President Bush, then President Obama, among others).  It's ridiculous.  The atrocities of Hitler are so far beyond what we can conceive as evil.  Here we are, 65 years removed from World War II, and I still don't think we have a proper perspective on it.

So I was already primed a little when I read this news story today, in which Minnesota Rep. Michele Bachmann compared our current tax situation to the Holocaust.  Yes, because how much we are taxing and spending is the same thing as millions of people dying at the hands of a ruthless dictator.  She denies equating the two things, but then says, "...we are seeing eclipsed in front of our eyes a similar death and a similar taking away. It is this disenfranchisement that I think we have to answer to."

I don't mind that people think differently than I do on government taxation and expenditures.  I understand that the rich pay more than their fair share of taxes versus the poor (or me).  I understand that some people would rather a more equitable rate, but I just don't see that as sustainable.  So I'm in favor of raising taxes on very high levels of income a little, and on gigantic corporations a lot.

But I don't need to disparage history to say that.  As quoted in the article, she says, "The question comes down to this: what will you say to that next generation about what you did to make sure that wouldn't be their fate?"  Her answer, would clearly be, "I co-opted the suffering of millions in an attempt to use fear and guilt in order to convince more people to vote for me and my ideas, regardless of whether or not they actually benefited from those ideas."

I have conservative friends.  I have friends that support Rep. Bachmann.  I apply a direct appeal to you: please don't support her with donations, and please don't vote for her.  I'm not asking you to change you beliefs to match mine, though I'd be happy to discuss that with you if you want to.  Instead, I ask you to find another candidate that represents your ideas just as well without resorting to shameful comparisons that disrespect the memory of so many people that died for no reason but hate, and those that fought, knowing or unknowingly  for their freedom and liberation, as well as ours.  Find a candidate that might represent the optimism of our country's founding without misrepresenting, misusing, or just straight up getting blatantly wrong the history of our country and the world in order to score political points.

In this moment, here and now, let's join together to say, "No!  We won't let you do that to us."

Mixed Up

It's amazing how some days can be filled with gratitude for abundance and at the same time with distress for lack.

Today is one of those days.  I am sitting in a place of abundance from opportunities for field ed next year.  I am amazed at the possibilities, and grateful for the choice I have to make, though I am close to certain what choice I will make.  I feel like I'm moving forward in seminary quite well, and I feel better about my future than I have in quite a while.

On the other hand, Kelse lost one of her jobs today, one that was giving her more hours than the other.  We have money to last us a little while, but not into the summer.  So she resumes her job search, again.

Back when we had our conversations about me leaving work to come to seminary, we talked about a lot of things.  I let her know me feelings about my job, and how it was affecting me, my health, my life, and my relationships.  We talked about ideas for the future, about what it might mean for us to do this, and what sacrifices we would have to make.  When I made the decision to leave Walmart for my own mental health, I did it through consulting her first.

In the end, we decided that this was the right thing for me to do.  As she was only a few classes into her educational opportunities, we decided to put her education on hold as I dove into mine full time, in order to be done as quickly as possible so she could start hers again.  We decided that she would become the breadwinner of the family, also to help me focus on what I was doing in school.

So far, we have worked things out.  But I am constantly in a struggle with myself over taking a job somewhere to help out.  On the one hand, we need money to pay bills, and if there's not enough money, then we have a big problem.  On the other hand, at some times I'm having quite a difficulty juggling classes, meetings, church, and homework.  Homework is especially hard for me sometimes because I can't sit and do a lot of work at once like I used to: I lose focus after a while, or I lose my ability to comprehend what I'm doing, or I lose my ability to think in coherent sentences when writing.  So I am intentional about breaking up my homework with other non-work related activities in order get the most out of what I'm trying to accomplish.

Some weeks, I feel like I have all the time in the world to do whatever I want (like this week), and some weeks I feel like I haven't got a free moment to spare (like last week).

I think about this often, and I would say it's the biggest source of stress in my life currently.  Shouldn't I be doing more to make this work out?  But then there are days that Kelse reminds me what our decision was, and that we both play a roll in this.  I am not the person responsible for the majority of the income and paying the bills like I was a year ago.  In this time, in this place, my role is that of student.  Of course, if I can find some things on the side that pay money every now and then (as I have been occasionally) that don't run into my schedule, then I'll take it to help out.  I have also begun my search in earnest for a job for the summer.  Next school year, I'll have a stipend from my field ed, and that will help too.  I've also decided to at least give it a try next year for some work study, and if I can tell it isn't going to work out, then it won't work out and I'll stop.

In the meantime, I'll do what I can.  Incidentally, if anyone needs help moving, at the end of the semester or otherwise, I have lots of experience, and I'm willing to work for what I would say is a pretty good deal.  Let me know!

Invoking Inspiration

I was taking a few moments to reflect on how life has progressed in the past months, and reviewing my blog entries in the process.  I realized that, while I have told the following story many, many times to many, many people, I haven't put it on paper (or digitized it, as it were).  So here we go, the short version: how did I get here?

When I was in college, I found myself to be an atheist.  For all the things church and religion had to offer, I just couldn't find a place where they spoke to me.  What did I believe?  Well, I thought of some connection between the people of the world, the plants, the animals, and the earth.  I couldn't quite explain it, but the best equation I could come up with was the Force from Star Wars.  I also believed in signs, and followed them as best I saw fit for me.  I thought of this as the world speaking to me in a very confusing and non-specific way.  Whatever it was, it came down to really just trusting what my instinct were telling me.

Of course, my instincts weren't telling me anything after I finished college.  I didn't have a job, so I moved in with my grandparents in Colorado.  I've always lived close to my maternal grandparents in my life.  After my parents divorced when I was very young, I lived with them (as well as my sister and mother) in Lincoln, Nebraska.  When my mother moved us out to California when she finished college, my grandparents followed for their own reasons six months later.  Though my mom and grandparents moved many times in the Bay Area from the time I was in kindergarten to the time I was in college, they never lived more than an hour apart.  So even when I lived in Omaha, Nebraska, with my dad for some of my elementary school years, my grandparents were always there when I visited my mom.  And, of course, I moved in with them in Colorado less than a year after they had moved there, and then they came back to California less than a year after I did.

Especially by the time I finished high school, I didn't have a very good relationship with my father.  Well, it's not that it was a specifically bad relationship, but more like it didn't really exist.  We were down to seeing each other one week out of the year.  Since I lived near my grandparents, I looked to my grandfather as a father figure in a lot of ways.  He was the one to take me to baseball games in San Francisco.  He was the one that helped me find my first nice suit jacket to wear.  He took me to the beach.  He taught me how to garden.  Actually, he taught me how to transform a garden thought moving flowers, installing planter boxes, laying bark, and lots and lots of digging..  He spent time with me that I otherwise would have missed in any male role model.

My grandfather was a minister, as was my grandmother.  He experienced his life as providing love for all those he encountered.  He was a leader in early movements to legalize gay marriage.  He found social justice to be not a dream for tomorrow, but a way to live life today.  And he passed these things on to me.  Even though I moved away from church, sometimes as fast as I could, the lessons and ideas he taught me stood firm.  One I cherish: in all the time I knew him, I can only recall one time in which his patience was pushed to the limit enough to yell at me and my sister, a stark contrast from my dad.  I strive so hard to do the same.

My grandfather also had Alzheimer's disease.  It was hard to watch him deteriorate as I lived with my grandparents in Colorado.  It seemed worse with each passing day.  I worked at Walmart while I lived with them, and the time I spent at work kept me from spending time with him.  I didn't complain, because I had to work, and I tried what I could to do my own things while still spending time with him, to try and be a solid foundation for him.

After three years in Colorado, I moved back to the Bay Area, and my career continued to grow.  I was promoted to Assistant Manager after my grandparents moved back to the area as well, and so my ability to spend time with them diminished even more, and of course his condition continued to worsen.  I remember looking at him sleeping in reclining chair in their house one day, feeling he wouldn't be around much longer at all.  So when I got a call at work one day telling me he had a stroke, I figured this was it.  We more or less spent his last week with him at the hospital before he passed after the whole family had finally gathered.

I listened to all the stories of his life in his memorial service, and I was in awe.  Imagine all of the incredible things in his life he did, and imagine all the things I hadn't done in mine.  There were so many ways I wanted to be like him, and helping people was another.  I suppose I did that at Walmart by providing goods at a low cost for people who didn't have a whole lot of money, but that wasn't it for me.  I felt best helping people directly, and I needed to find a way to do that.

Flash forward six months, and I had figured out there was something I would be so excellent at: becoming a minister.  Of course, there was one small problem: I still thought of myself as an atheist.  But then I had a conversation with an old family friend, another minister who I respected very much, and she asked me about this connection I experienced, and if that connection could be God.  Amazingly, I hadn't considered that before.  New perspectives are always inviting to me.

The next month, I quit my job at Walmart (another story all its own), and three months later I was at the Pacific School of Religion.

I don't know where I'm going from here, or how I'm getting there.  Even in those moments of doubt, I take a minute to remember why I came in the first place.  I am here to love.  I am here to help people.  I am here to continue the work that my grandparents started.  I am here to honor the memory of my number one hero.

Today, I celebrate my grandfather's birthday. He is part of that connection, the mystery of the spirit of those that come before us and those yet to come.  This year, he turns 86. I know as long as I cherish his memories and live his legacy, he isn't gone.  Every day, I am proud to have his spirit in me, and to honor the love and peace he sought every day of his life.

Rising Waters at Night

I don't know if I've ever told this to anyone before.

I usually can't remember my dreams.  I'll wake up and know I had a dream, but I can never remember what it was about.Of course, this wasn't always the case.  The first dream I can remember involves a bunch of ninjas swarming our house in the middle of the night, and me quite easily fending them off.  I was maybe five when I had this dream.  Triumphant me at an early age.

I also remember having a recurring dream type.  I say that because it was never the same dream, but it followed a similar storyline.  Also, I don't think I'd call them nightmares, because I wasn't really that scared during or after them, but I would were bothersome.  They also led to some nights of less sleep than usual.

They involved tsunamis.

Last night was another one of those nights.  In fact, I had two last night, one for each time I fell asleep.  The characters and places always change in these dreams, but the story essentially follows as thus: there is a tsunami warning called, we all head for higher ground far into the realm of safety, and then the tsunami turns out to be much, much worse then we thought.  No matter how much higher ground we find, the waters rise with us, coming up behind us so very quickly.  There is a lot of damage, but as far as I can remember no one ever is actually hurt.

But the waters rise far above all of our expectations, and there is no escape from them.

We found out about the devastating earthquake in Japan late last night as we closed down La Vals for another Thursday night of fun.  I can't even remember the conversation we were having when it all disappeared so quickly.  One person pointed to the television and we all stood transfixed by the images.  Shaking, fires, and rising waters destroying everything that got in the way.  A few folks made some necessary phone calls, but mostly we just watched what happened, and what continued to happen.

We commented on how you could tell where the coastline was supposed to be, how the area behind it was full of expanding water, and how the huge area of sand revealed by the ebb of the water was quickly filling with a massive wave ready to strike again, adding more to the destruction.  It was horror.  I can't imagine what it would be like to be there.

After we all came home, I stayed up later trying to learn more.  It was an 8.9 earthquake, fifth most powerful in the world since 1900.  The tsunami watch wasn't in effect, and then it was for Hawaii, and then it was a warning for Hawaii, and then a watch for California, and then a warning for California.  I thought of friends in Japan, and I thought of friends up and down the west coast.  I thought of friends who had families in those areas.  I thought of the church I went to on Sunday, a Japanese American church I aspire to do my Field Education at, and I took a moment to remember thanksgiving for living high on a hill, far from the shaking and out of danger from the rising waters.  I also remembered that I live mere blocks from a fault that could unleash our own catastrophe at any second.  I sent my love to those in peril, and wished them the best of all possible outcomes: safety and peace.

I went to bed around two in the morning, but I wondered about those dreams I used to have about tsunamis.  Perhaps that's why I know what I'd do if I was at the beach during an earthquake.  I'm not sure if you could run faster than I, not because I run in fear, but, because of those dreams, I have a healthy respect for the power that mother nature can unleash from something I think of as so beautiful every other day of the year.

And the dreams returned.  Climbing ever higher, we found each house after one before, battered by the waves when we entered, falling away into the churning sea as we left.  In these dreams, I often turn around to see a wall of water hundreds of feet high coming straight for us, overtaking the rest of the rising waters.  The wall of water hits us, yet somehow we survive.

I woke around five this morning, after the first dream.  I grabbed my phone for updates, and found the tsunami was hitting Hawaii, but thankfully there wasn't much damage.  Blessings for the early warnings.  I tired to get about to sleep, but it took almost two hours before I finally found peace again.  Except not, for here was dream number two.  How do tsunamis find their way to Nebraska?  How do I survive when the water crashes through the broken windows, filling the house I'm in again and again.  And this was a house I grew up in, no less.

I woke again at eight, in time for my alarm to go off, as it does at eight every morning.  How am I to go to a meeting on four hours of interrupted sleep?  Right, others would love to have that problem right now.  I turned on the TV to find the tsunami hitting the Bay Area.  Not much damage at first, and then we see the boats in Santa Cruz breaking moorings and crashing into each other.  Juxtaposed with the sinking boats was the image of surfers paddling out to ride the reverberating waves.  People cried about their lost boats.

We didn't hear much else on the news for a bit about how Japan was getting on.  Was this because it was the middle of the night?  I couldn't muster empathy for the lost boats of Santa Cruz when there was the specter of lost homes and lost lives across the world.  All I can think of is love, peace, and hope, and doing what I could to help, even if I am halfway across the world.

To help, you can donate to the UCC effort with an online donation, or a check sent to your local church or the Wider Church Ministries (details for both are on the website).

Or, you can simply donate to the Red Cross by putting an extra $10 on your cell phone bill next month when you text REDCROSS to 90999.

Sometimes I feel like there are rising waters in my life I'm running from, trying to keep my head above the turbulent water line.  Life can be overwhelming. Maybe that's why I dream of tsunamis.  But in my dreams, I always somehow make it through, just as I always make it through life somehow.  For some in Japan yesterday, as in so many other natural disasters we've seen in our lives, there was no making it through somehow.  I pause to remember them, even though I did not know them, for the loss of one life is a loss for us all.

I yam what I yam (Or, Who am I?, part II)

My life over the last month has been very hectic.  Spring semester started, Kelse had her gallbladder out, and I've been filling in the time between with meetings to advance some ideas and my in-discernment process.  Plus there the fun stuff: instituting a weekly game night on Fridays, seeing the World Series trophy, a trip down Highway One south of the City, a Linkin Park concert, and a visit with a friend from college.

But that hasn't kept me from using my time to think, though I haven't been able to write a lot of it down.  Today, though, as I put an experiment in cinnamon rolls in the oven, I have a little time.

I've been reading a book for my Apocalyptic: Then and Now class about the AIDS epidemic, and I was struck with a thought as I reading some of the rhetoric of the 80s and early 90s.

I am different.

I know, that's not a shocker of a revelation.  Anyone who had known me for more than five minutes has probably already figured this out in some semblance.  It's not something that had troubled me for some time.  I accept that I am different, and sometimes truly embrace it.

How am I different?  Well I suppose that depends on who is asking and what the circumstances are.  I suppose it boils down to contradictions in a number of situations.  I am a nerd at heart.  In seventh grade, I read the entire Star Trek Encyclopedia cover to cover at least twice.  I stayed home one day in high school to watch Buzz Aldrin return to space.  (I also got to meet him once at the Academy of Sciences in San Francisco and ask him a question in his lecture on Mars about how long it might take for the US to make it there.)  I played live action role-playing games in high school.

But then I'm not different as well.  After all, I had friends that would play the Star Trek customizable card game with me in seventh grade.  I was accompanied by one of my friends on that trip to meet Buzz, and we both got autographed copies of his book (I still have mine.).  It's hard to do a live action role-playing games without someone else doing it with you: we had a pretty nice group of folks that played together in various game incarnations.

So how can I be different when there others doing as I?

In contrast, I love sports.  That's certainly something my dad instilled in me, but my mom and grandfather had a pretty hefty hand in that, too.  I'll watch baseball any day, all day, and it doesn't matter who's playing.  I'd be happy watching a little league game in the local park sometime.  I love to throw around a football, and watch my Niners and Huskers tear it up on the gridiron.  I'm more recently into hockey, but I think I like watching the Sharks even more than watching football.  Despite my total lack of skill, I play a game of soccer every Friday, sometimes for over three hours.  Hiking is always fun, especially  when fantastic vistas are involved. But, really, my favorite past time that is too often not indulged is simply taking a baseball and throwing it back and forth.

But liking sports isn't different.  I have plenty of friends that like sports, too.  Carl and I exchange text messages every time we're watching a sporting event, though he's in Colorado and I'm in California.  I didn't fall in love with sports without watching them with friends and family, or playing them with friends and family.  How can I be different if, at each soccer Friday, I gather with folks from around the globe to have fun for a few hours?

Maybe it's my life background?  Addressed before, I'm sure, but I'm the son of a lesbian.  And I grew up sometimes in the liberal bastion of Marin County, California, and sometimes in the conservative stronghold of Nebraska.  I went to college, spent some time working at Walmart, and then came to seminary.  I moved a lot growing up, so I'm comfortable with change.

But I'm not the first offspring of a lesbian to attend this seminary.  Of however many came before me, I've known one since she was my camp counselor at Caz.  I'm not the first from my college to attend this seminary, either.  I'm not the first to move a lot when growing up.  And, I'm not the first to travel between parents houses while growing up.  For one, my sister is older than me and did all the same of that as well.  She's also been in more than a few countries around the world, and live in Egypt for a while.  So I'm not even the only one in my generation of my family that knows of change.  I can't be that different.

Yet, I struggled with being different growing up.  I placed myself on the outside so many times, and my cohort easily obliged with that assessment.  I saw the kids that were popular and wondered how they got there.  I saw the kids that were good at sports, and wondered what they did to make it look so easy.  I saw the kids that were smarter than me and wondered if they just studied harder than I did, or if it was natural for them.  I wondered, never asked, never got involved, and just remained different, as I saw it, by myself.

But then I met someone in my last year of high school that changed my perspective on life, and I haven't looked back.  Olivia is still one of my best friends, and I wonder if she really realizes how much she has affected my life. When I first met her, I thought, "Wow, now there is someone who is different."  She just strange things, but she never seemed embarrassed by them.  How I saw it, she did what she wanted and didn't care what everyone else thought.  She spent her time just being herself.

What a concept!  Why hadn't I thought of that?

Hanging out with her was like someone giving me permission to relish my differences.  It was my chance to be who I really wanted to be.  So I tried it, and found my skin to be pretty comfortable when I left for college.  I embraced the being of myself, and found friends in college that liked me for me.  Enough with the rest of the crap, I was ready to be myself, and so I was.

But then there's that sticking point: different.  Yes, I was different than other people.  But then, aren't we all different?  Don't we all have unique backgrounds?  Don't we all bring something new and fresh to the table with every new person we meet?  Don't we all have our own perceptions on our experiences?  Don't we all have our own thoughts?

So I think about being different.  And I think about what that means growing up.  And I think about what that means in school, when the bullies are on the prowl.  It can be downright scary being different.  So I don't want to tell someone it's OK to be different.

I want to tell someone it's OK to be yourself.  That's all you ever need to be with me, no matter who that yourself is.  I will celebrate and love whoever you are and wherever you are on life's journey.  And that's all that should ever matter.

I'm not different.  I am me.

Fighting for family and love: an appreciation.

Once again, I am reminded of the progress made in this country, and how love is always a winner in the end.  Bear with me if you've heard this before, but there are no issues closer to my heart than this:



My favorite quote comes at the end of his amazing three minutes: "Not once have I ever been confronted by an individual who realized independently that I was raised by a gay couple."

That sentiment is quite true for me as well.  Only recently I realized that, while GLBT folk eventually go through a coming out process, so do children of GLBT folk, as I did, though I didn't think of it as such at the time.

When I was growing up, I didn't think it strange that I was raised by a lesbian.  By the time I was in high school, however, I had noticed that it was OK to invite some friends over to hang out, and others it was better to go to their house.  But through it all, I never denied my family.  When my bedroom was egged through my open window, or when people I thought might be my friends made fun of me, I never wished that my family was different, or more normal.  I just wished we could move to a place where I didn't have to deal with it anymore.

From high school in California, I went to college in Nebraska, and I played the first few months as I had in high school: don't speak up about family until in the right company.  That worked for a few months until Nebraska passed a law banning gay marriage (even though it was already against the law...), and I couldn't be silent anymore.  The day after the election, I went into the office of the director of the leadership program and said I wanted to speak up.  She helped me craft a letter to the editor for a school paper, and I was off and running.

From that moment, I chose to celebrate my family in public.  If I lost friends, then I lost friends.  If I lost out of job opportunities or scholarships, so be it.  My logic went something like this: if someone disapproved of me because of my mother, then I probably didn't want to be associated with them anyway.  And I'm appreciative of all the friends I have from college, ones that still make me smile on a daily basis.

I don't know Mr. Zach Wahls, but I sure can understand how he feels.  I could talk on this for hours.  Point me to a microphone, and I'll stand up, too.  I'm proud of the job my mother did raising me.  I graduated from high school in 2000, and from college in 2004 with BA and a double major in History and English.  I worked for Walmart for 5 1/2 year with consistent promotions and raises.  I am now starting my second semester of seminary after a very successful first semester.  I have been married to a wonderful wife for almost three years now.  Hopefully, we'll have kids someday, but that time hasn't come yet.

If I haven't been raised right by my mother, what the hell are we defining as "right"?

So I celebrate Zach and his courage.  It is no easy thing to stand for what you think is right when so many around you see otherwise.  I appreciate his words, and I agree with them.  I can only hope his story, and mine, and countless others put a face on the families affected by gay marriage battles, and bring about an end to the pain we endured growing up by those that think less of us just because our parents fell in love.

Monopolizing

I may got out on a limb and make a fool of myself in a moment, but please indulge me, and then let me know if I'm on to something or have no idea what I'm talking about.

The new semester is starting this week, and it's a change from the last month and a half for me.  I haven't had any classes for a while, since what I wanted to take during Intercession was canceled, so it might take a bit to get back into the swing of things.  We did have Earl Lectures this past week, so that was a nice way to work up to more scholarly work for myself again.  Also, we had the President's State of the Union speech last Tuesday, which I found very inspiring while not full of concrete ideas.  Also, there was this, which made me want to throw things at the television:

Yeah, in order to not fly off on a rant too much, I'll just say this.  Please, can we elect folks that might have the  common sense to know what they are talking about, and if not, then not talk about it?  I was all kinds of fired up about this one.

Yet, through all this, the thing foremost on my mind was Monopoly.  Yes, the game I'm exceptionally good at made a mad return through the last few weeks on the coffee table and the Wii.  I'm trying to dissect why I'm good at Monopoly, why I've always been good at Monopoly, why people bug out in the middle of a game by selling all their property for a dollar, or refuse to play me any more in the first place.  My basic idea currently is that I'm a master trader that takes a lot of risks and gets a little luck.  But I'm sure it's more complicated than that.

As I listened to the Earl Lectures last week, I still had Monopoly on the brain.  Perhaps my approach to economics is different than some at seminary due to my training as an Assistant Manager at Walmart.  I'm groovy on the idea of paying wages equal to the work performed, with a higher minimum wage (really, a living wage).  I'm groovy on the idea that people should get benefits from their place of employment at part of their compensation package.  I'm groovy on taxes to pay for services from the government not provided by business, services that people may otherwise be unable to afford.  I'm ultra-groovy on health care quality, the same great system provided by the government and available to everyone.  I love the idea of social security to help those in old age manage to make ends meet when they otherwise are unable to work.

But, while I'm not economist, I also understand business is business.  The wages, the taxes, the benefits, the services need to come from somewhere.  A business needs to have a customer base to serve, and income to pay for goods and/or services for the customer base, and profit to make the venture worthwhile.  In our economy, without a decent profit, there's no incentive to have the business, let alone ability to make the business run.  Where do we draw the line, then?  Sure, we want the business to supply the proper compensation to it's workers, but if we overextend that compensation, there is no compensation because the business has failed.  While this is perhaps more applicable to smaller businesses, just look at the big car companies that required a government bailout.  When the economy turned south, and there wasn't enough money rolling in from sales, the commitment to the workers became overwhelming, and without government assistance, there would have been catastrophe.  I endorse unions that want to get a better slice of the pie for the workers, or, in some instances, even basic worker rights, but I have a hard time supporting a union fighting for worker rights that lead to the destruction of the company.

At the same time, money is out there.  Profits are growing for the large companies in the world, as are CEO compensation packages, while the workers at the bottom of the chain are not getting any better.  The current solution in place is to take these much higher earners to help the government fill in the gaps for the less compensated workers.  Conservatives fight against this, with the general argument going something like, "I worked hard for this money, it's what I earned, why should I be forced to give it to someone else?"

And this is where Monopoly really started to enter my brain again.  Let me give you a basic example of the economy, as I see it, using Monopoly.  I'll make some assumptions and generalizations here, but, like I said, it's basic.  So we start life, and somewhere along the way we start making choices.  Some of us make more money than others, but we get to pick how we spend it, and where we make the sacrifices.  Some of us make purchases that end up going nowhere (Baltic Ave?), some of us get a chance to make money that while providing for the essentials, doesn't give us opportunity to get going somewhere (the railroads?), some get to take their money and turn it into more through investment in the right place at the right time (the orange monopoly with some houses?), and some get out and out luxury from their investment income (Boardwalk and Park Place, with hotels?).  We all have similar rules to live by, we all have a basic income, but some get more than others.  What I find interesting about this model is that it isn't sustainable.  Once someone gets a monopoly, and a higher income through development, we all know the game is going to end soon.  The person with more money, and a way to turn that money into more money, is the winner.  It will happen very quickly if there is no equal competitor, but there's more equal a chance of winning for the players if more have monopolies at the same time.

The game ends when there is one player left after all the rest have debt that exceeds their assets.  That's when we declare a winner and pick up the pieces people have scattered in (sometimes) mock anger from their loss. Happy day for playing a game!  But in the real world, the game ends there too if things aren't done to maintain balance.  I wonder if the winner might not realize they are out of luck in this scenario too.  For, if the rich are given all the money, then who pays for hotel stay to recoup the investment cost?  In other words, if the rich are the ones with the money, how do they increase that income if there are no customers left to purchase the goods/services offered because you already have all of their money?

Wouldn't it be prudent, then, to extend the life of the system, to ensure that the workers, the ones that are the beneficiary of the success of the company through a wage paid for a job performed, are able to continue to pay for the goods/services offered by the company, as well as others?

I remember studying trickle-down economics in high school and college and not understanding.  I've heard the argument from conservatives that they don't trust the government to make the choices.  They say that businesses, guided by the principles of capitalism, are the best judge of what is the right thing to do with the money.

I've seen in the last ten years a Congress enact legislation to make that happen, and I've seen pay scales for high-level employees  (especially CEOs) skyrocket, and I've seen a system crash to almost unprecedented levels that required government intervention to stay afloat.  I've seen companies grow, potholes grow, and an education gap grow, as we collect less taxes to stimulate private spending while ignoring investing in the things that are for the common good.  So I was inspired by President Obama's dedication to increasing infrastructure spending.  We all benefit from increased transportation and communication capabilities, and the jobs that result from that spending.

Yes, I've heard the argument that companies need less taxes and more profit in order for the economy to run successfully.  I've heard the argument that people don't trust the government to spend our money.  Frankly, I don't trust business to make those choice, because they haven't.  At the end of the day, the business is just like the owner of Boardwalk and Park Place.  They know they have it good, but they want to be the best.  So they spend money in places that work for them, not for the common good.  The rest of us are left to hope we don't fall into bad luck through our roll of the dice.  And so we get left behind, and as we are left behind, the rich lose out as well, because we can't afford to pay for their goods/services offered.  We can't afford the rent.  The game is over for all of us.

How do we keep the game going?  By giving the less fortunate more opportunity.  What kind of game would we be playing if everyone had a monopoly, and everyone had a hotel, and we all could pick which hotel we wanted to stay at without worrying about if we had enough money to pay for it.  I don't think that'd be a very fun game (I have a pretty competitive spirit!), but I do think that would serve well as a life model.  All it comes down to is the right implementation, which is an argument for another day.

In the meantime, we can all be a little more trusting of each other, and a little more loving with each other.  We  can all give each other a helping hand in times of need.  We can invite a friend over for a meal, a movie, a chat, or a game.  We can find something to laugh at, offer a shoulder to cry on, or just find a hand to hold when we need it most.  We can create connections that transcend money and rely on community.  We can be to each other the best we would want for ourselves.  We don't need taxes for that, and we don't need business for that.  We just need each other.