Staying At The Table When We Are Offended

            I find myself reflecting today on what we are called to do, how we are called to behave when we become offended.  I've preached and written on this before, so much of this may sound familiar, but it has come up again and I think it is important.  

            In the face of what we might perceive as injustices, or a lack of fairness or being "cheated" of something or being attacked, the most common responses are either to get angry or to walk away.  Sometimes we do both.  It is a rare person who can stay and remain calm in the conversation, and yet, that is what we are called to do.  

            I love the biblical story of the Canaanite woman who asked Jesus to heal her daughter.  He responded by calling her a dog (same horrible insult as it would be today!), and telling her his mission was not to "her kind."  Every reason was there for her to respond by taking offense and for her to either become angry or to walk away.  She chose to do neither.  She stayed in the conversation, she didn't let him off the hook, and she invited him to expand his vision in such a way that his ministry also expanded after that conversation. She did not call him "out", she called him "in" as Dr. Loretta Ross describes.  

           I want to be clear here that I am not saying we ignore our differences.  God made our differences and they are reasons for us to celebrate.  It is our differences that invite each of us to grow and learn.  It is our differences that call us to expand our vision.   

           I'm also not saying we ignore injustices.  James Baldwin wrote, “We can disagree and still love each other unless your disagreement is rooted in my oppression and denial of my humanity and right to exist.” And I agree with that to a point.  I agree that whenever anyone's oppression and the denial of their humanity is at stake, we must stand against it.  Always.  But I also believe in Jesus' call to love our ENEMIES as ourselves.  That means that even in the face of hate, we are called to figure out how to extend love to those who are hateful.  As Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr said, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness.  Only light can do that.  Hate cannot drive out hate.  Only love can do that."

    Finally, I also need to be clear that "love" in this context is an action, working for the highest good of the other.  It is not a feeling, it is not "liking." We work for the highest good of the other by being authentic, by staying in the conversation, and by speaking truthfully but also KINDLY to one another when what we hear is harming anyone else.  We love one another by caring enough not to leave the conversation but to speak firmly but clearly about what is life-giving and what is not.  We also love one another by being willing to hear critique and to grow and change from it; to say "I'm sorry" when we've messed up, and "I will work on this.  Thank you."  when we are called on misbehaviors.

       Why is this coming up now?  The stance of so many in our country currently is to become offended by the littlest things: to hear insult and injury even when it is clear to others that was not the message.  We then respond with anger and escalate a problem that might never have been there in the first place.  It doesn't help.  It doesn't help us to feel less angry to react by lashing out.  And it doesn't help the relationship to respond in that way. It does nothing towards healing or growing or bettering the world to respond in these ways.

        And when there is a real problem?  When someone really intended unkindness or to say something harmful?  Well, if we haven't practiced listening on a daily basis and responding with kindness when it is easy, how on earth will we listen when there is genuine injustice or respond with kind but direct communication when the situation really requires it?

    We have to start listening with loving ears, to listen for the intention of kindness, to probe deeper into the meaning behind the words.

     We also must start speaking with love, speaking with kindness.

      I realize neither of these things is easy.  Both involve staying at the table and engaging even when we would tend towards anger and want to lash out or leave. But we have to start.

     "I was hurt by what you said and I'm trying to understand if I heard you correctly or understood you correctly." (if yes), "can you tell me why you said that?  why that felt important to say?"

And then if it was really unkind,

      "I usually experience you as a thoughtful and kind person, so I'm curious about the words you just used which did not seem to match your usual kindness."

        We have to practice.  Especially now, if we want to heal the breaches, the rifts, we have to practice how to listen and how to speak.  It's not optional if we hope for a better world.

Why Am I Standing for Co-Moderator of the PCUSA?

 Stories

I asked and was granted permission to share these stories, something I feel is essential as we share our stories.

1.                1. I was gathered with a group of Presbyterian teaching and ruling elders who are Spanish speaking.  The group was mostly made of up of people whose primary language is Spanish, immigrants from Central and South America.  Only a couple of us who were there at that moment were people whose first language is English.  I’ll admit, I am the worst at Spanish among my colleagues in that group, but I am working to learn, practicing as well as taking classes at the local college.  As we sat together in fellowship, my colleagues and friends shared stories of their recent experiences with ICE and the fear in their communities.  We listened.  We prayed.  Still, despite the pain, there was a lot of laughter, the sharing of amazing foods and a sense of connection and care that crossed boundaries.

But then the pastor who called us together asked why there were only a couple of us there whose first language was English.  Where were our other colleagues who speak Spanish (or, like me, are learning Spanish)?  They were invited.  Why didn’t they come?  I tried to explain that people are busy, overscheduled, sometimes frantic about the amount of work they are doing.  But I knew that was only a partial answer.  And my friend who called us together named what I was thinking, “People make time for what is important to them.  Why isn’t connecting with us important to them?”  I heard deep hurt in his words.  We say we care, but do we show up for one another?  Do we take the time to get to know one another?  Do we cross boundaries enough to really understand and celebrate who others are, to recognize our connections, to see one another for the children of God we each are?

Another pastor in the group said that at Presbytery meetings, there are people he greets, but that this is all he feels comfortable doing.  He doesn’t know the other members of Presbytery.  They are friendly.  But they don’t go beyond that.  As I drove home from this monthly meeting, I found myself deeply saddened by my experience.  We are people of faith.  But sometimes we just give lip-service to the idea of loving our neighbors.  Loving our neighbors means meeting them, talking with them, getting to know and understand them.  We cannot do that from a distance.  We are called to commit to staying at the table together, and even enlarging the table to make room for others.

2.               2. My congregation has been part of a “belong circle” made up of women from my congregation and women from an African American congregation.  We were supposed to go through a program together that would invite learning and understanding, but the group morphed into a support group.  We met every other week for four years before business and other obligations caused us to end the group.  We remain friends, however.  That time, of truly diving deep into hearing each other’s stories created not only bonds across neighborhoods, bonds across cultural and racial differences, but also allowed us all to learn and grow; to understand that our faith and our shared values connect us so much more than any differences.

3.               3. Language and cultural differences are not the only things that divide us.  In this time in our country, political and theological differences also strongly divide us.  We have stopped talking to one another but instead we group ourselves into “us” and “them.”

            Towards that end our congregation began a series called “talking across the differences” where we met several times, each time around a hot topic.  The first was rent control, the second was immigration and the third was abortion.  Each time we went through a small training for how to listen, how to hear the shared values under our differences, and then how to disagree in ways that did not alienate or shame one another.  Afterwards we were put in small groups that then talked about the hot topic of the day.  It was an important exercise for our congregation to stay at the table with other parishioners who might have different understandings.  We continue to explore how to be community together, but mostly, how to stay at the table despite our differences.

Jesus calls us into a loving way of being.  Jesus shows us what it is to become community, really listening to the Syrophoenician woman, the Samaritan woman, even a Roman centurion (who was considered one of the oppressors).  He took the time to hear, to heal, to care. 

I believe that we are called to do the same.  Yes, that will take time.  Yes, it will take intentionality.  Mostly, it will take faith: the faith to trust that God will be with us in our efforts, in our steps, in our work to care for and understand those it would be easier to “other.” 

I feel strongly that my call is to be part of that conversation, to insist that this conversation across our differences continues and deepens, to work hard to build strong bridges of connection, faith, and unity across divides that are becoming gulfs between us.  My call is to empower others to lean into that calling as well. That begins with my own listening to God and to others. We are called to spaces of belonging, we are called to make the table bigger, wider, and create more places for one another.

Does that mean we overlook injustices?  No.  But we call each other IN rather than calling each other OUT: talking openly but without attacking about why lifting up the marginalized, hearing the voices least represented at the table, and recognizing that what hurts you hurts me, and what hurts me hurts you - these are essential for our growth as individuals, communities, and as children of God.  

I am far from perfect.  I have growing edges and I am not afraid to hear that I’ve made mistakes because that helps me to learn and grow.  My promise is that I will show up to hear, to connect, and to grow.  Hopefully in so doing, I also give others the opportunity to show up, hear, connect and grow as well.  That is my hope for serving as a co-moderator: to have those opportunities to really listen and share stories, but also to deeply connect others, encourage bridging, and help us all to grow in our following of Christ in the way of loving our neighbors.

I Often Get It Wrong

     I was thinking this morning about how many times I have misunderstood the nuance of what someone is saying to me.  I think all people do this.  I think neuro-atypical people undoubtedly do it more often. But it's something I work on, and as a result, it catches me by surprise when I've once again missed the nuance.  

    Interestingly, it happens in both directions.  What I mean is that there are times when I hear a "slight" in what someone has said to me that they did not intend.  This probably is a result of the "rejection sensitivity dysphoria" that I carry with me: people with rejection sensitivity dysphoria do tend to hear rejection or dismissal more than others do, even when it was not intended.  But there are also times when I hear something as a compliment that wasn't meant to be so.  This is much rarer, but it does happen.  And again, it's usually only afterwards, sometimes by a long time, when I finally catch up and realize that wasn't actually how their comment was meant.  

    Today I realized that when someone said to me at a memorial service where I officiated three years ago, "I really wish we'd been able to hear more from you in the service," that it wasn't meant as a compliment to what I might have said.  I explained at the time that the spouse of the person who had died was very clear that he did not want a homily or pastoral words during the service.  But still, I also said, "Thank you," since I heard it as "I wanted to hear more what you would have said."  And this morning I suddenly woke up realizing that it had nothing to do with me.  The man who said it wanted a homily.  That was all.  Didn't matter who it was who was officiating.  He was complaining about the lack of a pastoral message in the service.  He was not saying he liked what I had to say and wished I'd said more.  Huh.  

    Still, as I think about the times that I have mistakenly heard a comment as a compliment, I realize that it has never been a bad thing and has often led to a positive outcome even though I had mistaken the nuance.  For example, the time when someone said, "Wow you are really intense" and I laughed because indeed, I really am, rather than getting offended.  It changed the trajectory of the conversation from one that might have become defensive, to one that was amiable and positive.  In the situation I shared above, my saying "thank you" and again, hearing it as a compliment rather than as a complaint meant that I was able to explain the situation in a positive way, rather than a defensive one.  

    My point?  Personally, I want to do better at erring towards hearing things in a positive light since I don't find negative outcomes as a result of doing so.  In contrast, when I do become hurt or defensive in response to something someone has said, it never goes well.  So my point is also for all of us to try to work harder to see the good: to see the good in one another, to hear the good in what people say, to look for God (to put in theologically) in every interaction.  And then to respond in that way: to what is good, to what is kind, to what is God's leading, God's caring, God's light shining from the person in front of us.  I know, all too well, that this is not easy.  But it is a gift to all of us when we do that.

A Lack of Laughter

         In a training I took on trauma, mediation, and conflict resolution, I remember learning that one of the ways to evaluate how well a congregation or any group is doing is by seeing how easily they laugh.  If they can move easily to genuine, non-sarcastic and non-cynical laughter, then, despite what else might be going on, they are actually doing okay.  In contrast, if you cannot move a group into laughter, that is a sign that the tensions and conflict are high, and that the group is in a crisis situation that will not be easily resolved.

    Our country has stopped laughing.  

    I see it in smaller groups of people: the small groups in my church no longer laugh and play.  When I intentionally attempt to say something funny on a Sunday, the congregation has stopped responding with laughter.  At home, we usually laugh a great deal but we don't anymore.  At the Presbytery meeting, there was little laughter and play. The friends I usually laugh and play with are very sullen and serious now.  Even in the office, where we often share funny videos and playful images, those have changed.  Now we only share the ones that, again, are sarcastic, cynical and if there is laughter, it is bitter.  

    There's no more grace in our roads or even in relationships.  People are quick to anger and forgiveness is a stretch if it exists at all.    

    An article came out this week talking about the great importance of play.  One of the kids at church told the congregation that they need to stop working as much and need to play more.  We know that play and laughter are extremely important parts of mental health.  

    But our stress is too high.  Our fear too great.  The damage we are witnessing to our siblings and to our own family members can't be laughed off.  

    I can name all the reasons.  You can name all the reasons.  We've lost our country.  We are no longer a democracy.  And the changes that are happening now won't be reversible. Add to that that we don't know what will come next, but since everything so far has aimed at the financial and in many cases physical destruction of everyone who is not white, male, heterosexual, and in the richest .02% of the country, there's no reason to expect that whatever comes next won't hurt us further. But saying all this doesn't help, since, as I said, you know all this. 

    So what can help?  What might help? I write to encourage you to do what it takes to start laughing again.  I write to encourage you to look for what is beautiful and good in this moment, for this moment is all we have.  Try to be kind and gentle with one another.  Try to be graceful and forgiving of one another.  Do what you need to do to stay sane in the midst of the chaos: write, draw, sing, laugh, cry, pray, rage, run, exercise, do yoga, meditate, reach out for your friends and for those who can hear and support you.  Watch funny videos, listen to happy music, get out in nature, learn something new, take a class, take a nap.  Give thanks for this moment because right now you are still alive.  Be grateful for your family and friends who are still living because they are there to be support and to offer love.  Remember that you are not alone: we are in this together, and God is with us, too.  Breathe. 

    Don't be afraid to do what must be done and to speak truth. Take care of the least of these because that is our call. But also, take care of yourselves. Try to find a way to truly laugh.     

From "Fight" to "Friend"

     Today in my good news e-mag I saw an article about a new cancer breakthrough where cancer cells are "re-taught" to be normal cells rather than cancerous cells.  This is a huge breakthrough for many reasons but it also caused me, once again, to reflect on the deeper lessons being learned.  

    As humans, we appear to tend towards violence in all areas of our life.  When someone is nasty to us, we often will fight back, at least verbally, or up the ante, returning evil for evil.  When there are problems in the world, rather than negotiating or talking, we often jump into war, into fighting.  When we have problems within ourselves, we talk about fighting - fighting the demons within or fighting the addiction, or fighting with our own anger.  As I've written about many times, when someone does something wrong in our society, we "fight" or seek to harm them in return with retributive justice prison sentences, too.  And with our diseases: we fight disease by trying to "kill" it.  

    Does it work?  Not so well, in any of these situations.  Might does not equal right, so our wars don't always favor the right.  Those who go to a punishing prison usually end up entrenched in their lives of crime.  The addictions and inner problems we fight with tend to just fight back.  And even the diseases we fight by killing what is within usually do more damage to us in the end.  The things we use to kill diseases kill us as well.  

    I actually believe that this is a metaphor for all of life: in trying to kill what we deem to be the "other", whether it is a disease or issue within us or an "enemy" without, we end up destroying or damaging ourselves as well.  

    There are alternatives and we are just beginning to really figure those out.  Restorative justice is a much better approach in terms of our legal system, for example: bringing healing to all those involved in a situation where a crime has happened, rather than an escalating revenge/punishment.  This is true in our raising of children as well: when we yell at our kids, they aren't as able to hear, to learn.  But when we work with them, seeing the mistakes as invitations for learning, invitations for growth, not only is the growth more permanent and effective, but it builds their self esteem as well.  If we were to learn to talk to each other rather than going to war, relationships and lives would not be torn apart or ended in the name of justice.  

    I loved the children's book series, "The Secrets of Droon" by Tony Abbott.  One of the things I loved most about this series, was that the children were not encouraged or taught to kill the "bad guys."  Instead, they were encouraged to understand them, and to grow with them so that those "bad guys" might be met with enough compassion that they would change.  We have the same opportunites throughout our lives in all areas.

    I've seen a person screeming at someone else about something who was met with patience and an open heart, and as a result they calmed down, were able to be rational and to have real conversations, moving from stances of enemies across a line to friends, working together to solve a problem. I saw my own son, as a kindergartener, make the decision to befriend a kid who bullied everyone.  My son was able to change the stance of the other child by doing so, and as a result, the "bully" was finally able to ask for the help he needed, learning to trust that not everyone was against him, that some were truly there who would love and care for him, even when he told the truth about what had been happening in his home life.

    I've also experienced people trying to fight off the grief and pain within their own hearts who, when encouraged instead to befriend that pain and grief, were able to truly work it through and therefore to let it move through them and out. It is a different way to approach our inner struggles and pain, but an effective way to really work through and come out the other side.  When we fight our inner problems, the best we can hope for is to suppress them.  But when we befriend our shadow side, we can learn and grow together until we are changed for the better.

    This new way of approaching cancer is incredibly hopeful to me.  It recognizes that change, rather than destruction, is a better way to deal with cancers of all kinds, within our bodies and within our lives.

    

Parenting Part V

        I have a friend who suggested that parenting is concentric circles: when a baby is born they are extremely close.  When they start to walk, the circle widens.  When they go to school it expands more.  When they start making friends it expands again.  When they leave for college it expands hugely, and when they partner with someone else, the circles in which we connect to our children expand once more.

        My youngest has a partner now, and Christmas break was an exercise for me in seeing just how far the circle of closeness that I share with my youngest child might expand.  Youngest's partner came home with her for Christmas break, at my request.  But while Youngest still managed to take whole days out of the month to spend time with her local friends, she could not do the same for me.  We caught moments together.  Little spaces in the midst of the busyness of the season to have open conversation. Still, by "open" conversation, I mean that I was open and she listened... as much as a 19 year old is willing to do. It was painful for me.  

    I didn't handle it well, becoming angry at her over little things because I was having a hard time sharing honestly about the deep grief I was feeling at her absence. At the time I felt she could handle my anger more easily than my grief and disappointment at the lack of closeness. I didn't want her to feel pressured to be closer than she wanted or needed to be. Reflecting back, that was undoubtedly a bad choice on my part, but it made sense to me at the time.  I'm aware that this is normal. Youngest is doing what she needs to do at this point in her life.  She is making appropriate choices and stepping away as is to be expected as she pulls closer to her friends and her partner.  All of that is what we raise our kids to do.  But at times, I admit here in this safe space, it leaves me feeling a bit lost.

    I have always put my kids first.  I knew that parenting meant that my number one priority had to be to raise and protect my kids.  But when I became a solo parent, the only one to raise them and to care for them, this feeling of mama-bear, protect the kids and draw them close at any cost - that feeling became exponentially stronger.  They were no longer just my priority, they were my life.  Yes, I still worked: to support the kids.  Yes, I still had friends and connections: so that I could be a better parent and support to my kids.  I moved back to the Bay Area, because I felt they needed more family and support. For the last 14 years, almost everything I have done and chosen to do has been for them.  

    So now that they are all basically out of the house?  I realize I am still the bank for them: funding their schooling, supporting them financially.  But even that has a clear deadline to it.  Youngest will graduate college in 2 1/2 more years.  She plans to go to grad school but she expects to fund that herself and is working to save the money to do so.  I can see the next widening circle coming at the point at which they are no longer reliant on me for their funding.  And I'm preparing, as much as I can, for the even greater distance that will accompany that change.

    Yes, I have my own partner: David is an incredible partner and friend. Somehow early on, though, we set up a dynamic where I support the kids and he supports me.  That has to change so we have a more equal relationship, and that will take time. I have friends who are extremely important to me.  But of course they also put their own families first.  I have my job, my work.  But there are days, like today, when I question whether I am making any difference whatsoever.  I wonder what the point is when I clearly have not been able to persuade anyone who didn't already understand our call: beyond anything else we are to be about loving, supporting and caring for the least of these, for those who are in pain, for those who are marginalized, for those society rejects as unwanted, unneeded, unvalued.  I have not been able to convince anyone of this, and it literally breaks my heart in light of the damage and the hurt that is coming to our most vulnerable at this point in time.   And so I wander and wonder what I am doing.     

    I think all of these feelings are common as attached parents watch their kids grow up and leave the nest.  As I have said before, we celebrate their growing, but we also grieve it.  We delight in their independence, but we also miss their dependence on us.  We celebrate as they step into the world, but we also grieve the closeness.  These are all part of raising kids.

    So today I commit to doing something that is life-giving for me that is not about caring for my kids.  I signed up for a horticulture class at the local community college and today I will begin that class.  I've written many times about my love for plants, trees and gardening.  I am going to take this class to spend time learning and being with plants.  This is for me.  And I'm hopeful that it will nourish me.  My plants are my new babies, and I'm looking forward to learning more how to care for them, how to be a better plant-mother.  For those of you who are in a similar place to me, I encourage you as well to find a way to nourish yourself, to step in a new direction that can give you meaning and joy.  We will never stop being parents.  But we can learn new things and find new purposes as well.  Thanks be to God!

Parenting Part IV: What We Say Matters

     I've written a great deal about parenting lately, but it is, once again, on my mind so I'm taking to my typing once more, in part to process through some of what took place over the winter break.  Today will focus on Middle once more.

    Middle and I really had a wonderful time hiking and talking during the few weeks he was home.  I love that time with him.  I love hearing his thoughts and hearing about his experiences.  But, as I've mentioned before, we have a history of arguing. And while it is so much better than it was, occasionally those arguments still arise and they can be as volatile as ever.  This time there was only one big argument.  And it was not just Middle and I who were involved.  Eldest and Youngest were also present, and the argument ended up being the three of us on one side arguing with Middle.  It was so intense that both Eldest and Youngest finally stomped off in anger.  

    The subject of the argument is immaterial.  However, the next day when Middle and I were walking, he said some things that were harder for me to shake, and which I really should not dismiss easily.  He told me that at one point in our argument, I had said something about him failing to be open-minded.  I didn't remember having said that, but I'm sure it is true that I did.  One of Middle's greatest contradictions or paradoxes is that he is both able to think outside the box in creative and awesome ways, and yet at times he entrenches in specific beliefs that leave no room for other people's experiences or the possibility of things beyond his set determined belief. Do I think he is at times closed-minded?  Absolutely.  Still, I didn't remember actually voicing that, and found myself feeling horrified that I had called him a "name" in a way that was hurtful to him, and that stuck with him.  

    He also told me that when I talk about our relationship, I usually start by mentioning how much we have argued throughout his life, and how much we continue to do so, though he has worked very hard on this. Obviously this, too, is true.  Ironically, I usually mention it to say how far we've come.  As I said above, there was only one argument during the three weeks he was home.  I'm also aware that when I talk to other people about Middle, I often describe him as my "miracle child."  He has blossomed into this absolutely amazing young man who is working on a degree in physics with minors in math and political science.  Despite being a full-time student, he also has a half-time job in the physics department at school and has won awards for his inventions.  He is published in several abstracts and is an active part of the physics research team, even as an undergraduate.  In addition to work and school, he has become quite the athlete: rock climbing, ice climbing, skiing, running, cycling, hiking and more.  He has numerous scholarships because of all he has done and continues to do.  And he chose to go to Norway for a year all on his own to study abroad, something I never had the courage to do.  But more than all this, he is kind, he is incredibly polite, he is compassionate and loving. He listens well, and tries so hard to do what is right by other people. My son who struggled so very much as a boy has grown into a young man I admire deeply.  He is my greatest pride, because he has overcome so many difficult and challenging obstacles.  He made good choices, and he is thriving as a result.

    Despite feeling so very proud of him, I feel I can take very little credit for who he has become. Middle has always brought out the worst in me.  Or to phrase that in a way that doesn't put the blame on him, I have been with him, consistently, a version of myself that I despise.  The worst in me comes out when we argue.  I feel triggered, often, by what he says, and my parenting of him has always been less than what I would want it to be.  I would honestly give just about anything to go back to his childhood and do it differently, though I'm not sure I could do it differently even now.  Our arguments, though much rarer, still trigger me in a way that leads me to do what I know a parent should never do, namely saying hurtful things, such as calling him "closed-minded" despite the fact that he is a person I love more than I can possibly articulate.  

    The point? What we say matters.  I was surprised by what he remembered from the argument and more, how he heard what I say about him when I talk about him to others.  The little comments that he experiences as hurtful probably have a much greater impact than all the "I love you" and "I'm proud of you" statements put together.  They stick longer.  Like the barbed stickers that get stuck on my sweaters after a hike, they stay, while the compliments and expressions of love are more like flower petals that roll off.  Unfortunately, all the apologies in the world cannot dislodge those barbs from our spirits.  It is therefore essential that we work hard to avoid saying hurtful things in the first place.  When we are triggered, stepping out, stepping aside, breathing deeply, or whatever works for each of us to stop the flow of words is essential.  

    I'm so proud of my son.  I'm proud of him for being able to talk to me about what I said that was hurtful, too. It was a reminder to be more aware and to take the needed time to step back before speaking, especially when I'm angry.  As I said above, I wish I could change the words I've said that have been hurtful.  But I can't. All I can do is to use these lessons to work to do better. Love is action.  And my actions of love for my son have to look like working towards greater kindness when I'm angry with him.  Not easy, but essential.  Always.