2016.30.16 Ceiling Breakers and Hard Choices

VOTE. PLEASE.

Many wise people favor a both/and approach to discernment and wholistic spirituality. BUT in this 2016 election voters must deal with either/or. To sideswipe civic responsibility you can write in whomever you want, or pick a “dark horse” with no odds, or not vote at all. What takes real courage is to face into the discomfort of either/or— and CHOOSE ONE OF TWO.

 

I voted early with pride, and for once it was not a hard choice for me, because I’m a Christian and a feminist, not to mention being a Democrat. 

Jeanette Rankin was sworn into office in the House of Representative as the first woman in Congress, elected 100 years ago this November, 1916—and a Republican from Montana.

Rankin of course surprised the best of ‘em with her strenuous vigor and voice. The American politicians expected a wispy spinster with a delicate voice as they rued the possible loss of the art of profanity they had perfected.

Renée Loth wrote in her fine 10.04.16 Boston Globe op ed essay, “Breaking the Ceiling 100 Years Ago”: “A double standard? You bet your feathered bonnet.”

Rankin was everything a woman should “not” be: vocally aggressive, ambitious, and a powerhouse for women’s rights. Rankin was a strident unrelenting pacifist and voted against war no matter what. This stance alarmed even the female suffragists. Does this style sound familiar?

Hillary Clinton is not a pacifist, yet her vote in favor of the Iraq intervention has been singled out for attention and earned her the “hawk” label, scary even to many women. She made a hard choice, demonstrating her capacity to do such a thing as seemed right to her at the time. A hard choice is not a rigid one, but labels stick to women like brands. Even so, consistency isn’t the top quality of a good leader who has to make hard choices in fractious times. The capacity to think and change one's mind is a higher value.

No matter what Rankin said, and no matter what Hillary says, the media and the public pounce on it like a cat on a mouse. Yes, I know they pounce on Donald Trumps’ every word, too. Trump is a spotlight stealer, enabled by a reactive media. He is consistently misogynistic while denying it. This I think is helpful to his female opponent. Front-and-center misogyny forces us all to examine gender politics, which has formerly been submerged beneath lots of persiflage.

There IS a double standard and there IS a glass ceiling for women.

This isn’t a new issue at all but it is now so blatant it can not be ignored. There IS a difference between men and women. Women do bring a different style, a different experience, a different perspective to high public office. These distinctions matter.

Hillary Clinton, for example, notices women and issues that affect their lives intimately. She helped launch the first rape crisis hotline in Arkansas in the mid 1970s. At the UN conference in Beijing in 1995 she declared that “women’s rights are human rights.” As a candidate for president she calls us to work together. That is something women prefer and often do better than men.

In my experience, gender distinctions work the same in religion. Men and women are different, but differences often turn into political disadvantage for women. Women are ordained but not always treated equally. We do not get the best jobs; we are not accorded equal pay for the same work; not all dioceses have enforced minimum pay standards; we are still viewed as anomalous in pulpits in certain areas of the country. And our voices are not regularly consulted, and in some traditions not consulted at all. And to top it all off, God Godself is made masculine—quite thoroughly so. 

There is a Facebook site of which I’m a member called Breaking the Episcopal Glass Ceiling. It’s just for Episcopal women clergy. The fact that there is such a site and that it is used by so many is a sign. If our genders were equally recognized there would be no need for such a site.

The purpose of the site is to let women priests know when and where there are dioceses looking for a bishop and to get more women elected to the House of Bishops, where women are in a great minority. I have no interest in being a bishop, and many women don’t, but bishops are the top leaders and decision-makers in the governance of our church. We have checks and balances in our system. Thanks to the House of Deputies, lay and ordained leaders have voice and vote in our governance. Still, the folks with the pointed hats (House of Bishops) are seen as the ones with the power, whether that is actually true in the flesh or not. There IS a stained glass ceiling for women.

In religion and national government we all need to appreciate more clearly our gender differences and allow them to work for us, not against us, as we transform our religions and our country from patriarchal rank-ordering ways into a culture of shared responsibility for the common good.

Although, ironically, this election itself presents us with a viable either/or choice, we really do need  to strive for a both/and politics.

This was the politics of Jeanette Rankin 100 years ago. It is the campaign politics of Hillary Clinton in 2016.  Do we want to wait another 100 years to eliminate the double standard? Do we want to wait another 100 years for this wholeness? 

VOTE.  THANK YOU.

2016.01.03 Spotlight!

Spotlight! The Star of Bethlehem shone brightly on a poor family hovering over their newborn son. The unusual brilliance of this star attracted some Eastern sages, Magi who followed it to see what it spotlighted. It was a long uneasy journey they risked, seeking hope for a troubled world, seeking a sign from Divinity. This is a Christian story, and for Christians it means Divinity (God) becomes flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone. It means that the Love of God knows no bounds. We call this manifestation the Christ. We call this mysterious happening Incarnation. 

Fortunately, these Magi (not kings) were wise! They were sure enough of their calculations to bring with them riches and gifts for the newborn, one way to help this family begin the climb out of poverty and assure the survival of the child. They were also sure that what they found was a sign of divine presence and salvation significant enough to make King Herod jealous. So they told Herod a whopping lie, something like, “no big deal, King,  just a rumor."  Then they went home by a different route to divert Herod’s notice and quash his plans to assassinate any potential rival, even a divine one, to his own imperial reign. That’s the ingenious story. It is not literal but richly symbolic. To me it means that in every Nativity there is hope for new life; in every Nativity there is God; in every star there is light to follow if we’d but look carefully.

Spotlight!   As soon as it hit theaters, a few weeks ago, we saw the movie, “Spotlight". It's about the Boston Globe's 2001 superb journalistic, and I’d say prophetic, series that exposed the cover-up of the pedophile scandal in the Roman Catholic Church. I'd read the series, but film is the right medium to capture the whole action. The movie is brilliantly acted, and, according to those who lived it, accurate. What is portrayed is how corruption in one institutional system goes well beyond individuals, their institution, even their city and state. Not a new phenomenon, yet it’s a great emotional challenge to fully integrate into your consciousness the immensity of the impact of broad systemic sin. I admit to being a bit re-traumatized personally. We sat in the dark theater, stunned, and watched the entire roll of credits before we got up to leave. Not our usual get-up-and-exit strategy.

This movie was the right medium to catch the whole action. Its timely release dredges up the whole scandal once again, and rightly so, because, Pope Francis aside, it’s not over, and cover-up is still the name of the game. I see similar behaviors (misuse of funds, loss of vision, exploitation, dishonesty in leadership, not to mention the reign of -isms) in all our major institutions. I call it the death throes of patriarchy, a system of rank-ordering which has failed all humanity.

But how do we confront such deeply-rooted politics? We just start slowly, and stay thorough and observant, spotlighting where we can.

 Some quotes from the movie that stuck with me.

"It takes an outsider to change a system.”

In this case, the presence of an Armenian attorney, Mitchell Garabidian, who took on victims’ lawsuits, and a newly arrived Jewish editor-in-chief at the Globe, both of whom had interest only in the truth not in any religious or cultural attachments. I would add those Globe reporters on the inside of the religion who had been blind to the whole truth about their beloved Irish Boston, Roman Catholic Church, but not blind enough to have no vision at all, nor blind enough to have stayed active in their church.

Spiritual blindness is usually related to idolatry, a big fat sin………  In this case, I think, the idol worshiped above true divinity was, maybe is still, the mystique surrounding priesthood, aka  “Father.”  The journalists investigating the system were astounded with their findings, yet clear-eyed enough as “lapsed” Roman Catholics to look at their church from the inside out—not quite knowing why, but ready to be awakened. Courageous work!

The process made me think of the biblical Hebrew prophets awakening the people of Israel, and of Jesus the Jew with a new vision of the sacred covenant between God and Israel. Some Jews listened and followed his re-articulation of their own Torah covenant, and some refused, but were awakened enough to reflect on their own system. Historically, such processes happen over and over.

How will today's Roman Catholics respond? In the film Boston's Cardinal Bernard Law was almost a tragic figure, so corrupted by systemic sin that he didn't even see his part in it. When Marty Baron, the Globe's editor-in-chief, paid Law a visit to let him in on the story about to break, Law was impassive and gave Baron with a wrapped-and-ready copy of the latest Catechism.  Such effrontery and profound denial is hard even to imagine. (One wonders if he too was abused by a priest as a child.) But over-attachment to Catechism-ism and denial remain necessary ingredients for massive cover-up.

“It takes a village to raise a child and it takes a village to abuse a child.”

Officials at the top of church and state took care to heap the whipped cream of top-down politics while I, and others, listened to the underbelly of pain and trauma effects in our offices. Counselors, some clergy, medical personnel, social workers, and activists for social justice listened, organized and called attention to the whole truth. Victims also organized for truth. It took time!

Cardinal Law eventually was whisked off to Rome with a wrist slap and the offer of a posh apartment to live out his days in peace. Well, I doubt if he enjoyed deep down spiritual peace. Few criminals with any conscience at all do. Yet Law allowed the crimes to continue, and he stayed safe and out of prison while the Church paid out billions in damages to victims and backpedaled as fast as it could.

Spotlight! Since the movie came out, I have heard from three different people about someone close to them who, when young, suffered abuse by a priest in the name of godly love. Boys and girls. It is time to spotlight these wounds and heal the shame that binds. Also to acknowledge all the good priests who’ve served faithfully in a corrupt system.

Spotlight! We are entering the season of Light. What will we let ourselves see? Is it not time to be bold? Yes, we can see good things, often ad nauseum. Do we have courage too to spotlight ugly things like injustice, violence, addiction, greed, war, gun regulation, political and corporate corruption, unfair labor practices, and of course,  maybe especially, abuses in the name of divine love? Believe me, I’ve heard many a fear-inspiring sermon that abuses the image of God, as the author of hellfire and damnation. Theological crap!

Consider prayer, personal and communal, as worthy a spotlight as action.

2014.12.28 The Soul Feels Its Worth

O holy night
the stars are brightly shining
it is the night of our dear Savior’s birth
long lay the world in sin and error pining
till he [Christ] appeared and the soul felt its worth.    

I love this hymn, in part because it is quiet and offers a counterpart to the loud confidence of the world, and yes, sometimes the church, thinking itself triumphant. Christians do joy very well at Christmas. We shout out, Hail! and Go tell it! and Gloria in Excelsis!— and much more. These are our favorite songs and stories. I love them, too. The mood soars. My mood soars, too.

Yet . . . do we know what we are saying?  What is Christmas, deep down and really? Is it Easter?

There is nothing more powerful than the vulnerability of a newborn or the suffering of human flesh. Both summon exquisite compassion, divine and human—compassion that can change the world.  

 Oh Holy Night, indeed! 

 

The other reason I love this hymn is that my father loved it and used to sing it in his deep bass voice with dignity and reverence. In fact, he sang it, softly and to his nurse, just a week before he died in 1983 after a short devastating bout with esophageal cancer which left him unable to eat and drink, except by artificial means. When he sang this hymn, something happened. I don’t know what, yet as a child, I thought he was God. I wasn’t that far off.

This year I have been haunted, sometimes annoyed, by one line of this hymn hammering in my brain: Christ appeared and the soul felt its worth. (I replace "he" with "Christ" because, well, "he" is too masculine, too constrictive for the enormity of divine hospitality herein proclaimed.) Over and over, I heard this phrase. Consider it: Christ appeared and the soul felt its worth—felt it, not thought it up. Christmas is a soul feeling its worth, immediate and ultimate, because God takes up residence in mortality. You are divinely human, and all humanity with you. Oh, if only we could ingest and digest this truth.....by God, we'd never harm ourselves or others. 

[NOTE: the original text in French, written by Placide Cappeau in 1843, is a carol about Christ's birth, entitled Minuit, Chrétiens. Literally translated it reads: Midnight, Christians, is the solemn hour/When God as man descended unto us/To erase the stain of original sin/And to end the wrath of His Father/The entire world thrills with hope/On this night that gives it a Saviour.]

The line that has caused my heart to have a meltdown comes, not from this French translation but from an 1855 translation by Unitarian minister, John Sullivan Dwight. I prefer the simplicity of Dwight's translation. The essential meaning is intact: rejoice because your flesh is worthy of God's indwelling. My soul does not feel much worth from the 1843 version about God's wrath and original sin-stains.

What is soul-worth? It doesn't mean feeling happy, nor the thrill of a spiritual selfie, nor a blast of confidence or bravura, nor a burst of extraordinary courage or aplomb. Soul-worth is profound; it come from an inner well which nothing can destroy, eradicate, or desiccate—even death itself. 

Mystics tell us of direct, unmediated spiritual experience. They do not proclaim a God of wrath or an author of sin so indelible that it requires human sacrifice, even if lovingly offered, to erase it. Julian of Norwich writes: "There is no wrath in God." I wonder why we cling to this notion with such tenacity? Or should I say vengeance?  We love sin, especially the sin of others! 

*  *  *  *

On December 14, 2014, I read in the Boston Globe a good opinion piece by Jennifer Graham, headlined: “Holiday nitpickers deserve coal in their stockings.” She made a good point that Christmas, of all times, was not the time to obsess about facts or clear history, but rather to listen and take in the story, like a work of great art. Swallow it whole. 

From Graham’s article I learned, to my amazement, that “O Holy Night” had been banned in France when it was discovered that the composer, Adolphe Adam, was Jewish—just like the babe in the manger, but who would let that secret out in the 19th century? The stated reason for the banning was the song’s “total absence of the spirit of religion.”

The author of the French text was a professed atheist and anticlerical, the composer, Jewish, and the English translator, Unitarian—not exactly star-studded Christians, yet these people understood and communicated the mystery of Christmas within— and beyond —its religious particularity. It seems a supreme irony. Perhaps it is good that Christmas is now a secular holiday, as well as a religious one. Christmas goes beyond Christianity.

It has also been noted that all that “pining in sin and error” was a comment on French politics. Perhaps so, but could the same be said of 21st-century American politics?

In the middle of her editorial, Graham commented that the proper time in the ecclesiastical calendar to obsess about facts would be Easter, not Christmas. “For Christians, everything hangs on the cross, and the Resurrection; nothing hangs on the manger.” My hackles flew up as I raced to my computer to type a letter to the editor, courteous yet firm.

I wrote: “I enjoyed Jennifer Graham's wry humor and her insight about Christmas not being an occasion to obsess about facts ("Holiday nitpickers deserve coal in their stockings," December 14, Ideas.) Graham writes: "For Christians, everything hangs on the cross and Resurrection; nothing hangs on the manger." I would counter that everything, for Christians, hangs on the cross and lies in the manger. It's not by fact but on faith that Divinity dwells in human flesh, even a humble manger.”

There is nothing more powerful than the vulnerability of a newborn or the suffering of human flesh. Both summon exquisite compassion, divine and human—compassion that can change the world.  

They didn’t publish my letter, and one could shoot a million theological/historical holes in my abrupt statement, however, the message of both manger and cross hang (great word) on a theological truth that Godde always appears as life abundant—on birthing bed or deathbed. Christmas and Easter live together. Both assure the soul's worth.

 When God appears in whatever form, souls feel their worth.
 

2014.11.30 Final Shout Out for Thanksgiving

I'm resisting letting go of Thanksgiving, mostly because it's my favorite holiday. My first reason for that is that at Thanksgiving there are no gifts!  More deeply, gratitude has become such a cheapened virtue, sadly akin to grace. We live in a very spoiled culture—consumed by consumption. It's nice to have a holy day devoted just to being grateful for who we are, and that's all.

Author Steve Almond, in his November 30, 2014, Boston Globe article, "Full of Nothing," poses a good question: "How do we summon gratitude in an age dominated by grievance. . . . It is this grinding ingratitude that leave us spiritually empty . . . and drives our ravenous consumption."

Would we rather gripe than be thankful?  Sometimes, yes, but not always. 

When I worked in an Alcohol/Drug rehabilitation Center some years ago, I'd get tired of the patients always talking about having "an attitude of gratitude." It sounded like such a cliché—until I saw tears roll down cheeks and listened to story after story about how their Higher Power had given them another chance, and a third and a fourth and a fifth. Gratitude overwhelmed the gripe and the groan for many. Those who stayed with the gripe refused the grace—until they showed up again, and often again. We used to joke about the revolving door, yet these same hopefuls, driven by a tragicomic combination of hope and despair, were always welcome and always ready to try again—and fail again. 

A poem I saw on the NYC Subway train, part of an poster promoting “Ragtime,” a musical first produced in 1996 and revived in 2009, is by the poet, Kevin Young, born in 1970. I liked it!

Like hot food
I love you

like warm
bread and cold

cuts, butter
sammiches

or, days later, after
Thanksgiving

when I want
whatever’s left.


Is gratitude what's leftover, or is gratitude where we locate the leftovers of God?  Or both?

2014.08.17 Memorial Tribute

I loved Robin Williams. He made me laugh till I cried and cry till I laughed. He showed me true humanity, with all quirks and foibles, and perhaps a glimpse of true divinity as well. I also knew some of Williams's troubles with addictions and depression. With all this, he managed to share his gift of wise humor with the world. I mourn him. He died too young—63.

There's no sense, however, in making Williams an idol. He can't have been easy to live with (three wives.) The emotional climate he created rivaled biblical signs of any proper apocalypse, I'm sure. No idol, but an icon of grace, yes.

Charles Marsh, biographer of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, theologian and pastor, writes in Strange Glory about Bonhoeffer's choice to give his blessing to the conspiracy to murder Hitler, a choice for which Bonhoeffer was executed.  "Bonhoeffer realized finally that genuine humanness would forever wander into abstraction if it were not anchored in the history, suffering and religion of the Jews."

Bonhoeffer didn't bother to unravel the moral paradox of his action. Neither did Williams when he chose death. 

Recently, Williams was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease. It was, I imagine, one too many diagnoses to bear, so he chose death—a sad but wise and moral choice. By faith, I believe that he finally has the peace that passes all understanding. To Robin Williams, I say, Alleluia, anyhow.

Here is one of the most beautiful spiritual tributes I've ever seen, written in a letter  by Jape Shattuck of Newport, R.I and published in the Boston Globe, on August 14, 2014:

"Each time we dream we create worlds of astonishing depth and detail that function perfectly according to their own strange logic A sound in the dreamer's environment can sometimes trigger the instantaneous creation of a new world, with new logic, in which that sound fits seamlessly into a vast unfolding scenario. Robin Williams was the only person I've known who could perform that same feat while awake, in front of an audience, and in such convincing detail that it felt like I was sharing his exquisite dream, a dream whose code revealed punch line after punch line while gently proving that the goodness of his troubled soul was the same as mine."

To Robin Williams, I say thanks. I will remember the life you gave my soul.  Will I ever forget Euphegenia Doubtfire?

Perhaps it is so that the plumbline cast by Spirituality plunges deeper than the one cast by Morality; thus, choices made from Soul-depth can be quite preposterously immoral. Sometimes, I do think that God is not essentially Moral Being, but simply Beloved Being.

2014.03.09 Women Who Love Too Much?

Upskirting? Really! What the bejesus is this? Don’t they think we wear underwear? What do they expect to see? Or sell? Luckily, I hardly ever wear a skirt any more. But fear not, if you get arrested and jailed for upskirting I will come visit you in my skinny, no-peep jeans. I will not post bail, however.

Upskirting refers to the practice of taking secret photos under a woman’s skirt with a cell phone on the T (public transport). How the @$%? do you do that?  It’s a feat for a contortionist. 

Inspired by public outrage, the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts criminalized such sexual surveillance, drafting their bill in just over 24 hours—a record. (Boston Globe, 3.7.14) 

Such action proves how fast the legislature can act if it is motivated. It also proves how much it dallies unless we cry out, and how much praise it gets from the media for alacrity. I’m not impressed.  Cartoonist Dan Wasserman says it with humor.Who are "they" really?

 

It got me thinking once again about the plight of women. Will we ever be free from whatever it is that makes people, mostly men, think that we women are objects to be exploited, mere skirts to be peeped under? Women shouldn’t be blamed, but if we want justice and equality we must be part of the solution. But no uptrousering!  I suggest a ban on skirts. 

A woman once wrote a book called Women Who Love Too Much about the pathological way in which women stay—and stay— in relationships that aren’t good for them. Such behavior was labeled co-dependency.

I’m not referring to obvious physical or emotional abuse, though many women hang in with that out of fear, but perhaps domestic neglect or some subtle demeaning that corrodes the soul over time. 

I once went to a workshop to “fix” myself. I felt neglected and helpless in a marriage troubled by a combination of workaholism and functional alcoholism, the hardest to confront. I drank to cope. It worked; I didn’t notice how I felt.

The workshop presenter ticked off a litany of self-defeating characteristics of co-dependent behavior. I had every single one. I felt lower than an inch worm. The lady with the answers that would “save” me made my inadequacy worse. Something wrong with me—or was it the book? 

Women who “loved too much” didn’t know how to love both the other and the self. That was a good point and helpful but something was still not right. How can you love too much? I was out of balance but I DID love.  Deep down I was moved by love.

I thought of Debbie, one of those “love-too-much” women who called herself a “dumb, stupid codependent” all the time.  As a child, she’d forced herself to stay awake until her father returned from his bar, light up a cigarette and then pass out in a chair. Then Debbie went to work, cleaning up and making sure his cigarette, teetering on the edge of the ashtray, was snuffed out so no fire could start. She lost sleep and her grades suffered but her love was real. One day I got so sick of her talk I blasted her: “Hey, stop with the stupid-me stuff, love-too-much crap, and listen up! You did what you did out of love, didn’t you? Well, didn’t you?”  Debbie grinned.  

I still think loving too much from a true heart is a spiritual motivation that sets us free. Just make sure you’re on your own love list though, and don’t label your ways of loving “sick.”  Will love stop upskirting and its ilk?  That will take several villages of women empowered and spiritually free. In the meantime, wear pants and let yourself off the self-blame hook.

Debbie calls me every Christmas. She is caring for her aging parents. Too damn much love again.



 

2014.01.19 One Little Prophetic Photo

Here is one little photo that appeared in the Boston Globe’s Metro section on January 17th. It should have been on the front page. Maybe it wasn’t because there is something “wrong” with this picture.  

It pictures the Rev. Anne Robertson, United Methodist clergywoman and the executive Director of the Massachusetts Bible Society, making the Christian sign of the cross on the forehead of Boston’s Cardinal Sean O’Malley, anointing him with consecrated water and saying traditional words: “Remember your baptism and be grateful.”

This is not the expected order of things.

At the parish where I was Priest Associate in Gloucester, MA. there was consecrated holy water in the font as you entered the church and we dipped our fingers into it, blessed ourselves with the sign of the cross, and murmured, or said aloud, “Lyn, remember your baptism.”  It was a customary gesture, not unusual. We did it to renew a faith commitment, often very difficult to keep. I used to love to see children clamor to be lifted up to the font so they too could stick their small fingers into the water and joyfully giggling make the sign—all over themselves.

This little photo shows such a usual ritual—unusually administered. Would a Protestant  clergywoman be tracing the sign of the cross on the forehead of a Roman Catholic friar and cardinal, “Prince of the Church?”  

Yet here it is in living color. It's so darn Christian. I mean if you really follow Jesus you have to speak out wherever you see injustice, greed, cruelty and other inhuman behaviors. You also have to be kind of crazy and bust through walls of rigid rules, especially patriarchal ones. This is what I see here.

The photo was taken at an ecumenical service at a Sudbury Methodist Church last Sunday at which O’Malley had been invited to preach in order to commemorate the 50th anniversary of Cardinal Richard Cushing’s visit to the same church to promote Christian unity. The drill was that O’Malley would dip his thumb into the consecrated water and say the words to Anne Robertson who would then take the bowl of water from him and go to offer the ritual gesture to the others present. 

But O’Malley didn’t follow instructions. He anointed Robertson then gave her the bowl inviting her to do the same for him. It was a powerful expression of shared Christian identity. Nothing in his gesture violated Roman Catholic teachings, yet the image speaks volumes about change.

Much of the change Jesus stimulated he did with his body. He went places he wasn’t supposed to go, healed people he wasn’t expected to heal, dined with people who were outcasts, and invited women to follow him and be apostles of the gospel.  Scandal—2000+ years ago and today. Women’s ministries are still not fully accepted in roles and places of authority in the Christian church. And women's ordination remains against the law for Roman Catholics. 

O’Malley didn’t perform a sacrament, yet he made this familiar ritual mutual.  He broke rank with expectations—the man, the priest, the father, the holy father, the hierarch—received from a woman that which he was supposed to give to her, not vice versa. The Cardinal gave her pride of place and she gave him the touch of a woman. Robertson was moved to tears by the unexpected gesture. See her blog at annerobertson.org for more in her own words.

Extremists have weighed in of course. Those opposed call this gesture “heresy,” “disgrace,” and a repudiation of the sanctity of Holy Orders. O’Malley didn’t ordain Robertson. She’s already ordained and he gave that status respect. At the other extreme, some have downplayed the gesture calling it one of “courtesy," a simple exchange of blessing. Ho hum. Yes, and more.

The photo of course has gone viral. It’s news and I hope good news. No, not an official priestly gesture, yet an outer sign of an inner grace, perhaps an icon, a window through which we can glimpse divinity, dare I say Godde's will?  

To me, what the camera’s eye reveals is prophetic, a visual that simultaneously foretells the future of the Christian church—and advocates for that future.

2013.06.12 FLOTUS Take a Risk

Warning: it’s my soap box again!—one of them anyway.

Michelle Obama was heckled by an activist woman at a private Democratic fund-raising event just last Tuesday. 

Heckling is not unusual. What was unusual was the way Mrs. Obama handled the harassment by heckling, a tactic I personally think is not only discourteous but rather effete in its ability to persuade or advance a cause, express views, or even to simply create flack.

What impressed me was that our FLOTUS came down from the podium and went straight up to the woman activist, got in her face and personal space, and said: “Listen to me or you can take the mike, but I’m leaving,” daring the stranger to own her rude behavior and daring the crowd to choose between them.

The First Lady won the standoff, but Globe editorial writer Joanna Weiss wrote on June 9, 2013, that reactions were mixed. "Some people will always accuse her of being “angry,” a word loaded with coded meaning.  Even some fans thought she was impolitic here, too quick to show her temper, especially in contrast to her glacier-cool husband.”

Myself, I found it refreshing. This was not from afar, cyber-anger online where we don’t need to see people’s reactions, but a face-to-face confrontation—far from anonymous. 

What are the “coded meanings” in “anger?”  Is it the old fear of a woman scorned in love or politics?  Is it any anger? Is it loaded with racist/sexist/heterosexist/ableist subliminality? If a woman’s anger, is it a violation of gender role stereotype, politically incorrect, or just recalcitrant sexism?

I recall some years ago when I expressed anger. I was trying to get ordained priest in the Episcopal Church just after the Church had voted (1976) that women could be ordained. I was among the first group of women to enter the ordination process in Connecticut.  We were “legal” so the bishop and committees had to receive our applications, but we were hardly welcome in the face of naked sexism in a patriarchal institution. 

The committee turned me down saying that it would be a “dual vocation”—that I would not be able to be a mother and a priest.

After fuming and self-denigrating for a while I, with the encouragement of my therapist, wrote a letter to the bishop, sent also to every member of the committee. I expressed my anger at the injustice and advocated for myself in what I thought was a healthy manner.

Guess what?  My anger was labelled naive, aggressive, hostile, immature, defensive, and, yes, unbecoming for a woman.  My anger was called anything but anger, a quite normal feeling in response to an injury, or for the sake of justice. 

That was 35 years ago.  And the condemnation of female anger is still with us, although much of the condemnation goes underground—along with the anger I would add.

I’m proud of Mrs. Obama. Her action gives us pause. I hope it will be instrumental in breaking down the rigidities of our patriarchal system. When we dare to go face to face and into another’s personal space, we risk rejection AND we also risk establishing a damn good relationship of truth. Heaven forfend. Is that what we’re afraid of?

And for Christians (and other religions too, men and women alike) who are supposed to live respecting the dignity of every human person, it’s time to get a grip and take some risks for the sake of connection.   Anger-in-truth is no sin.

2012.10.17 Lamenting Grace

In the Boston Globe Oct. 15, 2012, Mr. Armerding of Cambridge (MA.) wrote a letter to the editor referring to the October 9 Ty Burr, Globe movie critic’s feature story, “Why I Bike”  in the G section.  Burr had listed three reasons why he’s still cycling: “the grace of God, my wits, and a healthy respect for everyone else on the road.”  The G cover headlined Burr’s wisdom as: “Wits, luck, respect.”

Armerding noted that something was missing and lamented: “Why are you so afraid to paraphrase him [Burr] truthfully? You could even have replaced “luck” with “grace” and kept the religious overtones to a safe minimum.”

Thank you Mr. Armerding and thank you Ty Burr.  And thank you Godde for your grace.  No thanks to the cowardice of the Globe. Paradoxically, they headlined Armerding’s letter “Wait—wasn’t God his copilot?” 

Which way will it be then?

Not too long ago a friend and brother priest, who had just published a very fine book on the use of religious language to support particular political positions as if they were by divine sanction,  commented in response to my congratulations: “Well, it was all grace, completely.”  I replied, “There is no such thing as disembodied grace.”  He grinned and nodded. We laughed. It’s possible to go too far the other way:  All God/No me.

What kind of spiritual ambivalence is going on? Has Godde become politically dangerous? Or are we just too damn proud of our own resourcefulness to give credit to any power not strictly contained in human resource alone—or too passive and spiritually dependent to acknowledge our own efforts?   Or maybe God and trust belong murmured in church prayers or let out in public only on our currency? And isn’t that ironic! ...... we do worship money.

No wonder I’ve been afraid to write my memoir in which God AND I are the protagonist together in my life trip. I call it that, though journey is more spiritually p.c.,  because a lot of it has felt like a trip, a trip-up, a high, or tripping the light fantastic clumsily.  Godde has been my anchor—inner and outer. 

What do I mean by Godde anyway?  OK here’s my elevator speech: Godde is a spirit of goodness embedded in all creation, a Spirit that holds but does not package, holds all creation loosely, lovingly, and lettingly.  God is there for the asking, for the recognizing.  Is grace cheap? You bet!

Godde has no way to us but through us after all.