Across the Threshold

Freedom Prayer

2010-04-24T11:30:00.004-06:00

The following is a prayer/meditation I offered last night during the Opening Worship service of our Pacific Southwest District Assembly of Unitarian Universalist congregations following a wonderful keynote by the Rev. Dr. Mark Morrison-Reed.

Great Spirit, Source of all Life,

We get lost sometimes, in the space between freedom from and freedom for, freedom to.
We imagine freedom as a single note sometimes, and indeed sometimes that note is stillingly, thrillingly clear – but freedom is not a single note, but a chord – and freedom itself lies not in the notes themselves but in the spaces between them.

Because we are all in bondage of one sort or another we often focus one the first step of freedom – freedom from:

Freedom from dogma, from authority, conformity from oppression and sometimes even restraint of every kind. We’ve even been known to invade other countries to bring our sisters and brothers the precious gift of “freedom.”

Oh beating heart, it is complicated! Freedom is not like opening a door.

To be free of emptiness does not automatically fill us up,
To be free of dogma does not automatically make us spiritually rich,
To be free of want does not automatically still our wanting.

To be free from bondage of any kind is only the beginning, not the end, of freedom’s journey. To be free from is only the first big step, setting the stage, clearing space for us to go further.

After we are free from, then we must decide what it is we are free for – what do we do with our hard won freedom.

Are we free for, free to: consume, to gratify ourselves in the endless marketplace that surrounds us?

Are we free to do what we want, to build castles around ourselves, regardless of its effect on the great web that enmeshes us?

Great Spirit, help us use our freedom wisely. Help us go deep to discover what our freedom is for.

May we be free to love, to dream, to pray, to serve, to touch, to reach, to kneel.

May we be messengers of freedom, inward and outward, freedom from all the shackles that bind our people under the sun and the stars so that we may one day walk together in the orchard of freedom – living wholly and holy lives.

Amen

Great Spirit?

2010-04-24T11:23:00.001-06:00

Last week one of you asked a very interesting question that no one had ever asked me before:

“Every week when we enter meditation you always begin by saying, “Great Spirit.” Who or what is this Great Spirit? Whom are we talking to?”

A very good question!

But in that moment all I could think of to say is, “Well, I’m not entirely sure – but I’m pretty sure it isn’t me.”

Even that isn’t quite right. Sigh. Words are so inadequate sometimes.

Most days I’m a pantheistic (or maybe panentheistic) humanist. Which is really just a fancy way of saying that for me, the totality of existence in all its constituent parts (+ consciousness) is where I find divinity. The sacred. It’s where I find god.
I cannot prove this belief to be true, nor do I feel any need to do so. I am content with simply living as if it is so, and treating the rest of creation accordingly. Similarly I cannot prove that every human being is born with inherent worth and dignity – and yet I choose to live my life as if we are.

So when I invoke a “Great Spirit”, “Source of Love”, “Boundless Universe”, “Holy Creation” or any of the many names that stumble from my lips as I struggle to name that which is beyond names, indeed beyond all words – I do not really know who or what I am addressing. Maybe it’s a kind of cosmic “to whom it may concern.”

I do know that whatever it is I am reaching for – it is more than me. It is more than me and yet I am part of it. It’s whatever I am responsible to, accountable to – my home base, a flag on a mountain, an ancient spring, a distant star a forgotten song…it is that which is beyond me and yet paradoxically at my core. It is whatever calls me always a little further than I thought I could go, whatever I cry out to when my heart breaks and the song my heart sings when I hear a new baby laugh.

Call it what you will: Higher Power, True Self, Animus, Highest Values, Universe, Mother, Father, Ancestors, Truth, Silence, Mystery, Spirit, God, god, gd…

I don’t know who or what I am addressing on Sunday mornings, but I know it’s not me – and I know it’s not you – and yet in some ways it is I and Thou and more than that.
Maybe I don’t need to know, definitively, what it is I am reaching for, what it is in this life that fills me with wonder and awe. Maybe I don’t need to know definitively, what it is I am searching for – or even if it is “real” in the way carbon, iron or shrink-wrap is real.

Maybe I don’t need to name it. I know I don’t need to prove it. But I do need to do it – to reflect, to still, to meditate, to pray – to practice.

As for you, call it whatever you will, translate however you want – just do it. Sit quietly, still the tinkle and roar of your Self – and listen.

Washing Feet

2010-04-24T11:18:00.003-06:00

The following is a blessing I wrote for the WillBridge Interfaith Footwashing for the Homeless on April 1, Maundy Thursday, just a few days before Easter. It was a great experience, one of the holiest parts of Holy Week.

Great Spirit,
We touch the world primarily through our feet.

It is on these delicate, unassuming, and yet deceptively resilient pins of skin and cartilage and bone that we propel ourselves through life – one step at a time.
It is on these feet that we take our first steps, dance our first dance, leave home, or maybe lose our home and, if we are lucky, find home once more.

As we get older we rarely go barefoot. We quickly learn that the world is not covered with soft green grass that tickles our feet. We discover, most of us, that many of the roads we must tread are hard-paved, rough-paved, sharp-paved – and yet walk them we must.

Our shoes wear down first, over and over again and our socks, which wear thin at heel and toe – and it’s worse when they get wet and there’s no place to dry them. Then our feet suffer and complain; dreaming of warmth, dryness, fresh cotton and a vacation no matter how brief, from carrying our weight.

This is why we are here today; this is why we wash the feet of the people we love. This is why we wash the feet of strangers, sometimes, on special days like today. In this simple act we are reminded of our shared humanity, a sister-brotherhood born of our common experience walking the hard and wondrous roads of life, diverse as they may be.

There are few acts more intimate, more loving or more connective than holding the vulnerable and road-weary feet of another human being, to hold them, to soak, soap, wash and dry them. To do this is to hold someone’s humanity, their very life, in your two hands.

This is a kind of communion; an act of love, a holy act. This is what the Rabbi Jesus was trying to show his disciples when he washed their feet on that first Maundy Thursday so long ago – that the sacred enters the world through simple acts of love.
And so may your hands be gentle and sensitive to the inherent worth and dignity of everyone they touch, and may they honor the lives they will hold today, calluses and all.

May your feet find rest and safety in the simple comfort of being held. May they relax with a sigh into warm water and fresh clean socks, and through this, remember that they (and you) are loved. May they delight in the unaccustomed sensation of sunshine and cool breeze.

May the source of all that is good be in us, through us and all around us today, and everyday – no matter what roads we must travel tomorrow.

Amen

For more information (or better yet, to get involved) go here:
http://www.willbridgeofsantabarbarainc.org/

The Sermon of Nasruddin

2010-04-24T11:14:00.002-06:00

This story was collected and translated by Idries Shah, who helped introduce Sufism to the Westerm world in the 1960s. They are part of a vast collection of teaching stories about the Wise Fool, the Mulla Nasrudin, dating back at least five hundred years.

Nasrudin stories like the one below have been told all over the world for centuries now. While he most likely lived in what is now Turkey, he is a folk hero in Greece, Sicily, Spain and the former USSR.

Idries Shah writes, “The Sufis, who believe that deep intuition is the only real guide to knowledge, use these stories almost like exercises. They ask people to choose a few which especially appeal to them, and to turn them over in the mind, making them their own. Teaching masters of the dervishes say that in this way a breakthrough into a higher wisdom can be effected.

One day the villagers thought they would play a joke on Nasrudin. As he was supposed to be a holy man of some indefinable sort, they went to him and asked him to preach a sermon in their mosque.

He agreed.

When the day came, Nasrudin mounted the pulpit and spoke:
“O people! Do you know what I am going to tell you?”

“No, we do not know,” they cried.

“Until you know, I cannot say” said the Mulla, overcome with indignation. He descended from the pulpit and went home.

Slightly chagrined, a deputation went to his house again, and asked him to preach the following Friday, the day of prayer.

Nasrudin started his sermon with the same question as before.

This time the congregation answered in one voice:

“Yes, we know.”

“In that case”, said the Mulla, “there is no need for me to detain you longer. You may go.” And he returned home.

Having been prevailed upon to preach for the third Friday in succession, he started the address as before:

“Do you know or do you not?”

The congregation was ready.
“Some of us do and some of us do not!”

Excellent,” said Nasrudin, “then let those who know communicate their knowledge to those who do not.”

And he went home.

In Praise of Jell-O-Salad

2010-04-24T11:12:00.000-06:00

I’ve been researching Jell-O-salads for the past few days in preparation for a church auction event Eliza and I are helping to organize. The theme is “Wisconsin Winterfest.”

So we’ve got brats, squeaky fresh Wisconsin cheese curds (and cheese-head hats) and…you guessed it – Jell-O-salad. You see no Wisconsin social event, especially not a church event, can be authentic and complete without at least one or two Jell-O-salads. Don’t ask me why – thems just the rules.

I volunteered to take care of this crucial part of the festivities, but having only memories of Jell-O-salads past to guide me, I called my parents. They have strong views on what makes a particularly good salad, as do many of my old Wisconsin friends on Facebook – all of whom were quick to email me their favorite recipes.

Other friends, less well disposed toward salads-salads, wrote back with witty comments like, “Do you mean Lutheran Church-Basement Salad?”

To which my answer was simple – “YES!”

This one was my favorite as a child, and I was allowed eat wiggly helping after helping because it was a “salad” after all (it does have carrots in it!):
Carrot-Pineapple Jell-O

1 small can crushed pineapple
1 c. carrots, grated
1/4 tsp. salt
1 small package lemon Jell-O
2 tbsp. lemon juice
1/2 c. sugar

Drain the pineapple and add enough water to the juice to make 1 1/2 cups. Heat to
boiling. Add Jell-O and stir until dissolved. Stir in sugar, salt, and lemon juice. Chill until
slightly thickened. Add pineapple and grated carrots. Chill until firm.

These salads are definitely not very nutritious, nor are they vegetarian-friendly – and I’m not even sure if I will still care for the carrot/pineapple/orange Jell-O salad I so adored as a child – but I am excited to find out.

It’s all about tradition, you see. For me, nothing says, “home” quite like a folding table heavily laden with rich cheesy casseroles and Jell-O-salads, dishes most often named (on handwritten index cards next to the dish) after their inventor, someone’s mom, grandma or great-grandma.

Even in the toughest of times, the bright colors of Jell-O (often set in fanciful molds; turkeys, footballs, Santas) conjured immediate festivity no matter how tight the budget and made those old canned fruits and vegetables not only edible, but scrumptious.

Laughter, paper plates, orange soda, lazy summer afternoons and seasonal sweatshirts accompany my memories of Jell-O-salad. My memories of Jell-O-salad are suffused with the feeling that everything is going to be just fine – and with the childlike feeling of being safe and loved.

Until I started looking through these old recipes I had no idea…I had forgotten.
And so, here I stand, a proud and protective Jell-O-apologist ready to lift a wobbling green spoonful in gratitude and solidarity with the Midwestern picnics and potlucks of yesterday, today and tomorrow.

What are your food traditions? What are the tastes and smells that transport you across miles and decades? What is your Jell-O-salad? As always, I welcome your stories, and in this case – your recipes.

Bon appetite!

2009-10-08T12:33:00.005-06:00

September was a big month in this country. The nation was flooded, it seemed, by venomous shouting matches at town hall meetings about health care reform. So when our Representative Lois Capps held a town hall meeting here in Santa Barbara, I was one of a good number of local clergy who turned up and scattered ourselves through the hall to help keep things as civil as possible. Fortunately there turned out to be little need of us, as the meeting (mostly) went smoothly. I was, however, shocked back to reality when someone handed me a flyer as I was leaving. On the flyer was a picture of a Nazi concentration camp with President Obama’s face superimposed on it. Oh, what crazy days these are!

Soon after that I found myself on a plane to Washington D.C. where I was part of a clergy delegation lobbying Congress (especially the Senate) in support of sweeping reform of our nation’s workers rights laws. We visited with Members and staff of both Houses, and by the time we were done we had managed to personally cover a big chunk of our California Congressional Delegation. My feet still hurt just thinking about it – Capitol Hill is a big place and everything seems to be made of the most unyielding marble – but I digress…

The highlight of the trip was our visit with Rep. Lois Capps. While we were on the Hill focusing primarily on worker’s rights, it proved impossible to separate that discussion from other critical issues, especially healthcare reform. We had a very good conversation with Rep. Capps and we encouraged her not only to continue supporting these key reforms, but to step up and lead on them wherever possible. I gave her the hundreds of postcards that my congregation filled out at our Labor Day service, and she was excited to see so many personal notes. Being a Santa Barbaran herself, she recognized quite a few of the names and made sure that I would take back her greetings as well as assurance of her ongoing support.

After that I flew back to Santa Barbara to celebrate our annual InGathering at church, and then flew right back to the East Coast, to Pittsburg, for the fall meeting of the Interfaith Worker Justice Board of Trustees. Our meeting was designed to coincide with President Obama’s visit, and I hoped against hope that I might be able to meet him in person, but it was not to be. We did, however, get to see Hilda Solis, the Secretary of Labor, Sen. Arlen Specter and Caroline Kennedy, among others, and we did get to see the President speak in person, which was quite an experience.

I was also interviewed, along with Ted Smukler, the Director of Public Policy for Interfaith Worker Justice, by a Pittsburg radio station about the connection between faith and justice work. It was a fun experience, but a little nerve-wracking to speak live to a radio audience without the ability to edit myself in the moment...

All that said, I am glad September is over and life can return to normal (more or less)!

USSB Clean/Green Initiative on FOX News

2009-09-26T13:36:00.012-06:00

Yesterday I got a call from a T.V. news reporter who had read the story about our Clean/Green Fund project in the Daily Sound. She came right over to do interview me and Geoff Green from the Fund for Santa Barbara (our collaborator on this project). When we were done with the interviews the reporter wanted to go up on the roof to get some shots of the panels, but when she saw how high the ladder was, her fear of heights took over. I was already up there, however, so she passed the rest of the equipment up to me, told me how to use it step by step from below - and then I shot the rooftop footage myself!

I have to say that never in a thousand years did I expect to contribute camera work to the evening news! :)

Anyway, see below for the finished product. To the right of the text is a link to the video newscast:

http://www.myfox11.com/global/story.asp?S=11202875

Unitarian Society of Santa Barbara Goes Solar!!

2009-09-23T18:01:00.003-06:00

Soooo nice to finally be done with this phase of the project! The panels are up - collecting the sunlight and doing their thing, generating about 30% of our power. The next step will be when we replace the roof of one of our buildings in the next three or four years - and cover it with solar panels. We figure we can fit about fifty more panels on that stretch or roof, and if we do - our whole campus should be more or less carbon neutral!

But one step, and one capital campaign at a time...

Here is a link to an article in our local Daily Sound about our project and the ways we are trying to encourage other congregations to begin projects of their own.

http://www.thedailysound.com/092209solarchurch

Red to Blue = Green

2009-08-18T16:26:00.004-06:00

I finally did it. I turned my 14mpg Ford Explorer into a zero-emission electric scooter that costs less to run than my refrigerator!

It wasn't as easy as it sounds though. My old truck has served me well, carrying my camping gear, kids, dogs and other much-loved cargo across the country and back without uttering the least complaint. Whether bouncing up old logging roads in the Cascades or to the perfect Rocky Mountain trail head, my Explorer (and her trusty 4WD) has always been loyal. There are a lot of memories bound up in that car.

But living in Santa Barbara, there aren't that many logging roads to climb and not that many times when the ability to kick it into 4WD means the difference between making it or not.

It is always sunny here, and mostly dry. I live right downtown and rarely need to go anywhere more than a few miles away. So what do I need an SUV for? ---- Not enough.

So when I heard that the good people at Zoom Motors here in SB had opened an electric scooter business I was curious - and some internet research and a test drive were all the convincing I needed. And so (after passing the unexpectedly difficult motorcycle test at the good ole' DMV) I have now, as if by magic, transformed my faithful old truck into the perfect vehicle for my life in Santa Barbara. My scooter is quick, powerful and fun - and did I mention that it costs less to run than my refrigerator?

Anyway, if this sounds like a commercial, perhaps it is - or at least a testimonial. The fact is that it was not easy to make this leap, but now that I've done it I feel great. It feels good to have what I need, and nothing more - to use the energy I need, and nothing more. Or at least to take a big step in that direction.

And when the time comes that I need to move or haul something - or climb up a mountain on some beaten up old track - maybe we can trade vehicles for a couple days!

The scooter is a Zapino, made by Zap! You can check them out here:
http://www.zapworld.com/electric-vehicles/electric-scooters/zapino-electric-scooter

New Worker Rights Blog

2009-07-31T13:57:00.002-06:00

“Working In These Times“ is dedicated to providing independent and incisive coverage of the labor movement and the struggles of workers to obtain safe, healthy and just workplaces.

As newspapers have declined, so has labor journalism. Workers—those now protected by unions, those lacking a union at work and those seeking to reform their unions—are increasingly absent in media. This is especially true for the most vulnerable workers, particularly those who are undocumented and easily exploited. The stories of these and other workers are not being told. The dearth of labor coverage in print media is reflected online, where original reporting on labor and workers’ rights issues is scarce.

Supported by a generous grant from the Public Welfare Foundation, “Working In These Times“ seeks to reverse the decline of labor journalism by making original news about workers’ struggles freely accessible to Internet readers, many of whom are perhaps less familiar with America’s history of workers’ rights struggles.

Check it out here:
http://www.inthesetimes.com/working/

Or by clicking the link on the right side of this page.

Enjoy!

Is Your Kid Addicted to Online Gaming?

2009-07-02T10:56:00.003-06:00

My kids love computer and video games. No, you don't understand - they really LOVE them. At least one of them loves them so much that at times it seems his entire life is built around them - reading about them, buying them, making sure his computer is up to the challenge technologically - and of course playing them. For hours, days, weeks at a time. There is no other way to describe it than an addiction.

I have tried many different strategies, and none have worked so far. Of course I keep trying, but sometimes it seems that whatever I can say or do pales in comparison to whatever is going on in that virtual world, which is so much more exciting (and also much simpler) than the everyday world it competes with.

The Center for Media and Child Health, a project of the American Academy of Pediatrics, recommends that children spend no more than 1-2 hours a day in front of a screen, yet young people today spend more time engaged in media activity than in any other activity except sleep. Check out their website (if you are a dork like me you will especially like the research section) for more information. This website should be a primary resource for parents everywhere.

http://www.cmch.tv/mentors_parents/messaging.asp

Another excellent resource is a new electronic book by my young friend Matthew Andreas. Matthew is seventeen years old, and has fought his way out of his own addiction to the ultra-popular online game, World of Warcraft. Now he has written a guide to help other players and parents find their way our of digital addiction too. If your household is anything like mine - I suggest you check it out.

http://www.wowquit.com/About-Wowquit.html

Road Music

2009-06-30T15:00:00.004-06:00

There are few things that say "summer" quite like a road trip (especially when one is driving a relatively guilt-free hybrid). The wide blue sky, endless ribbon of road - and most of all, the music. Every road trip has to have it's own soundtrack, and below is the track listing of the mix we listened to as we drove to Salt Lake City and back for the 2009 General Assembly of the UUA.

Some of these are nostalgic choices, some funny, some thoughtful, some beautiful - and some just plain rock. See if you can guess which are which.

A note: you will see more songs by Fountains of Wayne than by any other band on this list. This is not an accident. FoW has everything a good road trip sing requires: driving rhythms, great hooks, melodies and lyrics that are alternately (and sometimes simultaneously) clever, sincere, playful and thoughtful. They are one of my favorite bands ever, and if you haven't heard them yet - check them out immediately (I mean it)- along with other current favorites (some of whom do not appear on this list) like The Jayhawks, The National, New Pornographers, the Mountain Goats and Deathcab for Cutie. Of course I could list a bunch more, but these are the sounds coming out of my ipod this summer.

1. Teenage Riot - Sonic Youth
2. I Want an Alien for Christmas - Fountains of Wayne
3. News at Ten - The Vapors
4. Run - Snow Patrol
5. Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels) - Arcade Fire
6. San Bernardino - The Mountain Goats
7. Nothing Compares to U - Sinead O'Connor
8. Inside Out - The Mightly Lemon Drops
9. Fake Empire - The National
10. Dog on Wheels - Belle and Sebastian
11. Open Your Eyes - Snow Patrol
12. Dissolve Girl - Massive Attack
13. I'll Be Your Shelter - The Beautiful South
14. I'm Falling - Robyn Hitchcock and the Venus 3
15. I Wanna Be Sedated - The Ramones
16. Do You Realize? - The Flaming Lips
17. Jonathan David - Belle and Sebastian
18. Mexican Wine - Fountains of Wayne
19. My Favorite Angel - John Wesley Harding
20. Lucky Me - Drive
21. Myriad Harbour - The New Pornographers
22. Maureen - Fountains of Wayne
23. The National Anthem - Radiohead
24. Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana
25. Holland, 1945 - Neutral Milk Hotel
26. Someday You Will Be Loved - Deathcab for Cutie
27. Kiss Me, Miss Liberty - John Wesley Harding
28. She's an Angel - They Might Be Giants
29. The Crystal Lake - Grandaddy
30. Prize - Kitchens of Distinction
31. You're All I Have - Snow Patrol
32. No Sunlight - Deathcab for Cutie
33. Then She Appeared - XTC
34. Hey Julie - Fountains of Wayne
35. Raymond Chandler Evening - Robyn Hitchcock

More on the trip itself in my next post...

Day of Decision

2009-06-01T21:25:00.005-06:00

Okay, the California State Supreme Court has ruled in favor of Proposition 8. I knew it would happen, but I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to be surprised for once.

But after closing my office door to kick my furniture and vent my spleen for a few minutes (until I stubbed my toe on my desk…boy they made ‘em hard in the old days…), I calmed down a bit and had a “once more into the breach” moment. Fortunately David Selberg, the Executive Director of Pacific Pride, called to invite me to a Day of Decision rally to protest the ruling.

We had already begun mobilizing within the congregation, so all I had to do was come up with something to say. In the end, about fifty folks from the Unitarian Society of Santa Barbara and our sister congregation, Live Oak, marched down to the courthouse from our church, banners flying – with LOTS of cars honking their solidarity at us.
It was a great, heartening rally, and here is what I said:

Before Proposition 8 passed we marched, rallied and phone banked to defeat it, and we proudly hung that big blue banner over there outside our church doors to announce to the world that our church will always stand on the side of equality, love and justice.

The Sunday after Proposition 8 passed we lit our Candle of Commitment for the first time, symbolizing our commitment to the basic human right for two human beings to express their love for one another through the sacred rite of marriage. That candle has burned in our sanctuary every Sunday since, and we continue to burn until every Californian has the right to marry once more.

Now that the Supreme Court has upheld Proposition 8, enshrining exclusion and discrimination into our State Constitution, we, the families of the Unitarian Society of Santa Barbara, stand ready to carry that flame out of our sanctuary and into the halls of government, the public square and into the streets!
Love lies at the very heart of our faith, and so for us, this struggle is not a legal, but a religious struggle – and we pledge to stand by you, all of you, for as long as it takes, sisters and brothers in struggle, until justice is the law of our land and love is it’s language.

It has been rightly said that the arc of history must always bend toward justice – but only as long as we keep on bending it. So let’s bend it, my friends, let’s bend it.

Inside Republic Windows and Doors

2008-12-23T15:08:00.011-07:00

I happened to be in Chicago while the workers of Republic Windows and Doors were occupying the plant in an effort to save their jobs and get the company to pay them the almost 2 million dollars they were owed.

I was there for my first meeting as a board member of Interfaith Worker Justice, and the workers invited us into the factory to pray with them. Click on the link below to read my guest blog entry on the UUA website:
http://uuasocialjustice.blogspot.com/2008/12/victory-for-republic-window-workers.html

An Experiment in Outreach...

2008-12-23T14:57:00.008-07:00

Our congregation just rolled out a new demographically-targeted outreach last week. We are sending oversized cards to 1700 Santa Barbara households in advance of our Holiday services. The cards target adults 45 and under with kids. Hopefully they will work, but we feel like it's a good step forward regardless. This is a kind of test-run, and we'll refine as we go.

Anyway, the card features an illustration by my dear friend and artist, Brian Andreas (you can check his work out his website:

http://www.storypeople.com/storypeople/Home.do

We are using the illustration to echo some familiar and welcoming themes of Christmas, while also striking our own individual note. I will put a copy of the card up later, but I can't find a good copy on my computer just now...but click on this link, and then again on "The Universal Sign of Peace" to view an animated bit featuring our little dude:

http://www.publiczoo.com/menuholidaystories.htm

In other news, our new, and much improved website is now up, thanks in large part to the tireless efforts of my awesome wife, Eliza - who I will be struggling to repay for a long, long time. It is still in progress, and will have new material added every day. You can look check it out at http://www.ussb.org

And by the way, Merry Christmas!

Tea House Fire

2008-11-14T15:48:00.010-07:00

What a day.

Late yesterday afternoon a wildfire went from birth to fast-moving inferno in just a few hours. I had never seen a wildfire so close up before - and seeing it roaring down the hills - seemingly right on top of us in downtown Santa Barbara was just plain surreal.

Smoke first colored, and then blotted out, the full moon and soon we could see the impossibly tall wall of flames racing over the hill crest toward so many homes...I felt powerless and awed. I stood in the courtyard outside our sanctuary watching the flames and feeling torn by all the things I needed to do - calls I needed to make - people I needed to make sure were okay. And I thought, "What can I possibly do in the face of something like this?"

The power went out just then, and we stood in the dark. After a while I noticed that the choir, which was there rehearsing, had not come out when we lost power, so I went in to check on them.

And how beautiful!

They were sitting in the vast dark womb of the sanctuary singing, "Silent Night" in a small flickering pool of candle light. Their voices were soft and prayerful and yet filled that big empty space to the brim. How beautiful....

I went to bed last night with smoke-irritated eyes, worried about what morning would bring. And indeed the cost has been high. We spent the day trying to contact members and friends in the evacuation zones: making sure people were out, were safe. Some dear people have already lost their homes and many others do not know what they will find when they are allowed back in to their neighborhoods.

This has been a day of ringing phones, firing emails and far too many questions without answers. But it has also been a day of coming together, a day of love, a day of commitment. Today has been a day in which the caring and generosity of our community has been a powerful force.

It is 3pm now, and I do not know what night will bring. I don't hear as many planes and helicopters flying the church anymore - maybe that's a good sign, maybe things are quieting down, under control. Just pray that the wind doesn't pick up, doesn't change directions.

Every prayer is a welcome today.

No On 8 Rally Update

2008-10-29T11:06:00.004-06:00

David Pritchett has just posted a more in-depth article about the work folks are doing on the No on 8 campaign. You can link to the article at the Independent website:

http://www.independent.com/blogs/santa-barbara-public-affairs/2008/oct/29/NO-Prop8-rally-27Oct/

There are a lot of links in this article, and some are well worth clicking on (a couple of them take you to my blog, among other worthy websites). I had to laugh a little reading this article. Especially when I read this part:

"In their responses to sometimes deliberately provocative questions from this correspondent, the rabbis and clergy people looked to the teachings of their own faith about why they oppose Proposition 8. The discussion quickly tested their religious politics, especially as the clergy under the Christian umbrella of denominations remarked with open frustration about how other pastors, preachers, and ministers around Santa Barbara could interpret their same rulebook differently to justify discrimination against some people based only upon sexual orientation."

I do remember David framing some of his questions at the press conference in ways that seemed designed to elicit strong reactions from us - and I remember thinking, "what is this guy up to?" Now I know. Well thanks for pushing us, David, and thanks for your good coverage.

Below is a photo of the Three UU Musketeer-Ministers (the Revs. Erika Hewitt, Melitta Haslund and myself) at the clergy phone bank Prichett attended. Our esteemed colleague Lex Crane was also there, but kindly avoided the photo so as to not outshine the rest of us with his palpable grace and wisdom!

No On Proposition 8!

2008-10-28T09:54:00.008-06:00

Since my congregation, the Unitarian Society of Santa Barbara overwhelmingly passed a resolution opposing California Proposition 8, which would strip same sex couples of their right to marry - things have been very busy!

We have been running Sunday morning phone banks between and after services, calling undecided voters to encourage them to vote no. We've also put up a big bright banner in front of our church on a busy street, distributed many yard signs and buttons - and then capped it all off with a march from our sanctuary to the courthouse for a rally. Even though the rally took place on a Monday morning and folks didn't know it was even happening until Sunday morning, at least fifty or sixty of us turned out. It was great fun!

I was one of the speakers at the rally, along with Representative Lois Capps, our Congresswoman, Mayor Marty Blum, the always awesome Rev. Mark Asman and other community leaders.

Here is what I had to say:

Love is at the very heart of my faith, and striving to build a world ever more full of love and hope and possibility is at the heart of my ministry and my life. Love is sacred.

Marriage is the highest, the most sacred expression of loving commitment that two people can make in our society. Marriage is about commitment and it is about love. It is all too easy to get sidetracked into thinking about marriage like an accountant, balancing up the ledger, tallying up the one thousand or so legal and tax benefits that accrue to couples that are legally married.

I have never met a single couple who came to me and said, “We want to get married so we can start profiting from all the many wonderful legal and tax benefits that come with marriage! Boy oh boy - when can we do this thing?”

No. People do not get married for these things, although these things do matter. They want to get married because they want to say, “I do.” They want to join that great stream of all the loving couples who have come before them, joining their hearts forever in marriage. Marriage is not about taxes. It’s about love.

And so I cannot stand by as the same old arguments that were used to keep inter-racial couples from marrying are trotted out yet again and used to keep my same sex sisters and brothers from marrying. Some people say civil unions, “Separate but equal” but I say that separate has NEVER been equal!!! Only two hearts can decide who should be married and who should not and that decision does not belong to any government!

I have only been married for a few years now, and I know that marriage is sometimes hard. I am blessed with so many other couples that help me find my way in marriage – and many of those couples happen to be same sex couples. Their love and commitment is a blessing on this world, and my faith calls me to stand always on the side of equality, justice and love. That’s why I am voting NO on proposition 8!

And now I would like to introduce one of those couples who bless the life of my congregation: Andrew Knox and Doug Reid, wonderful fathers, who although already married in Canada years ago, have just pledged their love anew in a ceremony of marriage at our church this morning! Come on up, guys.

For more about how Santa Barbara's congregations and clergy are positioned on Prop 8, check out this article in our weekly newspaper, the Independent:http://www.independent.com/news/2008/oct/26/santa-barbaras-clergy-proposition-8/

All of this is certainly attracting a good deal of attention. My voicemail at work has been full of messages - some positive, some quite negative. Our congregational voice is being heard. Not everyone likes what we have to say, of course - but at least we are relevant, and most definitely walking our talk. I am proud to serve such a fine community.

Of course we cannot know if we will be successful in protecting in marriage equality or not. The polls are way closer than we would like. But I am confident that whatever happens on November 4, our Society can look long and hard in our collective mirror and know that we have done our best and lived our values.

The Best of Intentions

2008-10-28T09:34:00.001-06:00

Sometimes the best of intentions, the most valid of goals – clash. I find this terribly frustrating. It’s hard enough for me to come to any sort of clarity about what I call the “big questions” in life: what is important, how should I live - should I turn this way or that way at the crossroads?

Then, no sooner do I get some of these vexing questions settled (insofar as such questions can ever be settled…) then I find my all noble goals and aspirations crashing into one another!

I had a funny taste of this last Sunday after church. I had just finished delivering a sermon about things, stuff – and our relationship to them. I talked about how easy it is for us to become enslaved by our own “stuff” and by the societal pressure to accumulate and consume ever more ravenously. At the very end of the service, I challenged all of us to go home and take on that dusty and unopened box of junk we all put off dealing with – and to start liberating ourselves from all the “stuff” that clutters our lives and distracts us from the things that matter most.

So far so good.

But then, after the service, a couple of women came up to say hello. They told me how much they enjoyed the service, and then, with a devilish gleam in their eyes, they reminded me that just a couple weeks ago I preached a sermon encouraging people to make their Sundays into Sabbath days – days without work! These two had been assiduously working to build and honor their Sabbath day – and here was their minister telling them to go home and clean out their junk drawers!

Ahhh, there’s the rub.

And so, once again, two important and meaningful priorities collide. I am so grateful for the feedback those two women. They reminded me that the real challenge of living our values is not when we have to choose between the “right way” and the “wrong way” – but when two “right ways” have trouble fitting into the same space at the same time.

I did correct myself in the second service, making sure to encourage people to declare war on their junk on Monday or Tuesday instead of Sabbath Sunday – but still, the issue remains an important one. How can we balance all the values we hold dear, especially when they sometimes seem to be competing for the scant energy we have left over at the end of yet another long day?

Unfortunately, I don’t have a great answer to this question. I struggle with these kinds of tough choices all the time. What I can suggest is that we can be gentle and patient with ourselves. We don’t have to get everything done immediately or perfectly, or maybe even at all. We can take things in their own time, step by step. To paraphrase the Book of Ecclesiastes, there is a time to reap, a time to sow – a time for every purpose under heaven. A time for all things.

But only as individuals can we figure out if this is a time for reaping or sowing - what we need to be working on right now. So reflect deeply, prioritize based on what you need most right now – and don’t beat yourself up when you fall down. The mere fact that so many of us even care about difficult questions like, “how shall I live?” is amazing, and he fact that so many of us try so hard to walk our talk is wonderfully inspiring.

When we find ourselves forced to choose between two goods, then we have to know that something is going very RIGHT in our lives. Those are the kinds of problems I want to have!

Interfaith Campaign to Support Sanitation Workers!

2008-09-02T18:13:00.006-06:00

Hello, all,

I have recently joined the National Sanitation Worker Justice Committee, a project of Interfaith Worker Justice (http://www.iwj.org/). We are working hard in support of our sisters and brothers who work in the sanitation industry, but it isn't easy. As you will see below, sanitation workers don't only have to deal with the "garbage" they haul, but with sometimes being treated like garbage as well. For more information about the campaign, please read the letter below from committee co-chair, Rev. Nelson Johnson, and sign the online petition if you feel so moved. http://salsa.democracyinaction.org/o/1035/petition.jsp?petition_KEY=1315

Dear Brothers and Sisters of Our Faith Communities:

I am writing to you in hopes that you will spend just a few minutes of your time to help workers at Waste Management Inc. (WMI), the nation's largest waste company, who are involved in a struggle for dignity.

I ask you to click on the link below and sign the petition demanding that WMI remain neutral in the workers' federally protected right to form a union to improve working conditions. Waste Management, Inc., headquartered in Houston with over 13 billion dollars in sales annually, has an in-house union avoidance team which methodically fights workers' attempts to organize. Currently around a quarter of their workers are organized and the other workers often feel intimidated when they attempt to join their organized brothers and sisters.

Forty years ago this past April, the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. was killed while supporting the struggles of striking sanitation workers in Memphis. The same kinds of struggles continue today for sanitation workers, including those at WMI who are simply trying to exercise their rights to form a union and take steps to improve their lives. WMI continues to violate worker rights and, because our federal laws are so weak, the company continues to get away with its immoral behavior.

There are many examples of WMI's anti-union tactics, including the July 4, 2008 firing of Stacey Stevenson, a sanitation worker and union activist in Little Rock, Arkansas, who we believe was fired for his attempts to organize his coworkers. Local ministers in Little Rock have signed on to a letter in support of Stacey Stevenson.

WMI's intimidation must stop, and your help will go a long way in that fight. Please sign the petition:

http://salsa.democracyinaction.org/o/1035/petition.jsp?petition_KEY=1315

By signing the petition, you are calling on WMI to stop its anti-worker, anti-union tactics by remaining neutral in union-organizing campaigns.

Immokalee Workers

2008-09-02T17:53:00.004-06:00

What a ridiculously long time between posts! I apologize to any of you who have been checking in all this time only to fid that nothing has changed - until now. Finally, a new post. I'll do better from now on - promise.

I have been a bit busy since I last posted. Eliza and I have loaded up everything we own and left our home in Colorado (very sad) for our new life in Santa Barbara, where I am the new minister of the Unitarian Society (very happy). Life is very good and very busy, which is just the way I like it. I won't say anything about how uncannily beautiful and pleasant it is here other than to say it feels like we've unwittingly stumbled into Eden. It's that kind of perfect, except that you can eat all the fruit.

Anyway, below is a column from the St. Petersburg Times. I recently helped lead a workshop dealing with the struggle of the Coalition of Immokolee Workers to end the practice of modern slavery and exploitation in the tomato fields of Florida and beyond. These are amazing people, and I hope you will check out their website (http://www.ciw-online.org/) and the Alliance for Fair Food (http://www.allianceforfairfood.org/) to find out more about how you can help bring a little more justice to this world of ours.

There happened to be a journalist named Bill Maxwell from St. Petersburg at my workshop, and he called to interview me a few days later. He is a wonderful man with a huge heart and a powerful commitment to justice and his columns are always worth reading.

Here is his column:

"Eating that tomato can put you in moral peril"
http://www.tampabay.com/opinion/editorials/article695177.ece

By Bill Maxwell, Times columnist
In print: Sunday, July 13, 2008

Some deeds and practices define our individual and shared morality. When, for example, we turn our backs on the cruel treatment of farmworkers, we are complicit in inhumanity and are acting immorally.

Tens of thousands of Floridians read about the case of U.S. vs. Ronald Evans without blinking an eye. To me, everyone who eats fruits and vegetables should be outraged and should be, in some manner, advocating for farm-worker justice.

A review: In 2007, farm labor contractor Ronald Evans, his wife Jequita Evans and their son Ron Evans Jr. were sentenced to federal prison for enslaving farm workers and for other labor-related crimes in Florida and North Carolina. They were sentenced to 30, 20 and 10 years respectively.

Ronald Evans recruited homeless U.S. citizens from shelters across the Southeast, including in Tampa, Miami and New Orleans, with promises of decent jobs and housing. After the farmworkers arrived at the labor camps in Palatka and New Grove, N.C., Ronald Evans deducted the price of rent, food, crack cocaine and alcohol from the workers' pay, keeping the workers "perpetually indebted" in what the U.S. Justice Department referred to as "a form of servitude morally and legally reprehensible."

Justice Department records show that the Palatka labor camp was enclosed by a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. A "No Trespassing" sign warned outsiders.

The Evans family worked for grower Frank Johns, then-chairman of the Florida Fruit & Vegetable Association, the powerful lobby of the state's agricultural industry. As a grower, Johns was not charged with a crime.

This is not an isolated case. Since 1997, through efforts of the Coalition of Immokalee Workers, six other labor outfits have been prosecuted for servitude. The cases involved more than a dozen employers and more than 1,000 workers, who testified to being locked in their compounds at night, beaten, raped, pistol-whipped and shot.

Remember, the average U.S. farmworker earns a little more than $10,000 a year. They are excluded from the protections of the nation's employment laws, and they are prevented from legally organizing.

As a result of such inhumanity and exploitation, American consumers can enjoy cheap, fresh and attractive produce. Companies such as Tropicana, Minute Maid, Taco Bell, Wendy's, Burger King, McDonald's, Kroger and Wal-Mart profit from so-called "everyday low prices" made possible on the backs of abused workers.

As individuals, we are morally obligated to demand economic justice for those who harvest our food. George Orwell, who wrote extensively about poverty in England, said: "Economic injustice will stop the moment we want to stop it, and no sooner, and if we genuinely want it to stop the method adopted hardly matters."

One person I know who is trying to get consumers to see that their buying habits directly contribute to the hardships of farmworkers is the Rev. Aaron McEmrys, a Unitarian Universalist minister in Santa Barbara, Calif. I recently met McEmrys, a former union organizer, when he participated in a farm-worker seminar in Fort Lauderdale.

I quote him at length: "The things we do and the ways we live affect our fellow beings in ways that are often hard to see. Sometimes, even things that seem small and innocent to us can do terrible damage to others in the wider world. As long as we remain blissfully ignorant, we might be passively complicit in the suffering of others, but we are not knowing, willing participants. We are just ignorant.

"Once we know, however, really know, about how our choices or our lifestyles can hurt and oppress others, we have some real choices to make. We can either change our ways to stop hurting people or we can go on as we always have. But with one big difference: We aren't innocent anymore. We are still complicit, but now actively so. We have chosen to live in such a way that pushes people down instead of lifting them up, that strips away our humanity and theirs instead of celebrating our shared humanity.

"We all agree that slavery is an abomination — a sin — a crime against humanity. And yet this kind of oppression is exactly what the people who pick our tomatoes have to live with every day. The tomatoes that nourish our bodies and add flavor to so many of our meals come with a price tag. They come at the cost of human dignity, human freedom. Once we know this, we have some real choices to make: We can either change our ways or we can go on eating those cheap tomatoes knowing that we have chosen, by default, to be fed by the suffering of other human beings — human beings just like us.

"It's not a question of whether we should get involved. If we eat tomatoes, then we are already involved. The only real questions are: What are we going to do about it? How will we be involved from here on out?

"Here is a real truth: When we do the right thing, when we change our ways, even just a little, to live in such a way as to lift up the best in ourselves and others, the tomatoes will taste better. I guarantee it."

American consumers have a moral duty to stop the exploitation of farm workers. If we do not, as McEmrys argues, we enable servitude and are guilty of the "sin of complicity."

"White Working Class Voters"

2008-06-11T10:49:00.002-06:00

1,940,000.

That's the number of search results I got a few minutes ago when I googled "white working class voters." 1,940,000.

This is a phrase that has been bugging me more and more over the last few months, as I have heard and read it at least three or four times a day as what Jon Stewart refers to as the "Long, slow, seemingly endless Bataan death march to the White House" grinds on and on.

But you know, that phrase has always kinda bugged me. Pundits generally preface their use of the phrase by explaining that they are talking about white folks without college degrees - but more and more that feels misleading to me - because even with this definition of terms, everybody knows the "code-speak" that is about to be invoked.

We do not live in a society where it is generally acceptable to openly discuss or express our racist attitudes. We are all supposed to have "transcended" race by now, and people, especially in exit polling, are extraorinarily reluctant to appear racist.

But we all know it's there - we all know that race IS a big issue in our culture and in this campaign. But we can't/won't talk about it directly. So we do what we always have - we resort to the tried and true method of coded speech.

Early in the Democratic primary, when Obama was racking up victories in places like my home state of Wisconsin or Iowa - which both have TONS of white folks without college degrees - there was no mention whatsoever of "white working class voters." It wasn't until the campaign moved into the South and into Appalachia, that this particular phrase became ubiquitous.

"White working class voters" has become a code phrase to describe white folks who are afraid of, uncomfortable with, or just plain opposed to - a black President. It has become a useful way of talking about the very real race-based (racist) challenge a black candidate faces - without actually having to call it by it's name (racism) or having to single any white folks out as still holding onto viewpoints which we pretend we have left in the past.

Sometimes, however, the veneer wears thin and the actual racism behind the code-phrase becomes more apparent. A good example of this is when Hillary Clinton described Barak Obama as being unable to win over her supporters, "working, hard-working Americans, white Americans." This statement reveals a good deal about all the coded meaning that is packed into that phrase - that to be a "hard working" American means to be a "white" American. This plays into well established opinon polling which has shown over and over again that as many as "one half to three quarters of white Americans possess at least one negative and racist sterotype about black people" - like, for example, "black people don't have a strong work ethic."

But are all white people (or even most)without college degress racists? Of course not! To create and uncritically feed a phrase like "white working class voters", which is clearly a coded way of talking about people with racist attitudes is unbelieveably offensive to me - just as any other racist sterotype is. It's no different than saying that black people are lazy or all Asian kids are academic superstars with no social skills. Or that white guys can't jump. It's just stupid.

I am from as white and working class a town as anyone can find in America - Grafton, Wisconsin. Are a lot of those folks white and working class? Yes, definately. Are there racists there? Yes, definately. But to extend those traits to all people living in Grafton, Wisconsin is absurd and demeaning. Reducing any group of people to nothing more than a monolithic blob not only denies the essential humanity of that group - but it also removes them from the equation altogether, creating an empty canvas (Nascar dads, Starbucks democrats etc.)that other people can project anything they want onto - in this case "white working class voters" (white people without college degrees)have been used by pundits and politicians alike to project the widespread and mostly unspoken racial and racist fears our society has yet to deal with.

Oregon has a higher percentage of whites without college education than Pennsylvania, for example, as well as a lower median househole income - and yet Obama won a clear majority of those groups, including union households. Are these not "white working class voters?" Of course they are - but they are not the kind of "white working class voters" pundits are talking about when they use that phrase.

I believe we need to stop all this code-talking, and the news media needs to step up to the plate and begin to police themselves more critically and more aggressively. It is interesting to me that Obama is often lauded for "transcending" race - which also seems to be code for a couple things: a)Obama doesn't talk about race very much, and rarely addresses the endemic oppression still faced by people of color in this country and b)he's almost like one of "us" but with different skin tone.

Nominating a black man is a great thing, but it does not mean we have "transcended" our racist heritage or the massive discrimination in health care, employment, the justice system and housing, among others.

Has any white candidate ever been asked or expected to "transcend" whiteness?

It is interesting to me that even as the dominant media has been engaging in a constant and blatantly race-based dialogue under cover of code-speech like "white working class voters" - African Americans like the Rev. Jeremiah Wright are roundly excoriated for NOT speaking in code! I do not believe that the controvercial things Wright sometimes says are any more offensive than some of the carefully coded inferences I hear on CNN every day (and have you listened to the truly frightening stuff the Rev. John Hagee, a white supporter of John McCain has said?!). So is it what Wright SAYS that makes people so upset - or is it that he refuses to speak in code, like the rest of "polite" society?

I understand the political and social context of this election. And I understand that, from a pragmatic point of view - Barak Obama (and any other black candidate)has to play along to some extent if there is to be any hope at all of being elected. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

As Tim Wise writes in Lip Magazine", "We have taken racism to an entirely new and disturbing level, one that bypasses all the old and all-encompassing hostilities of the past, and replaces them with a new, seemingly ecumenical acceptance in the present. But make no mistake, it is an ecumenism that depends upon our being made to feel good, and on our ability to glom onto folks of color who won't challenge our denial let alone our priveleges, even if they might like to."

Let me be very clear - I am not endorsing a candidate. But I am arguing that any talk about "transcending" race without actually dealing with race - is a dead end and an illusion. Code-speech is one of the age-old vehicles of racism, and until we can speak openly and honestly (even when we won't like what we hear)we will remain shackled.

Unfortunately I expect we will hear a lot more code-speech now that the general election is starting - and I hope that this time more of us (especially in the media) will step up to expose and denounce such language every time it opens its mouth.

Sometimes Things Just Work Out

2008-06-10T12:41:00.005-06:00

You know how sometimes it feels like we work and work and work at things but never feel like we’re getting anywhere?

I know I feel like that sometimes (or even more often, depending how things are going…) – but today is not one of those days!

In just the last couple days I have had wonderful news from two of the groups of workers I have been helping out this year. I work with an inter-faith clergy group organized by my good friend and colleague the Rev. Daniel Klawitter, a Methodist Minister who works for F.R.E.S.C. (don’t you love acronyms?) – the Front Range Economic Strategy Center.

FRESC, and the diverse clergy group I work with are committed to the following principles:

• Coloradans who work hard should be able to provide for their families and have the opportunity to achieve a good quality of life.
• The public should have a meaningful voice in the government decisions and investments that impact their communities and their lives.
• Economic development should build environmentally safe and sustainable communities where ordinary people can afford to live and work.

FRESC utilizes policy development and advocacy, academic-level actionable research, community organizing and non-partisan civic engagement to promote the creation of jobs that pay family-sustaining wages with benefits, housing and health care which are affordable to all families, and neighborhoods that are environmentally safe and sustainable.

Our clergy group, which is made up of clergy from Catholic, Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, Unitarian Universalist and a variety Protestant Christian denominations, works side by side to help bring these principles to life right here in our own back yards.

But as I said before – lots of the time progress is hard to see and victories can feel few and far between.

But not today.

Just this week I have received two wonderful emails, with victories attached. In both cases, members from our clergy group first met with workers and then reached out separately to management, offering our support and encouraging a fair and peaceful resolution of their differences on behalf of our congregations and faith traditions as well as ourselves.

The first was from a group of workers who work as therapists, teachers, counselors and assistants at a school for children with severe disabilities, behavioral issues and mental health concerns. Workers there have been fighting for well over a year now to improve workplace health and safety (which are big issues there), to improve staff/client ratios and to provide a higher quality of care.

After enduring months of aggressive and illegal intimidation and retaliation, the National Labor Relations Board has ruled that the school had indeed been violating their employee’s rights in many ways, some of them very serious. The primary author of these violations has been forced to resign and the workers are now more hopeful than ever that they can finally turn the page on all the unnecessary conflict and get back to what really matters – helping to transform the lives of the children they serve.

The second email was from a group of hotel cleaning staff at the Hyatt Regency downtown. You can read my original blog posting here: http://acrossthethresholduu.blogspot.com/2007_09_01_archive.html

I always had a good feeling about this one. Not only were the workers simply wonderful people – so full of commitment and integrity and a palpable spirit of solidarity – but the management team seemed genuinely committed to making things better as well. In an unusual gesture of goodwill, for example, the management negotiating team was perfectly open to having our clergy delegation join both sides at the bargaining table to speak our peace as ministers and community members and to stay for the rest of the session as observers. This is very unusual, and I was heartened by their open and relatively healthy approach to the problems at hand.

But that was WAAAY back in September!

Still, I was thrilled to get a thank-you note from the workers today. They were writing to let us know that they have finally come to a fair and just agreement with the hotel, and agreement which should drastically decrease workplace injuries while also lowering the costs of health care, increasing wages and giving them an active and constructive voice in their working lives.

So if you ever need a good hotel in Denver, I am more than happy to recommend the Hyatt Regency, where you can sleep well knowing that your pleasant and comfortable stay (and especially your immaculately clean room!) comes compliments of safe, secure and healthy employees - and a company which is fulfilling its commitment to be a good corporate citizen.

Boy do I love sharing good news!

Subzero MLK March, 2008 - Never Before Seen Footage!

2008-05-14T13:00:00.008-06:00

Okay, so maybe it wasn't really below zero that morning - and maybe the only reason these photos have never been seen before is because I only discovered them under a pile of books and papers as I cleaned my office today...

But still, a day more than worthy of memory.

It really was terribly cold that morning, as two of us hardy adults joined twenty or so of our YRUU-ers for Denver's annual MLK Day "Marade." It was cold, yes, but no problem - I was so bundled up in insulated wind and waterproof layers that even my mother would have approved. The youth were another story, however. Despite my repeated reminders and demands that they bring warm clothes with them, most of them (in true teenage style) were dressed stylishly in low-cut canvas Chuck Taylors (some with no socks)and colorful hats and mittens better suited for signalling overflying airplanes than for keeping out the cold.

Don't I sound OLD! It's like I'm channelling my mother's voice...

Anyway, even all of this would have been fine if we had been moving - but we weren't. Instead there were a couple hours of speeches (no exaggeration)from various corporate heads ("MLK would have loved our insurance company!") and local luminaries, each of which flagrantly broke their own promises to keep it short because of the extreme cold! After about the third speech some of the youth were starting to have real trouble - what with standing around in a couple inches of mostly frozen slushy water while a bitter wind cut to the bone. As you can see below, we tried our best to keep warm, but even dancing couldn't keep the cold at bay for long!

For a while I was seriously contemplating cancelling the whole thing. I was worried about frost-bite and other adult concerns too lame for sixteen years olds to contemplate. But when I suggested calling it off, they said "absolutely not" through blueing lips and chattering teeth. "If we can't deal with being cold and uncomfortable for one morning, how can we ever be tough enough to change the world? Martin Luther King put up with a LOT more than this - so forget it, we're marching!"

And so, after some more speeches - we marched.

Sure enough, once we started marching the day seemed much more bearable. Still cold, but more fun by the moment. The youth were right, there was something especially powerful about marching with 3,000 other people through the otherwise silent and frozen streets of Denver. It was inspiring to walk with so many strangers who were also determined to march, cold or no cold - wind or no wind.

We bumped into a pile of kids (in snowsuits and mittens) and their parents (looking much less toasty) from our sister church, First Unitarian, as well as more adults from our own congregation. So for a time we all marched together, maybe 40 or 50 Unitarian Universalists. It was great.

In the end, this may have been one of the most satisfying MLK marches I have ever been part of. As always, our youth inspired me with their grit and commitment. They were SOOO cold, really suffering - yet it never occured to them to call of the march because of discomfort. They were finding their own answers to the critical religious question, "If this is what I believe, what I stand for - how then must I live?"

This is a question I struggle with all the time, and watching the youth struggle (literally arm in arm) to live their values out loud on that frigid Colorado morning reminded me yet again of the path I want to tread.

Thanks, you guys!

The Great Migration

2008-05-08T13:13:00.007-06:00

It's finally over.

After way too many months, my search is finally over. On May 4th, 2008, the Unitarian Society of Santa Barbara called me to be their new minister!

Candidating week was a lot of fun, and I was so gratified to discover first hand that the outstanding search committee really was representative of their outstanding congregation! Although it was a tiring, action-packed week (I have no idea how Hillary Clinton and Barak Obama manage to do what they do months after month....), every single event, every single meeting, was full of fascinating, loving and committed people and my energy level remained high. It was great.

Eliza and I did manage to take some breaks here and there, and even split town for a day to pop over the mountains into the Santa Ynez Valley, which is some of the loveliest win country I have ever seen (or tasted). We also managed some bike riding, beach-walking and museum-going, which was remarkably easy since Everything seems to be within 10 miles of town! I don't know how people ever get any work done in a place where the weather is always perfect, the beach is 3 minutes away and rivers of milk and honey flow down from every mountain!

But I guess we'll find out soon enough.

And maybe milk and honey doesn't really flow down from the mountains, but I seriously wouldn't be suprised if it did - Santa Barbara is truly a paradise!

But nothing could have prepared me for what it felt like at the end of the week when Eliza and I were ushered back into the sanctuary to the applause, cheering, tears and love of all those wonderful people who were calling me to be their minister! I was so moved that when I opened my mouth to speak - nothing came out. I was speechless, a rare event for a McEmrys! In fact even now words fall short of describing what I see in my mind's eye, so I won't try. Just trust me - it was awesome.

After such a long journey from Portland, Oregon to Meadville Lombard in Chicago to Denver for internship and a year of interim-ship it is hard (and wonderful) to believe that very soon Eliza and I will be SETTLED - living somewhere long enough to make planting things seem like a good idea - living and growing with a community and knowing all the while that there is no where else I would rather be and no reason in the world why I cannot, should not, will not stay for a good long time! It's like a Spring harvest.

It's kind of surreal being back here at my desk in Denver. Although I love it here and will miss the people I serve, the friends I have made and the mountains that have been my neighbors - a big part of me is already in Santa Barbara, just waiting for the rest of me to catch up. I am bilocated.

So we'll be moving (again....) in the beginning of July. I don't officially start work until August 15th, so until then we will be settling in, having a good visit with my kids and other friends and family - and just sort of hanging out and enjoying life for a while. I haven't had a real vacation for a long time, so I can hardly wait for this one!

In the meantime, there is still plenty to do here in Colorado, some of which I ought to get back to right about now. So back to work it is.

UUNITED Hangs Tough (don't we always?)

2008-05-08T12:51:00.002-06:00

Well, last night's game was not exactly how I envisioned my return to the soccer pitch after an almost three month long search and weather-related layoff. After rain throughout the day the sky finally cleared, the sun came out and it was fine soccer weather.

But alas, as seems to happen at least once every season, a ton of our players couldn't make the game - sickness, injury, working late, out of town - all of these (excuses, excuses!) conspired to leave a rag-tag group of nine of us standing around the pitch with dread in our eyes as the match began.

Soccer, as you might know is a game with two sides of eleven players on the pitch at a time, so we were not even able to field a full team - much less have some subs around so we could catch a breather now and then!

Just for perspective, our roster is usually around 20 players, which allows for people to miss games now and then while still leaving us plenty of fresh legs to run around on. So having only nine players was pretty weird, especially since we had done everything we could to recruit some extra warm bodies to come help us out.

But anyway...

We took the field, and were cheered when Shaun trotted onto the field, taking our number up to ten. There was a strong wind at our backs, and we took immediate advantage, racing up the field on our still-fresh legs for four strong goals in the first half. We would need every one of those early goals to see us through, however, as we were all starting to get increasingly tired after halftime, while our opponents had a full team plus three subs to run at us.

We only managed to score once more in the second half, while they scored three more times, bringing the score to 5-4 with us barely clinging to what had once seemed like an insurmountable lead. At one point I overheard Shaun ask the ref how many minutes were left (by that time we were counting every second!), but I couldn't hear what the ref said. I called over, "Shaun, how many minutes left? and he just looked back at me with a somewhat grim expression and said, "Too many!"

That pretty much summed it up. We did hold on to win 5-4, and went out for some food and drink to celebrate after. Everything tastes better after a win.

I am feeling it today though - even my elbows are sore, although that might have something to do with the increasingly physical defense I was playing as the game wore on...Overall, I would definately not have chosen my first game back to be so gruelling - but it really was a blast, sore bones and all.

Rise and Shine!

2008-04-19T15:06:00.003-06:00

They say art imitates life, but this is just too much... Yes, this is how I wake up pretty much every morning - well maybe there are no baseball bats. You see, the problem is that our cats are all on diets these days. Tippy, Pumpkin and Gabriel are all getting on a bit (not that I would ever dare to say that to them!), and now that their primary hobbies include napping, moving to find some better sun, and then curling up in said sun for more napping, Eliza and I have had to put all three gentlemen on "slimming" diets.

They eat twice a day, at 8am and 8pm - not counting the food they steal from our Golden Retriever Willow, who is still enough of a puppy that her dish is always full (oh how the injustice of that burns our cats sense of superiority!). As far as I can tell, getting fed early has become the one great mission in life for all three of them. This isn't such a big deal in the evening - I can pretty much resist the icy stares, the indignant meows and even Tippy's patented "dozer" protest, which consists of headbutting things off the kitchen table until we feed him. Yes indeed, I can meet the cold stares with indifferent resolve (most of the time, anyway) - but the mornings are a completely different story!

The cats begin their nightly campaign about 90 minutes before meal time. So they start to get warmed up around 6:30pm for dinner - and 6:30am or earlier for breakfast. Now 6:30am is when I am typically trying to soak up the last few minutes of precious sleep before my workday begins. You'd think they would respect that. But do they care that I work late most nights and need all the rest I can get?

Nope.

I could go into detail about the elaborate (nay, diabolical)plans they hatch to wake me up every morning, but I think the video above pretty much covers it - with one important difference - - - the lucky human in the video only has ONE cat to cope with - I have THREE of them, acting in concert!

This morning was particularly bad.

It is now 8:40pm, and there they are - standing at my feet staring at me greedily, implacably. They know perfectly well that they have already been fed, but here they are looking at me with eyes that say, "But we're soooo hungry! If we die of starvation, it's on your head, McEmrys!" And now Gabriel, my Siamese cat, who is strong in the ways of the Force, is trying to fix me with his cold blue eyes..."Be in my eyes", he purrs, "Be in my eyes...."

But I will be strong. I will. I really will.....

Eating Dirt

2008-02-05T13:41:00.000-07:00

My daughter Zoe is a graceful and quickly growing girl of almost ten. Although not afraid to get good and dirty on occasion, she increasingly prefers to feel clean and to look good – often by carefully accessorizing with as many feathers and sparkles as possible.

But it was not always so.

When she was a very little girl (as opposed to the burgeoning ‘tween’ I see sprouting up before my eyes), Zoe liked to eat dirt. Not just boring old everyday backyard dirt all by itself, mind you – but rather dirt as a condiment – a soft dusting like brown powdered sugar coating the smooth round pebbles she couldn’t get enough of. Zoe would hunt for these perfect stones or mummified pieces of wood with all the care of a truffle hunter.

They had to be just so.

Once she found a good one – into her mouth it would go like a forbidden treasure. And forbidden they were, as (without any particularly convincing rationale) her mother and I would make her spit them out whenever we caught her and then shoo her into the house to rinse out her mouth.

Zoe got pretty good at hiding the dirty pebbles in her mouth, and could even hold full conversations without giving herself away. But there was always one sure giveaway - a faint dirt-ring around her otherwise secretive mouth. That, combined with a somewhat furtive cast to her eyes would almost always result in an exchange like this:

“Zoe, do you have a rock in your mouth?”
“No.”
“Really? You are sure there’s nothing in there?”
“Nope.”
“Open your mouth.”
“Noooo!”
“Come on, Zoe – open up.”

And so on.
I’m sure this kind of exchange is all-too familiar to some of you out there.

The reason I am writing about this today is because I have always cherished these memories. To this day, there is something in me that associates dirt-eating with something innocent and mysterious – something incomprehensible to adults yet packed with hidden secrets and inscrutable meanings. It reminds me of my daughter, and fills me with love.

(And honey, if you are reading this I hope it isn’t too embarrassing!)
But this week, dirt-eating came back to me in a much darker way, reminding me of all the blessings in my life that make dirt-eating something I think about with warmth and a vague sense of nostalgic yearning.

Jonathan Katz, of the Associated Press, recently filed a story with the unbearably grim headline, “Poor Haitians Resort to Eating Dirt.” His story unearths (forgive my gallows humor there) some of the human costs of skyrocketing global food prices on the poor – who now, as always, make up the majority of the human race. You can read his article in full here: http://www.usatoday.com/news/world/2008-01-29-haiti-dirt_N.htm

Katz points out that because of a lethal combination of factors – from rising fuel costs to the surge in converting land and crops formerly used for food production to feed the sizzling bio-fuel market – food prices have risen almost 37% globally in the past year and over 40% in Haiti, which is already one of the poorest nations in the world.

So poor Haitians have begun eating dirt.

It’s not just a matter of scattered and especially poverty-stricken people squatting desperately in the dirt, eating compulsively just to feed their endlessly empty stomachs – no – this is a much deeper and more enduring phenomena – so deep and so enduring that a whole industry (such as it is) is growing up around it!

Call it the Dirt-Cookie Industry.
The cookies are made of a more-or-less digestible dirt from the center of the island, which is hauled to markets in many of Haiti’s slums and shanty-towns, where it is mixed with vegetable shortening and salt before being left out to bake in the sun. The cookies are a relative bargain, at about 5 cents each, which is still a significant sum in a country where over 80% of the population lives on less than $2USD per day.

Women bake the cookies on rooftops and then head out into the crowded streets with baskets full of the only kind of meal many of their customers may eat in a week.

And so it goes…

In a world full of appalling news, this one has hit me harder than most. I just can’t get past the contrast between memories of my little girl with an innocent dirt-ring around her mouth – and the brutal, devastating and oh-so guilty dirt-rings that our collective addiction to consumption has consigned so many other little girls to – little girls who may never live to grow up, go to school, fall in love or any of the other things that we can so easily take for granted.

I do believe that we are responsible here. Call it what you will: rising oil prices, fluctuating global markets – whatever. Call it what you will. It still boils down to our endless “First World” appetites. The price of oil rises as we suck it from the Earth to power our empty-bellied cars. But rather than cut our consumption we try to instead increase fuel production, converting food resources into fuel resources. This, combined with our oil-addiction, predictably drives up food prices all over the world – and voila! – the Haitian Dirt-Cookie Industry is born!

Now I know that many of us try hard to live responsibly, even when it is hard. That’s a good thing, and not to be sniffed at. I know we will do more and more and more as we move into the future – but I hope we will begin to do so with an ever-greater sense of urgency because this story, like all stories, reminds me that we are not trying to engage in a struggle to solve abstract problems or “issues” – but to save lives – real living breathing loving lives that hang in the balance right now.

In this regard we are indeed fortunate to live in the time and place that we do. The problems facing our world are complex and multi-faceted, with countless variables to contend with. But how fortunate we are to be born into the one society in the history of the world that has such unprecedented power to affect all those variables and to influence so many outcomes in so many ways!!!

This fills me with hope.

I want to live in a world where if people eat dirt, it is for the same kinds of innocently inscrutable reasons my daughter did so long ago, and not because they will die without it.

I feel grateful and blessed to be right where I am in our society, and not only because of all the privilege I was born with, but because I know I – We – have the power and freedom (and responsibility) to leverage that privilege to transform our lives and our world into one where the idea of a Dirt-Cookie Industry is simply laughable.

“He has considerable advantage over athletes without prosthetic limbs.”

2008-01-18T12:15:00.000-07:00

These words, by sports-scientist Gert-Peter Brueggemann, refer to South African runner Oscar Pistorius, who has been doing his level best to qualify for the next summer Olympics, despite the fact that he has no natural legs below his knees.

Pistorius was born without the fibula in his lower legs and with other serious defects in his feet, which led to a double amputation. He now uses special carbon-fiber “Cheetah” legs, which are shaped like the letter “J” – mimicking the speedy feline namesake.

In the last couple years, the young South African has literally leapt onto the big stage of international track and field, where his times make him a serious contender for the Olympic Games.

But wait, there’s a hitch. A big one.

The International Association of Athletics (IAAF) has just ruled that Pistorius will not be allowed to compete in the Olympics no matter how well he runs – because his prosthetic limbs are deemed to give him an unfair advantage over his able-bodied competitors.

Believe me, I do understand all the scientific arguments used to exclude Pistorius. His cheetah legs are brilliantly designed and engineered, built for running in a way that ordinary human legs are not. Sure – I get it.

But I think there is a good deal here that Pistorius’ (presumably) able-bodied judges and critics do not understand about what it is like to live with disability. As someone who lives every day with disability (while certainly not in the same ballpark as Oscar’s), I think I can say with some confidence that nobody who has not experienced the life-long challenges of disability can possibly understand what many of us face every day – things that go far beyond the mechanics of how we get from place to place.

Let me give you a personal example. As some of you may know, I am almost completely paralyzed from the right knee down and partially paralyzed from the left knee down, with spotty paralysis elsewhere in my lower body. This is all the result of a bad bike accident I had as a teenager. Ever since then I have had to wear a variety of hard plastic braces on my right foot to stabilize and protect it. I really can’t do much without them.

Most of the time, my condition puts me at something of a disadvantage in sports. I fence, play tennis, soccer and bike mostly, all sports that are movement and leg intensive. But in soccer, my brace, despite slowing me down and making me somewhat less maneuverable – also gives me certain advantages.

The brace is made of a hard plastic, molded to the back of my calf and the bottom of my foot. So when I kick a soccer ball the right way, my kick is supported and strengthened by the plastic rigidity of the brace inside my shoe. So I can kick with surprising power. But I rarely do this, really boot it – because my foot is paralyzed, and the harder I kick, the harder it is to control the ball – which is already very difficult. Imagine kicking a ball and feeling nothing in your foot or lower leg! So yes, I do have a mechanical strength advantage – but it is an advantage tempered and offset by other very real challenges.

Another advantage I have is also strength-related. In soccer there can be a lot of contact. Lots of scrabbling and jostling for the ball. Accidentally (or sometimes not) kicking an opponent or being kicked is a very regular occurrence – all part of the game. But when someone winds up and gives me a good hard kick to the right leg – their foot will more likely than not connect to the hard plastic shell I wear! The player will often end up holding their bruised toes and grimacing while I go on about my merry way, feeling nothing. Of course the reason I feel nothing is not only because of the brace, but because of my paralysis – which makes me less maneuverable and more prone to injuries (which take way longer to heal than they do for many of my competitors due to lack of circulation). The brace also forces me to work much harder than my opponents because I have to push against the brace with every step – there is only resistance for me, no free movement, nothing easy.

So – I clearly have some mechanical advantages. Should I be kicked out of my local rec. league? Should I join a league for people “like me?”

Once again, I understand that my situation and Pistorius’ is like apples and organs in many ways, and I do not presume to speak for whatever challenges he may face every day, out of public view. But I am quite sure that he has them, whether he wants to share them with his critics or not. Not that they would change their views one whit. Probably his candor would simply leave Oscar feeling humiliated and full of the sense of bitter futility that many people with disabilities report as part of their regular diet.

Should this way of “leveling the playing field” not be extended to its logical conclusions? If people are concerned about Pistorius’ mechanical advantages, then it seems only fair to remove other kinds of advantage as well. What about the level of training and support that American athletes often have compared to athletes from the developing world? In terms of diet, training and financial and material support, don’t American athletes have a ferocious advantage over their fellow-athletes from the Ivory Coast or Haiti, for example?

I recently took my daughter to watch the US Women’s Soccer team play against the Ukrainian National team. It was super fun for both of us, of course, and we were fascinated to see that every single member of the US team were wearing special contact lenses (donated and designed by Nike, I believe) which mitigated all the various effects of the sun! Surely this would have to fall into the category of a serious mechanical and financial advantage.

What is it that makes an amputee’s prosthetic limbs a more serious “advantage” than many of the other advantages that some athletes always seem to have over others!?

It seems likely that Pistorius’ cheetah legs do give him mechanical advantages in some ways, but the road he has to travel, and has had to travel for his whole life are far beyond what most athletes can comprehend. Tireless will, courage, strength and resilience are characteristic of all people who excel in life the way Oscar does – but he has to do it in a society where he must not only overcome his own physical challenges, but the challenges of a profoundly “able-ist” culture.

The human body is glorified everywhere in our culture, but most profoundly at the Olympic Games - and Pistorius has been found wanting. The greater glory and reward must of course go to those who represent the perfection of the human body – not the pursuit of perfection despite the perfectly beautiful and ordinary shortcomings of the human body.

No, that is a completely different category – the Paralympics. Of course Paralympians are every bit as gifted and driven as their Olympian counterparts, and the level of competition is every bit as intense (check out the wonderful documentary “Murderball” for just one example of this). So Pistorius should be content with that right? He should be happy and proud to compete against “his own kind”, not against the best of the best – which sometimes (gasp!) includes people without disabilities!

He wants to run against the best of the best, like every runner does. Seems pretty reasonable to me. And besides, the Paralympics, despite plenty of lip service, needed a lawsuit to force the Olympic Committee to even begin to support the travel and training of Paralympians in the most minimal ways compared to their fellow Olympians. When was the last time you turned on ESPN and saw live coverage and the Paralympics?

Meanwhile, able-bodied athletes are dropping like flies in doping scandal after doping scandal – but many more are not dropping at all, and continue their careers scot free. Other than putting an asterix next to their names in the record books, how has any of this affected Barry Bonds or Mark McGuire? How many millions of their dollars have they had to return to the innocent wallets of the fans?

Congress has been listening with great interest and moral outrage to the findings of the most recent report about doping in baseball, but are any athletes actually being punished, aside from a somewhat tricky PR mess for their handlers to try and rescue them from? Many of these players, in baseball and other sports can continue to cash their immense paychecks and play their games – but Oscar Pistorius is ruled ineligible to compete at all!

Are they afraid that if they allow him to compete, athletes will begin amputating their own limbs to catch up to his competitive advantage? If they are willing to take illegal performance-enhancing drugs that destroy their bodies and their psyches – surely losing a limb would be a small price to pay for victory! Yet I have not heard anything about anyone buying a do-it-yourself amputation kit on the internet. Nobody wants to trade places with Oscar Pistorius. They just want to keep him out of the Olympics.

I would find it all laughable if I were not so offended.

I say let him run. And if he wins – then fine, go ahead and put an asterix next to his name. But let Oscar Pistorius run. Let all of us run.

That's the Way the Ball Bounces

2008-01-16T14:01:00.000-07:00

Hello Sports fans,

On January 8th, your favorite neighborhood UU soccer team played in its first Denver Championship game. Although a couple of our Chicago teams had also made it to the finals, no UUNITED team had ever brought home the (imaginary) trophy - a pattern fated to continue for at least another season.

Yes, we lost. 8-7 in a hard-fought match that we could have (perhaps should have) won had the ball bounced this way instead of that way. We were even cheered on by our very own pep band! John Hubert (music director at First Universalist) and our friend Kevin Lowery kept us pumped with trombone and bugle pep-versions of such favorites as "Spirit of Life."

But alas, it was not to be...

Still, we finished in second place, and were rewarded with the dubious honor of being promoted to the first division, where we will likely be playing against a whole new level of competition. So far though, being in the upper division has been pretty nice. We are undefeated after one glorious match - that our opponents didn't show up for (literally)!

So instead of a formal match, our team divided up and had a good tough intra-squad scrimmage for an hour, which definately beats trying to practice on our usual field, which (as I look at it from my office window) is covered in ice, snow and lots and lots of goose poop.

On a related note to all you loyal fans out there - my sources inform me that our UUNITED Pep band is putting together a much more ambitious song list for this season, including many of the hits that made high school pep rallies so...er...unforgettable. So watch the Unigram for our season schedule - be there or be square.

Aaron

UUNITED Wins, One Step Closer to Glory!

2007-12-19T09:07:00.000-07:00

"UUNITED."
"Championship."

These are two words I never expected to see in the same sentance, but now, after a gutsy victory in the playoffs last night - we are on the brink.

We were all relishing the prospect of a rematch against our arch-rivals, "More Cowbell", who beat us 9-8 in a excellent down to the wire match last time we faced them. They scored the go-ahead to beat us with only seconds left on the clock - and we have been waiting for another shot at them ever since.

Cowbell is a fun team to play against: our two teams are evenly matched, and their players are competitive but fun, good people. Still, they finished the regular season in first place, while we dropped to fourth. But we knew we could take 'em.

The game was just as we left off last time - VERY closely fought. The first half was a defensive standoff, with neither team able to crack the opposing defense. We finally scored toward the end of the first half, on a brilliant goal by Jen (assisted, as we are so accustomed to, by Morten). But a one goal lead on a team as good as Cowbell is not enough, and sure enough, they equalized just a few minutes later. After that, the game sped up and so did the scoring. Our passing was patient and crisp, our defense resilient and our offense on target - sooo fun!

But every time we would pull ahead, they would come right back with a goal of their own. It wasn't until the final ten minutes or so that we pulled ahead for good, ultimately winning 5-3. It was a great game. Our win is all the sweeter because not only did we get avenge our earlier loss against Cowbell, but now, having beaten the #1 team - we are advancing to the Championship Match for the first time!! It's all been part of a pretty exciting learning curve for us - last season, we finished dead last in our league (although we all had fun doing it!!), and now - here we are...

We will play for Championship glory (such as it is) on January 8th, so send us plenty of good vibes. We will have a cheering section there (which has steadily grown through the season), so if you have some free time and want to come out to support the team, email me and I can give you time/directions.

Go UUNITED!!

UUNITED Soccer Team Begins Playoff Run

2007-12-17T22:06:00.000-07:00

That's right, UU sports fans, our soccer team is poised for an epic run deep into the Division C Coed Recreational Indoor Soccer record books! Although we are left in 3rd place at the end of the regular season, we can still climb higher by playing well in the playoffs. It will not be an easy task, as we will have to overcome such storied franchises as "Nice Marmot", "Structurally Damaged" and "We Practice at the Pub!"

I can't say for sure whether we will win or lose, sports fans, but I can promise you this - 1) we will play hard, and 2) we will continue our noble tradition of looking really, really good in our spiffy blue uniforms!

Our first playoff game is tomorrow night at 8:40MST - wish us luck.

UUA Worker Justice Handbook

2007-12-04T14:50:00.001-07:00

Howdy, all,

My new Worker Justice Handbook for congregations has just been published by the Unitarian Universalist Association. You can find it by going to the Leaders Library at the main UUA website: http://www.uua.org/leaders/leaderslibrary/index.php, choosing Social Justice as the topic, and then scrolling down the page to the Handbooks. The direct link is: http://www.uua.org/documents/mcemrysaaron/power_union.pdf.

Please share this broadly. This resource certainly does not contain all the answers, but I do hope it can help point congregations in the right direction.

Peace to you, Aaron

Cautiva

2007-11-29T11:55:00.001-07:00

Last night I watched “Cautiva”, a film by Argentinean Director Gaston Biraben. It is a fictionalized re-telling (based on actual events) of the story of a teenage girl who discovers that the adults who have raised her for fifteen years are not actually her parents.
Her real parents, she discovers, were just a couple of young architects who spoke out against the US-backed military dictatorship of Augusto Pinochet. They were kidnapped and imprisoned in a “clandestine prison” know as “The Cave”, where they were tortured and later killed. Her mother was pregnant at the time, and the military brought her into a hospital one night blindfolded and near death – to give birth. She was born on that incredible day in 1978 when Argentina won the World Cup. All the world’s eyes were fixed on Argentina – but they saw nothing but soccer. The child was then given away to a politically-connected Chief of Police, who raised her as his daughter.

Her real parents were never seen or heard from again.

The girl must then slowly work through her confusion, grief and rage at what she has lost – not only her “real” parents, who have joined the ranks of “The Disappeared” forever, but also the only parents she has ever known - who, for all their sins – raised her and loved her as their own. You can link to a review here:
http://www.boston.com/movies/display?display=movie&id=5095

This film would have struck a chord in me under any circumstances, but all of this has hit me in a chain of coincidence, and the cumulative effect is a strong one.

Last week, driving home from work, I was listening to NPR and heard the woman (grown up now) who is obviously the source of Cautiva (I did not know this until I saw the movie) being interviewed. She works for the archives of the disappeared now – trying to help families of the 30,000+ Disappeared find out what became of their loved ones. She also helps other families track down the hundreds (perhaps thousands) of children who were forcibly taken away from their families in the secret prisons and given to military and political families friendly to the regime who wanted babies of their own. Almost all of the torturers and kidnappers were later given blanket amnesty for their crimes – and can never be brought to justice.

But just TWO weeks before that I had seen another film, “Machuca”, by Andres Wood, which also deals with this period of Argentinean history. Machuca is a truly brilliant (and heartbreaking) film about two boys coming of age at the same time as the military dictatorship seized power. I cannot recommend this one highly enough, but it is not for the weak of heart – very hard to watch at times. You can read a review here: http://movies.nytimes.com/2005/01/19/movies/19mach.html

So for weeks now I have been coincidentally reflecting on this particular kind of inhumanity: The Disappeared, routine torture, baby-stealing, and clandestine prisons. Of course I cannot help but draw parallels between Argentina’s darkest days and the days our country in enduring today.

Do we not have our own clandestine prisons? How many people have entered US custody never to be heard from again? How many families, how many children will have to live the rest of their lives never knowing what happened to Father, Uncle, Brother?

And then there is torture. Whatever that is.

Definitions of torture slip and slide, grinning in the shadows like a drooling beast. This is nothing new – this is a kind of inhumanity that can only live under cover of darkness and deceit. Many of our politicians will not even tell us what “Torture” is – as that would compromise National security. Instead they just say, over and over again – that the United States does not engage in torture. Never mind that they changed the definition of the word so they could do as they please.

Even when asked directly about specific forms of “enhanced interrogation”, Michael Mukasey, the new head of the Justice Department, refused to say whether or not Waterboarding constitutes torture. This has become a common refrain.

But novelist Stephen King recently came up with an excellent (if horrific) litmus test for torture – would you subject yourself to it? Your family? His point is that we cannot definitively know whether or not Waterboarding constitutes torture because we have not personally experienced it. Only one official in the Justice Department has subjected himself to Waterboarding – and although he had initially been in favor of it, he revered himself, declaring that - based on his personal experience – it was torture. He was later fired for refusing to lie to the press and to Congress about his experience.

So here’s what Stephen King suggested in a recent interview with Time Magazine:

If the Bush administration didn’t think it was torture, they ought to do some personal investigation. Someone in the Bush family should actually be waterboarded so they could report on it to George. I said, I didn’t think he would do it, but I suggested Jenna be waterboarded and then she could talk about whether or not she thought it was torture.

You can read it in context here: http://thelede.blogs.nytimes.com/2007/11/28/ashcroft-takes-waterboarding-bait-to-no-avail/index.html?ex=1353992400&en=332ebc2db936114d&ei=5088&partner=rssnyt&emc=rss?

Certainly King’s suggestion sounds horrific – but is it really? The idea of subjecting an “innocent” person to Waterboarding just to determine whether or not it constitutes torture sounds awful. But remember, by all accounts, MANY of the human beings currently held in secret prisons by the United States have not been charged with any crime – are they not also innocent until proven guilty?

It sounds ridiculous to think of Waterboarding a “person”, someone we know or can see ourselves in. But what about faceless people? What about people we have come to see as less than human? As animals or monsters? “Terrorists”, “Jews”, “Blacks”, “Gays” – all of these words have been (and still are) used to strip away the humanity of living breathing human beings so that other living breathing human beings can do horrible things to them.

To torture, to kidnap, to steal children, to carpet bomb – the only way we can do ANY of these things is by refusing to acknowledge the humanity of the people we are destroying. This, to me, is the terrible danger we invite when we confine our national debate to the abstract world of ideas, concepts and data. Without stories, without the voices of real people – including all the voices of The Disappeared – we are doomed to continue to replay our darkest legacies over and over again – Nazi Germany, Argentina, Bosnia, Rwanda, Sudan and the United States of America.

For more information about the effects of torture, check out the Rocky Mountain Survivors Center. They are the only organization in Colorado devoted to treating victims of torture. Here is a link to their website: http://www.rmscdenver.org/

Winter Wonderland

2007-11-27T09:56:00.000-07:00

It’s just another Tuesday morning, yet I find myself feeling especially refreshed and ready to seize the day (week, month…). It’s hard to imagine that less than twenty-four hours ago I was hiking with friends in Rocky Mountain National Park, truly one of the great wonders of the world.

Eliza, Willow (our golden retriever) and I left Denver early Saturday morning. The back of my truck loaded with snowshoeing gear (which we didn't get the use, unfortunately), games and lots and lots of tasty food. We were headed up to the Estes Park YMCA, where we had rented a cabin for a long post-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving.

We began with a good hike through Eldorado Canyon outside of Boulder. Eldo is usually a rock-climbers mecca, but between the ice, snow and breathtakingly cold rocks, we had the canyon more or less to ourselves. Willow snarfled away with her usual abandon and seemed somewhat surprised that none of the squirrels wanted to come down and play with her. The sun was bright and direct on the trail, so our path was melting and clear – but everywhere else remained blanketed with six or seven inches of new snow. Beautiful.

A few hours later we all piled back into the truck and continued up into the mountains. We got to our cabin just before dark, met our friends and headed out on yet another hike – this time a riverside amble in the growing twilight. Just as we were thinking we needed to head back to beat the darkness – a giant spotlight of a full moon rose above the mountains, casting bright silver moon shadows. Our walk home was as slow and leisurely as possible, as none of us were eager to leave the moon light.
Back at the cabin we started cooking – I prepared two giant pots of chile (one veggie, one not) and Eliza whipped up some of her excellent cornbread. Some other friends of ours were staying elsewhere in Estes Park that night and they all came by for dinner, bringing a fresh batch of Pat’s homebrewed beer (a java-stout, which was amazing as always). We had all put in a full day of hiking, so the food went fast.

After dinner we broke out the big box ‘o games (I used to own a game store and have lots and lots of strange and wonderful games) and broke into ever-changing configurations of game-playing and spectating. We were all tuckered out by the late hour of 10pm or so, and that was the end of that.

We were up early the next morning for a big pancake breakfast. After piling on our many layers of warm and waterproof cloths we were ready to hit the trail head. There isn’t much I can say about the hike itself. Rocky Mountain National Park is so breathtakingly beautiful that words inevitably fail me. You’ll just have to take my word for it – it was great! We hiked up Glacier Gorge, past Alberta Falls, to “The Loch”, a fantastic alpine lake nestled in a vast bowl of towering cliffs and under the watchful eye of Andrews Glacier. The lake was frozen as solid as can be, and before long we were all taking running leaps out onto the ice, slipping and sliding across the frozen water and laughing like children. Even with the icy wind whipping across the lake at us, we couldn’t bring ourselves to stop sliding – “okay, ONE more time….okay, THIS is the very last one…” I can’t speak for anyone else, but I definitely rediscovered the twelve year-old boy inside of me – and I have the bruises to prove it!

By the time we were ready to head back down the mountain, the sun had returned with that particular glow that only seems to happen on perfect late-afternoons. The rocks were warming up (relatively speaking) and we paused more than once to just lay on the rocks and bask.

Hours later we were ready for more chili, more games in front of the crackling fire and then dinner number two – homemade pizza! By the time we finished with the pizza none of us could keep our eyes open anymore and it was bedtime again – at around 9:30 or so.

And so the cycle continued until it was time to come home again last night: back to the world of voicemail, email, laundry, bills and staff meetings. I have to admit, I always feel a certain amount of reluctance (and even dread) when it is time to come back to the world again – but here I am at the office, full of energy and excitement and gratitude. I have so much to be Thankful for (my soccer team even won this week, for a change!!). I feel so alive – just filled with the wonder of things.

There is Power in the (YRUU) Spirit

2007-11-20T19:00:00.001-07:00

I recently had the good fortune to join some of your Youth at a weekend-long workshop on spirituality and worship. It was great to be able to spend all that time with them away from all my other responsibilities. I was there for one reason only – to be with them.
But if any part of me started the weekend by thinking of it as something I would do for them – I quickly discovered how much they have to teach me, and how much we could do together.

It was a “working Con”, which means just what it sounds like – we spent most of our time working. We talked a lot about spirituality, religion and worship, of course, but we also spent a lot of time doing worship. Our group was divided into smaller groups of six or seven youth who took turns designing and leading all kinds of different worship services.

Every single time I was struck by the sincerity, creativity and affirming quality of their services. Much of what they did was ritual-centered, and the rituals were invariably brave and powerful. We adults, for all of our good qualities, often shy away from the use of ritual. Maybe we are afraid: all good ritual entails risk, opening up deeply and honestly. Or maybe it is too hard for us to call a time-out on our relentless analyzing and just be.

At any rate, working with the Youth that weekend reminded me for the gazillionth time how important it is to create opportunities for people of all ages to share their gifts in our communities. Working with those Youth reminded me how much richer my life and ministry are because they are part of my community.

One ritual we designed took advantage of a lovely pool of water in front of the church we were staying at (Cheyenne, WY). After beginning the service in a darkened room, the worship team led us out into the bright Wyoming sunshine in a slow, serpentine line, accompanied by deep, steady drum-beats. We were very conscious of our breathing and of all the sensations and feelings we were experiencing.

When we got to the pool, we formed two parallel lines about shoulder-width apart. The two rows linked hands above the “aisle”, making a kind of human arch. The people on the end then walked to the pool through the arch. They washed their faces, or sprinkled water or gave a little splash as they invited the healing, loving and nurturing abundance of water into their lives.

It was great.Later, we turned the gym (yes, a church with a full sized gym!!) into an indoor soccer pitch and had an excellent and nearly endless match featuring ever-shifting players and teams and LOTS of near-hysterical laughter.

I didn’t sleep a whole lot at night (the floor agrees with me less than it used to), but I nonetheless returned to Denver and my ministry feeling refreshed and renewed and full of new ideas.

Thanks.

UUs Hike to End Slavery in Mauretania

2007-11-20T12:56:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday was a beautiful day. The sky was clear and the air balmy (by our arid Colorado standards!) and warm. In short, the perfect day to go for a hike with my dog - - and seventy-five other UUs and friends!

But we weren’t hiking at Mt. Falcon just for fun – although it was fun – very! We were hiking to raise awareness of the ongoing practice of slavery in the nation of Mauretania, where the number of chattel slaves in Mauritania is very high, making up between 15% to 20% of the entire population! Mauritania is one of the few countries in the world where slavery continues as a common social practice. Despite repeated anti-slavery legislation, the laws have never been enforced. Today, slavery continues in Mauritania, much as it has done for centuries.

In addition to raising awareness, we were also hiking to raise money to support a micro-credit lending program that helps formerly enslaved families begin to build independent and sustainable lives in freedom.

And did I mention it was a beautiful day?! Sometimes you really can have it all…

Anyway, we all gathered at the trailhead and I was thrilled to see how many families were there – moms, dads, kids and yes, even dogs – were there to hike for freedom and possibility – putting their family values in action!

We began by forming a large circle, each of us holding onto long ropes that both united us in community and also symbolized our solidarity with people in bondage everywhere. We then set off on our ambling journey.

The hike itself was lots of fun, with laughter and voices of all ages echoing off the rocks. When we got to the half-way point of our hike, we formed a circle again and shared a time of silent reflection. We then raised the rope high above our heads and, yelling “Freedom!” – we threw our symbolic bonds to the ground, accompanied by our hopes and prayers that someday everybody’s shackles will be broken and fall away and that all people would someday feel as free and joyful as we did in that moment on top of Mt. Falcon.

Everyone scattered to walk and play and explore after that. A few minutes later I noticed a group of children had taken up the ropes that used to shackle us and were using them as giant jump-ropes! It was wonderful – and I cannot imagine a more apt and hopeful metaphor. May that day come soon!!! “And a child shall lead them.”

In the end, we raised about $1000, which should help 5-7 families begin their new lives in freedom. May their lives be blessed, peaceful and full of love.

Hopefully this is just the first of a series of such events, so keep your eyes peeled for upcoming opportunities. You will be able to find updates and other interesting material at the Slave Free Mauretania website, which can be found here: http://slave-free-mauritania.org/default.aspx

I also want to take the opportunity to thank Phil McCready for the amazing job he has done with the project. He has been working on this for months, and although many people have contributed to making it a success – it is his vision and determination which have driven us forward. Thank you, Phil!

Fixing What's Broken: Reclaiming the NLRB for American Families

2007-11-20T11:35:00.000-07:00

Hello, all, what follows is a speech I gave last week at a worker's rights rally outside the offices of the National Labor Relations Board in downtown Denver. The NLRB is the Federal agency responsible for enforcing all labor laws in this country and for protecting the health and safety of working people.

While most NLRB agents I have met are perfectly good people, doing their best to impartially enforce the law, the NLRB Board of Governors are White House political appointees. These political appointees have systemically sought to erode, undermine and reverse the very laws they are called to serve.

This rally was just one of many rallies in cities across America calling for reform of the NLRB and a return to the humane and democratic values we cherish.

Fixing What's Broken: Reclaiming the NLRB for American Families

Delivered on a National Day of Action in Protest of Bush’s “September Steamroll.”
November 15, 2007

Debbie was a dietary clerk in a cafeteria. A union organizing campaign had begun and was quickly beginning to make huge progress is almost every department. Debbie was part of the organizing committee and had begun organizing the rest of the workers in the cafeteria.

Her work wasn’t hard. The cafeteria was chronically understaffed, and workers were expected to routinely work through their lunch breaks and even stay after their shifts – but were not allowed to mark it on their timesheets. Workers who did mark their extra hours had their timesheets “corrected” by their abusive manager. Lots of women had complained about his inappropriate touching through the years, so now that the union was in town, the workers were ready to go.

Needless to say, Debbie’s manager was not happy about the way she was stirring her co-workers up. Soon after, Debbie was interviewed about the organizing campaign by a local paper. She was always a bit of a hot head and she did not mince words about how she felt about the anti-union campaign or about the lack of respect management showed to her and her co-workers.

Two days after the story ran, Debbie was fired. A single mom, struggling with cancer, had just lost her job and her health insurance in one blow.

I was confident we would be able to get her job back. It is illegal to fire workers for their union activities and there were lots of other serious problems here as well. She had been disciplined for falsifying her timesheets – which really just meant for actually writing down the truth – that she had not been taking her breaks. To make matters worse, no one ever told her she was being disciplined – they just put the write-ups in her file without telling her. When they got to that magic third write-up, they terminated her.

Debbie was devastated, as you can imagine. I had always been honest with the workers about the fact that they could be punished or fired for supporting the union, but in Debbie’s case, I was confident because the law-breaking was so blatant. I just kept telling her it would be okay. To make matters worse, she had to have an emergency hysterectomy just two days after losing her job. She was terrified.

I went ahead with the process of filing Unfair Labor Practice charges. The process took months, and meanwhile every day was a day of worry and fear for Debbie and her daughter. In the end, after over six months of struggle, the Board ruled in favor of the employer, without giving any explanation that made any sense (legal or moral) to us. Debbie’s life was in ruins. Too sick with cancer to get a new job, Debbie somehow kept going, scrapping from day to day on food stamps and maxed out credit cards.

I was outraged! I was all ready to appeal to the next level when I had an interesting conversation with the NLRB agent who had been supervising our case. He told me how sorry he was, and advised me not to appeal. He said the higher up the NLRB food chain you went, the more political it got. Once you started dealing with the political appointees you had no chance at all, no matter how strong your case was. He also said that many of the regional and local employees had already been pressured or disciplined for ruling in favor of workers too often and had been ordered to stop – or else.

I appealed anyway, and was denied without explanation. That was in 2002, shortly after the rise to power of the Bush Administration, who had stacked the NLRB Board of Governor’s with corporate minions and political hacks. That was when I realized that the National Labor Relations Board had turned almost overnight, into the National Employer Relations Board.

I know it isn’t my fault, but I have always felt I let Debbie down. To this day I can see the look on her face when I had to tell her the bad news. Ever since that day, I have promised myself that I would do anything I could to share Debbie’s story and to fight to reform the NLRB. I am glad to be here with you today my sisters and brothers!

I wish I could tell you that Debbie’s story is an isolated one, but I can’t. There are literally hundreds of thousands of Debbie’s out there right now – waiting for justice that may never come. Since George W. Bush and his cronies began stacking the Board with their friends, they have effectively dismantled, distorted and undermined the only institution in the United States whose job it is to enforce labor laws and to insure justice for workers.

We live in a nation where 1 out of every five union activists will be illegally fired during a union drive, but where employers are seldom punished for breaking the law. We live in a nation where the union election process is even less democratic than in totalitarian states like the Ukraine and Armenia.

As University of Oregon Professor Gordon Lafer writes:

“At every step of the way, from the beginning to an end of a union election, NLRB procedures fail to live up to the standards of US democracy. Apart from the use of secret ballots, there is not a single aspect of the NLRB process that does not violate the norms we hold sacred for political elections. The unequal access to voter lists, the absence of financial controls, monopoly control of both media and campaigning within the workplace, the use of economic power to force participation in political meetings, the tolerance of thinly disguised threats, open-ended delays in implementing the results on an election - all of these things constitute a profound departure from the norms that have governed US democracy since its inception”[1]

We live in a nation where it now takes the NLRB over five and a half years to resolve the cases that it refers to as the “highest priority” cases, and where even workers whose claims are supported by the board may have to wait literally decades to get any back pay at all. We live in a nation where the NLRB, the sole agency responsible for insuring the rights of a couple hundred million American workers, has had its budget slashed so badly that its current staffing levels are roughly the same as they were in the 1950s even though claims have skyrocketed.

We cannot blame our local NLRB folks too much for these endless delays when we are living in a nation where a Federal program to promote sport fishing has an annual budget that is significantly larger than that of the entire National Labor Relations Board! We live in a nation where Janet Jackson can be fined $550,000 for her Superbowl wardrobe “malfunction”, but the NLRB is allowed to fine employers exactly nothing for willfully bribing, threatening, assaulting or firing pro-union employees.

But Bush’s Board has been very busy lately. In the month of September alone, the NLRB has issued a whopping sixty-one decisions, the vast majority of which are anti-worker: making it harder than ever to collect back pay, making it easier for employers to discriminate against union organizers and making it much harder to form a union in the first place.

This, my brothers and sisters, is the nation we are living in.

But what is the NLRB supposed to be doing? Enforcing the National Labor Relations Act! That’s it – that’s their only job. Let me tell you what the law actually says:

“It is declared to be the policy of the United States to encourage the practice and procedure of collective bargaining and to protect the exercise by workers of full freedom of association, self-organization, and designation of representatives of their own choosing, for the purpose of negotiating the terms and conditions of their employment or other mutual aid or protection.”[2]

That’s it – that’s the law – “to encourage the practice and procedure of collective bargaining and to protect the exercise by workers of full freedom of association, self-organization for mutual aid or protection!” It is not our national policy just to allow unions – but to actively protect and encourage them! That’s the law!!! Has Bush’s Board even read the law they are supposed to be enforcing?

So why am I, a minister, up here talking to you about workers rights? I’ll tell you why – because in the end, all good laws are rooted in justice and in love. All good laws are designed to help us build a land where all people can live lives of dignity, peace and freedom, where all people can finally claim their inheritance as the beautiful and sacred beings they are – truly children of god.

This law, rooted in the traditional values of fairness, equality, freedom and justice – has been brutally manipulated and undermined by the very people we have entrusted with safeguarding it. This is a monstrous betrayal of our democracy and our trust – and let me tell you my friends, it is not just a legal crime, but a moral crime, and we cannot stand by for even one more day while families like Debbie’s are being tossed into the gutter for simply standing up and speaking the truth!

We cannot stand by while the Bush Board eerily echoes the book of Jeremiah, where it is written that:
26 Scoundrels are found among my people;

Like fowlers they set a trap; they catch human beings.

27Like a cage full of birds, their houses are full of treachery;therefore they have become great and rich,

28 they have grown fat and sleek.They know no limits in deeds of wickedness; they do not judge with justice and they do not defend the rights of the needy.

30An appalling and horrible thing has happened in the land."[3]

But we don’t have to stand for this! We do not have to swallow hollow rhetoric about family values without family wages; we don’t have to accept the right to life without the right to a just livelihood or basic health care; we don’t have to cheer for freedom, justice and liberty in Iraq and elsewhere while those very things are being stripped away from us at home!

Sisters and brothers, I want you to hear me now – every single faith tradition puts love and justice at the very center of creation. The teachings of the Prophet Mohammed, the Buddha, and countless others all stand with us today. Let us never forget that Jesus was not an investment banker. He was not a politician or a corporate attorney. Jesus was a carpenter – and I am willing to bet he still carries his union card with pride!

I don’t expect to be able to convert Bush’s Board to my way of thinking. I can’t make them love all human beings as my faith calls me to love them – but I do think they could at least read the law and enforce it in good faith! If they cannot or will not do that – then I say shut it down – and keep it shut down until they are ready to stop being the Bush’s Board and start being everyone’s Labor Board again!

[1] Gordon Lafer, Ph.D., “Free and AFir? How Labor Laws Fail US Democratic Standards (Washington, D.C.:American Rights at Work, 2005) p. 27
[2] National Labor Relations Act of 1935. The full text can be found here: http://www.union-organizing.com/nlra.html
[3] The Hebrew Bible, Book of Jeremiah, Chapter 5, verses 26-30

First Universalist RefUUgee Assistance Coalition (FURAC) Hits the ground Running!

2007-11-07T12:15:00.000-07:00

As many of you may know, our congregation is working with Ecumenical Refugee Services of Colorado to sponsor a Burmese refugee family that has spent the last few years living in a camp in Thailand.

Our platoon of amazing volunteers got their apartment set up with donated furnishings in the blink of an eye (really, the organizational skills astonish me!!), and now we are gearing up the real challenge – helping this eighty-four year-old grandmother and her three young grand-daughters learn to live healthy and sustainable lives in a place so alien to everything they have known.

I am especially grateful that we were able to help them get out of the camp at all. It turns out that the camp is scheduled to be shut down soon. Our government considers the project “finished” (whatever that means) – despite the recent atrocities that have rocked Burma in recent months, including the arrest, imprisonment, torture and “disappearing” of peacefully demonstrating Buddhist monks. See this New York Times article for more maddening details: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/09/30/weekinreview/30mydans.html

Our friends at ERIS tell me that any families that do not manage to leave the country by the time the camp closes will be left destitute and homeless. Needless to say, returning to their homes in Burma is not an option.

Below is an email update I got this morning when I got into the office. I could not be there at the airport when our family arrived (much to my disappointment), but reading this made me smile. I am excited to begin this new friendship.

“The family arrived last night at 1:00 AM and Gaye Beatty, Amy Anthony and Jessica Montgomerie met them and got them to their new apartment.

The girls especially seemed scared / reticent at the airport, understandably. Who knows what they thought about their three-hour, late-night delay in O'Hare? But by the time Amy and I had them settled in the apartment, they had loosened up, were smiling, and the youngest, Paw Ka Rur, was even running around the apartment. It was a wonderful sight.

The case manager, Hussain, will check in to see how they're doing "first thing today" - he may be there now, I don't know- and confirm they are safe and healthy.

They don't appear to speak English, but the girls were so shy, it's truly hard to say. The 13 year old did appear to translate a bit, and was able to spell Colorado and prompted the others to say, ‘my name is...’”

After they have had a chance to decompress, we will begin helping them get to and from their mandatory medical appointments, get through Social Security, Medicaid and other very long lines, make sure the girls get registered for school and so on. We even have an emerging group of teens and younger kids who will be helping the girls learn about “kid-stuff” in the USA. I wish I could be part of that group – sounds like the most fun of all…hopefully they will let me tag along sometimes.

Please email me if you are interested in helping this, or other refugee families, begin their new lives. We have a lot to offer, and a lot to learn. You can also check out Ecumenical Refugee Services here: http://www.ersden.org/

UUNITED Soccer Team Ends Fall Season

2007-10-31T13:37:00.000-06:00

That's right, sports-fans - the UU juggernaut that is the UUNITED soccer team has finished it's 2007 Outdoor Season! True, we ended the season with only one win (the first game of the season!), but it was a fine season nonetheless.

We played hard and often above ourselves, earning draws with much more experienced teams and losing a number of games in the final bruising seconds as the clock ran out. No matter how you look at it, I think our team definately triumphed in the "Team Spirit" and "Having Fun" departments.

From 4-foot nothing Chanida Thongplengsri's tenacious, take-no-prisoners defense of players literally twice her size to Chiles Friedman's weekly impersonation of the Energizer Bunny to Elliott Davis' on-field "Pirate" persona, every game was challenging, fun and left me counting the days before we would play again.

Each week we would end our games by awarding the honorary Captaincy to another of our scrappy and eminently deserving teammates, who would then lead us in our weekly cheer, which was first chanted almost four years ago in Chicago by the first incarnation of UUNITED:

"1-2-3

U-UNITED

YAR!!!"

(the "Yar" pirate bit was added this year by Elliott)

I always get a little depressed at the end of a season. It's like the end of a theatre production or a class or any other project - some people stick around, other people drift off - no matter how you look at it, things will no longer be the same. Always leaves me a little bit blue. In fact, back in my theatre days, I used to do my best to avoid "take-down" after a show because I found it so depressing. I handle endings much better now (perhaps I have matured somewhat), but still...

Of course I feel much better looking ahead to the coming weeks. We are switching to a Tuesday night indoor league - which will be lots of fun - and a whole new challenge. For those of you who don't know, indoor soccer is radically different than outdoor soccer. It is really a hybrid of soccer and hockey! We play on an oval turf field about the size of an ice-hockey rink. The walls are made of curved plexiglass and you can play the ball off the walls!! It's really fun, and very fast-paced; non-stop sprinting instead of the more measured endurance required by outdoor soccer.

My lungs will not be happy for the first couple weeks...

Anyway, I just want to close by thanking all my teammates (and our patiently tolerant families and cheerleaders) for one of the most fun seasons I have had yet. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

See you on the pitch!

Aaron

My Cup Runneth Over

2007-10-25T14:19:00.000-06:00

It feels funny not to have written in a while. I find myself inordinately looking forward to those stolen moments when I can add another post. This seems odd to me, since I write constantly, all the usual minister-stuff: prayers, sermons, meditations, wedding services and memorials – and yet I find myself on busy days hoping to find half-an-hour somewhere to work on my blog.

Interesting.

But today I want to begin writing about my recent Ordination into the Unitarian Universalist ministry. Although I was Ordained almost a month ago (Sept. 23, 2007), I have not been able to write about it. It’s just too big. In fact, next to my wedding, the births of my children and getting run over by a car – my ordination was probably the most powerful experience of my life.

And even now, a month later, I still don’t know how to write about it. Words fall so terribly short sometimes.

The feeling of being so supported and affirmed by so many wonderful people, the feeling of the church-walls shaking with song – the feeling of being profoundly connected to all who have come before me and to all who will follow – was simply incredible.

I remember looking out from the pulpit at everyone and seeing their faces, eyes, smiles, standing out in sharp relief. In that moment, I found myself utterly overwhelmed by a feeling of deep gratitude. I remember thinking, “Wow – so this is what Grace feels like…”

And that was all I could do for a time – just stand there, washed in the power and beauty of….everything.

I just stood there speechless (a rare occasion, for those of you who know me!). I think a funny sound of some sort tried to make its way out of my mouth – but that was all I could muster, despite the words clearly printed in front of me.

To some extent I remain speechless. Every part of it was perfect, every prayer, every song, every smile and tear. Perfect. I find myself buoyed just by thinking about it. In answer to my colleague Deborah Holder smilingly asked question, “How’s it feel to have your molecules re-arranged?” I say, “Whoa…..”

So rather than keep trying futilely to express the inexpressible, I will simply post two things that I will carry in my heart, draw upon and strive to live up to for the rest of my life.

The first is the Charge to the Minister and Right Hand of Fellowship, which was given to me by the Rev. David Bumbaugh. The second is the sermon the Rev. Dr. Marilyn Sewell preached. More than anyone else, it is to these two Ministers that I offer my thanks. Both of them in their different ways have not only inspired me to ministry – but have shown me, through their lives – how to do it.

Charge To The Minister:
By the Rev. David Bumbaugh

In his novel, A Cup of Gold, John Steinbeck tells the story of Henry Morgan. Young Henry grew up in Wales, and finding—as most of us do—the world of his childhood too narrow for his dreams and too confining for his hopes, decided to abandon it for the New World.

He shares his decision with an old bard named Merlin. Merlin responds to this news by telling Henry that he is like a child who wants the moon and he runs and leaps and grabs, and sometimes he catches a firefly. And Henry looks at old Merlin and asks, “Did you never want the moon?” Merlin says, “Oh yes, I wanted it, I wanted it above all things. I reached for it and then…then I grew up, I became a man and I knew that I could not have the moon and would not want it if I could. I grew up and so I caught no fireflies. I grew up and I became a failure.

But there is this about a failure, Henry," he said: "people know he has failed, and they are kind and sympathetic because they share with him the cloak of mediocrity. But those who have caught fireflies while reaching for the moon are doubly alone; for, as others praise them and set them aside because of their great accomplishments, only they know how great is the distance between the ambition and the achievement, between the dream and the reality.”I

In many ways, this conversation—as I remember it--captures an essential quality of ministry, as I have known it. Ministers are like children who never grow up, who spend their lives reaching for the moon. One of my colleagues once described ministers as “god-driven folk who cannot find god.” We want the moon. We want the light. We want to tease out the eternal meaning that lies all trammeled up in the ordinary and the commonplace. We run and we leap and -- sometimes -- we catch a firefly. And that firefly is the only thing we have to share with our people.

By the nature of our vocation, we are called to share it, to call aloud, "Come! See!" and let others make of it what they will. And sometimes they make very much of it.It is important, however, that we not deceive ourselves or allow others to cloud our understanding. No matter what truth we find, it is never the truth; no matter what gods we encounter, they are not god. And so, Aaron, as you enter upon this curious, demanding, frustrating and sometimes lonely vocation, as you run and leap and reach for the moon I would charge you to share whatever you capture, but always remember two things: First, the firefly you catch is not the moon; and, second the firefly you catch is the moon. In the space opened up by that paradox, ministry becomes possible.

The Right Hand of Fellowship

In this moment, Aaron, not only do you enter formally into your vocation, you also join a long and honored tradition--a tradition that extends back through the centuries--the living tradition of the Unitarian Universalist ministry.

This tradition includes those whose names we write in burning gold--Francis David, Joseph Priestley, John Murray, Hosea Ballou, William Ellery Channing, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Theodore Parker, Joseph Jordan, Olympia Brown,l August Jane Chapin, Phoebe Hanniford. It includes many more whose names are lost to us, but whose courage and commitment have shaped our faith.

It includes all our colleagues who, in these times struggle to shape a world of justice and mercy, of peace and promise.It is my great pleasure to extend to you the right hand of fellowship and welcome you into the living tradition that is the Unitarian Universalist ministry.

I think I started weeping with joy the moment he extended his hand to me. All I could do in that moment was cling to him and cry. Quite out of character for me – except at births, my wedding and – it turns out – my ordination. Thank you, David.

Here is a link to Marilyn’s sermon, “Unitarian Universalism: the Promise and the Challenge.” Thank you, Marilyn.

http://secure.firstuniversalist.org/openrosters/DocDownload.asp?orgkey=1050&id=29356

I think an audio recording of the service was made, and when I find a copy, I will add it to this post, as well as some more photos and the words of other participants – all of which were simply wonderful.

Now, a month later - I still feel profoundly supported and blessed, and I still find myself shaking my head in wonder and thinking, "That's right - this is what Grace feels like."

My favorite writer wins Nobel Prize!

2007-10-11T09:49:00.000-06:00

Doris Lessing has been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. Finally.

Here is a link to the NY Times story. http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/11/world/11cnd-nobel.html

Doris Lessing has influenced my development more than any other writer, and more than most people, period. Her always clear, always brave critical eye never seems content with the surface of things, but must always dive, dive, dive into the deep waters where most of us fear to swim. Her commitment to the beauty and potential of conciousness, community and love - always balanced by an equally fierce commitment to freedom and individuality have inspired me since I was a teenager.

She has challenged generations of readers to strive to be "in the world, but not of the world" and to learn to look at ourselves and the world we live in with ever more lenses, sometimes as if through a prism - dizzying and incomprehensible as it may feel to do so. Lessing introduced me to Sufism, and to the many uses of Story.

Perhaps most of all, Doris Lessing has inspired me by personal example. She did not finish high school, but reading and living voraciously - educated herself - as I did. She struggled (and continues to struggle) to live authentically in a world that often seems opposed to authenticity. Lessing has made terribly hard choices in order to live her calling - as I have. Thanks to Doris Lessing, in part, I never felt alone in my own struggles. I have always looked to her as a guide, and knew that if she could walk that path, then I could too. She embodies integrity for me.

I know she would likely purse her lips at the paragraphs above, but that's okay. I trust I have never been slavish or embarrassingly derivative in my appreciation and gratitude.

I will always remember the first time I encountered her. I was about seventeen years old and was marking time browsing the spines of 10-cent used paperbacks at a St. Vincent DePaul's resale shop in rural Wisconsin while my mother was shopping.

That turned out to be a big day in my literary life. My eyes stopped over two titles that day: the first was "Catch-22" by Joseph Heller (which I still reread now and then) and the other was "Briefing for a Descent Into Hell" by Doris Lessing.I thought, "I think the title alone is worth 10 cents!", so I bought it without even taking a look inside. And that was the beginning of a literary relationship that has continued ever since, across the whole of my adult life, and spanning (and intertwining) the worlds of art, politics, sociology, history, spirituality and much more. It has spanned from inner space to outer space and even to some of the places where both of those poles are one.

I won't even try to introduce her work in this blog - there are already volumes upon volumes of those. If you are curious, I think this is the best DL site out there: http://www.dorislessing.org/index.html

I know myself better because of Doris Lessing. I feel more empowered to be myself because of Doris Lessing. My curiosity and search for truth and meaning has been whetted by Doris Lessing. The universe, reality - all-that-is - feels more immediate and open to relationship, scrutiny and interaction because of Doris Lessing.

My life, like so many other lives, has been immeasurably enriched by her life and work, and I cannot think of a better person (just the 11th woman to do so) to be awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature.

Congratulations, Doris Lessing - and thank you.

Bread and Roses in Denver

2007-09-20T16:41:00.000-06:00

I spent this morning at a big hotel in Denver, face to face with all the reasons I am happy that I don’t have to sit at bargaining tables anymore, but also all the reasons I miss my life in the labor movement.

I was part of an interfaith clergy delegation that the housekeepers at the hotel asked to come support them as they demanded more respect, better treatment and safer working conditions from their employer. Our delegation was made up of three Protestant Christian Ministers, a Muslim Imam, and me, a Unitarian Universalist (wearing a clerical collar for the first time!! What a weird feeling that was...).

We got to the bargaining room early and had a good time meeting the housekeepers and listening to their stories. They are amazing women from all over the world: Somalia, Ethiopia, Russia, Turkey and many places in Central and South America. Although several different languages filled the air at any given time, the workers clearly understood one another in all the ways that matter most, and the air of solidarity was palpable.

Then the management bargaining team came in, their expensive suits and manicured hands striking a vivid contrast against the bright red union t-shirts and easy smiles of the housekeepers. Each member of our clergy delegation was introduced to the managers and asked to say a few words about why we were there.

It was wonderful to hear my sisters and brothers in ministry speaking from their own faith traditions in ways that were so compatible with my own. Whatever doctrinal or theological differences we may have, it feels great to know that we are united in our commitment to justice for all people.

It is not at all clear how these negotiations will play out. These housekeepers are expected to do an enormous amount of work in an amazingly short amount of time. Although the industry norm is for housekeepers to clean about 13-16 rooms per day, this hotel requires the workers to clean up to 30 rooms per day!!! This breaks down to the expectation that a single housekeeper should be able to “deep clean” (make pristine) a room in about 20-30 minutes after guests have checked out. If guests are staying there for more than one night, and the housekeepers have to clean around them, the expectation is an absurd 8-15 minutes per room!!!

They have to make their daily quotas before they go home, and if it takes longer than eight hours, they simply have to keep working until they are done – and then their hours are cut for the rest of the week so they will not have to be paid overtime. So folks routinely work through their breaks and lunch hours; only to find that even so, they still have trouble finishing their work on time.

I would love to see the corporate brains who sit around designing these quota systems in some remote cubicle somewhere have to clean rooms for a week – for a day even – under their own systems! They wouldn’t make it to lunch time.

The bottom line is this: these women are honest, hard working people – and they are being worked into the ground so that some shareholders somewhere can earn ever so slightly more at the end of the fiscal year. The work these women are doing is not sustainable, it is not healthy and it is not just. I do not know if my support will make a bit of difference, but I will continue to answer every time they call. I feel honored to know them, and my thoughts, my prayers and my actions will be with them throughout their struggle.

And I guarantee that I am going to tip a heck of a lot better every time I stay in a hotel from now on!!!

Most Offensive Editorial Ever?

2007-09-06T13:31:00.000-06:00

This morning in the Denver Post, blogger David Sirota prompted me to click on this link by declaring that this is the most offensive economics article he has ever read. Ever.

Now that's saying something! It was hard for me to believe that anything could top some of the economic tripe I've read throught the years, with the gentle sound of blood boiling in my ears. I had to check it out.

While I encourage you, dear reader, to go ahead and read this whole column (you might want to take some saftey precautions first, like stowing away any breakables you might feel compelled to throw across the room in a spasm of helpless outrage), let me whet your appetites by sharing a little quotation first. The column is structured around a list of lessons Wall Street pundit Michael Lewis has learned about poor people over the past few months as he watches his personal fortune stumble a bit because of the collapse of the subprime mortgage industry. The following is a real gem of wisdom that never seems to get old:

"4) Our society is really, really hostile to success. At the same time it's shockingly indulgent of poor people.

A Republican president now wants to bail them out! I have a different solution. Debtors' prison is obviously a little too retro, and besides that it would just use more taxpayers' money. But the poor could work off their debts. All over Greenwich I see lawns to be mowed, houses to be painted, sports cars to be tuned up. Some of these poor people must have skills. The ones that don't could be trained to do some of the less skilled labor -- say, working as clowns at rich kids' birthday parties. They could even have an act: put them in clown suits and see how many can be stuffed into a Maybach. It'd be like the circus, only better.

Transporting entire neighborhoods of poor people to upper Manhattan and lower Connecticut might seem impractical. It's not: Mexico does this sort of thing routinely. And in the long run it might be for the good of poor people. If the consequences were more serious, maybe they wouldn't stay poor. "

http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=20601039&sid=a5lhZkEauCu8&refer=columnist_lewis

Cute, huh? While I would like to believe this column in really just a particularly dark bit of satire, I do not think it is, although I would love to stand corrected. While many of Lewis' columns are less...evil...than this one, he does appear to have a healthy disdain for poor people and for people who (in his opinion) foolishly feel empathize with the millions of Americans who are being chucked out of their homes and onto the streets as we speak.

Blaming the poor for their own poverty is one of the oldest lines in the playbook - but blaming the poor for the investment losses of rich people takes a special sort of gall. It is such an audacious claim that it renders me almost speechless. Oh, how my heart swells with compassion for the noble rich, who are dragged down by the poor ungrateful masses!

As I sit here trying to find an appropriate way to express how I feel about this, only one word comes to mind - one of my grandmother's favourites (although I cannot deliver it with anything like the flair she can...) - POPPYCOCK!

That's right - I'm talking to you, Michael Lewis (unless I am wrong and this really is a brilliant satire; in which case, bravo to you)!

But, when all is said and done, I am still not sure that this article rises to the level of "Most Offensive Ever." There are an awful lot of horses in that race!

For example, here is one of my recent favorites - which I also suspected of being a satire. Which it wasn't, as far as I can tell.

This delightful bit of poppycock (how did I ever forget what a wonderful word "poppycock" is?!) is entitled "The Theory of the Leisure Class: An economic mystery: Why do the poor seem to have more free time than the rich?" This one was in Slate. http://slate.com/id/2161309/

The article argues that poor people have more "leisure" time than those unfortunate people who (nobly, industriously, selflessly) make money by the bucketful - a state of affairs writer Steven Landsberg sees as patently unfair. Interestingly, some of his suggested remedies seem eerily similar to those of Michael Lewis. Must be all those years of drinking the cool-aid.

That, and probably never having met a single poor person, or at least not any who weren't washing their cars or mowing their lawns.

This reminds me of a passage from "Hard Times" by Charles Dickens. Maybe these gentlemen should read it.

"For the first time in her life, Louisa had come into one of the dwellings of the Coketown Hands; for the first time in her life she was face to face with anything like individuality in conexion with them. She knew of their existence by hundreds and by thousands. She knew what results in work a given number of them would produce in a given space of time. She knew them in crowds passing to and from their nests, like ants or beetles. But she knew from her reading infinately more of the ways of topiling insects than of these toiling men and women.

Something to be worked so much and paid so much, and there ended; something to be infallibly settled by laws of supply and demand; something that blundered against those laws, and floundered into difficulty; something that was a little pinched when wheat was dear, and over-ate itself when wheat was cheap; something that increased at such a rate of percentage, and yielded such another percentage of crime, and such another percentage of pauperism; something wholesale, of which vast fortunes were made; something that occasionally rose like a sea, and did some harm and waste (chiefly to itself), and fell again; this she knew the Coketown Hands to be. But, she had scarcely thought more of separating them into units, than of separating the sea itself into component drops."

The Flying Chalices: UUs Ride for Seniors in the Moonlight Classic

2007-08-30T13:31:00.000-06:00

Last Saturday, August 18th, over forty Unitarian Universalists from First Universalist and First Unitarian rode together through the dark streets of Denver as part of the Moonlight Classic bike ride.

The Moonlight classic is an annual charity bike ride that raises money for Seniors, Inc., a non-profit that helps seniors live more healthy and independent lives. Our team raised almost $1500. We joined over five thousand other riders on a perfect night for a ride.

Our team was a diverse one, with riders as young as eight and as old as eighty-five, with all levels of bike riding experience. We knew we would easily lose one another in the sea of riders, so we all wore bright white armbands that had been decorated by the children of First Universalist with neon fabric paint. The designs were all various creative takes on the “Flying Chalice” name of our team.

But that wasn’t all – many of us made ourselves even more visible by wearing plastic martini-glasses on our helmets with bright glow-stick inside like flames! So we rode through the night together with flaming chalices bobbing over our heads.

I want to thank all the people who helped make this happen, and look forward to an even bigger, better ride next year!!! If you have a Moonlight Classic story you would like to share, please email Aaron McEmrys at aaron@firstuniversalist.org. I am eager to hear about your experience!

UUNITED Soccer Team: Stylish Even in Victory!

2007-08-30T12:58:00.000-06:00

UU Sportswire, Denver. A rag-tag team of Unitarian Universalists emerged victorious after their first match of the season, a well-played game against plucky, “Just for Fun.”

The team, UUNITED, has a vibrant roster stacked with women and men from both the First Universalist and First Unitarian churches. Players range widely in age and experience, but all share the same UU-spirit. Their uniforms are navy blue, with a flaming chalice emblazoned on the chest with a soccer ball rising up from the flames. Very stylish indeed!

In the first half it seemed there were blue jerseys everywhere, with crisp passing, sturdy defending and creative offense on display. Most striking, however, was the playful sense of teamwork, a theme that really sums up this new team.

The final score was 2-0, and the team celebrated with fresh orange slices on the sidelines, and enjoyed the sun. As we were getting ready to leave, a young player from one of the other teams came up and asked, “Are you guys Unitarians?” “Yep”, I answered. “That’s awesome,” he replied, with a smile. Evangelism on the soccer pitch; who woulda thunk it!?

What I found most rewarding about the whole thing is the warm and playful spirit of togetherness that has characterized our time together, whether in practice, in "real" games and in all those moments in between: sitting under the shade of the big trees next to the field, sharing our well-deserved orange slices, or tossing a sun-warmed water bottle to someone who needs it.

The air of goodwill and genuine support of one another is pretty rare, in my experience - especially in the all-too-often testosterone and ego-driven world of sports. As one teammate put it to me after our first game, "It's great to be a part of a team that respects everyone else no matter the skill level. Keeping with that, I look forward to making some finely squeezed juice out of them juicy fruits (the name of the next team we play)!"

I also relish the kind of relationships that develop between us as we play. Running around together kicking and chasing bouncing balls over a big green field encourages a very different way of being together, of relating, than most of us experience in our day to day lives. There isn't a lot of opportunity (or spare oxygen) for deep conversation, but that doesn't mean the relationships are not genuine and deep. The laughter, the high fives, and the pats-on-the-backs are a language of their own, spoken without words - but nonetheless sincere and oddly intimate. After all, where else in our lives to we touch relative strangers so freely?

There are ex-teammates of mine in Chicago who I still feel very close to. This seems somewhat inexplicable, since in some cases I knew them for over a year before I even knew what they did for a living or where they lived! An odd kind of intimacy.

The split-second glances between myself and a team-mate who is streaking down the field is hard to describe - but in that frozen flash in time, we both know exactly what I am going to (try) to do with the ball, and what the receiver needs to do to make ready. Then, when the ball spins off my foot to my teammate's foot, it feels like much more than a ball has covered that distance. In a very real way, something of ourselves has passed between us in that instant. There is a kind of attunement there that I suspect requires embodiment - attunement that requires a more integrated kind of mind, body and spirit relationship than we ordinarily experience in our day to day relationships.

This is not to say that team sports is the end-all-be-all or anything, just that playing soccer now, with these people, at this time in my life - reminds me of how much more there is of me, and how much more I am capable of when I remember to be more fully embodied.

When, the fans ask, is the next game? Glad you asked – UUNITED’s next game will be on September 8th at 11:10am, when we will take on the intimidatingly named, “Juicy Fruits.” The game will be played on Grass Field #2 at Dick’s Sporting Good’s Park (where the Colorado Rapids play). So come on out and cheer your new (and did I mention, stylish?) team on!

While we're on the topic of Quanitfying the Unquantifiable...

2007-08-15T14:31:00.001-06:00

I have always been a sucker for real-time counters. For example, when I lived in New York City as a young man, my friends and I used to go down to Times Square and just watch the numbers roll on by. Of course now they are rolling by faster than ever, and soon the clock will run out of room altogether.

But after that last post, I find myself full of awe (and anxiety) at the effectiveness of such counters. I like 'em a lot - and so I thought I would add a couple of my recent favorites.

The first one, at National Priorities.com (http://www.nationalpriorities.org/Cost-of-War/Cost-of-War-3.html is a counter I have been watching since the very beginning of the Iraq war. It not only tracks the financial costs of the war, which are mind-blowing - but also puts in in perpective by looking at how that same amount of money could be spent differently.

The second is one a friend emailed me a couple weeks ago. I didn't think much of it at first, but it has grown on me since, and I find it eerily fascinating. Neither are for the faint-at-heart, but I encourage you to check them out anyway. Iwould also welcome your recommendations for similar counters, which you can post in the "Comments" section of this post!

http://www.poodwaddle.com/worldclock.swf

Leinengen Versus the Ants

2007-08-15T13:32:00.000-06:00

For the last few days I have found myself thinking about a story I read long, long ago, when I was a boy. It is called “Leiningen Versus the Ants", written by Carl Stephenson in 1938. I have no idea if this is still commonly assigned in elementary schools any more, but I suspect that for those of us of a certain age, this story might still be stored away on the hard-drives of our grey matter.

The story is about a man, “Leiningen” who owns a plantation in some “wild” part of the Amazon River basin. At any rate, Leiningen, with all the pluck of Colonialists everywhere and at all times (as portrayed in sympathetic literature) refuses to flee with his fellow plantation-owners in the face of a vast swarm of voracious ants, which wash forward like "an elemental--an act of God! Ten miles long, two miles wide--ants, nothing but ants!"

This army of ants, each approximately the size of a man's thumb, marches forward like an unstoppable tide, devouring anything and everything that falls in its path. Leiningen will not be chased off of his property though – not by God or ants ort anything else! He stays to fight.
For those of you who are not haunted by the ghosts of yesterday’s English teachers, the following is a bit of a summary from Wikipedia:

“Unlike his fellow settlers, all of whom have either fled or are preparing to flee, Leiningen is not about to give up years of hard work and planning to "an act of God." He assembles his workers, who are all or mostly Indians, and informs them of the inbound horror. Though the natives are a naturally superstitious and frightened lot, their respect for and trust in Leiningen enables them to remain calm and determined: "The ants were indeed mighty, but not so mighty as the boss." Later in the story, despite suffering setbacks and being given an offer of dismissal with full pay, none of the laborers desert Leiningen.

Much of the rest of the story is taken up with the days-long struggle in which Leiningen attempts to hold off the huge swath of ants. He uses an ingenious system of levees, moats and "decoy" fields to keep the ants at bay. For example, he draws off some of the ants to a valueless fallow field, while keeping a large portion of the others off of the central compound with a system of defensive canals. The ants are initially unable to cross over, but soon manage to build bridges on the bodies of ants who mindlessly sacrifice themselves to the waters. As the bridges of ant corpses begins to reach the near side of the canals, Leiningen opens a series of sluice gates, greatly increasing the flow of water, and washing away the prior ant bridges. He also employs gasoline and other petroleum flammables to great effect; the chemicals not only burn the ants when ignited, but also interfere with their chemically-based tracking and sensory organs.”
In the end, Leiningen floods his entire plantation, simultaneously destroying the ants and reducing his plantation to waterlogged rubble and ruined crops. The ants are defeated, and Leiningen lives on to rebuild. He is indomitable.

To this day, when I think of this story, I can still hear the disembodied voice of some long-forgotten English teacher saying, “And this is a perfect example of the “Man vs. Nature” (or possibly Man vs. God) genre of literature.” Oh the strange things we remember…

It has been a VERY long time since I thought about this story. As a kid, I loved the sense of heroic resistance in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. It seemed to me to be a very profile of the kind of courage I hoped I would someday be capable of. That’s what I thought when I was nine or ten, anyway.

But this week I have been thinking about this story a lot, and I have been struck by a question that is both intriguing and disturbing. Who are “We” in the story?

For so many years I uncritically assumed that We, “human beings”, “Men”, “Civilized People” – were represented by Leiningen himself, while the Ants represented the frightening forces of Nature, Chaos and all the unknown forces that threaten our sense of control and remind us of how precarious life can be.

This week, however, someone emailed me a link to a fascinating website. It is a collection of artwork by an artist named, Chris Jordan, and can be found here: http://www.chrisjordan.com/current_set2.php?id=7

In this show, Jordan strives (and often succeeds) in trying to capture the seemingly uncountable, unquantifiable and incomprehensible in forms and images that we can make sense of – images that allow us to take in things on a scale that normally makes our minds simply switch off like old fuses in a power surge.

He focuses his attention primarily on consumption. Our consumption. Jordan constructs vast fields of trees used to make the junk-mail catalogues we throw out without reading, gargantuan expanses of the blowing and unrecyclable plastic bags we generate every five seconds, and immense carpets made of the cigarettes smoked by new teenage addicts every day.

I have looked at this website several times now, and have never made it all the way through in one go. Even with Jordan’s effective constructions, my mind starts to falter and sag after just a few images. Not only that, but the scale of consumption is so vast and so clearly destructive, that I my chest inevitably starts to tighten with panic.

Which brings me back to the question I have been pondering this week: “Who is the ‘We’ in Leiningen Versus the Ants?”

Looked at through Chris Jordan’s eyes, we sure look like a tide of mindless, ravening insects – possessed of little more than appetite. But I suspect it is more complex than that.
Are we not also Leiningen? Arrogantly defying Nature, and in doing so, god? Wasn’t Leiningen also driven by appetite? The hunger for control, power, ego and wealth?

In this way, “We” are both the ants and Leiningen fighting the ants. We are the consumer and the consumed. Just as Leiningen destroys his own plantation in order to save it, so our own appetites (so vividly captured by Chris Jordan) drive us to consume and consume and consume until nothing is left except ourselves and one another – which we will then consume as well.

Lest this post sound too dark, there are some positive readings here as well. The fact that we are consumer and consumed; appetite and that which struggles against appetite – this fact also gives us the ability to change direction and to behave mindfully, with intention. We do not have to be mindless, although we often act as if we are.

In the end of the story, Leiningen is left standing in the devastated ruins of his plantation. But the world has not ended, and nothing is beyond hope. With patience and hard work, it may be that Leiningen can rebuild from scratch – and perhaps this time, things can be different. Perhaps Leiningen can be different and so, perhaps - can we.

GOOAALL - Part II: Iraq Wins!

2007-07-29T17:41:00.000-06:00

Iraq has won the Asian Cup for the first time, beating Saudi Arabia 1-0!

Ali Adeeb of the Times Baghdad Bureau writes:

Iraqis in different neighborhoods in Baghdad took to the streets cheering and shouting, “Play play Iraq!” and “Stay victorious Baghdad!” after the Iraqi team won the Asian cup today.

In Sadr city people of all ages poured into the streets, walking and driving cars despite the vehicle ban, waving Iraqi flags and singing in joy. People were seen in the streets distributing sweets and soft drinks to the celebrating crowds.

Abu Baqir, one of the celebrating men, said: “Congratulations to everybody. This is the greatest sign of Iraqi unity. Congratulations to all Iraqis. You can see the national feeling, it has always been there, and we hope this winning will be the beginning of the end of sectarianism. This team includes Shiite, Sunnis and Kurds, it is a team of all Iraqis.”

He added: “I swear if it was secure enough we would celebrate for three consecutive days”.

You can read more of this, and other coverage at:
http://goal.blogs.nytimes.com/2007/07/29/the-celebration-in-baghdad/#more-137

"GOOAALL!!!": Soccer in Life and Metaphor

2007-07-27T09:48:00.000-06:00

So I'm starting a new soccer team. This is the first time in a long time that I have gone two consecutive seasons without being on a team. There are lots of other things I do for fun and to keep fit, but soccer is something special.

Being the super-dork that I am, I not only like to play soccer - but to watch it, to read about it, and to think much too deeply about it as a metaphor for all sorts of things. Soccer as poetry!

Before I get into what I really want to write about this morning, let me highlight a couple exceptional examples of the kind of soccer writing that I find so compelling. It is writing that makes soccer overflow the pitch, explaining, celebrating and mourning everything from nationalisim to globalization to the mysteries of life itself.

See, I'm not the only super-dork soccer fan! We are (apparently) legion, and some of us even write books - which other super-dorks (like me) pay for and read with all too much fervor!

1. My favorite: "How Soccer Explains the World: an unlikely theory of globalization" by Franklin Foer. Foer wanders the world looking at the ways in which soccer shapes and is shaped by culture, politics and the new economic realities of globalization. The book is funny, infectious, smart and ultimately hopeful. A fascinating read for football fans and non-fans alike. The section on the role of football hooligans in the Rwandan genocide is particularly chilling and important.

2. "Soccer Against the Enemy: How the World's Most Popular Sport Starts and Fuels Revolutions and Keeps Dictators in Power" by Simon Kuper. In 1992, Kuper set out to travel the world, looking for case studies to support the thesis in this book's subtitle. He found a former East German who'd been hounded by the Stasi for his love of a West German team, a Slovakian president who made a nationalist statement with troops and truncheons in a soccer stadium, a Ukrainian club that exported nuclear missile parts, and much more.

3. And on a lighter note... "Soccer in Sun and Shadow" by Eduardo Galleano. Uruguayan poet and writer Eduardo Galleano writes about soccer as game, as metaphor as cultural phenomenon, as muse and as lover (sometimes spurned). His writing is lyrical, evocative and beautiful. A lovely book that will make you want to love soccer the way Galleano does.

But now to my main point. Having soccer on the brain lately, I have been following the trials and tribulations of the Iraqi national soccer team wiuth considerable interest. They have just made it to the finals of the Asian Cup, and international tournement where they have played the role of underdog better than any movie script could have dictated.

The New York Times has been covering the team, and has published two very good articles this week. They can be found here: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/21/world/middleeast/21soccer.html?_r=1&oref=slogin

and here: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/26/world/middleeast/26iraq.html

In the first article, "For Iraq, Common Ground Can Be Found on Soccer Field", we read about how the Iraq remains "soccer crazy, and despite mortars, bombings and shootings that are sometimes aimed at amateur teams in Baghdad and Ramadi in western Iraq, it remains the national game. While the young play, older men and children gather to watch and women who are walking by steal glances from under their long, black veils."

The Iraqi soccer team, unlike any remaining Iraqi institution is non-sectarian. Players and coaches are Sunni, Shiite and Kurd, and the fact that they play and succeed as a team is powerfully inspiring as the rest of Iraq continues to spiral into a sectarian bloodbath.

"For Iraqis the success of the soccer team — a 22-member squad with Sunni Arabs, Shiites and Kurds — evokes the old days, a time before sectarianism began to tear the country apart. It offers a moment of national pride and fosters the hope that the country, like the team, can look beyond its differences.

“The Iraqi team is the only thing that is uniting us now,” said Haiydar Adnan, 29, a Shiite. “When the Iraqi team wins a game, the people in Karkh, who are Sunnis, get happy, the people in Rusafa, who are Shiites, get happy.”

“I hope that the Iraqi politicians would look at these simple football players who managed to unite the Iraqi people and learn from them,” Mr. Adnan said.

Not only does the team bring together ethnic and sectarian groups (under a Brazilian coach), it is also free of the abuse that sports teams suffered under a son of President Saddam Hussein, Uday, who was the head of the soccer federation. That is another encouragement to Iraqis that they can win out of skill, and not out of fear."

So I was feeling all good and sunshiney for a day or two there, which is tough when it comes to Iraq. But hey, I thought, any silver lining is still a silver lining, right?

But I (not to mention the Iraqi people) was quickly brought back down to earth. I guess I saw it coming, but the next headline, "Soccer Victory Lifts Iraqis: Bombs Kill 50" was as heartbreaking as ever.

"As the Iraqi national soccer team eked out a 4-3 shootout victory over South Korea on Wednesday, hundreds of thousands of Iraqis poured into the streets in a paroxysm of good feeling and unity not seen in years.

It was more rapture than celebration, a singular release of the sort of emotion that has fueled so much rage and fear and paranoia. But this evening, at least at first, it seemed diverted into nonstop car-horn bliss; spontaneous parades clogged streets from Erbil to Karbala, from Basra to Mosul, from Ramadi to Baghdad.

Then, just as suddenly, the moment passed in places, and the fractured Iraq re-emerged. As throngs of people danced and shouted in Baghdad, insurgents took quick advantage of the unguarded revelry. Two suicide car bombs ripped through cheering crowds in Mansour, on the western side of Baghdad, and in Ghadir, on the city’s eastern side. Together they killed at least 50 people and wounded 135 more, according to an Interior Ministry official."

Tellingly, not even the suicide attacks have been able to entirely dampen the spirits of Iraqi soccer fans who finally have something to cheer about, something to be hopeful about - even if it is only the largely symbolic victories of a team playing a soccer match thousands of miles away. The celebration goes on, as life and love always does - terror or no terror.

Which brings me to my new idea. This new team of ours needs to have two different jerseys, one white and one colored. I found a website (the Assyrian Market http://assyrianmarket.com/iraq-soccer-team-jersey.html) where we can order Iraqi jerseys. I can't speak for the whole team obviously, which hasn't even come together yet, but I have decided to wear a white Iraqi soccer jersey for all of our "white" games, in solidarity with the people of Iraq, who still laugh and play and cheer even as the war drags on and on.

I also encourage churches and other community groups to participate in the Passback Program. Passback collects gently used soccer equipment and redistributes it to people and places where it is needed - including Iraq. We did this last year at the First Unitarian Church of Denver and quickly collected enough equipment to outfit almost ten full teams, more than 100 players worth! If you are interested, please contact Courtney at cef@ussoccerfoundation.org or (202) 872-6659. The Passback website is: http://www.passback.org/

By the way, if you'd rather play soccer than read about it, and you happen to live somewhere near Denver, email me. We may just have a roster spot for you...

in peace, Aaron

Still struggling with race, violence, and hope...

2007-07-20T13:04:00.000-06:00

Well, after my last post, I was looking forward to switching gears and writing about some of the other things on my mind these days - many of them vastly more fun than what I have been writing about so far. But what happened to Cornelius has stuck with me, and I don't think I'm done writing about it yet. I am still in a Bermuda-triangle of outrage and grief and frustration.

Since my last post, I have been reflecting a lot, and I think I have begun to understand one of the things that pains, baffles and infuriates me the most in all of this - the kind of "ordinariness" of violence and injustice. It certainly didn't/doesn't feel "ordinary" to me, yet as you will see in the letter below - the extraordinary savagery of racism (obviously all oppression is savage) can all too often be met with a kind of bland, normalizing indifference or passivity which, to me, amounts to nothing less than a re victimization, a further assault on the very humanity of people who are already suffering. The "banality of evil", Hannah Arendt called it...

Whether this brutal and complicitous normalization takes the form of hollowly "objective" statistics in a newspaper or in the bland stares of police called to respond to a beating - it is this dehumanization, this passive shrugging of the shoulders that drives me crazy. As much as I deplore the acts of physical and psychic violence themselves, at least I think I can understand them. What I cannot understand is what it is that makes so many of the rest of us stand around pretending that such acts are....normal.

The letter below is one I wrote to a colleague after my first real taste of this kind of normalization of evil. As you will read, one of my teammates was badly beaten during a "friendly" recreational soccer game. It took me almost a month to get the attacking players punished, and I found out, much later - that the team and offending players had actually not been banned at all, but merely transfered to another division with a new team name.

The cold eyes of the police, the (literally) powerless shoulder-shrugging of the referee, the oh-so-cautious legal mumbo-jumbo response of the league and the open glee of the attackers are all too perfectly representative of the ways in which the "banality of evil" actively conspires with and perpetuates oppression and violence - even in a friendly neighborhood soccer league.

I have changed the names of everyone involved to protect their privacy, but the text of the letter is unchanged.

Dear Madeline,

I have been meaning to write and catch you up for some time now, but the time-space continuum seems even dicey-er than usual this winter. First of all, I have accepted an offer to intern at First Unitarian in Denver. It was a difficult decision, and a bit surprising, considering that Denver had never been high on my list. An example of how my "wants" don't always match up with what's best for me. I talked with a number of wonderful churches, and am convinced I would have had a great experience at any of them - but the more deeply I reflected about what I wanted out of my internship Denver rose to the top.

I am particularly interested in churches that are at or near "threshold phases" in their lives - junctures in the life of a church when they must make choices about who they are and who they want to (or have to) become. How to lead/navigate congregations across thresholds of identity and mission is something I want to start learning as soon as possible, and I see it as a big part of my calling. Denver certainly appears to be such a church, and seems to be serious about riding the waves with intention. I have the sense that I will not only learn a lot there, but also be able to make some meaningful contributions to the congregation, which is important to me. And last, but certainly not least - Eliza loves Denver and can practice Chinese medicine there without any contortions.

So now that the decision is made I can finally return to my "regular" life, such as it is. I am scheduling my meeting with the MFC already...now if that isn't a reality check I don't know what is! Should happen in the spring of 2007. I'm also taking an incredible class at the U of C with Dwight Hopkins, "Third World Theologies", which you would love, I'm sure.

Despite the overall bright and hopeful arc of my life these days, I'm also dealing with some really horrible stuff. I don't know if I've mentioned this to you before, but I am captain/coach of a local co-ed soccer team. Last year the team was mostly seminarians, but a whole bunch of them went off to internship/graduation, and this year the team is made up of all sorts of people. We have players from England, Haiti, the Ukraine, Mexico and Central America. Great people, who want to stay in shape, make new friends and...just play.

Two weeks ago, toward the end of one of our games, players from the opposing team attacked our two players from Haiti. It started with some pushing and the next thing I knew one of our players, Robert, who is about 5'5", was curled up in a ball while the male players from the opposing team were stomping, hitting and kicking him. The other Haitian player, Martin, tried to help and was attacked too. It was the most savagely surreal thing I have ever seen. I ran over there as fast as I could yelling for them to stop. I grabbed one player in a bear hug (sure he was going to knock my block off) and pulled him off of Robert - but even as I did so I saw a couple other guys attack Martin (who was trying to get away) from behind with kicks and punches to the head. He never saw them coming.

I let go of the guy I was holding and tried to grab another, but the one I let go of just charged at poor Robert again. I managed to get my body between them and Robert and held the rest of them off until the referee got over his shock and tried to restore some order - but it was so scary...

Robert was hurt badly, and we called the police and ambulance. While we were waiting one of the opposing players came up to me, clapped me on the shoulder and said with a grin "It was a good battle, eh? Like no holds barred - you know - a good battle! Take no prisoners!"

The police were beyond horrible, the kind of thug-like cops you'd find in a Spike Lee movie. While the other team continued to taunt Robert and Martin, the police made it clear that they didn't care at all about justice - they clearly believed that the "black guys started it" - as the other team said. The police were menacing, radiating the same casual brutality as the other players were. One officer, a Hispanic guy, tried to argue with the other officers about how Robert had obviously been beaten - but they (the other officers) just teased him for being "soft" and then ignored him.

I can't begin to tell you what it was like. In some ways it was worse than the beating itself. I have never felt so powerless, just the terrible feeling that there was no hope of justice here - none. I suddenly realized that the feeling of wrenching anger and despair I felt was...probably par for the course for Martin and Robert and countless other people in Chicago and around the world. No wonder Robert refused to press charges - what's the point?

The paramedics couldn't patch Robert up, so he had to go to the hospital. He has no health insurance. He ended up with a mouth full of stitches that will have to stay in for a couple weeks at least. He also is still having trouble breathing from being kicked and stomped in the ribs.
I wrote a letter to the league and got the other team kicked out (I had to fight for that, believe it or not!) and permanently banned. Now there is a zero tolerance policy regarding unsportsmanlike conduct...but it all feels so pathetic and empty. I am encouraging Robert to sue and/or press charges, but so far he won't budge. He won't even talk about it - just preserving his tough guy act. At least they can't take that away from him.

We had our first game without them last week. We talked about just quitting altogether, but that seemed like and even greater loss. It was a good game, but the team is still jittery - as if the ghosts of the fight are still with us, if that makes any sense. I think it is likely to draw us closer together, but it's hard.

When I think about the ways we (UUs) talk and talk about our "anti-racism/anti-oppression" work...talk, talk, talk - a deep swell of frustration washes through me like ice water. What I saw (and was part of) was hate with no mask on. It was brutal and unthinking and uncommunicative - it was just savage. It is so clear to me that racism is just plain evil - it doesn't care about "I" statements or inclusive language or phrases like "multi-cultural compentance." It just wants to dominate and hurt, and if it gets cornered it will lie. It seems to me that when we allow our beliefs or our words (endless internal discussion) stand as proxy for action, we are doing nothing less than passively enabling racism, enabling the evil that left my friend's blood all over my hands and clothes - at a friendly Saturday morning soccer game!

I know that many people and many UUs are continuing to combat racism. I know that many of us do much more than talk - and I know that talk is necessary. But I still feel left with a painful question - how is what I am doing, and what we, collectively, are doing - making it less likely that Robert will ever get beat up again? How is what I am doing helping Robert (and god knows how many others) find justice with his mouth full of stitches? I guess that's my new personal measurement.

I hope you don't mind me venting like this. I really didn't mean to. I am still more upset about this than I thought. This was just supposed to be a quick update from Meadville. But the truth will out, I suppose.

Peace to you,

Aaron

Cornelius Lockhart was Murdered Last Night

2007-07-06T13:40:00.000-06:00

Cornelius Lockhart was murdered last night.
Cornelius Lockhart was murdered last night.

I knew Cornelius as one of the custodians at Meadville Lombard Theological School, where I have spent much of the last three years.

When our sink was plugged, we called Cornelius. When our kitchen smelled like gas, we called Cornelius. When there were animals living in the walls, we called Cornelius.

This morning all I can think about is Cornelius.

I remember all the mornings we stood around shooting the breeze when I was in no hurry to get to class on a sweet spring morning. I remember the sound of his snow shovel scraping the paths, steps and sidewalks after a snowy night.

I remember moving chairs and cleaning up the Chapel with him after this or that function. All of those functions really run together for me now, but I remember the clanking of the metal chairs and synching up the last black garbage bag and saying “See you later. Have a good night.”

Cornelius was a good man, and I am not just saying that because he is dead. He was a thoroughly, twenty-four hour a day, all weather good guy. He was the kind of guy people liked to be around: warm smile, easy laugh and kind eyes.

And last night Cornelius was murdered.

Apparently, he was trying to break up a fight. One of the combatants went outside, got a knife – and stabbed him to death. Murdered him. Just like that.

Just like that?

Cornelius leaves behind a beautiful little girl, Amaya, a step-daughter, and his partner. Nothing can fill the hole that has been torn in their lives. I pray to whoever or whatever answers prayers that they may find some peace, some solace – and some justice – somehow, someday.

I don’t know if the Chicago newspapers will run a blurb about Cornelius’ death or not, but I have a sinking feeling that it will go something like this:

“Cornelius Lockhart, twenty-something-year old African American man, died of knife wounds following a late-night altercation on Chicago’s South Side. Cause of the altercation is unknown and police do not currently have any suspects.”

This is what all such blurbs say: at least when they are about African American men.

I was in Chicago a couple weeks ago for my graduation from seminary. That was the last time I saw Cornelius. My wife and I went to get a cup of coffee from the same place we had been getting our coffee the whole time we lived in Hyde Park. At the counter I noticed that my favorite “coffee guy” – who seemed to work a million hours a week – wasn’t there. Then my wife gasped and pointed at a photo on the counter, right in front of us. It was a Memorial: a photograph, dates of a too-short life, and a small cut out from the Chicago Tribune (which I cannot find now, online – so here is a blurb from the Chicago Maroon):

“Charles Carpenter, 38, was shot and killed Saturday night after an altercation on the 2500 block of East 79th Street. Carpenter is survived by his four children. Police are investigating the incident, but no arrests have been made. Services will be held on Tuesday, May 29, at Carter Temple Christian Methodist Episcopal Church at 7841 South Wabash Avenue. Services will immediately follow a viewing scheduled from 11 a.m. to noon.”

I felt sick. Not just at the loss of such a warm and good human being, someone who had made my life just a little bit sunnier – and not just because of the manner of his death, which no matter how common it becomes on Chicago’s South Side, never loses its horror – but because of how his death was reported. It seemed to reduce this unique and special human being to little more than a statistic, a footnote, one more young black man who died violently.

But that’s not who Charles Carpenter was. That’s not who Cornelius Lockhart was. They were people, children of God. They struggled and loved and lived and made plans for the future. They were good men. I did not know either of them particularly well, but I know this – they were a lot more than footnotes.

And what, exactly, is an “altercation”, anyway? I suspect that when many of us read the word “altercation” in the same sentence with “African American man” – the word conjures up a specific set of stereotypical images; images fed to us in one way or another for hundreds of years – but perhaps never so graphically and pervasively as today. In this case, the blurb does not refer directly to Charles’ race – but it does so indirectly – “the 2500 block of East 79th Street.” A kind of geographical shorthand that someone learns pretty quickly in Chicago.

Can “altercation” possibly encompass the end of someone’s life? Can “survived by his four children” possibly do justice to the breathtakingly beautiful bonds of love that have been twisted and torn?

I don’t think so. But I am quite sure that if I, a middle class white man, died of knife or gunshot wounds, no newspaper would simply say that I had died following an “altercation.”

When I first moved to Hyde Park, someone told me that the University of Chicago has the second largest police force in the State of Illinois. Which is not suprising. Hyde Park is an island, a bubble surrounded by the rest of Chicago’s South Side; a bubble in which, on any given day, you can overhear brilliant and privileged people discussing the finer points of Fourteenth Century Italian poetry or the effect of German Pietism on the Radical Reformation.

The University police make this possible, defending the safety and property of those privileged few (including me) from all the dangers that lurk (real and imagined) just a few blocks away. Only because of this nearly invisible cordon can we believe, even for a moment – that Fourteenth Century poetry is critical subject of discussion and (often heated) debate on a fine spring morning in a world such as this.

I am as guilty as anyone.

My time in Chicago was made immeasurably better by Cornelius. I liked him a lot and remain deeply grateful for all he has done for me – but why did it never occur to me that at night, when all the work was done, I stayed there in Hyde Park, protected by my skin, my class and the invisible force field of the police – while Cornelius, also because of his skin and his class – went…somewhere else?

I have no idea where or how Cornelius lived when he wasn’t at work. But I bet it was different then where I did, and do – and always will.

I feel especially sick about this today, as I think about how many sermons and prayers and theological arguments I have aimed at the interlocking evils of racism, classism and all kinds of other “isms.” How short they fall – how pallid they seem to me right now – written by a white guy from the safety of office or living room for audiences made up of other (mostly) white, privileged folks to read or listen to in the comfortable safety of churches and living rooms.

There isn’t a sermon here for me today, or a prayer, or an academic analysis – much less a call to action. Maybe there will be tomorrow, or the next day – but for now there is just grief.
My heart and my prayers go out to your family, Cornelius, and to yours, Charles, and to all those who love you and are hurting right now. My heart and my prayers, for whatever they are worth, go out to all you whose names I know and whose names I don’t know; to all you unique, special, and irreplaceable people whose lives are recorded and reduced by the detached prose of back-page newsprint.

Amen.