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.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, January 31, 2011
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.
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:
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.
Friday, January 14, 2011
We can do better, we will do better, and we must do better.
Sometimes, I am surprised by the perspective I take on certain issues. When would I ever expect myself to be in the position of defending Sarah Palin? Sometimes, the impossible happens. In the biz, we might call that a miracle. Personally, I consider it an appeal to reason. Common sense seems to be missing in our world all too often.
I, like so many across the country and around, was appalled by the events in Tuscon this week. The way I see it, every time a life is cut short by an act of violence or hate is an unspeakable tragedy. Certainly this applies to our members of Congress. It applies to innocent bystanders. It applies to the high profile cases in suburbia and the invisible residents of the inner cities. Unfortunately, not everyone is afforded the same press coverage.
In today's world, that's what it's all about. Who can be the first with the story? Who has the better opinion? Who can win the day by saying not the right thing, but the most repercussive? It's really just a well-funded pissing contest, seeing how can talk louder for longer without actually saying anything of any worth. In the process, throwing in an insult of seven for good measure has become the norm.
I was dismayed by the shootings in Arizona, but further dismayed at the immediate conjecture that the political atmosphere was the fault. I suppose it is human nature to assign blame for the things that go wrong in our lives, and the faster, the better. Before all the facts were in, it was decided to blame an icon on Sarah Palin's website, as opposed to the actual mental illness of the shooter. So many jumped on the bandwagon so quickly, citing her as the figurehead of an unnamed mass of maniacs, indicting her in the court of public opinion, before we knew who lived and who died.
And it continues. My Facebook feed is filled with retorts from some of my friends, who might otherwise been seen as compassionate, piling on the vitriol with their own, lashing out at Sarah Palin's response to those who would condemn her with their own hate-inducing language and attitudes. I'll grant her response was not the most graceful (to put it all too lightly), but it seemed so highly ironic that those who blamed in her type of "fear mongering" in the immediate aftermath of the shooting would be so quick to do the same to her.
How can I, in good conscience, claim to represent a righteous path if my words and actions are not righteous? How can I expect those I want to lead to follow me if I do not lead by example?
Rev. Fred Phelps, of Westboro Baptist Church infamy, has consistently acted in a way I consider reprehensible pretty much every day for as long as I can remember. Here, again, he made plans to picket the funeral of an innocent 9-year-old girl, attempting to assign blame of his own (against the gays of the world), and celebrating the actions of, in his eyes, a just God. I don't think there is any way my position could be more opposite of his. I think that, while he speaks as though divinely inspired, he cannot, in any way, represent a God so often thought of as pure love while spouting his ideas so deeply rooted in hate. And yet...he is a member of our society, free to vocalize his views. We don't have to agree with him at all. But the moment we try to stifle his speech, how can we be sure ours isn't next?
So instead, there are so many that would call him names. Hate begets hate, no question in that. I don't think i have the capacity to hate, try as I might. All I can offer is love; it's up to him to do the rest. I don't ever think he will, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't try. For I may not reach him, but I may reach another, and if in doing say I change one heart from hate to love, then it is all worth it.
If we are the leaders of the spiritual future, if we are to be the examples for those that would follow in faith, let our message be of love, and always of love. Let us remember that our actions speak louder than our words, and our words reveal what is truly in our hearts. Let us go forth and forgive those that hate so that they may know love, and let us love those we have forgiven, so that we can forge a new future of peace.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Plane Rides and Presidents
I've been thinking a lot about plane rides these past few weeks. I've taken friends to the airport, picked up others, joked about the fun new security procedures with others, and seen others take plane rides on television. It's been plane-tastic. Except for the part when I get to take a plane ride.
You know what I like about plane rides? It's forced thinking time. As a matter of fact, that's how it is whenever I get to be a passenger. Before Christmas, I had the opportunity to take public transit back up to Santa Rosa to see friends, and I quite enjoyed the experience. I think the key was the solitude. I had books, magazines, and my iPhone with me, yet I chose to spend my time staring out the window at the passing hillsides and cloud cover.
I love driving. I enjoy taking control of the car and guiding it...anywhere. Any time, any weather, I'm there. I also have a hard time trusting most people's driving skills, so I'd just as soon do it myself. While I get great pleasure from driving, I also miss out. After all, focusing on the road and the surrounding cars means not focusing on the scenery.
So when I had the chance to take in the scenery, I took it. When I get on the plane, it's the same thing. Sure, I have my music to listen to, but there's just something to sitting and staring out a window while the miles roll by.
So while my friends have made their sojourns this winter, I have remained at home for the most part. But my reflection wasn't limited by my lack of travel (bus ride to Santa Rosa notwithstanding). Indeed, I've seen now more than four seasons of The West Wing in the the past two weeks, and within the episodes I've found stories that resonated in my own life: arguments over what the Bible says on gay people, a strain with a father's Alzheimer's disease, and the President's struggles with Multiple Sclerosis. And, of course, plane travel.
I'm thinking about the future as I reflect on the episodes I'm watching. I know I'm onto something, but the idea is still a germ of a kernel in my head, waiting for the right moment to pop. It'll happen, and I'm sure my classes for the coming intercession and semester will help with that. I'm sure that I'll find my field placement for next year to expand and solidify, and a job beyond seminary in order to implement. I can't tell you what any of it is yet, because I don't know. But it's coming, and I'll be ready for it.
Our popular culture is what we make it to be. We are it, but more importantly, it is us. There's something there, and I'm going to find it.
You know what I like about plane rides? It's forced thinking time. As a matter of fact, that's how it is whenever I get to be a passenger. Before Christmas, I had the opportunity to take public transit back up to Santa Rosa to see friends, and I quite enjoyed the experience. I think the key was the solitude. I had books, magazines, and my iPhone with me, yet I chose to spend my time staring out the window at the passing hillsides and cloud cover.
I love driving. I enjoy taking control of the car and guiding it...anywhere. Any time, any weather, I'm there. I also have a hard time trusting most people's driving skills, so I'd just as soon do it myself. While I get great pleasure from driving, I also miss out. After all, focusing on the road and the surrounding cars means not focusing on the scenery.
So when I had the chance to take in the scenery, I took it. When I get on the plane, it's the same thing. Sure, I have my music to listen to, but there's just something to sitting and staring out a window while the miles roll by.
So while my friends have made their sojourns this winter, I have remained at home for the most part. But my reflection wasn't limited by my lack of travel (bus ride to Santa Rosa notwithstanding). Indeed, I've seen now more than four seasons of The West Wing in the the past two weeks, and within the episodes I've found stories that resonated in my own life: arguments over what the Bible says on gay people, a strain with a father's Alzheimer's disease, and the President's struggles with Multiple Sclerosis. And, of course, plane travel.
I'm thinking about the future as I reflect on the episodes I'm watching. I know I'm onto something, but the idea is still a germ of a kernel in my head, waiting for the right moment to pop. It'll happen, and I'm sure my classes for the coming intercession and semester will help with that. I'm sure that I'll find my field placement for next year to expand and solidify, and a job beyond seminary in order to implement. I can't tell you what any of it is yet, because I don't know. But it's coming, and I'll be ready for it.
Our popular culture is what we make it to be. We are it, but more importantly, it is us. There's something there, and I'm going to find it.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Who Am I? Part I
One thing I've been learning about in seminary is social location. Now, this is not a new idea to me. I grew up learning about and knowing people from other cultures. I enjoy seeking out new experiences from different cultures that I haven't experienced before in order to better understand where someone is coming from. I am a student of history, so I know how to locate and incorporate the historical backgrounds of other cultures into my experiences and interactions with people from that culture.
On the other hand, I am aware of my own cultural-historical background, and it's generally pretty ugly. White guys are not kind in most of the world's history; even educated and supposedly highly ethical and religious white guys can be bad folks. We all know the laundry list. American white guys have their own special place in the history of really terrible things done to other people, and I am a part of that group, not given a choice to reject that history.
In this process of recognition, it's hard to not feel guilty. White men brought over slaves from Africa. White men broke treaty after treaty with the indigenous people of the Americas. White men established Jim Crow laws. White men locked up Japanese citizens during World War II. White men sponsored bad people in country revolutions across the globe, and so here we are today with many people around the world hating the people of our country without having met them.
Does this get in the way of acknowledging who I am, and where I come from? In some ways, yes, and in others, no. But even in basic identities, I'm confused. For example, there is an option for your Facebook profile to list your hometown. What is my hometown? I was born in Omaha, NE. But by the time I was a senior in high school, I had lived in Omaha for seven years, Lincoln, NE, for three years, San Anselmo, CA, for two years, and Novato, CA, for six years. In Omaha, I lived in at least four different places, in Lincoln, one, in San Anselmo, two, and in Novato, three. Meanwhile, I was visiting back and forth between my parents all year long, earlier between Omaha and Lincoln after my parents divorced, and later between California and Nebraska. For college, I went to Crete, NE, for four years, visiting home in California every year (and moving in California one summer), before heading to live in Greeley, CO for three years after college. Leaving Colorado led me to Santa Rosa, CA, for two and a half years, before a short move to Petaluma, CA, for almost a year, and then to my present location in Berkeley, CA for the last four months.
So which of those is my hometown? I haven't a clue. I've most closely identified with Marin County, CA, as my "hometown," but some days I feel Nebraskan and some days I feel Californian. I haven't lived anywhere recently that I've felt I could really claim as my home. I feel like a transient spirit, just moving through the phases of life.
Who am I, then? In a world where geography can play an important role how we are perceived (just check out the electoral maps if you don't believe me...), how do I find a place to hold on to? Where is my home for the holidays?
On the other hand, I am aware of my own cultural-historical background, and it's generally pretty ugly. White guys are not kind in most of the world's history; even educated and supposedly highly ethical and religious white guys can be bad folks. We all know the laundry list. American white guys have their own special place in the history of really terrible things done to other people, and I am a part of that group, not given a choice to reject that history.
In this process of recognition, it's hard to not feel guilty. White men brought over slaves from Africa. White men broke treaty after treaty with the indigenous people of the Americas. White men established Jim Crow laws. White men locked up Japanese citizens during World War II. White men sponsored bad people in country revolutions across the globe, and so here we are today with many people around the world hating the people of our country without having met them.
Does this get in the way of acknowledging who I am, and where I come from? In some ways, yes, and in others, no. But even in basic identities, I'm confused. For example, there is an option for your Facebook profile to list your hometown. What is my hometown? I was born in Omaha, NE. But by the time I was a senior in high school, I had lived in Omaha for seven years, Lincoln, NE, for three years, San Anselmo, CA, for two years, and Novato, CA, for six years. In Omaha, I lived in at least four different places, in Lincoln, one, in San Anselmo, two, and in Novato, three. Meanwhile, I was visiting back and forth between my parents all year long, earlier between Omaha and Lincoln after my parents divorced, and later between California and Nebraska. For college, I went to Crete, NE, for four years, visiting home in California every year (and moving in California one summer), before heading to live in Greeley, CO for three years after college. Leaving Colorado led me to Santa Rosa, CA, for two and a half years, before a short move to Petaluma, CA, for almost a year, and then to my present location in Berkeley, CA for the last four months.
So which of those is my hometown? I haven't a clue. I've most closely identified with Marin County, CA, as my "hometown," but some days I feel Nebraskan and some days I feel Californian. I haven't lived anywhere recently that I've felt I could really claim as my home. I feel like a transient spirit, just moving through the phases of life.
Who am I, then? In a world where geography can play an important role how we are perceived (just check out the electoral maps if you don't believe me...), how do I find a place to hold on to? Where is my home for the holidays?
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Gratitude for Thanksgiving
It's that time of year when we all may stop a moment and reflect on what we are thankful for throughout our lives and, perhaps more specifically, within the last year. How coincidental then that we address the practice of gratitude in Spiritual Disciplines class this week? Probably not very.
I try to be grateful to many things in my life, but sometimes I wonder if I am not intentional enough about it. Is it simple enough to be grateful for the big things in my life? I could list them with ease: my wife, my family, my friends, my health, my apartment, my car. We can be grateful for these things because they are the easy things to point to, and sometimes consider the process finished.
Ah, but it cannot be so. We are where we are based on every moment that his come before us, in our own history and in our past generations. So, if we are grateful for where we are, and we are grateful for where we are going, we cannot extend that gratitude without considering all that has brought us here, for good or for ill.
That said, I am grateful for the down moments that make me appreciate the good ones. I am grateful for uprooting myself so many times in my life, leaving so much behind but establishing myself anew again. I'm grateful for all those failed attempts at relationships, learning from them to make this one count. I am grateful for all those years the Giants didn't win, and all of those close calls, for how else could the joy of winning the World Series mean so much to millions of people, including me? I am grateful for five and a half years of working at Walmart, some times much more trying than others, which led me to find what may be my true calling in life.
But I am also grateful for the good things: soccer Fridays, sunrise walks, realism in movies, late night chats, long roadtrips, piano driven rock and roll, Golden Gate Park, falling snow, and so much more.
And the Giants. Of all the things that put a smile on my face in the morning, they're pretty near the top right now.
I try to be grateful to many things in my life, but sometimes I wonder if I am not intentional enough about it. Is it simple enough to be grateful for the big things in my life? I could list them with ease: my wife, my family, my friends, my health, my apartment, my car. We can be grateful for these things because they are the easy things to point to, and sometimes consider the process finished.
Ah, but it cannot be so. We are where we are based on every moment that his come before us, in our own history and in our past generations. So, if we are grateful for where we are, and we are grateful for where we are going, we cannot extend that gratitude without considering all that has brought us here, for good or for ill.
That said, I am grateful for the down moments that make me appreciate the good ones. I am grateful for uprooting myself so many times in my life, leaving so much behind but establishing myself anew again. I'm grateful for all those failed attempts at relationships, learning from them to make this one count. I am grateful for all those years the Giants didn't win, and all of those close calls, for how else could the joy of winning the World Series mean so much to millions of people, including me? I am grateful for five and a half years of working at Walmart, some times much more trying than others, which led me to find what may be my true calling in life.
But I am also grateful for the good things: soccer Fridays, sunrise walks, realism in movies, late night chats, long roadtrips, piano driven rock and roll, Golden Gate Park, falling snow, and so much more.
And the Giants. Of all the things that put a smile on my face in the morning, they're pretty near the top right now.
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