Illumination

Homily offered at LRE conference on Star Island. July 16, 2017 

My ten year old came in and sat on my bed this morning as I was looking out the window toward sailboats in the harbor, thinking about tonight’s worship. He asked me why I had my computer out on my lap and when I told him what I was working on, he asked to hear the poem transcribed onto my screen.

I share poems with him often, we both love them, and smile at each other when we come to the last words. But this morning, he was also a welcome test subject, as I wondered if, in listening, it was likely for an audience to catch some of the important details in the poem. So I read it without introduction, and when my suspicion was confirmed that it might not be clear to everyone what the author was describing, I read it through again, explaining first to him, that in the poem, Natasha Trethewey was writing about her experience reading a second hand book, with penciled-in notes in it’s margins. 

Illumination    by, Natasha Trethewey

Always    there is something more to know

    what lingers    at the edge of thought

awaiting illumination         as in 

    this second-hand book    full 

of annotations        daring the margins in pencil

a light stroke as if                    

    the writer of these small replies

meant not to leave them     forever    

    meant to erase

evidence of this private interaction        

    Here     a passage underlined    there 

a single star on the page

    as in a night sky    cloud-swept and hazy

where only the brightest appears

    a tiny spark        I follow 

its coded message    try to read in it 

the direction of the solitary mind 

        that thought to pencil in 

a jagged arrow         It 

    is a bolt of lightning

where it strikes

    I read the line over and over 

as if I might discern 

    the little fires set

the flames of an idea     licking the page

how knowledge burns     Beyond

    the exclamation point

its thin agreement     angle of surprise

there are questions        the word why 

So much is left    
        untold         Between 

the printed words     and the self-conscious scrawl

    between     what is said and not

white space framing the story

    the way the past     unwritten

eludes us    So much 

    is implication         the afterimage 

of measured syntax        always there

    ghosting the margins that words

their black-lined authority

    do not cross          Even 

as they rise up         to meet us

    the white page hovers beneath

silent      incendiary    waiting 

I finished reading it through a second time and smiled down at my son, soaking up the spark in his eyes-- his smile. And we talked about the author’s words and I told him what I was thinking I might want to say tonight— and that also, I might want to use a different poem, and we read that too--

Eve, Oh Eve

By Taslima Nasrin

Why wouldn’t Eve have eaten of the fruit?

Didn’t she have a hand to reach out with,

Fingers with which to make a fist?

Didn’t Eve have a stomach for feeling hunger,

A tongue for feeling thirst,

A heart with which to love?

Well, then, why wouldn’t Eve have eaten of the fruit?

Why would she merely have suppressed her wishes,

Regulated her steps,

Subdued her thirst?

Why would she have been so compelled

To keep Adam moving around in the Garden of Eden all their lives?

Because Eve did eat of the fruit,

There is sky and earth

Because she has eaten,

There are moon, sun, rivers, seas,

Because she has eaten, trees, plans and vines.

Because Eve has eaten of the fruit

there is joy, because she has eaten there is joy.

Joy, joy-

Eating of the fruit, Eve made a heaven of the earth.

Eve, if you get hold of the fruit

don’t ever refrain from eating.

---

And my son looked at me, and asked

Who is Eve?

---

And then I was reading from the bible. Genesis, the story of Adam and Eve and the serpent and God.

And then I was explaining to him, how the bible isn’t necessarily meant to be interpreted as fact so much as stories that we might learn from- metaphors for the world around us.

And that in the poem, Taslima is giving a different interpretation of that bible story, that perhaps it is the very choice Eve made to eat the apple, which represents our liberation. That before they ate from the tree of knowledge, they were not so much happy as they were unaware. She is saying that the Joy we know in this world was just as out of reach as the suffering until that moment. 

YES.

It’s all of it, and I know this isn’t a new idea, but it’s so important for us to keep remembering that we cannot hide from the work without giving away our rest. We cannot hide from mistakes without giving away forgiveness. We cannot forget that our understanding of history is only as complete as the wholeness of it’s telling.

And so, as I put down Genesis, my son and I started talking about who gets to tell the stories of our history. This question is so important, who gets to tell our stories? Are we asking who’s story is being told when we learn a new story, are we making note of who is doing the telling? Are we careful to leave space for more truth, even when we are the storyteller?

At the theme talk this morning, Reverend Renee Ruchotzke began by sharing some of the ideas that are driving her work in this moment, other people’s ideas, in which she has found her own understanding. She made a point of saying that she doesn’t see her task this week as a presentation of her own work so much as a threading together of several other people’s ideas. She continued on to describe her presence here as a part of her process in seeking understanding, she spoke about co-creation, and posed the question: What would it look like for our faith to be built around an ethos of mutual creativity, and I wanted to say AMEN. (but I didn’t, because our rooms are still so quiet, and I wasn’t feeling brave enough to break that proper silence)

And, also, aren’t we? At least amongst religious educators, aren’t we living an ethos of mutual creativity, or moving in that direction? Because I witnessed this spring, a collaboration unlike anything I have ever seen with the white supremacy teach-in. I witnessed leaders among us, Kenny Wiley, and Aisha Hauser, and Christina Rivera, (and so many others) recognize that in the midst of conflict there was an opportunity for us to grow as a faith. They saw (like so many of us educators) that magic moment where discordance pulls peoples attention toward one another, and those moments are scary, because they can end badly, but they also hold a potential for shift that is hard to manufacture. And when a teacher sees that opportunity, and has the wisdom to approach it with intention, great things can happen. That is what I saw this spring. Kenny, Aisha, and Christina came together with the support of many other colleagues, and they decided on a plan, and then they came to our wider network of religious educators through email and facebook, and they put out a call, and – this is an important detail—then they put a significant amount of time and thought into creating support materials for religious educators to use in their congregations if they were willing to join in the call for the #whitesupremacyteach-in.

And congregations joined- in droves. More than 800 congregations representing every state as well as Canada and overseas, and over a period of two Sundays, this action shifted the lexicon of our entire faith.

It did not obliterate White Supremacy culture, and it did not place conversations about White supremacy culture into an entirely safe space for marginalized people in our faith communities, but it shifted our language. I know this, because at GA this year, I heard the term White Supremacy culture countless times, and almost no one batted an eye. Everyone (seemingly) understood what was being said, in stark contrast to the reactions I witnessed to that same term in March and early April this year.

That doesn’t mean were done, it doesn’t mean there is not still a significant journey ahead of us if we are serious about transforming our UU culture, but it does mean that we can talk about the elephant in the room, that we are more likely to see who has been telling the story for too long at the expense of other experiences and perspectives.

Making that teach-in happen was co-creation. It was giving of your gifts to the best of your ability for the benefit of all, not for individual gain. It was putting aside other work, collaborating, reading, researching.

And I see that all the time.

Religious educators and RE volunteers, finding something that resonates with their students or stumbling on an idea, and sharing it out to the rest of us who are doing this ministry, because of course, we want to help carry each other along.  

This is a wildly complicated time. There are huge challenges in front of us, strong forces working to move our world in the wrong direction, and we have a long neglected history for which we must make amends so we can start to heal. But we are not working in isolation, and we are not spinning our wheels. I see deep intention in our faith right now, clarity of vision. I am hopeful and grateful and inspired.

In ‘The Fire Next Time’, James Baldwin wrote

“Love takes off the masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within. I use the word "love" here not merely in the personal sense but as a state of being, or a state of grace - not in the infantile American sense of being made happy but in the tough and universal sense of quest and daring and growth.”

Listen for stories from fresh voices. Look for signs in the margins.

Blessed be. 

Learning imperfectly 2.0

Reflection after taking 11 youth to GA 2017 --Part 2 of 2--

I have another story to tell about this last week of work, traveling in New Orleans with high school youth. (you can read the first part here)

At the Charlotte airport, as we traveled home from GA on Monday, the 26th, I sent the following email to the parents of the youth from our trip: 

Hello Parents,     

    We are in Charlotte, and boarding soon. Seems like we will be on time. 

    These travelers are fantastic, I'm going to miss them. 

    I want to let you know that we had a tricky experience last night that was a little scary for some of the youth. In hind sight I wish I had managed it differently, so I want to let you know about it in case anything comes up. 

    Last night as we prepared to leave we found ourselves with a significant amount of leftover food. A huge batch of beans and rice, lots of shredded cheese. Sandwich fixings etc. A suggestion was made that we should bring food to the homeless people down the road whom we had been passing as a group all week. 

    The youth made up lunch bags and portioned out warm beans and rice with cheese and salsa. And we went as a group down to the underpass to hand out meals. In all we fed over twenty people but toward the end as we walked in further from the road, there was a shift in tone and several youth started feeling nervous. Moments later a homeless woman told me we should leave as there was a man further ahead who was 'not right'.

We left, and headed for the Wendy's beyond our house as the man had started walking out toward us. It seemed wiser to go to a public place then to show him where we lived. That said, the exit was scary for several youth and I feel like I did not use my best judgement in the decision to go give out food without thinking through, preparing all, and having an intentional method planned.

     When we got to the Wendy's we gathered up and waited for the man to leave the area before going home. When we got home and settled we spent about an hour processing what had happened. I began that conversation with an apology. I did not use good judgement, and it resulted in a scary moment. As I mentioned, I wish I had made different decisions around this and I am still thinking that over as I write this message.

     Our time processing was incredibly fruitful. The thoughts shared by the youth and advisors demonstrated deep love and trust and incredible compassion. 

     I have since touched base with each youth one on one, and they all seem solid. I am, of course, available if you have any questions. 

                                                Looking forward to seeing all of you soon!

Even as I write now, having spent a week thinking about this event, my thoughts are evolving. Navigating life is rarely simple; this is true with most things in the world, and it is certainly not simple to help raise teens to adulthood and teach them Unitarian Universalism (whether as a parent, a mentor, or in a professional capacity). Yet, we are living in a culture that perpetually attempts to paint things in a binary- good or bad, right or wrong, helpful or hurtful, do this /don't do that- and with that binary, simplicity is implied.

Our Unitarian Universalist faith talks about inherent worth, about justice, equity, and compassion. We hold up the importance of acceptance of one another, and the search for truth and meaning... I could essentially regurgitate the seven principles here... but where it gets hard, is finding ways to live those principles. Too often, I hear disappointment expressed in our faith because we spend so much time talking about what we believe but not enough time pushing ourselves out of our safety zones, grappling with the reality of living life in an interdependent web. 

AND. That is not only because of privilege. It is also because it is complicated, messy, and problematic, and we have learned to avoid those things. 

We have created some communities in this country where poverty is nowhere to be seen, where "doing good" is writing out a check and sending it off, where people wring their hands about statistics, but are quick to call the police should they encounter a syringe on the street or an aggressive panhandler. We have created other communities where poverty is everywhere, where children are raised with the overt and unspoken message that they are not one of the lucky ones, and that that it's their fault somehow, because "if you just pull yourself up by your bootstraps and work hard, you can go anywhere"-- only that isn't actually true. People write about these two Americas, and even in this, we fall into that binary-- when of course between these two communities there are countless other complicated combinations, and all of it, living within the context of the United States, which itself possesses a unique ability to remain ignorant about the experiences of the rest of the world, and our role in those experiences..

In my community, which is a community with a lot of wealth and privilege, I often find myself having to remind people that safety does not exist. I teach this, not because I wan't to rattle anyone, or cause panic, but because I believe the idea of safety is getting in the way of so many things. This is not to say that I do not value the importance of mitigating risk, I think it is the most important part of my job, actually, particularly when I am traveling with and responsible for other people's children. I think you can hear, in the letter I sent last week, that I am grappling with having stepped over that line too far. I am not attempting to excuse myself for that, but I am also not perseverating on that fact, because I am human, and I make mistakes, and everyone is ok, and- Wow! We learned a lot from this experience. My take away is not that we should have stayed home, thrown away the food, and "stayed safe", rather, my take away is that I should have moved more slowly, collaborated with my fellow facilitators more, and listened more closely to all of our youth. I know this, because as we processed the experience together, we found the places where we could have done a better job mitigating our risk, while still stepping out of our comfort zone, and still feeding most of the folks we fed. 

Among the things that I find myself picking at lately, is the complexity of power- the ways that I hold power and the ways that I do not, and then, stretching out from my own experience, the way power exists for others- the ever changing reality of power, and the ways in which our inclination not to talk about power makes it dangerous. I do not think power is, inherently dangerous. However, power + silence... that is something to watch out for. "With great power comes great responsibility"-- there is a reason these words are so often spoken.

I am holding up power, because I made a mistake in the story rooted in the power that I hold in my work and in the context of this group of travelers. That mistake is one that any of us could make, but it is still important to examine it. Talking in public about mistakes that we make is probably even less common than talking about power relationships. It doesn't feel good to make mistakes, and I think because of that, and because within our culture we expect perfection from ourselves and others, we rarely wish to spend much time thinking about the mistakes that we make, let alone holding them up for others to examine.

The funny thing is, the more you intentionally challenge yourself to step into that kind of examination, the more comfortable it becomes. Breaking silence about power, seems to almost instantly shift that power to a healthier place, and acknowledging mistakes so we can learn from them becomes the seed for incredible new understandings. 

Here are two of those understandings, and how they are rooted in power: 

1. There were people in our group who were nervous about going out to give meals, and did not speak up because they felt like they should go with the flow. As the leader of this group, I should have been aware of the power that peer pressure can have. Taking a risk is a personal choice, and that is a lesson I want our youth to know. I wish I had stopped us as a group and shared my own nervousness, I think it would have helped everyone feel empowered to speak their own minds, and I suspect we all still would have gone forward, but we might have done so more mindfully of one another, and without anyone feeling like they were the only ones who were scared. 
2. Ideally, I would have had some prior experience with giving out food to homeless folks. Certainly, if I had been home and this idea had come up, I would have contacted people who do this work regularly, and we would have done some active preparation around how/where to deliver food, how to prepare, and how to reflect. This was on my mind as we were getting ready, but I did not think to bring my lack of knowledge out into the open- Power + Silence. When we are in positions of leadership, we must remember there is always more wisdom in the group. Just as it would have been helpful to check-in before we went, it also would have been a great help to have a plan we all understood. If I had said to the group, "I don't have experience doing this, what things do you each think we should keep in mind as we walk over to the underpass?" I think we would have articulated: 
• Stay together
• Move Slow, and check that everyone still feels ok
• If anyone wants to leave, we respect that and leave together.

All that being said, there is a beautiful truth to this messy, clumsy, risky part of our trip. It was a week of heady conversations about whiteness, and oppression, and corporate greed. About violence, injustice, and too-slow progress. It was long days with lots of walking and sticky heat and reminders of Katrina, and also the voodoo museum, the french quarter, and city park, and a trolley ride that took us, in a matter of blocks, from the struggling community where we were living, filled with black bodies, to the sprawling porches and hulking homes in the garden district with so many white faces. This was an imperfect trip and an imperfect end embraced by imperfect beautiful souls, who will live into every one of those moments, imperfectly.