Pride

        At one point during GA, I had walked up to a small group and one of the women there said, "You and I went to seminary together."  I looked at her face, and not recognizing it right away, I glanced down at her name tag.    

    She looked disgusted and said, "You don't remember me."  Before I could respond she said to someone near her, "Well, we were in VERY different circles," with what looked to me like a smug, haughty smile and while I tried to then talk to her and ask her about herself, she turned and walked away.  

    Okay, there is so much here to unpack.  

    First, I graduated from seminary 30 years ago.  That's a long time to remember someone who "walked in very different circles." Nonetheless I felt terrible for failing to remember her at first.  But then when she said, "Well, we were in VERY different circles," I did remember her.  Her meanness triggered memories of past similar behavior.  I remembered her for her lack of inclusion, compassion, and kindness.  She was a person who made sure she only interacted with the elite, the best of the best, the "popular kids". She was someone who made sure YOU knew if you didn't fit in with that group and that you felt your inferiority. So no, we would not have been in the same circles.  I tended to find other nuero-divergent folk, but also mostly kind folk, and authentic folk who cared about others for who they were, not how they "ranked".  And I think, as I reflect back, that why it insulted her so much that I didn't remember her is that those who do not make it into those top tiers are supposed to always be looking up, admiring, remembering those who are ostensibly above them.  And I didn't.  

    Is it horrible, then, to say that I'm glad I didn't?  I'm glad, not because it challenged her self-image.  I'm sure it didn't.  I'm glad because it proved to myself how little I care about those tiers.  I don't value more highly those who rank others in that way and who then expect those around them to adore them because they are "cooler".  I care about everyone as an individual and choose as personal friends those who are authentic. Those who do not have time for the likes of me I won't dwell on. Those who weren't, or aren't kind, inclusive, and open to those who may be different will not take up a great deal of my brain space. And I am deeply grateful for that, though I do find myself wondering how she functions as a pastor and what her congregation is like.  But that's another story.

Humility

                Micah 6:8 is one of my favorite Biblical passages: What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with your God.

    Today I want to spend some time focusing on that last part, about walking humbly with God.  

    My experiences and my lessons over the last six month have called me to look deeply at what it means to be humble. On two separate occasions within the last six months I have put myself out there, out front, in big ways, huge ways, that some might say lacked humility.  The reason I'm saying "might" or saying it conditionally is that in both cases I felt strongly called to put myself forward.  Both times I had person after person from different walks of my life approach me and tell me, "I think you are supposed to do this."  Both times in my prayers I felt clear confirmation of what these other loving, faithful, intelligent voices were saying to me about the call.  I've always believed that "call" is discerned in community, so to have so many coming to me with the same message about what I was supposed to be doing, along with the confirmation of my own prayers, led me to feel I had little choice about putting myself out there in these very forward, clear, risky ways.  

    At the same time, in both cases, the result was that it did not go anywhere.  I put myself forward, and was told "no".  And while I really am okay with those results, (I mean, I felt called to put myself forward, not to "prevail", and in one of those two cases, I really did not want to prevail, so it was, frankly, a gift!), I've also had to sit with that sense of not being chosen, not being valued, and in one of the two situations a sense of humiliation.  In the other case, my forwardness was met with unkindness, rudeness, and so it has brought questions to my mind.  Was I lacking in humility to even put myself forward?  Or was the way I put myself forward lacking in the proper humility?  What does it mean to follow what you believe God is calling you to do if it ends in nothing?  

      I think where I am ending up in this is a sense that maybe the gift in both of these situations is that it has pushed me to be humbly closer to God, to walk more humbly with God.  God and I have had a lot more conversations these last few months than before.  I've come to my prayer life with much more intentionality, but also with the deep humility to say that I don't understand why I was called to take these steps.  I don't understand why I felt so pushed by the loving community that surrounds me as well as in my own prayers to walk in this direction, to put myself forward in these ways.  It has pushed me to say with all honest humility that I don't see the big picture here, that I do not and have not understood God's calling for me these last few months.  I am doing what I feel called to do in darkness, without a clear sense of direction or purpose or any vision for where I am heading, or where my saying "yes" will lead, either for myself or for others.  

    To walk humbly is uncomfortable. There is no control, and, at least in my case, no vision for where or why I am being asked to do certain things. This feels doubly true when the message to step forward is so very clear but the result is a resounding shut door. But the humility comes with realizing that I don't need to know why.  It isn't for me to know.  I am not in charge.  All I can do is say "yes" when I feel the call and have the humility to understand that I may not ever know the reasons.  I may not ever understand the "why" but I am still called to say yes.  And if I can keep doing that: keep answering what feels like a call, even when I can't see where it is going or why, even when it ends with a "no," then I am learning to walk humbly with God.  

    I feel so much closer to God through all of this.  Despite the feelings of humiliation at times, despite the hurt of rejection, I feel closer to God.  And I am leaning into trust: trusting that there are reasons, even when I may never know what they are.  There are reasons I'm being called in this direction, being called to follow, even when I can't see a positive ending, at least not for myself.  Trusting in that is a gift as well.  

    I know I am writing this without a lot of specifics.  But, as with the call to go without seeing the ending, I hope that this is meaningful to you as you read this as well.

    In peace.

Pentecost and General Assembly

        I’ve been thinking a great deal about Pentecost as I prepare to "stand" (ie run) for the co-moderatorship of the PCUSA.  Our platform is and will continue to be staying at the table, inviting the stories, listening deeply to others and trying to cross the divides which are becoming deep gulfs between us.  And what I want to talk about today is that I’ve been thinking that we have become lazy in our relationships to one another.

There is good reason for this.  We’ve become an instant gratification society in every way.  Any piece of information is there at our fingertips: all we have to do is google whatever we want to know and we can find it.  We can order anything we want and have it on our doorstep within 24 hours.  

    Our relationships have become the same.  We text each other now, expecting instant responses.  When we don’t get instant responses, there is often either anger or concern: why aren’t they answering me?  Why has it been 10 minutes and I haven’t heard back?

But it’s even more than this.  I read a book a few years back called “rules of estrangement” that was about the epidemic of young people who are cutting off their parents.  Why are they doing this?  Because “well, the relationship is ‘toxic’ for me,” by which they often mean that they experience discomfort at one point or another.  There is a story like one in which a young adult’s parent asked “how’s work going?”  The young adult didn’t like that question, so rather than talking to her parent about that fact, she simply cut her off with the words, “This is a toxic relationship.  Your question makes me feel uncomfortable and so it's unacceptable and I will no longer engage it.”  

We are lazy.  We are no longer willing or even ABLE to be patient, or to engage one another in difficult conversations.  We are no longer wiling or even ABLE to stay at the table with those we disagree with.  And the result is this growing divide that is no longer a small creek but a mighty river that we simply do not cross for any reason whatsoever.  

What does this have to do with Pentecost?  The pentecost story is about people from all over the place coming together, and despite language differences, they were able to hear and understand one another.  It was considered a miracle.  And I think I’d have to agree with that assessment, especially, again, in today’s world.  It is a miracle beyond imagining when we understand one another across our differences: across our different view points, different experiences, different grounding, different cultural orientations.  Really, we speak very different languages.  And that choice to be engaged, to hear, and to dive deep enough to understand: those are miracles.  

Note that at the beginning of this passage it says, ‘they were all in one place” and what that means is actually “they were in one accord”.  The unity, though, that they shared, that “one accord” that they shared was their faith grounding.  It did not extend to individual beliefs or differences, to “languages” to idioms, to cultural differences.  Still, that unity of being in faith, invited them and allowed them to hear one another.

It is also important to point out that not everyone was able to do that.  There were some who declared that the folk they heard speaking were either drunk or crazy.  But for those who were of one accord, who were united by their faith, that miracle of understanding and hearing was profound.  

        When I was in Cleveland there was a music group formed called “Elders of Jazz”.  These were “elders” in two senses of the word: they were all Presbyterian elders (ruling and teaching elders) from different Presbyterian congregations in the area.  They were also all retired, so “elder” in that sense too.  They served together, going around to different congregations with offerings of Jazz music for a Sunday.  However, at one point the founding church had a strong disagreement with the Presbytery.  That disagreement started with a theological difference, but moved then into the church withdrawing from the Presbytery and arguing with the Presbytery over the cost of doing so (as you know, our churches are owned by the Presbytery, not by the congregation, so when a church leaves the denomination, they are required to buy their building and grounds form the Presbytery).  This created a rift.  There was no longer a place for them to meet, to practice.  There was no longer common ground for them to be a united “elders of jazz”.  But they had the vision to see that disputes are temporary if we trust in the Spirit.  And that God’s call to be united in Christ extends beyond our differences and our diversity.  So, they put a statement together for the Presbytery that said, “We currently are not meeting, but we are still in existence and waiting for the Spirit to unify us once again.”  With that attitude, they were, indeed unified once again, despite their differences and despite their struggles.  They remembered what it was to be “one in Christ”.  They remembered that the Spirit’s job is to connect us all and God and that if we let the Spirit do that, She will.  They remembered that they did not need to be in charge of everything, or control everything, or fight every time there was a disagreement. And so they prayed.  And they waited for the Spirit.  And they trusted that the Spirit would come.  As it did.

I want to say that even if we weren’t in the cultural situation in which we now find ourselves, I think this can be very hard.  When transportation was slow, by foot or by horse at the fastest, and people therefore HAD to communicate and be in communion with their neighbors it was more likely to happen.  Here, when we can choose who we interact with, who we commune with, what is the impetus to hear one another, to really dive deep and learn from one another?  But as I watch our country and even our churches become more and more divided, I believe that this call to be in conversation, but more to really listen to one another is essential. 

So how do we do this?  How do we invite Pentecost moments where we truly hear each other?  How do we invite the spirit in to help us listen?

I believe it has to start with curiosity.  My experience is that when we are in a place of disagreement, most of us what to TALK, but few of us want to really listen.  Taking the time to pause, to ask questions, to try to dig deeper is essential.  So first of all, make it more important to hear and understand than to talk.   Make it more important to ask questions and to listen for where there are common values, common concerns under the end results.  Take the time to be willing to be curious.  AND, be willing to listen as someone who considers the possibility that we might be wrong.  That's important.  If you aren't listening with the possibility of growing, learning, and accepting that you might be wrong, you aren't really listening at all.

Secondly, I think the acronym “THINK” is important when we do talk.  Before you speak, ask yourself these questions:

Is it TRUE

Is it HELPFUL

Is it INSPIRED

Is it NECESSARY

Is it KIND

If even one of those is missing from what you have to say, then pause.  Figure out a different way to say it.  Call one another IN rather than OUT so that the conversation is not ended, but continues and goes deeper.  

This does not mean ignoring injustices.  The conversations must go there.  But that is part of calling people IN rather than OUT.  Point out our commonalities, point out your care for the person, then ask the questions about why the beliefs are there, and explore how your own are similar, and where the differences are.  

Finally, as people of faith, in all these conversations, start and end with prayer.  Start and end with inviting the spirit to be active in your relationships.  Start and end with remembering that each other person is a beloved child of God, worthy of care, respect, attention, patience and our time. 

    We are called to be a Pentecost people.  And as Pentecost people we are called to hear one another, to invite the spirit to be part of our conversations so that we can understand and love one another with more fullness and commitment.  It is NOT easy.  It is not easy for me, and it is not easy for you.  But that is the call.

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.