Progressive Wednesday

Clergyman Charlie: On Adam and Eve

People sometimes ask “Who did Adam's sons marry?– Often a minister replies, “Ha, ha, that's a good one!– as he shakes their hand and ushers them out the door. I think some clergy are a little afraid to shock people by telling them what they know about that story. Would you be shocked if I say that the story of Adam and Eve is not historical, but it is true? It is myth, not fact.

But understand a myth is a non historical story that teaches an absolute truth. If you read the story carefully, there are more problems that who the first children married. After Cain killed his brother Abel, he was expelled from the community. Cain said that if he was a fugitive, whoever met him might kill him. But God said he would protect him.

Who was out there to kill him? Good question if the story was “true.–

But if you realize that this ancient story, handed down over campfires for generations before it was written down, was meant to convey profound truths. People before the scientific era didn't think as we do, wanting everything measured, tested, proven. They could enjoy a story without our questions. Maybe that's better. At least it is the way to read these Biblical stories.

The word “Adam– in Hebrew means “man.– Adam's story is the story of you and me. We depart from God's way for us and that brings' destruction and dismay. Our children give in to jealousy and violence, and these impulses lead to disaster, broken relationships, heartbreak. Isn't that true? We know it is.

By the way, the fact that God protects a murderer from death may be an early comment against capital punishment.

Meditate on the stories in the first chapters of Genesis. Let them speak to you. They are full of truth we need to hear. And if we do that, the question of who Adam's sons married becomes irrelevant. There wasn't an Adam: there is just you.

Anne Lamott live, sort of.

Since it’s Sunday, I thought I’d write my first spirituality related post, sort of. Typically I’m pretty much against the big-wigs of the book-selling industry. As we mentioned a few Wednesdays ago, we do our damnedest to support The Book Corner, the largest independently owned bookstore in Western New York. (To learn more about it, just click this sentence.)

But, and this is an African-Bush-Elephant-sized capital-B “But,” Borders recently hosted a reading by the phenomenal, progressive, wise, and welcoming Christian writer, Anne Lamott (you can read more about her here), and the bookstore has posted video of this complete reading on their website. The video is broken into five short segments so you can watch the sucker over several days or weeks or months if you’d like. However, I’m willing to wager that most of you, regardless of your spiritual beliefs, will find her engaging and moving. She’s hardly a Bible thumper, and she writes openly and honestly about parenthood, alcoholism, politics, and the process of writing.

You can watch the video by clicking this sentence.

If you watch closely during the question and answer period, you’ll catch our very own Carey Mack (author of our appropriately named “What’s in Carey Mack’s Pocket?” column) asking the first question. Do you and your heart a favor and check it, yo.

What’s in Carey Mack’s Pocket?: Magic

I've always thought that the very, very, very funny film Waiting for Guffman totally mocks community theater. They put on their show in a gym, and the audience sits in folding chairs. They are not great actors, singers, or dancers. They lack self-awareness; in a word, they are horrible. The Blaine, Missouri residents involved with the show slave over it in pursuit of a dream that a man named Guffman is going to come see their show — Red, White and Blaine. Guffman is a Broadway producer. I've always thought that the entire movie is a ridiculous satire of community theater. I wonder: is it that ridiculous?

Before I go any further, I need to say that I have always felt very self-conscious when I start to talk about my experience doing theater in high school. It feels like a parallel to “– ¦and this one time? At band camp?– Or, even worse, that people will see me as I see the characters in Waiting for Guffman. But I'm all about showing up for my life and not apologizing. Plus, Tom Hanks gets just as effusive as me when he talks about his high school theater experiences. And Tom and I had eerily similar experiences: “[I] tried out for the plays, and got into them, and had more fun than I could possibly imagine. It was an incredible group of people, some of whom are still my friends. I got into this eclectic group that was kind of rootless and clique-less.– [1]

Wow, if that isn't dripping with theology, I don't know what is — we are, as humans, rootless and at the same time, I think it says something in the Revelation of John that in God's world, there will be no more tears, or pain, or cliques, especially high school cliques. Can I hear an “Amen!?–

What got me thinking about all of this? Well, dear readers, I tell you — I found, in a pocket, a remnant of an experience that I had this past March. I jumped in at the last minute to run follow-spots for a community theater production of Gypsy, performed ably by the Saline Area Players (of the Great Lakes State). I jumped in at a crazy time: the week before the performance, when people are just a tiny bit crabby and exhausted. It felt somewhat amazing to me that I remembered, in my bones, why I love big creative group projects. For example, I can't think of a better way to spend an evening watching stuff that's not supposed to happen, happen — like watching a live lamb poop all over the former Miss Saline. And it felt somewhat amazing to me that I remembered something else — we were contributing to civil society, democratic life, doing good deeds, and contributing to the common good! I remember something from my formal education, something called “social capital.–

Continue reading ‘What’s in Carey Mack’s Pocket?: Magic’

Clergyman Charlie: On saying what you mean

I was sitting in my doctor's office the other day, waiting for my turn, when I noticed a sign posted over the receptionist's window. It said something like this: “A $25.00 fee will be charged for any appointment not cancelled 24 hours in advance.–

I thought, “Well, I'm not canceling my appointment. I'm keeping it. I don’t have to pay $25.00, do I? There's something wrong with that sign.– I realized it should have said, “A $25.00 fee will be charged for any missed appointment not cancelled 24 hours in advance. It couldn't mean I had to cancel my appointment or be fined! There is no fee charged for kept appointments!–

So I walked over to the window and explained to the receptionist that her sign was wrong. She could not understand what I was saying! She became defensive, and launched into a lengthy explanation of why they had to do this. There were people waiting to see the doctor who could be given appointments if time opened up, etc.

“No, no,– I said. “I'm not objecting to the policy! I'm just saying that the wording doesn't say what you intend.– She still couldn't understand me. I wished I'd never brought it up.

But when she stepped away to get my file, I wrote “missed– before the word “appointment.– I fixed it.

When I returned home, I told my wife about this incident. She said, “Didn't you understand what the sign meant?–

“Of course I understood what it meant! But that wasn't what it said!– I think she thought I was being “picky.–

All of this set me to thinking about how often we don't express ourselves clearly, and people misunderstand what we mean. Sometimes we think we know what another person is saying but we haven't really listened to that person. Sometimes we are so eager to make our own point known that we are just waiting for the other person to stop talking so we can say what we have prepared to say ourselves.

I see this happen a lot. To take just one controversial issue, do people who are pro-life really understand that many pro-choice people are not pro-abortion? They are pro-choice, pro- the right of a mother, not a legislature, to choose. And they are in favor of protecting the health and welfare of a woman. Especially in cases of rape or incest, to force the person to go through 9 months of pregnancy can be compared to raping her again.

And do pro-choice people understand that pro-life folks don't see their position as anti-woman, but pro-child? They know there are thousands of abortions in cases where the mother was not raped, no incest is involved, no health issues are raised. They want to offer adoption as an alternative, and they feel there are many people eager to adopt. They are people of good will.

How do we reach the point in which we can listen to each other, and speak clearly, stating the other person's viewpoint in words that person finds to be accurate?

And is there common ground? There has been a common ground movement suggesting that all parties concerned can agree on urging teenagers and unwed persons to avoid becoming pregnant, to educate people to abstain from sexual intercourse until they are married or at least to use methods of birth control.

The pro choice and pro life dispute is just one example that could be used. People who want us to leave Iraq quickly are not un-American, or unpatriotic. They feel we never should have gone there and that we are accomplishing nothing by staying. People who are afraid to leave think that is more dangerous for us to do so than it is for us to stay longer. I'm one who thinks we need to bring our troops home, but I hope I can hear what those on the other side are saying, and not accuse them of being “warmongers.– And I hope they don't accuse me of being a “traitor.– They think we give terrorists a secure base if we leave. I think we breed more terrorists every day that we stay.

I'm getting a lot of thought out of that little sign in my doctor's office. I hope this column helps you do some personal meditating too. Don't be like the Rush Limbaugh types who just shout slogans and try to drown out any other viewpoint. Listen thoughtfully to what others say. State your own position clearly and courteously. It is a lot more effective, a lot more civilized, and a lot more likely to help us all reach some beneficial conclusions.

What’s in Carey Mack’s Pocket?: A Book

This week, I happen to have a book in my pocket. The title of the book? A Feminist Ethic of Risk by Sharon Welch. Don't go running and screaming for the hills (or the dales, for that matter) because it has the word “feminist– in it. I want you to know that this book, and the theology that it espouses, changed my life.

You see, once upon a time, in a city called Chicago, I participated in a program called Clinical Pastoral Education, in which one spends about half the time serving as a chaplain and the other half of the time reflecting, in various ways, about the experiences that you have. It is a great education. One of the things I loved was the diversity in our group — I was the only Lutheran and there were two Unitarian-Universalist pastoral candidates.

That summer, I struggled heartily with my sexual orientation and other ways in which I knew, for sure, that I rubbed the larger church the wrong way. Moreover, one of the things that I learned that summer was that, in those moments when I found myself faced with enormous challenges, I froze. I found myself faced with issues about which I felt great passion, injustices about which I cared deeply.

And there I would be, like Ralphie in the flick A Christmas Story, who finally gets to see Santa at the department store and cannot remember for the life of him what he wanted for Christmas. As you might recall, the irony is that Ralphie has been obsessed with the Red Rider BB gun, but he and Santa settle on a football and Santa kicks Ralphie down the exit slide. Then comes the great moment when Ralphie gathers up his courage and, using his rubber boots, stops himself, and shouts, “I want an official Red Ryder carbine-action two-hundred shot range model air rifle with a compass in the stock– ¦– Santa and the elves respond by telling Ralphie that he'll shoot his eye out, but Ralphie persists.

A Feminist Ethic of Risk looks into the face of the giant evils of our world, of which there are many. It posits that we assume we have two choices — “isolationist– or “interventionist– — not dealing with the injustices of the world or doing it in a violent, domineering, overassertive way. A Feminist Ethic of Risk offers a third way, a way that has become more and more important in how I deal with my relationships with other people.

I am very imperfect. At the same time, I realized, in reading that book, and in lots of other situations, that an ethic of risk is exactly that. It is an ethic — a way of being in the world, and a good way of being at that. I read it as something that I have to do because of my religious commitments, although some days I want to do it, but the truth is that I need to do it. And it is risky, indeed. Hopefully . . . (Hopefully? Yes. Hopefully) you know what I am talking about. Loving someone means risking a broken heart.

I think that Dietrich Bonhoeffer (a pastor/professor who was executed for his part in a plot to kill Hitler) said it well: “There is no way to peace along the way of safety. For peace must be dared. It is the great venture. It can never be safe. Peace is the opposite of security. To demand guarantees is to mistrust, and this mistrust in turn brings forth war. To look for guarantees is to want to protect oneself.–

That is the feminist ethic of risk in a nutshell. We must dare love and peace and justice. This is true in our personal lives, and it is true in our corporate lives. The anniversary of Bloody Sunday was eleven days ago. Sharon Welch writes: “The memories evoked by [Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.] are indeed dangerous. They endanger the continued acceptance of racial injustice as they propel people to courageous acts of resistance. Similarly, memories of defiance and victory become dangerous as they serve as the spur to further action and critique, an ennobling reminder of the good that can be attained by ordinary people.–

Motivated by the idea that they needed be in the world in an equal way (an ethic), men and women marched several blocks from Selma to the Edmund Pettus Bridge, where they were met with, among other things, bull whips (that's the risk part) and were beaten. People died. Those folks had no idea of the outcome of their actions, except a dream (following dreams, that is risky too, because there are not any ironclad guarantees that you will ever see it happen) — some people call that moral imagination.

Groups of women have done it. Today, I am thinking about the people who marched from Selma to the bridge. Today, their risks inspire me. I am inspired, straight woman that I am, to take some risks of my own. Because, according to my higher power, that is what I need to do.

32 colleges, 5,000 scholarships, 30,000 students, innumerable traditions

I’ll admit to my ignorance: before stumbling on the the American Indian College Fund, I didn’t even realize that there were tribal colleges, colleges that offer accredited degrees that include traditional Native cultures within the required curriculum.

As I mentioned before, I grew up less than a mile from a Tuscarora reservation, and my mother teaches in a public school district with an elementary school on the same reservation. In short, Indian culture is a big part of my slice of Niagara county. Nonetheless, I'll make an admission: I don't know nearly enough about the rich history, religious beliefs, and traditions of the folks who were loving and living on this land before Plymouth Rock caused a cultural and political sea change of Tsunami proportions. (Check out our report on the Mashpee Wampanoag Tribe, the one that, ironically, discovered the first European settlers.)

We owe it to our history to do something. There are more ways to help than to donate money, spread the word, subscribe to the e-newsletter, and shop at the AICF online store. If you live near one of the 32 colleges, consider going to a culture event on the campus or a speaking engagement. This kind of knowledge breeds understanding and helps each of us to reduce notions of ethnocentrism we grew up believing. As such, our empathy, the most progressive of emotions, can only grow.

What’s in Carey Mack’s Pocket?: A Primer

My first second contribution to Progressive Wednesday explains the title of my columns to follow– ¦

When I was in college, I was an orientation assistant, fairly alone on a university campus in northwest Indiana. The residence halls had visitation hours — no men in women's wings after 12 during the week or 2 on the weekends. No alcohol. However, we (the other OAs and I) got to stay in the dorms unfettered, and one night we slept in the Union. Another night we played “Beirut– and drank lots of beer in one of the lounges. It owned, as the youngsters of today say.

So, one game that we played during that formative time was a game called “What's in Carey Mack's Pocket?– I’m sure my friend Ian's intentions were marginally risqué — as risqué as Ian would get in public. This game he invented was kind of a private Lutheran University version of “Is that a plantain in your pants or are you just happy to see me?– So there we were, with Carey Mack in her overall shorts, shorts which I loved because they were somewhat hippie-ish. I guess as hippie-ish as a girl could get who had a blonde bob haircut and looks wholesome enough that people bend the rules for her — a lot. (I am not complaining.)

Anyway, I had some great overall shorts that I made out of overalls from Farm and Fleet. I cut them off. I bleached them out. I tried to soften them as much as I could. I could have had a completely secret life going on in my pocket.

This is where this column gets its name. It's a metaphor.

You see, Garrison Keillor (of American Public Media) always starts out his monologues, his “News from Lake Wobegon,– with the words, “It's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon, my hometown– ¦.– If I had a radio show, I would probably start all of my monologues with the words, “It's been a heady week in My Own Personal New York City.–

“My Own Personal New York City– and “Carey Mack's Pocket– are the same thing. And my own personal New York City is different from Anne Lamott's: in hers, people yell at each other all the time; people in my own personal New York City yell at people less.

What's in Carey Mack's Pocket? is the way that I experience the world as this complicated, amazing, sad, hilarious mix of lotsa, lotsa different people. I will add this twist. It is what I think about a lot. It is this: hope.

The telos (or end) of my spiritual commitments is this — hope. This is not a coincidence. I had a conversion experience in which I consciously began looking for hope. Moreover, it was not just a change in epistemology. It was an internal reclamation of something that I value highly. I found myself moved by this quote from Martin Luther King, Jr.: “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.– I believe, inspired a whole lot by the ideas about which Cornel West speaks, that there is extraordinary power in hoping. In hope. That is what I expect to share (in pocket-sized offerings).