Quote of the Week

Then Jesus told him, "You believe because you have seen me. Blessed are those who believe without seeing me."

The Day Before Easter

This post grew out of an e-mail discussion elsewhere, but I felt it merited publication here.

I take a more traditionally Christian view of the death and resurrection of Jesus. To me, it shows immense love and compassion for flawed humanity that God took on human form and walked in our shoes. He also suffered great pain and experienced tragedy, something many people on this planet have gone through to one form or another.

I note, of course, that this fact should not be turned into a bludgeon, a way to extract guilt to force people to stay in line, no matter what. I've been wary of using the term "Jesus died for us", because it has taken on an authoritarian form far from Jesus' original intent.

The Jesus I understand taught Salvation by Grace, not by Works. Judaism of that time, and sometimes very much still of this time, focused on multiple rituals one must perform to not be considered ceremonially unclean. These codes of belief particularly centered on purity laws, often about foods not to eat, places not to go, people to not talk to, and so on. They were exhaustive and some groups of people were fanatical about their note-perfect observation. 

Then Jesus called to the crowd to come and hear. "Listen," he said, "and try to understand. What goes into someone's mouth does not defile them, but what comes out of their mouth, that is what defiles them." "Don't you see that whatever enters the mouth goes into the stomach and then out of the body? But the words you speak come from the heart--that's what defiles you.

I don't think you can win your way into Heaven through good works. We're saved regardless of what we do or don't do. What we hold in our hearts is much more important, and that was arguably the most important lesson Jesus taught. It was a quantum leap in terms of theological understanding.

But there have always been people and groups willing to pervert the basic message for their own reasons. Every Christian or historically Christian faith group has plucked specific biblical passages to support its own theology. The Early Friends emphasized this one:

There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.

Here's another one that may sound familiar to some.

I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you.

Yes, this is why we, Quakers, are the Religious Society of Friends. And in that Spirit, George Fox said this,

"Keep within. And when they say, 'lo here', or 'lo there' is Christ; go not forth; for Christ is within you. And they are seducers and antichrists, which draw your minds out from the teachings within you."

Saturday Video

Go west
paradise is there
you'll have all that you can eat
of milk and honey over there

You'll be the brightest star
the world has ever seen
sun-baked slender heroine
of film and magazine

Go west
paradise is there
you'll have all that you can eat
of milk and honey over there

You'll be the brightest light
the world has ever seen
the dizzy height of a jet-set life
you could never dream

Your pale blue eyes
strawberry hair
lips so sweet
skin so fair

Your future bright
beyond compare
it's rags to riches
over there

San Andreas Fault
moved it's fingers
through the ground
earth divided
plates collided
such an awful sound

San Andreas Fault
moved its fingers
through the ground
terra cotta shattered
and walls came
tumbling down

O promised land
o wicked ground
build a dream
tear it down

O promised land
what a wicked ground
build a dream
watch it fall down

How Not to Have a Successful Discussion about Race™

This series of e-mail exchanges between a white constituent and a black legislator underscores the lack of basic understanding and shameful ignorance that keeps Alabama forever behind the rest of the country. The conversation included here is worthwhile, but is conducted in such a childish, intellectually immature fashion that it makes me feel ashamed of my home state.

In the end, discussions about race make everyone stupid.

I post the dialogue here to serve as an example of How Not to Have a Successful Discussion about Race™. Scroll down the page to read the whole thing.

http://blog.al.com/wire/2013/03/post_44.html#incart_2box
______________

From: Eddie Maxwell
Sent: Sunday, January 27, 2013 10:54 PM
To: (all members of state legislature)
Subject: Gun Control and our Constitutions

Can the officers of our state government change our constitution when the change is forbidden by the people? The Supreme Court of Alabama has ruled that it cannot in an opinion dealing with another matter where change is forbidden. You have sworn to support our constitution. You have defined a violation of an oath in an official proceeding as a class C felony (C.O.A. Section 13A-10-101 Perjury in the first degree).

Do not violate your oath of office by introducing additional gun control bills or by allowing those already enacted to remain in the body of our laws.

From: Representative Joseph Mitchell
Sent: Sunday, January 27, 2013 11:59 PM
To: Eddie Maxwell
cc: (all members)
Subject: Re: Gun Control and our Constitutions

Hey man. You have used the word ‘except’ when I think you mean somethin’ else.

Hey man. Your folk never used all this sheit to protect my folk from your slave-holding, murdering, adulterous, baby-raping, incestuous, snaggle-toothed, backward-a**ed, inbreed, imported criminal-minded kin folk. You can keep sending me stuff like you have however because it helps me explain to my constituents why they should protect that 2nd amendment thing AFTER we finish stocking up on spare parts, munitions and the like.

Bring it. As one of my friends in the Alabama Senate suggested – “BRING IT!!!!”

JOSEPHm, a prepper (’70-’13)

Mobile County

From: Eddie Maxwell
Sent: Monday, February 11, 2013 2:23 PM
To: Representative Joseph Mitchell
cc: (all members)
Subject: Re: Gun Control and our Constitutions

Rep. Mitchell and other members of the Legislature of Alabama,

That’s not the type of reply I expect to receive from a state legislator. The lack of response to your racist comments from your fellow members speaks volumes about the state of our legislature as a whole.

I’m not a racist and I find your reply to be especially offensive considering the position you hold.

My parents and grandparents taught me to love God and my fellow man as myself. My father was threatened by members of his church back in 1954 for inviting a black family to attend the church he pastored.

My father-in-law was threatened when he hired a young negro man to work in his shop back in 1968 in a community where several neighbors were members of the Ku Klux Klan. He didn’t allow those threats to keep him from treating people of all races equally.

In 1969, I was a draftee in the US Army and bunked with a young negro man named Earl Shinholster at Fort Benning. Earl later became a prominent leader of the NAACP back home in Georgia after serving with me in the Army. When I received numerous racist threats from negroes who knew I lived near Birmingham, Earl warned me of the knives they carried and cautioned me to be more careful around them. Earl had been watching me and he had come to know and respect me for my Christian values. Earl and I became friends and he helped me get through some tough times there.

Racism is not exclusive to my own people. I learned that before 1955. It is just as ugly now as it was then, regardless of the race of the person who is consumed by it.

I love my country and my state, and I vowed to support and defend our constitutions. I expect you and all of our representative to do the same.

Sincerely,
Eddie Maxwell


From: Representative Joseph Mitchell
Sent: Wednesday, February 13, 2013 5:09 PM
To: Eddie Maxwell
cc: (all members)
Subject: Re: Gun Control and our Constitutions

Eddie. I grew up in Albany Ga. I was a military brat for most of my youth. Air Jump Master and DI USMC. Because I preference my issues with the values that I learned in ‘the heat of battle’ during the mid-fifties through the ‘70’s and into today might tell you what and who I am. I find no need to define it or explain it to you because you can identify with the threats of reprisals against your folk for helping somebody of African Descent. I know ol’ Ft. Benning and Columbus like the palm of my hand.

Where were you during the Albany Movement? Oh…. You shoulda been there. I am certain that your experiences through how your kin folk ‘helped’ colored folk would have helped us a lot when we were bombed in Albany, Leesburg, Newton and Sylvester.

I apologize for the restless nights your folk endured out of fear of the Klan. At least as they stood on the sidewalk watching my cousins and me get beat up by some of your neighbors they were able to push you out into the street to physically intervene. They did do that didn’t they? Oh …. Well, I rear where you were one of the first to integrate the all-colored school to prove your parents point.

Do you that your fathers ‘black’ friend was unable to get FHA benefits? Knowing about those knives and stuff were of benefit but did you know that colored military typically carried knives to protect themselves from folk who looked like your father? Historically, violence on Black folk was committed by White folk. It’s a fact but is it ‘racist?’ It is ‘racial.’ I had seven uncles and three aunts who served in three different ‘encounters. My father was Regular Army.

Eddie, a person without the power to exercise a threat cannot be a racist because he or she will be eliminated. A person who can, by merely stepping back on the sidewalk’ ore being quiet can support racism and benefit from the ‘first hired,’ affirmative action, preferential treatment fostered by systemic racism and bigotry.

It is unlikely that I, through sharing my many experiences on the receiving end, will convince you of your errors. For that matter, you will never convince me that our discomforts were comparable. Let the next generations resolve this continuing story.

Lock and load.
jmitchell

For Holy Week

Every time I look at you
I don't understand
Why you let the things you did
Get so out of hand

You'd have managed better
If you'd had it planned
Now why'd you choose such a backward time
And such a strange land?

If you'd come today
You could have reached the whole nation
Israel in 4 BC had no mass communication

(Don't you get me wrong)
Don't you get me wrong
(Don't you get me wrong, now)
Don't you get me wrong
(Don't you get me wrong)
Don't you get me wrong
(Don't you get me wrong, now)
Don't you get me wrong

(Only want to know)
Only want to know
(Only want to know, now)
Only want to know
(Only want to know)
Only want to know
(Only want to know, now)
Only want to know

Jesus Christ
Jesus Christ
Who are you? What have you sacrificed?
Jesus Christ
Jesus Christ

Who are you? What have you sacrificed?
Jesus Christ
Superstar

Do you think you're what they say you are?
Jesus Christ
Superstar
Do you think you're what they say you are?

Tell me what you think
About your friends at the top
Now who d'you think besides yourself
Was the pick of the crop? 
Buddha, was he where it's at?
Is he where you are?
Could Mohammed move a mountain
Or was that just PR?

Did you mean to die like that?
Was that a mistake or
Did you know your messy death
Would be a record breaker?

(Don't you get me wrong) Don't you get me wrong
(Don't you get me wrong, now) Don't you get me wrong
(Don't you get me wrong) Don't you get me wrong
(Don't you get me wrong, now) Don't you get me wrong
(Only want to know) Only want to know
(Only want to know, now) Only want to know
(Only want to know) Only want to know
(Only want to know, now) I only want to know

Jesus Christ
Jesus Christ
Who are you? What have you sacrificed?
Jesus Christ
Jesus Christ
Who are you? What have you sacrificed?

Jesus Christ
Superstar
Do you think you're what they say you are?
Jesus Christ
Superstar
Do you think you're what they say you are?

Jesus Christ
Jesus Christ
Who are you? What have you sacrificed?
Jesus Christ
Jesus Christ
Who are you? What have you sacrificed?

Jesus Christ
Superstar
Do you think you're what they say you are?
Jesus Christ
Superstar
Do you think you're what they say you are?

Cain's Legacy: Marked by Plain Sorrow

Eileen Kinch is a friend of mine and a very talented writer. She recently shared with me a published piece of memoir. In it, she writes about the process of assimilating into a community of Quakers in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, who dress Plainly.

I hope the piece speaks to you in your own way. As usual, I'll enclose a few paragraphs as a means of introduction. The complete story is here.
________________

All around me was a familiar sea of Plain people. I stood in a hotel ballroom, waiting in line to register for a natural foods conference. A German dialect called Pennsylvaanisch Deitsch flowed in and out of my ears. Most of it I didn’t understand, but every now and then, I caught a word or phrase before it rushed out of the realm of my understanding. Gooten Mariye. Good morning. Holde mei Sitz. Save my seat. The Amish were everywhere, and the colors swirled in front of my eyes: burgundy, green, deep blue, lots of black. There were a few Mennonites and one Old Order River Brethren couple. I was wearing my faded, worn blue jeans and carrying a purse from Guatemala, an inside outsider. 

Community. Obedience. They were Tom’s favorite words, and they seeped into my father’s mind. Tom didn’t allow Jake and Dan to participate in school Christmas parties, so Dad wrote notes every year to my Mennonite schoolteachers, requesting that I be excused from class parties and the school Christmas program. I imagine that he wrote, We belong to the Religious Society of Friends, and our community celebrates Christ’s birth every day, in our hearts. While my classmates had their parties, I was banished to the school office or the library. Outside of school, I absolutely hated Dad’s decision to have our family stay at home instead of visiting our relatives over Christmas. He didn’t seem to realize how hurtful and lonely being faithful to this community was.

Christmas was only the beginning. Tom and Anna considered clothing to be an indicator of true community faithfulness. In third grade, I returned home from school one winter afternoon and was surprised to find my mother wearing a white cloth bonnet with strings—a head covering like Anna’s. Up until then, Mom had not worn a covering and had not even talked about wearing one before, and I was shocked by the suddenness of this development.

I knew wearing the right clothes was very important when Anna gave me three dresses that were hers as a young girl. I wore the light blue one because it was my favorite, and she smiled when I wore the dress to meeting. The other dresses were ugly and too big, so I let them hang in the closet. Mom sewed some plain dresses for me, and she hovered around my legs during the fittings, indicating with pins where she thought the hemline should be, usually at least two and a half inches below my knees.This community keeps saying that the outward appearance doesn’t matter, I thought. But it’s such a big deal. And it was. Tom and Anna often showed up at our house unexpectedly, as if to inspect how faithful we were in our private lives.

He Valued His Privacy

Due to a family emergency, my father will be flying up on Wednesday.  While he is here, I am fairly certain I will not have time to write anything of length. Even so, I did want to fill in as many of the gaps as I can. Pardon me for not writing on an issue of more substance, but sometimes one must make do with what one has.  

I admit that I've been too preoccupied the past weekend to write a proper post today. If circumstances were different, I would have no trouble at all sharing many of the details. Unfortunately, earlier efforts towards documentation, for better or for worse, were recently squelched. I'd put up a Facebook post for friend and acquaintances to be informed of the situation, but was told by a family member to take it down. 

I'd only wanted to spread the word. His condition is critical. I wanted as many people as possible to pray for him, because it is still highly uncertain that he will even survive his injuries. He is still languishing in a semi-comatose state, induced to keep swelling in his brain down to a minimum. No one has yet begun to speculate about the physical limitations in front of him should he even survive. It will weeks, rather than days, for that sort of talk. 

Obituaries often use the same phrases. "He valued his privacy. She valued her privacy." I have never understood the sentiment. There is no room for privacy when crisis strikes. Hand's off approaches can be fatal in the midst of tragedy. In this situation, reaching out for help might have prevented a catastrophe. Warning signs did exist, but they went unreported to no one.  

If I had valued my privacy, I probably would not be here to write these words. I've written in this space about my struggles with bipolar disorder and depression many a time. There is no need to rehash those stories, except to say I am extremely grateful for caretakers who would not take no for an answer. Many people suffer in silence. Though I regret the pain I put my parents through, earlier in life, I am left with a new thankfulness for their obsession in keeping me alive. 

If there is any silver lining in a tragedy of this magnitude, it is that others may recognize that no person is an island. Intervening is not imposing on another person, instead, it is the most profound form of love and compassion a person can show for another. Each of us might benefit from being a little less laissez-faire in our daily dealings with others.

Why did this happen? What were the underlying psychological and psychiatric issues? Sometimes one never receives a satisfactory answer. As it stands now, we are currently divided into camps. I have my opinion and others theirs. In my own defense, because I am familiar with mental illness, I bring with me a kind of understanding and comprehension that others may not share.

It is easy for people in shock to go into states of denial, especially when denial was always such an easy coping mechanism in the first place. I will let them come around to the facts when they are emotionally able to get there on their own. One thing is certain. The family will be changed by this and in a major way.    

Quote of the Week

"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation."-Henry David Thoreau

Saturday Video

Strollin' on,
'Cause it's all gone,
The reason why.
You made me cry,

By tellin' me,
You didn't see.
The future bore,
Our love no more.

If you want to know,
I love you so,
And I don't want to let you go.
I'm strollin' on,

Gonna make you see.
I'm strollin' on,
You'll find you really love me.
I'm strollin' on,

Be your turn to cry.
I'm strollin' on,
You wish you'd never lied.
You're going to change your mind,

But you ain't gonna find,
Any more of my kind.
I'm strollin' on,
'Cause it's all gone,

The reason why.
You made me cry,
By tellin' me,
You didn't see.

The future bore,
Our lovin' no more.
If you want to know,
I love you so,

I don't want to let you go.
I'm strollin' on,
Gonna make you see.
I'm strollin' on,

You'll find you really love me.
I'm strollin' on,
Be your turn to cry.
I'm strollin' on,

You wish you'd never lied.
You're going to change your mind,
But you ain't gonna find,
Any more of my kind

Friends Schools and Healthy Sexuality

This article was originally transcribed from a YouTube video with a Friends Journal editor, Martin Kelley. The interview subject is Al Vernacchio, who teaches at Friends' Central School in Wynnewood, Pennsylvania.

FRIENDS JOURNAL: You’ve written an article about teaching sexual education in the Quaker classroom. How did Liberal Friends get to be on the forefront of talking about sexuality?

AL VERNACCHIO: Friends have always had very progressive views of human sexuality, going back to the time of William Penn. I think it’s because Quakers see the goodness inherent in all human being, which makes it easy to look at sexuality as a good gift from a good God, and not a tempting force or a force that tends toward darkness or leads us to danger and disaster. From that start, it’s easy to talk about sexuality as a healthy and necessary and normal part of life. That’s what Friends have always done.

FJ: How do you develop that into a philosophy of teaching sexuality in the classroom?

AV: A lot of what I do is reframe issues to help adolescents see sexuality in a different way. A lot of what they get from the media and from the larger society is that sexuality is either something completely frivolous, or it is about using people or establishing dominance over them. When we change that paradigm and look at sexuality as a natural extension of who we are as authentic people, that changes everything.

We approach sexuality not as a way to conquer but as a way to share: how do I think of the other person as a full participant? It’s common today to look as sexuality as selfish and self-indulgent. I look at it much more as a relationship and community issue.

FJ: I remember writing the anonymous notes to the teacher in sex ed class back in high school. In a way, that’s a great educational model, as you find out what the students are actually thinking. Do you do that, and have the questions changed over time?

AV: I have an anonymous question box in my classroom that students can use. I also often hand out index cards to students; I ask a question, they write the answers and I collect them, randomize them, and read them out loud so we can get a sense of the ideas in the room.

The questions have definitely changed. The biggest change has been with technology and social media and how that impacts the development of healthy sexuality. I get questions like “Is it okay to break up over a text message?” or “Is it okay to have a relationship that exists largely in cyberspace?”

Technology can be a great tool for creating healthy sexuality, but it can also be a tool that distances us from one another and sort of allows us to escape the hard work of healthy sexuality, which is face-to-face communication with another person about intimate and personal and loving things.

Some of the questions remain the same. I always get asked, “What’s the right time to start being sexually active?” Of course there’s no magic answer to that one. We talk about what are the conditions that a person should have ready when they’re ready to begin sexual activity.

The technology has really been the game-changer in the last 15 years that I’ve been teaching.

FJ: The technology could help people get over nervousness and make a friendship beforehand. But then, there are also anonymous sites that let you hook up with people for sex. Is the technology positive, negative, or a bit of both?

AV: It’s a double-edged sword. It can be positive. It’s certainly been a great tool for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender young people to find community in places where they’ve felt very isolated. It’s also helped young people maintain relationships over distance, like when kids go off to college.

They can maintain not only friendships but romantic relationships in some way through the technology. The downside of it is when young people take their cues about how sex and relationships work from things like internet pornography. That conveys a very skewed message about what sexuality is and how it works.

A lot of what sexuality education today is media literacy: how do you read a website? How do you look at the information it’s presenting and ask, is there an agenda there? What are they trying to get me to do or to think, and does that fit with my own core values?

FJ: But in some ways it still comes down to that good gift from a good God idea.

AV: Absolutely. I think we need to look at sexuality like it’s like nourishment. It’s something that’s necessary for us to live. It’s something we can get in all kinds of different ways — ways that are healthy, ways that are less than healthy. But we can’t be who we are without it. Sexuality has to be seen as an integral and integrated part of one’s whole human life. That’s the way you can get to talking about sexuality with younger children; that’s the way you get to recognize the needs of the elderly in terms of their continuing sexuality.

We need to see it as a whole life phenomenon and not just something that’s only important between puberty and middle age. It starts when we’re born and ends when we die. Looking at that wider view helps us to see that it’s a much bigger issue than most people think.

The Racial Realities of Hoover, Alabama

Hoover, Alabama, still struggles to define itself. It has of late become the most prominent city in the Birmingham metro region, but sits uneasily with the fact. Should it remain more than a glorified subdivision with a few basic elements of culture scattered here and there, or should it embrace the diversity upon which being a city demands? In this instance, it struggles between its humble past and what it has become.

I call it home. When I moved there in the summer of 1986, along with my parents and two sisters, it was little more than a sleepy suburb. The population hovered around 20,000 residents. Hoover was small enough that the same families and their children encountered each other regularly at the swim club or at the ballpark. My parents had come from small towns themselves, and eagerly small-talked with all the other young parents with kids. They found the environment friendly and familiar. 

The Hoover of my childhood felt like a small town. I attended the same elementary school with the same forty kids. Back then, there were three elementary schools in the entire city. Now there are nine. In those days, everyone knew my name, and I knew theirs. Where we lived had been forest or farmland fifteen years before. For a time I wasn’t bothered by the slow, plodding pace, but I grew more adventurous as I got older.

The suburbs were at times dull, I’ll admit. There was a limit of places to go and things to see in Hoover. No one eats at an Applebee’s for fun. When I became a teenager and earned a driver’s license, I headed downtown to Birmingham to observe the grittiness for myself. I’d been taught by my parents to be extremely cautious when in that part of town. I never really worried. Nothing to me was more boring than competition for the garden club's lawn of the month or the arrival of another big box store.

Hoover’s plan for economic growth, in the beginning, was put together by a compendium of wealthy white businessmen and developers. They were frustrated with the deterioration of economic and diplomatic relations between whites and blacks. By now, white flight had led a majority of whites to resettle over Red Mountain. Blacks still mostly lived in Birmingham. Led by a billionaire named John Harbert, the group decided to move Birmingham south, even if it might take years.

It was decided that a massive enclosed shopping mall would be built at the top of what had previously been a large hill, visible to motorists from U.S. 31. Highway 31 was the only direct route through town before the interstates were built. These days, a specially built interstate flyover directs traffic directly into the mall. As expected, the stretch of highway nearby bears Harbert’s name. 

The shopping center created, the Riverchase Galleria, was one of the largest shopping malls in the southeast at the time of its completion. In time, I would work inside it, making coffee drinks for mallrats, shoppers, and the perpetually aimless. For well over a decade, it would provide an ample, almost bottomless pit of sales taxes revenue, which fueled exponential growth. Shoppers came from every direction and throughout the state. Houses and developments sprung up like wildfire.

An area which had been overwhelmingly white became a diverse city, regardless of whether it wanted to acknowledge the fact or not. When I was enrolled at school, all the black kids sat together in the cafeteria. As I recall, there were just enough of them to fill up one table. They sat all the way to the back, on the left hand side of the lunchroom.

Years after I left, wave upon wave of black families began to leave behind the crime and violence of the Birmingham inner city to settle in Hoover. Some of them were surreptitiously moved into the city because their sons had athletic ability. Latinos, who had never before been part of the racial makeup of the South, moved in to take day laborer jobs.

Hispanics seemed to be the only ones willing to take on the backbreaking work of digging out foundations for new houses or many other menial tasks. They were able to settle in the city because the oldest apartments in Hoover now offered rent that was affordable to everyone. If they had no other choice, day laborers slept five and six to an apartment.

I recognize that this story is not unusual. Indeed, one sees some variation of it all over the country, especially in the Sun Belt. The problem in Hoover is same same problem in many cities--a power structure unwilling or even hostile to change. The City Council and Mayor’s office have, more often than not, been unwelcoming and unresponsive to the arrival of immigrants.

They’d just as soon keep things the way they were in the beginning. The same good old boys and good old gals have held power forever because no new candidates have stepped forward with a new plan of action. When progressives get fed up and leave and good people don’t run for elective office, it’s hardly surprising that incompetent and prejudiced politicians continue to call the shots.
 
Hoover made its name on the quality of its public school system. The tax revenue from the Galleria, as natives call it, built multiple schools and kept the quality of instruction high.  Now, when minorities who have gone years without the same access to adequate schooling bring down test scores, the district gets blamed for it. Failing test scores have been used as an excuse to fire or reassign competent administrators. 

An elementary school named Trace Crossings, which is no more than two miles away from my parents’ house, is now 37% minority. The last round of test scores, when formally released, will show that some students have failed to achieve the basic requirements that collectively determine student achievement. Affluence and opportunity create hierarchies. Minority students are behind the curve almost immediately upon enrollment and have to struggle to catch up to their peers. 

Any successful, comprehensive immigration policy must first take a look at each community. The problems in Hoover or in the entire state of Alabama are no doubt very different from those in the state of Arizona. We know that our country is growing more diverse with each passing day. Until we confront issues of basic distrust and take steps to separate the fear of immigration from the facts, thousands of other Hoovers will exist unchallenged throughout this entire country.

What Lips My Lips Have Kissed

I may have posted this poem before, but on a busy day, it will have to do for now.

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply;
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands a lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet know its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone;
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. Thus in winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: I cannot say what loves have come and gone, I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15420#sthash.QWFo0eVJ.dpuf

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. Thus in winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: I cannot say what loves have come and gone, I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15420#sthash.QWFo0eVJ.dpuf

Crafting a Quaker Meeting Mission Statement

The past few days, my Meeting has been struggling with whether or not we should revise our Mission Statement. We saw no need to worry about it until a Facebook page was constructed on behalf of the entire gathering. Much of the commentary and debate thus far, to me, has been little more than hair-splitting and semantic. Some Friends think that this entire endeavor is nothing more than a waste of time. Part of me agrees with them. 

The current rendering is 83 years old and not gender-neutral.

The purpose of the Friends Meeting of Washington, D.C. is to foster simple spiritual worship and such activities in various fields of service as Friends may feel themselves called to undertake. As a help to these ends we purpose to maintain a place of worship where Friends and others who are like-minded may meet in religious fellowship and seek through a waiting worship the renewal of their spiritual lives and the quickening of their powers of service to the Divine Father and to their fellow men.

A proposed draft reads,

The Friends Meeting of Washington (FMW) is a Religious Society of Friends (Quaker) spiritual community that exists to foster worship and service. Our community includes and supports individuals seeking to learn about or live in accordance with Friends’ practices and beliefs. In this effort, FMW welcomes those seeking spiritual growth through silent worship, convenes knowledge-sharing and worship opportunities, maintains and shares a Meeting House, and sponsors many projects oriented toward peace, social justice and compassionate service to others. 

I must admit I cannot find much fault with either version. Both have their merits. My first inclination is to keep my distance from this entire process. Dodging this issue forever may not be possible. As clerk of Ministry & Worship, I know that this work will likely end up in my hands before all is said and done.

These are my primary concerns. I've served on Epistle Committees at conferences and gatherings and found a particular frustration in summarizing the views of Friends in one concise statement of purpose. I identify and work with activist groups who would find it antithetical to their very nature to try to take on a mission statement. Every group defines itself, to an extent, through language; some groups have much more stringent definitions of what and who they are.  

I am very aware, as a Friend pointed out, that we do a generally insufficient job of outreach to the outside world. We are not given the opportunity to define ourselves on our own terms when we fail to take control of the discourse. I'm glad to see that we are seeking to use social media to reach out to the Washington, DC, area. But as for my stance on this issue, I have to say that I am tempted to not fix the part that isn't broken.

It is curious that it took the construction of a Facebook page to call to light an issue that had never been a problem for decades. A new administrative secretary has been updating and revising documentation that has lain fallow for a long time. I'm glad we've undertaken this work, but I wonder about the idolatry of paperwork. Early Friends were often criticized for excessive amounts of publication, though in fairness, that was the nature of the time.

The Founding Fathers often sought to define the purpose, nature, and direction of our nation through essay wars and innumerable written tracts. The poison pen could and did wound its target. Character assassination by quill and ink was a preferred tactic for getting one's way and used with frequency. Did that amount of debate and scrutiny strengthen our Union? Conventional wisdom as understood today would resoundingly say yes.

This does not mean that I advocate venom in place of peaceful dialogue. My intention here, in this post, is merely to draw a contrast between a few important points in our history. I am for any effort that advances our common purpose, but in this context I would certainly not take on the role myself. The environment is always potentially combustible, especially for people so adamantly independent in nature.

I will say this. Whatever we write down must be backed up by our actions. My own leading as a Quaker has been informed by a fairly simple mission statement of my own. I do not wish to radically change the Religious Society of Friends, either by language or by action. I do, however, want us to be Faithful to what we say we are and what we say we do. Whatever mission statement the Meeting adopts ought to seek the same ends.

Silent Suffering: When Your Bladder Takes Control

Patient Education: Silent Suffering: When Your Bladder Takes Control from Discovery Channel CME on Vimeo.

My urologist, Dr. Sotelo, is featured towards the end of this video. If you wish the watch the whole thing, it will explain the nature of my recent ailment and its treatment.

Quote of the Week

"Democracy is beautiful in theory; in practice it is a fallacy. You in America will see that some day."- Benito Mussolini, 1928.

Saturday Video

Well, it's true that we love one another
I love Jack White like a little brother
Well Holly I love you too, but there's
Just so much that I don't know about you

Jack, give me some money to pay my bills
All the dough I give you Holly
You been using on pain pills

Jack will you call me if you're able?
I got your phone number written
In the back of my Bible

Jack, I think you're pulling my leg
And I think maybe I better ask Meg

Meg, do you think Jack really loves me?
You know, I don't care because
Jack really bugs me

Why don't you ask him now?
Well I would, but Meg
I really just don't know how

Just say 'Jack, do you adore me?'
Well, I would Holly but love really bores me

Then I guess we should just be friends
I'm just kidding, Holly
You know that I'll love you 'til the end

Well, it's true that we love one another
I love Jack White like a little brother
Well Holly, I love you too but there's
Just so much that I don't know about you

Holly give me some of your English lovin'
If I did that Jack I'd have one in the oven
Why don't you go off and love yourself?
If I did that Holly, there won't be anything
Left for anybody else

Jack, it's too bad about the way you look
You know I gave that horse a carrot
So he'd break your foot
Will the two of you cut it out?
And tell 'em what it's really all about

Well, it's true that we love one another
I love Jack White like a little brother
Well Holly I love you too, but there's
Just so much that I don't know about you

But the Disciples Were Idiots!

Here is yet another in a series of how Christianity, the religion, is far different than its perversion by human hands. 

 

dolt

noun
a dull, stupid person; blockhead.

One of the things that often strikes people when they read the Gospels for the first time is how much the disciples do not get it. It’s a running theme, or a running gag, take your pick.

Here we have Jesus, teaching important things everyone needs to hear. But over here we have his chosen disciples, getting nary a word of it. From time to time, non-disciple foils are brought in briefly who do get it, as if to highlight the disciples’ doltishness even more. I’m thinking here of the Roman centurion who had “faith greater than anyone in Israel,” for example.

In studies that try to determine who the actual, historical Jesus really was, one of the tools used is this: if something that was embarrassing to the Early Church was left in, it must have really happened, because anyone with any sense would have left it out otherwise. In other words, most people won’t embarrass themselves on purpose unless they can’t get around it, so we can probably safely assume that the disciples got that they didn’t get it and couldn’t get around that fact.

So their doltishness is there on the printed page for everyone to see because the disciples couldn’t get around it. The disciples were dolts, and they knew it.

Here’s the problem we have then: the entire New Testament was written by people who didn’t get the subject they were writing about. They wrote in full knowledge of their lack of knowledge, which shows either courage or foolishness, or perhaps both at the same time.

But this is not how we’re taught to read the New Testament, is it? The disciples got it, we’re led to believe. Otherwise, why read their book?

Now, I’m not saying we can do without doctrine altogether, if by doctrine you mean theological teachings of any kind. I’m just saying that as the spiritual descendents of dolts, we should have absolute humility about what doctrine we do have, and have as little of it as we can get away with, and then probably a little less even than that. Because we probably need even less than we think we need.

Jesus largely did without doctrine, and aren’t Christians about trying to follow his lead? Do you think you should have more doctrine than Jesus?

Far better than doctrine is to describe what God is doing in our lives, to tell those stories. That’s what Jesus did, isn’t it? Tell stories? If doing a little theology helps us get there, all the better. But the good news of what God is doing in our lives always come first, the theology always second.

Beware the theological ideologists. They’re selling something, but good news is free.

The full post here.

LGBT Reform Comes in Its Own Time

It's easy for activists to take on a defeatist, but wholly blameless perspective. Feeling ignored, we raise the volume of our voices out of fear that not being loud enough means we will not be heard. We emphasize and over-emphasize the issues we've chosen to embrace, for whatever reason. The most problematic part of this tried-and-true dance is that we fail to recognize that change and reform are not impossible goals. Though it may take years, we can receive exactly what we want.  

Do pardon me as I share my own story. Nearly fifteen years ago, when I was 18, I came out to my parents. I didn't have much choice in the matter. The cat was already out of the bag. Curious to explore my sexuality, I met a boy my age over the internet, then sneaked him into my bedroom late one night. He wasn't the first. I'd previously been very lucky, but my luck eventually ran out. 

When I came out to my folks, I had no way of predicting the disapproving, even violent anger the news produced. My parents were not accepting in the least and were openly hostile. To this day, it’s sometimes difficult to hear, say, or write the word “queer” because it was used towards me by my father in a pejorative sense. Now that the sting has subsided, I use it with a moderate amount of uneasiness; unwieldy acronyms cannot be expressed any other way than awkwardly.  

I was shocked by the ferocity and disgust of my folks. My mother told me that I only slept with men when I couldn’t get women. I didn’t much appreciate the implication. Men were never a secondary option when opposite-sex partners were unavailable.  As a matter of fact, by then I'd had a few girlfriends and female sexual partners. I chose to be with men when I felt a strong attraction to a man, much as I did the same thing when I felt strongly attracted to a woman. The two were not mutually exclusive. 

Now, ten years and an eternity later, I’ve learned that both of my parents have been regularly and quietly reading my blog. On it, I regularly talk about gender and sexual orientation. Though my sexual orientation will clearly never be a topic of conversation for either of them, I sense they have come to terms with me in their own way. In an ideal setting, I wish that I could talk to them about who I am openly and without mutual discomfort. Maybe this is the only way they can absorb and process who I am.

This method of eventual acceptance is very passive and set entirely on their own terms, but I am thankful to have it at all. It’s a blessing that my parents have put aside the active hurt of past days. When I dated men, always on the sly, I knew I always had to refer to boyfriends only as “friends”.  They were never welcome in my father’s house, as he put it many times. I covered my tracks because I had to do so.

Eventually, a very crude don’t ask, don’t tell policy was put in place between us. Until recently, I assumed this arrangement was still very much in force. I sense that they’ve revised their views somewhat, but I’m not sure where they stand, exactly. I’m a little afraid to press the issue. My desire to stir up another heated argument is entirely nonexistent.

For a while, I was hurt and angry. Now I’m in my thirties and they’re beginning to show their age. Before long, I'm sure I'll be taking a very active part in their care. For this and many reasons, I really want everyone to get along now, because it takes a tremendous amount of energy to hold a grudge. Though my mother and father may never raise the topic of my sexuality directly, at least they aren’t actively fighting with me anymore. I am satisfied with how far we have come as a family.

If we saw the forces pitted against marriage equality in their own private stage of slow, but undeniable transformation, would we have more confidence in ourselves? After all, I never thought my parents would come as far as they have. Though I am in my early thirties now, I'm amazed at how epithets and hatred have given way to understanding and acceptance.

The quality of my writing gives my father a way to be proud of me. I'm told that he often tells my mother how impressed he is with my work. There was a time in my life where I would have begged to have his approval, in any form. While it may not show up in the form we'd most like it, acceptance is still present, if we reach out to embrace it. As a Quaker, I am to see that of God in everyone. That's the most difficult, but also the most noble challenge placed before me.

Plan of Action

I still have faith in the book manuscript, but am going to try a different means of promotion. Without the blessing of the editor, a lengthy memoir doesn't seem feasible. What I've chosen to do instead is to combine together existing chapters into a short story or two. If I can't get a full table out of the material, I'll be glad to take a chair.

As soon as I'm back to full speed and recovered from surgery, I'll begin this sort of work en masse. I've already sent out one such manuscript excerpt and will find other combinations and pairings. I have confidence in myself and my writing. By no means am I ready to abandon the vast amount of effort and time I've put into this work. Sometimes you have to improvise.

From the Vaults

Is it getting better
Or do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you
Now you got someone to blame

You say
One love
One life
When it's one need
In the night
It's one love
We get to share it
It leaves you baby
If you don't care for it

Did I disappoint you?
Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?
You act like you never had love
And you want me to go without

Well it's too late
Tonight
To drag the past out
Into the light
We're one
But we're not the same
We get to carry each other
Carry each other
One

Have you come here for forgiveness?
Have you come to raise the dead?
Have you come here to play Jesus
To the lepers in your head?

Did I ask too much
More than a lot
You gave me nothing
Now it's all I got
We're one
But we're not the same
We hurt each other
Then we do it again

You say
Love is a temple
Love a higher law
Love is a temple
Love the higher law

You ask me to enter
But then you made me crawl
And I can't be holding on
To what you got
When all you got is hurt

One love
One blood
One life
You got to do what you should

One life
With each other
Sisters
Brothers

One life
But we're not the same
We get to carry each other
Carry each other

One
One

Surgery Details

The first part of the surgery procedure has been completed. The second and final stage will be held early on Wednesday morning. I'll need to wake up at 5:30 in time to be at the hospital by 6:30. Buses don't run at that early hour, so I suppose I'll need to call a cab to pick me up.

I'm looking forward, in particular, to shedding the battery pack and embedded wires. The wire leads are currently implanted into my lower back in two separate places. The surgeon will use the same incision sites undertaken a week before to install the small pacemaker-like device pictured above.

Here's a recap, for the curious. Last week, I arrived for surgery a full two hours before the procedure began. A couple of days before, I was reminded to not eat or drink anything after midnight. Groggy because of the lack of coffee, I sleepwalked through the laborious check in procedure at the hospital. Fortunately, it wasn't long before my name was called. I was ushered inside from the waiting room, a journey that always feels for me like I am a rat in the middle of a maze.

Paperwork has to be signed in duplicate. Because of the risks involved with anesthesia, a variety of legal and medical safeguards are in place. A list of current medications, plus daily dosage is checked and rechecked. Three separate nurses spoke to me. One inserted an IV, the process by which the sedative would be administered. The anesthesiologist assured me that the surgery would be safe, but that I might have a headache after I woke up. This proved to be true.

I changed into a gown prior to surgery, though fortunately it was somewhat thicker than normal. Conscious of the fact that I wore no underwear underneath it, I tried my best not to bare my testicles to the rest of the civilized world. It's a bit difficult trying to carry on a normal conversation with someone while in such a state of vulnerability, even with a person who probably sees testicles on a regular basis. I might have said this before, but I think I understand now what it is like to undergo a full gynecological examination.

I was asked to wear special socks prior to the procedure. They had a raised tread on the bottom side, against the soles of my feet. I assume this was in place to cut down on the possibility of me slipping when eventually sitting upright on the floor in the recovery room. Shortly before I was moved from the lower level of hospital bed to the slightly higher level of the operating table, I lost consciousness.

This is what usually how it happens with me, or so I've learned. I worry for a brief moment that I'll have to somehow make a difficult upward climb, one where I must flop onto the padded cushion. Instantly and quite unexpectedly, I am out like a light.  

The surgery proceeded without a hitch. I was given a supply of Perocet for pain and an antibiotic to ward against infection. Sometimes the injection site itches like crazy. The real challenge, I have found, is in showering. Most of my back can't get wet under any circumstances.

I haven't had a full shower in several days, though I know I will again very soon. I've at least been able to wash my hair, though I must kneel over the tub on the hard tile floor to do so. Two more days until the second stage. Following that, everything will be in place and full healing can begin. I hope it takes less than a week, but that may be wishful thinking.

It is fortunate that the urology surgeon is a very attractive woman. I am less upset and fearful while in her company, distanced as I am from my worries. That is, as long as she is in the room. Her presence is a colossal distraction of sorts, at a time when distractions of any sort are most appreciated. Even so, she has made incisions into my lower back and left behind lingering pain and discomfort. I don't begrudge her for doing her job. If I feel a little resentful from time to time, the feeling soon passes.

From past experience, I've found that I usually end up babbling about Quakerism in the recovery room. The nurse who is specifically present to keep a watch on me plays the role of captive audience. My delivery and content must be interesting enough, because no one as yet has complained. As any reader of this blog knows, faith is important to me. It makes sense that one of my most important passions is constantly on my mind. That being said, I wonder what I'll start going on about at length this next time, particularly well before I am fully conscious.

Quote of the Week

"To stand on one leg and prove God's existence is a very different thing from going on one's knees and thanking Him."-Søren Kierkegaard

Saturday Video

Gonna tell Aunt Mary 'bout Uncle John,
He claim he has the misery
but he's havin' a lot of fun,
Oh baby, yeah baby, woo
Havin' me some fun tonight yeah

Well long, tall Sally
She's built for speed, she got
Everything that Uncle John need, oh baby,
Yeah baby, woo baby,
Havin' me some fun tonight, yeah

Well, I saw Uncle John with long tall Sally.
He saw Aunt Mary comin' and
he ducked back in the alley oh baby,
Yeah baby, woo baby,
Havin' me some fun tonight, yeah ow

Well, long, tall Sally
She's built for speed, she got
Everything that Uncle John need oh baby,
Yeah baby, woo baby,
Havin' me some fun tonight, yeah

Well, I saw Uncle John with bald head Sally.
He saw Aunt Mary comin'
and he ducked back in the alley oh baby,
Yeah baby, woo baby,
Havin' me some fun tonight, yeah

We gonna have some fun tonight,
We gonna have some fun tonight, woo
Have some fun tonight, everything's all right,
Have some fun, have me some fun tonight.

Interstim Surgery, Phase One

Surgery went well, but I'll still be sore for the next several days. These pictures are post-op from bladder surgery.

Battery powered unit that stimulates tibial nerve.

A view from a different perspective.

Incision site with gauze and tape.

Another view.

Lower back.

From the Vaults

I'm still recovering from surgery. I submit this video in place of a proper post.

Boy, you're gonna carry that weight
Carry that weight a long time
Boy, you're gonna carry that weight
Carry that weight a long time

I never give you my pillow
I only send you my invitation
And in the middle of the celebrations
I break down

Boy, you're gonna carry that weight
Carry that weight a long time
Boy, you're gonna carry that weight
You're gonna carry that weight a long time

Poutine!

Yum.

Montreal Trip Pictures

Montreal Anniversary Trip, a set on Flickr.

Another Busy Week

I returned from Montreal this afternoon, before a potentially major winter storm hits DC tomorrow. Pictures from my trip will be posted here in a little while. I'm having the first of two surgical procedures beginning tomorrow morning. Posting then may be impossible, though staggering back to and from the hospital may prove far more challenging than writing.

Quote of the Week

"Every writer, like everybody else, thinks he's living through the crisis of the ages. To write honestly and with all our powers is the least we can do, and the most."-Eudora Welty

Tales from a Quaker Phone Sex Operator (Full Version)

I posted this full column too early and had my hand gently slapped by the powers that be. Now, however, the entire piece can be shared with you. It was originally published by Friends Journal in its March edition.

______________________

Loving the Difficult People by Karen Ainslee (Not her real name)

A phone-sex operator as a spiritual healer? No, I didn’t start out the work with this intention. But that is where the path led.

“You’re a sweetheart, Karen. Always have been,” the caller tells me in his heavy Appalachian accent.

“Thanks, Wyatt. I try to be,” I reply. “You are, too.”

“I mean it, Karen. You’ve always been a sweetheart.”

I repeat my comment, and try to move the conversation toward something else. Wyatt has a tendency to go on and on with these platitudes. It’s not that he lacks intelligence—far from it. What he does lack are good verbal skills, especially a good emotional vocabulary. He’s an industrial engineer and comes from a family who did not particularly value education or the ability to be articulate. Nonetheless, my relationship with Wyatt has been among the most intimate of my life.

It’s not a relationship between equals; it’s more like a parent-child or therapist-client relationship. I am a phone-sex operator, and Wyatt was one of my customers for over six years, until that relationship reached the limits of usefulness to him and we became “friends,” or at least social acquaintances. Although I still know him only over the phone, I have his real name and address and carry a photo of him in my wallet.

I love him.

I love him for his courage, for he has survived truly horrendous abuse as a child. I love him because I have journeyed with him into some of the darkest places in his mind, and I cannot be that intimate with someone without loving him. I love him for his spirituality, for, although his fundamentalist Southern Baptist religious style is quite different from my own, I know that spirituality is a real force in his life, something that helps him stay more or less sane.

“I wake up every day and thank God I have never killed anyone,” he told me once. And, another time, “I have seen evil, face to face.”

In addition to his abuse, Wyatt has suffered other losses. His high-school sweetheart, to whom he was engaged to marry, died at a very young age (I have never found out the cause of her death). That same year, his best friend died in a traffic crash, and two other significant people died within two years (I also do not know any details about who they were or how they died).

The full link is here.

Saturday Video

Why no pills today?
Bitter tears
7:00 A.M. and wasting away
Bitter tears
Why no knock on my door?
Bitter tears
What did I come here for?
Bitter tears

How much do you need
Bitter tears
Give me love and see me bleed
Bitter tears
Please don't hurt me tonight
Bitter tears
I've lost the will to fight
Bitter tears

It's our intimacy that I'm missing, you see
When there's no one around
Our intimacy it's what's missing for me, Aaah

If I go then I'll go clean
Bitter tears
Making love inside a dream
Bitter tears
Burn the books of history
Bitter tears
Build a home for you and me
Bitter tears