Blowing in the Wind on Marriage Equality Day

Seventeen of us, from at least four congregations, gathered in the very blustery plaza of the Arlington County Courthouse yesterday. We shared an interfaith liturgy of prayers and readings, and then proceeded to the sixth floor offices of the county clerk, Paul Ferguson. Mr. Ferguson met us and welcomed us to the office. Meanwhile, Claire and Rebecca, who are members of the Rock Spring United Church of Christ, filled out the on-line form to apply for a license. As they filled in all of the requisite family data, Mr. Ferguson explained the state of the law in Virginia.
When the form was completed, the person staffing the window requested proper ID, and gave Claire and Rebecca a copy of the application to check for accuracy. When they confirmed the information, the staff person apologized and said, "I cannot grant you a license."
Mr. Ferguson looked straight at Claire and Rebecca and said, "I am truly sorry."
Looking at the rest of us, he said, "thank you for being here." He told us that our presence was important because it allowed him to report to the state that same-gender couples are requesting licenses.
Then each of us laid a flower on the window in honor of various couples who cannot be married here. As I laid my flower on the window I honored Ron and James. If I had a bouquet, it would be to honor each of the people in my congregation for their continued faithful witness that God's love knows no bounds and that what God blesses should receive the equal protection of the law.
There was much more that was moving and powerful, as well as simple and interesting during our hour witness, but those details will have to wait.

Too much, too soon, too bad

I found myself writing this note on camp to a friend from another Presbytery this afternoon.
The Meadowkirk situation is ugly. It's been brewing for several years, and it's all about the money. I think that there's plenty of blame to go around on all sides, and it probably doesn't do anybody much good to sort that out at this point. In a strange way, the economic downturn may save the camp because it cannot be sold right now, and too much of the Presbytery's money is tied up in it to take the losses. I do think that pieces of it will be sold as soon as there's a market for the lots. That won't destroy the integrity of the camp, but it's unfortunate.
With the 20-20 of hindsight, it's clear that we built too much too fast and did it with too much borrowed money leveraging too many Presbytery assets on use projections that were far too rosy. I remain hopeful about the viability of the ministry, but I think it will be a good day for everyone when it is more disconnected from Presbytery.
The question is: can it survive long enough to make that happen? I really don't think anyone knows. I do not think it will survive on the old model of hosting church retreats, small groups and then the various kinds of summer programs for youth.
I'd like to see it work to become a smaller scale Montreat for the mid-Atlantic and Northeast, but that would require building a capacity for programs, marketing and hospitality that simply don't exist right now. I can also imagine it hosting all kinds of gatherings that are resourced out of the DC office -- focusing on the spiritual foundations of policy work rather than simply going to the Hill as usual. But any alternative vision takes birthing and there's not much good will around here for that process.
That's my two cents -- not that it's worth even that much in today's economy.
I suppose the only "word to the wise" from all of this is don't spend money that you don't have. Of course, none of us in DC operate that way!

Faith and Values

A few random "Monday morning thoughts" delayed till Tuesday!
Sunday morning at Clarendon we talked about finding our voice. We had a brief "popcorn" conversation during worship in which folks named the values that shape and undergird what we say.
It was both easy to anticipate and, at the same time, illuminating in what was on the list: love, welcome, faith, hope, peace, acceptance, justice, compassion, forgiveness; and in what was not named. I wonder how long we would have talked before we got to values such as righteousness and truth and how we would have spoken of them.
It's not that those are unimportant, but rather that their meanings are contested and thus the subject of deeper exploration instead of being on the top of the list of easy to name and agree upon values.
I wonder, also, how the list would have read if we had be talking about practices of faith, as distinct from values that frame our understanding.

Brace yourselves

"The man with a toothache thinks everyone happy whose teeth are sound. The poverty-stricken man makes the same mistake about the rich man."
So said George Bernard Shaw, making me wonder would you rather be a rich man with a tooth ache than a poor man with good teeth? Chew on that for a while ... there seems to be rather a decay of good humor here as we wait for a bridge to a better blog.
Not much to sink your teeth into here today, although somehow the combination of a trip to the dentist and a snow day reminded me of my favorite wee tale about my paternal grandmother who lost her dentures sledding down a huge hill near her home in Chattanooga when my father was a little boy. She never found the teeth, and never lived down the tale.

thought for the day

The mind of a bigot is like the pupil of the eye. The more light you shine on it, the more it will contract.
- Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr.
A thought for a day one which four of the five of us had eye doctor appointments. Tomorrow we go to the dentist. Wonder what thoughts that will inspire?

Inaugural Post

I walked in the streets in DC again this weekend. I’ve done that many times before, but for the first time I walked in them to celebrate for something rather than agitate against something. I spoke with several others in the streets or on the Metro who were sharing the same realization. It’s an interesting sensation, and one I’d like to have again someday.
The whole family went down yesterday to join the millions in the throng for President Obama’s (that was fun to write; I think I’ll do it again: President Obama’s) inauguration. We couldn’t see much, but we could certainly feel the excitement and joy as we celebrated the peaceful transfer of power that marks a great democracy moving more fully into its promise of “all people.”
Oddly enough, I got interviewed again. I’m not sure why this happens, but I’ve been a “person-on-the-street” interview at least four times in D.C. with media outlets ranging from al Jazeera (I kid you not) to the CBS Evening News. Yesterday it was Ebony.
The reporter asked us what the inauguration meant to us and how it made us feel. My nine-year-old daughter, remembering afternoons spent walking the canvas routes with me, said, “excited and proud that I helped to get the first African-American president elected.”
Never having learned the actor’s adage to avoid dogs and children because they will upstage you every time, I dived in, too.
President Obama’s inauguration prompted me to think back to my Southern childhood. I was born in Alabama in 1959, and probably had my diapers changed in Whites Only restrooms – certainly not change you can believe in!
The arc of the moral universe is long, but it does bend toward justice. It has been bent dramatically, by the faithful work of thousands of committed hands, in my lifetime.
The journey toward a more perfect union is endless, but we have travelled – marched, walked, freedom rode – a great distance, and yesterday was a time to celebrate not only the election of a leader with phenomenal gifts and potential, but also that national journey.
Nothing else could explain why 2 million people would brave the cold, the wind, and the inconvenience of being on the Mall. I still don’t know exactly what the president said because the words echoing off the Washington Monument were often muddled and sometimes drowned out by the flags whipping in the wind. But there is no place in the world that I would rather have been.

Prayer for the Obama Years

O God of our many understandings, we pray that you will…
Bless us with tears – for a world in which over a billion people exist on less than a dollar a day, where young women from many lands are beaten and raped for wanting an education, and thousands die daily from malnutrition, malaria, and AIDS.
Bless us with anger – at discrimination, at home and abroad, against refugees and immigrants, women, people of color, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people.
Bless us with discomfort – at the easy, simplistic “answers” we’ve preferred to hear from our politicians, instead of the truth, about ourselves and the world, which we need to face if we are going to rise to the challenges of the future.
Bless us with patience – and the knowledge that none of what ails us will be “fixed” anytime soon, and the understanding that our new president is a human being, not a messiah.
Bless us with humility – open to understanding that our own needs must always be balanced with those of the world.
Bless us with freedom from mere tolerance – replacing it with a genuine respect and warm embrace of our differences, and an understanding that in our diversity, we are stronger.
Bless us with compassion and generosity – remembering that every religion’s God judges us by the way we care for the most vulnerable in the human community, whether across town or across the world.
And God, we give you thanks for your child Barack, as he assumes the office of President of the United States.
Give him wisdom beyond his years, and inspire him with Lincoln’s reconciling leadership style, President Kennedy’s ability to enlist our best efforts, and Dr. King’s dream of a nation for ALL the people.
Give him a quiet heart, for our Ship of State needs a steady, calm captain in these times.
Give him stirring words, for we will need to be inspired and motivated to make the personal and common sacrifices necessary to facing the challenges ahead.
Make him color-blind, reminding him of his own words that under his leadership, there will be neither red nor blue states, but the United States.
Help him remember his own oppression as a minority, drawing on that experience of discrimination, that he might seek to change the lives of those who are still its victims.
Give him the strength to find family time and privacy, and help him remember that even though he is president, a father only gets one shot at his daughters’ childhoods.
And please, God, keep him safe. We know we ask too much of our presidents, and we’re asking FAR too much of this one. We know the risk he and his wife are taking for all of us, and we implore you, O good and great God, to keep him safe. Hold him in the palm of your hand – that he might do the work we have called him to do, that he might find joy in this impossible calling, and that in the end, he might lead us as a nation to a place of integrity, prosperity and peace. AMEN.
-- Bishop Gene Robinson

If This Is a Dream, Don't Wake Me

No, that's not a terrorist! It's my middle child, Martin, bundled against the chill this afternoon at the pre-inaugural concert on the Mall -- waiting for that quintessential American, Bono, to perform! Hey, if the Irish can claim "O'bama" then we can claim U2.
We've got a house full for the inauguration and King Day festivities in DC this weekend. As I watched the concert this afternoon (from our "front row" place at the base of the Washington Monument ... no more than, oh, about a mile from the stage at the base of the Lincoln Memorial), I thought of Dr. King's speech in Lincoln's shadow, and his dream of a day when white men and black men, Protestants and Catholics, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveholders would be able to join hands. Our house is hosting this week Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, black and white, gay and straight, North American and Latino, young and not so young, men and women. We don't look quite as diverse as the crowd on the Mall this afternoon, but it's a fine mix of America that has found its way to our living room this week to celebrate King Day and the inauguration of President Obama. I think Dr. King would be smiling.

Uh, No, Actually, It Wasn't,

Yesterday afternoon I flipped on the TV to see if there were any details about the plane that landed in the Hudson.
Blog-post interruption: Every time I fly, when the flight attendant says, "in the unlikely event of a water landing ..." I think to myself, "water landing? Wouldn't that be a crash?" Now I know better.
I don't actually know what station I was watching, but as soon as I turned to a news station there were the remarkable pictures of the plane floating in the river. The talking head said, "your first thought when you hear the news is: was it terrorism?"
Uh, no, actually it wasn't.
Planes crash. Machines break. Birds fly into engines. All of these things are much more common and overwhelmingly more likely than terrorism. Only because we have been conditioned, almost commanded, to live in fear for the past seven years could a thoughtless talking head, reflecting an all-too-unreflective culture, say such a thing.
On the scale of things we need to fear as individuals, terrorism falls somewhere way down the line from slipping in the tub and cracking your head open. Yet our individual lives are disrupted in dozens of small and not so small ways in deference to those who want us to fear terrorism.
On the scale of things we need to fear as a society, terrorism still does not top the list. A lot more of us have died prematurely due to our broken health care system than due to terrorism.
Oh, to be sure, unless you've been living in a cave for the past decade you know that there are people living in caves out there who want to do us harm. They are real, and they are dangerous.
But sitting at the laptop and eating bonbons is far more of a threat to my health and safety than the terrorists.
Yes, it's the bonbons. They are out to get us.

No Ordinary Failure

From Jacob Weisberg, in Newsweek, comes the quote of the day on the Bush legacy: "Once the country is rid of Bush, perhaps we can start developing a more nuanced understanding of how his presidency went astray. His was no ordinary failure, and he leaves not just an unholy mess but also some genuine mysteries."
No ordinary failure -- sounds like a book title, but I don't anticipate it as anyone's autobiography.
The past eight years have reminded me many times of why the apocryphal Chinese curse, "may you live in interesting times," is considered a curse. These have been extraordinary times, and perhaps no one leading through these years would have been even an ordinary success.
That is as charitable a thought as I can muster just now.

More Time

So my good friend Ditty, a regular reader (but not commenter), told me that yesterday's reference to Heraclitus reminded her of a poem that she memorized back in her school days at St. Anne's down near Charlottesville. The headmistress led the girls to many a poem, apparently, including this one from William Johnson Cory:
They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead;
They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed;
I wept, as I remembered, how often you and I
Had tired the sun with talking, and sent him down the sky.

And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest,
A handful of grey ashes, long, long ago at rest,
Still are they pleasant voices, they nightingales, awake;
For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take.

Ditty recited this from memory tracing back, I'm guessing, more than 70 years.
I can only hope that if I am lucky enough to live to the age Ditty is now that I do so as full of grace and good memories, and that I stay as attuned as she remains to the current of time flowing.

Cruel, Crazy, Beautiful World

Perhaps because I have entered my 50th year, I have lately been acutely aware of the constant interplay of change and stability.
Out for a run this afternoon, my regular route took me along Four Mile Run near my south Arlington home. Heraclitus famously said that you cannot step in the same stream twice, but it seems to me that for almost six years now I’ve been running alongside this same creek. Sure, I know the rest of the quote and the others like it, about other waters flowing in, and that everything flows and nothing stands still, and that the only constant in the universe is change, but I’ll be damned if Four Mile Run changes in any way worth noting.
Along about the time I was pondering the ancient Greeks, I passed a young mother with her toddler son. He must have been about two and a half, and he was dragging a branch that must have been about two and a half times longer than he was. My oldest, who turns 18 next month, used to do the exact same thing. You want to engage the swift flow of change, then try parenting! Of course, as I was having a sweet memory of my son, it occurred to me that he really hasn’t changed at all. He’s just dragging bigger branches now.
I was running to the tunes of Johnny Clegg, a white South African musician who cofounded the first racially mixed band in Apartheid-era South Africa. I was listening to the title track of Cruel, Crazy, Beautiful World:
You have to wash with the crocodile in the river
You have to swim with the sharks in the sea
You have to live with the crooked politician
Trust those things that you can never see
…
It's a cruel crazy beautiful world
Every time you wake up I hope it's under a blue sky
I’ve never been to South Africa, so I can only wonder if that blue sky feels the same now in a post-Apartheid world. Is it constant? Does it change? Is the blue sky of sweet, home Alabama – to name another song from a world with its own Apartheid history – the same at the beginning of the Obama era as it was at the time of my birth there in the days of Jim Crow?
It is, indeed, a cruel, crazy, beautiful world.
And we cling to whatever we can get a strong purchase on in the midst of profound uncertainty.
Now, of course, is the time for the preacherly move: point toward God as the unchanging one, the unmoved mover. But I don’t think that is the God revealed in the life of Jesus, because the gospel paints a portrait of Jesus moved often, to tears, to healing, to speak and to act for justice. If Jesus is the one, for Christians, who points us decisively to God then he points to a God so bound up in human history as to suffer with us in the midst of the cruel craziness of it all.
Which suggests trusting in what you cannot see in the same deep way that we trust those whom we love and by whom we are loved. They are, of course, moved and shaped by our shared histories, but the love itself points toward the same constant suggested in that most simple of Christian theological statements: God is love (1 John 4:7). Beloved, as the author of that letter would have addressed you, that enough theology for today.

Merry Christmas 2008

Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukah. Cheerful Kwanzaa. For our pagan friends, solstice salutations. It’s bit late for Eid ul-Fitr greetings, but what the heck. For those of you accustomed to our usual late holiday card: an early happy King Day to you, and to all our friends who are Democrats or liberal-leaning Independents a very, very, very happy early Inauguration Day to you!
This year we are either a) going green, b) going cheap, or c) getting realistic. This e-greeting will kill no trees, use no stamps and not require of any of the Lederle-Ensign household the Herculean effort required to boldly go where no one of us has gone before: the post office. To underscore the upside of e-missives even more, this letter has hyper-links for your optional edification or just to see lots of pictures from our lives over the past year or so!
It’s just been that kind of year … or two, as last year’s letter got written but never made it out of my laptop … which was stolen (in March).
The stereotypical annual family holiday letter gets panned, unfairly in my opinion (which should come as no surprise!), for incessant bragging on the successes of the previous year. Well, in our own special twist, our highlights include one high-school dropout and one parent arrested among a slew of more mundane events.
OK. Bud did not actually drop out of high school. His parents pulled him out after seeing one too many progress reports – and we use the term “progress” advisedly – that showed a great gap between promise and performance. As we’ve explained to the Arlington Public Schools, “we gave you one of the smartest kids in the country, according to various standardized tests, and you couldn’t engage him.”
So, believing that it does take villages to raise their own idiots, er, I mean children, we turned to friends, family and the community college system to create what has become a wonderfully rich 18-month experiment in self-directed learning. The path has included studying early childhood development in a hands-on way both through a child care center and as a two- or three-day per week full-time child care provider for the three-year-old son of close friends in Rockville, MD. (The latter experience produced my personal favorite line from the past year when Bud called me at church one afternoon and said, simply, “potty training sucks.”) Bud has also taken numerous classes at Northern Virginia Community College, and has found the college scene much more compelling than high school. It will all culminate, we trust, in Bud receiving his high-school diploma from the Clonlara School in the spring, right on time with his friends at Wakefield. This time next year, we hope to be telling you of his adventures in college.
Martin entered Wakefield as a freshman this fall, and though the first few months have been a bit rocky – the education of boys is not all beer and skittles – he is such a different child from his older brother that we trust the school will do a good job of narrowing the gap between promise and performance this time. We shall see. In the meantime, Martin is swimming like a fast fish and growing like a slender weed. He also fiddles with the orchestra, and fiddles around too much on Facebook. He spent another happy session at Hanover in August and is preparing this month for winter camp right after Christmas. He remains quiet (too quiet) at school and quick-witted at home. (This afternoon’s example: a concept for a new TV show about a cranky veterinarian who only takes the strangest cases: Dog House. It’s still never lupus.) Martin is a gentle, thoughtful, playful, creative, very hairy young man, who has already donated one ponytail to Locks of Love and could produce another one with a few more shaggy months.
Hannah is also a hairy little one, with long, flowing locks she waves with all the sass a nine-year-old girl can muster. She is a strong-willed, independent fourth grader, who loves to read and play with Josie, her best friend of the past five years. Life is going to take a drastic turn for Hannah in 2009, because Josie’s dad is a state department officer heading to Tunisia for two years beginning at the end of the school year. Already we are exploring a trip, because the Atlantic is not wide enough to keep these two girls apart for two whole years.
If we get to go, you can feel happy that your tax dollars are supporting our journey, as Cheryl has been a full-time employee of your federal government since early this year. She continues to love her work in the office of strategic initiatives (sounds way too much like the CIA) at the Library of Congress. Her primary responsibility is educational outreach – helping make the digital resources of the world’s largest library available to kids in classrooms across the country. Sounds impressive, doesn’t it! Well, you’ll be happy to hear that Cheryl remains her humble self, reading, baking the best pizza anywhere, chasing children, putting up with David and knitting like a surgeon on speed … or something.
David, meanwhile, really did get arrested – with 40-some others at the March 9 Christian Peace Witness for Iraq and Olive Branch Interfaith Peace Partnership. We’ll be back at it next month, celebrating the legacy of Dr. King and the hope inspired by the incoming administration. At this point, there are no plans to get arrested again. Speaking of the new administration, if you’re looking for a free place to stay for the inauguration, drop us a line. We’ve still got floor space! Beyond continued work for peace, the ongoing ministry at Clarendon continues to be full of life and energy and love, and we’re looking forward to being part of this vibrant little community of faith for as long as God calls us together.
Metro DC has come to feel like home to us, and we love sharing the sights of this great city with friends. As a result, we get to host lots of folks from the famous to friends and family. Hannah’s room doubles as guest room, and last year she gave up her bedroom to John Bell, Rick Ufford-Chase, Noah Budin and host of other wonderful folks who don’t have web presences to link. As you might guess, we’ve hosted a lot of wonderful conversations, and most of the problems of the world have been solved on our front porch. Alas, the world has little noted the wisdom we have to offer. Ah, well, we’ll welcome you whether or not you’ve got a website or any particular wisdom. So come and see us in ’09 – unless we’re in Tunisia!
Grace and peace,
Bud, Martin, Hannah, Cheryl & David

Facebook Politics, this time

Seems Facebook has become the site-du-jour for various bits of interesting chatter. This conversation occurred on my friend and colleague, Tim Simpson's page.
Headline: Prop. 8 Sponsors Seek to Nullify 18K Gay Marriages
Source: www.firstcoastnews.com
What kind of person wakes up in the morning and says "I think I'm going to try and invalidate thousands of people's marriages today"? There are reptiles who aren't that cold-blooded. Should we be surprised that the one who has been chosen to argue this Prop H8 case before the CA Supreme Court is Kenneth Starr?
3 Comments
Commenter 1: those marriages should be nullified because they are wrong in God's eyes.
David Ensign: Even if they were wrong in God's eyes -- which many of us do not believe -- what business is it of the state to deny legal rights, responsibilities and privileges based solely on the individuals being part of a broad class to any couple who desire to enter into a binding legal contract pledging their lives and property to one another (and thereby ... Read Morebeing granted tax privileges, partner benefits rights, child-custody rights, and roughly 200 additional rights/responsibilities/benefits that accrue to straight married couples)? Where ever religious communities stand on the issue, this suit seeks to nullify legal status. God's eyes will not be involved -- although I would argue strongly that God's love already is.
Timothy Simpson: That kind of reasoning might work for the Taliban in Afghanistan or the ayatollahs in Iran, but in American jurisprudence, saying that God doesn't like something is a theological, not a legal argument which has its place in a church but not in a courtroom. There are people in America who think that God doesn't like blacks being married to whites but we don't pay attention to such reasoning. If we deny gays the same rights as straights, we have to have different reasons than this. And in this case, to go back AFTER THE FACT and tell people who have adopted or conceived children, who have bought homes, started businesses and done everything else legally and contractually that married couples do everywhere that their marriages are null and void is simply unconscionable. How could Christians do that to the children of such families? Could you imagine the government breaking up your own children's family like that? I certainly can't and can't imagine that this is what God wants.
Facebook is the place to be!

Now That's a Handsome Kid!

Our middle one, Martin, getting ready for his orchestra concert this week. And, to keep with the theme of this old blog, what could be a more faithful gesture than loving one's children ... even when they agitate you?

Obama's New Preacher Problem

First it was Jeremiah Wright, now it's Rick Warren. When it comes to preachers, well Obama might better stick with picking Secretaries of State. I wonder where the family will go to church in DC? One thing I do know: I don't want them at my church! Nothing against him or his family -- after all, I canvassed for him, phone banked for him, and voted for him. But I cannot quite imagine the hassle of security and media that would accompany the First Family at worship. Whew! And then, as Revs. Wright and Warren know first hand, one side or another is going to take a whack at you simply for standing next to the president.
I wish Warren luck in his role at the inauguration ... but I'd rather see Jim Wallis.

Facebook Philosophy

A friend of mine (a real one, as distinct from the virtual, facebooky kind) posted on his Facebook page the same Newsweek article I referenced here yesterday. His posting began an exchange that suggests that philosophy is not dead, just distracted on Facebook like the rest of us.
(Oh, and that's my own current Facebook picture.)
First response: Why use arbitrary BS to combat arbitrary BS? Its kinda like when creationists try to use pseudo-logical arguments to discredit logic. Reason to undo reason. The Bible should be having no place whatsoever in lawmaking. It shouldn't even be considered. Not in *any* rational discussion, let alone one pertaining to the legal rights of the individual. Ah, but then I'm just one of those crazy second class atheistic citizens.
Second response: Actually, my personal belief is that lawmaking necessarily involves making value choices, and to the extent that values choices are informed by religious and/or spiritual belief, that's fine. But when debating in the public square, one must attempt to translate value choices in universal terms. Of course, that could just be bullshit I'm spewing.
Third response: The problem for me is, I don't believe any value or moral "judgment" which is based on supernaturally given premises can have any standing or relevance in real life. I don't see how anything can be informed by the unknowable-by-definition. I'm not saying there aren't pieces of fair wisdom in the Bible, or any other religious text/philosophy... but so long as they are ultimately predicated upon supernatural (thus arbitrary) premises... then there is no universality to present. Unless you restructure said piece of wisdom in terms of reason based in reality - two things which *are* in fact universal to the human experience. Though whether or not those things are used or appreciated or respected remains another issue altogether.
Comic relief: My favorite approach/opinion piece as far as the Bible/homosexuality is the Jack Black video on funnyordie.com :)
Fourth response: ah, but then don't we have to ask what is meant by "reason," "rationality," and "universal"? On what basis do we make an appeal to such concepts which are themselves constructed in and by the domain of a certain western discourse? If that discourse cannot, itself, be authorized by an appeal to anything outside of itself (and thus, also, quite arbitrary), what then becomes of notions such as the "universal rights of man"? Indeed, what becomes of the concept of "man"? On what basis do we posit something like "rights" of this "man" that must universally be respected? Is not "might makes right" just as rationally justifiable as endowing individuals certain inalienable rights that must be universally respected without recourse to power and violence? ... just feeling a bit deconstructive this evening ... must be the wine.
Fifth response: well, ok. Reason is a process of integrating percepts by way of forming abstractions or concepts via a path forged by logic- which is a process of non-contradictory identification. Rationality is the recognition, acceptance of, and commitment to reason as one's only viable source of knowledge. Its a way of life. This knowledge, derived from our immediate experience of reality(perception) (the reality being the universal tidbit here...the thing that is common to all us folks inhabiting it)...from percepts to concepts and back, is what must necessarily form the basis of our judgments..which are the precursors to our actions...IF it is our goal to survive, let alone thrive in this reality. A reality which is *not* arbitrary... but has very specific and predictable patterns of cause and effect. The concept of arbitrariness is defined as a claim or approach which has no underlying logic, no evidence of any sort, no connection to reality.
So reason, as defined as a process of logic/non-contradictory identification and definition by *essential* characteristics, is the antithesis of arbitrariness. I think observation is the key here. Which only pertains to the natural, and not the supernatural, which is of course..."beyond" the natural. As it turns out, humans beings are not beyond the natural. We are very much held subject to her laws. Faith is the antithesis of observation.That which is "beyond" perception is also ultimately necessarily beyond conception (which does not of course mean you cannot conceive of things which aren't real...but those things are still rooted in conglomerates of percepts and concepts which *are* rooted in reality). Pick a scripture or god, they are not grounded in reality - so they are arbitrary and so have no place in the world of the rational person. Step off a 500 ft cliff and, all other things being equal, any person will effectively achieve the same result.
A god cannot have essential characteristics by which it can be known or defined. A god is, effectively, unknowable by definition. A human being does have essential defining characteristics. Also, some human characteristics are arbitrary because they are not essential to the definition of what it is to be a human being. Being black for example. Or gay. Or Blonde. Or 6'3". Or being religious. Volitional consciousness is, it turns out, an essential characteristic. We make choices, judgements - and more complex than which lever to press to get another pellet. What helps make the volition adaptive and productive? Reason. Reason is another essential characteristic. That ability to integrate those percepts into higher order relationships...concepts...its how we learn from our mistakes, handle novel situations, playfully manipulate popular terms of discussion in an effort to undermine the very idea of rational discourse, by ironically mocking rational discourse.
I'm not sure how a discourse can make an appeal with anything let alone itself, because a discourse is not an entity which makes appeals. A person is. What is a persons recourse to the western discourse of reason and rationality? Each their own senses and minds...and the results of the interactions of those minds via their actions with this reality. Unequivocal results which are quite unconcerned with whether you believe in them or not. I realize I'm going on an on here on what was probably a lighthearted devils advocation... but really... do we really want to tear down and reject the one great gift that god gave us to make us special?
Sixth response: I honestly feel out of my league in this conversation between the philosopher and the pastor-philosopher, but hopefully once I've had time to process everything up here I might respond. Hopefully David will respond with more, as I'm thinking this may be the beginning of what I will call the Cosgrove Forum on Religion and Politics. Take that, Pew Charitable Truss!!
Comic relief, two: That should be Pew Charitable Trust, of course. I wonder if anything can be read into that typo.
Seventh response: Ha. My first thought was actually that you were talkin gangsta. Anywho, upon reread I see I, towards the end of entry 7, subsection 3 paragraph 2 -- when I said that scripture or gods are not rooted in reality - thats not correct. Of course, everything a person can conceive of is ultimately constructed with elements of reality, the question being really whether the abstractions are plausible... whether you can actually trace your new abstraction back to observable percepts. My observation is that gods are generally either unobservable/unknowable by definition - because they are necessarily beyond our nature, and so, our knowing.....OR they are ALL observable...god is everything (in which case I'd ask why not just let everything *be*?). I'm agnostic, myself.
Some folks like to toss about the idea of miracles. I always find it interesting that people are so inspired by evidence, even in matters of what is supposed to be faith. Perhaps its that western civilization peer pressure..
Eight response: Well said ... but at 3:00 a.m.? That's Heidegger-reading time!
Or, better, sleep time ... which option seemed more reasonable or rational to me, and, as Husserl (or was it Mr. Spock) said, "it is rational to seek to be rational." Or, even, "reason has its reasons."
On the other hand, or, maybe, on the hand of the other, following this time Derrida, one might offer as a definition, or a meaning of "reason" or of that which is "reasonable" simply the reasoned and considered wager -- or bet, or leap of faith even -- of a "transaction between these two apparently irreconcilable exigencies of reason, between calculation (that which can be perceived and measured) and the incalculable."
At its worst, "faith" becomes religious and attempts to present itself as reasonable. But, as a devil's advocate (and as one who tries to follow Jesus), I would also point toward a faith without religion, what Derrida, again, once called "another way of keeping within reason, however mad it might appear."

Marriage Equality in Newsweek

In case you missed it, Newsweek's Lisa Miller offers a thoughtful, religiously based case for same-sex marriage.
Coincidentally, I ran across it the day after the December meeting of the board of People of Faith for Equality Virginia, where we planned a marriage action for February 13 -- the day before Valentine's Day.
If you're interested in the February event, give me a ring.

Almost Famous

OK, not really, but I did come close to another Andy Warhol moment this afternoon when a CBS Evening News reporter snagged me coming out of the newly opened Capitol visitors center.
Today was opening day for the center and I happened to be on the Hill to have lunch with my wife. As we were walking back toward her office, we saw camera crews and remembered that the center was open today after six years of work and some $600 million. Cheryl told me that today was a "soft open," one done without a huge amount of publicity so that there would not be huge crowds and it would give staff and security a chance to work out any kinks.
I decided that the afternoon's work could wait an extra 45 minutes and headed on in.
I had no particular expectations, but a great deal of curiosity. We've been reading about cost overruns and construction delays and redesigns ever since we moved to the DC area almost six years ago. We've watched the dig beyond the construction barriers as we've hosted out-of-town guests, visited my wife's office at the Library of Congress, and participated in numerous demonstrations for peace that were centered on the Capitol.
With a withering architectural critique, this morning's Post tempered whatever expectations I may have harbored.
Still, I figured that anything that moved the security line from a makeshift tent on the sidewalk next to Independence Avenue to a permanent location under a roof and safe from DC's fickle weather was a good move.
Indeed, the new arrangement makes it feel far easier to get into the building. You can walk straight up to the entrance, go through security and that's it.
Once in, I was free to roam through exhibits on the history of the Capitol, the founding documents of the republic and several fascinating relics of Capitol history including the table which held Lincoln's second inaugural address, the catafalque that has held the caskets of those who have lain in state in the Rotunda, and a ceremonial cup that was awarded to Rep. Preston Brooks by fellow South Carolinians after Brooks caned Massachusetts Sen. Charles Sumner following Sumner's impassioned anti-slavery speech in the spring of 1857.
I walked through the exhibits and then straight up the stairs into the Rotunda. I don't know if you can go beyond that point without being in a tour group, but I wasn't interested in going further today.
I recall coming to the Capitol in the early 80s, when you could walk straight up the west steps that overlook the Mall and waltz right in. Such freedom in public space is almost as quaint a relic of past times as the Lincoln table, but the new visitors center at least provides an illusion of such liberty.
Of course, the CBS reporter was not interested in that. The story she came to tell concerned the excessive costs. In fact, she asked me what I thought about that. I said that compared to spending half a billion dollars on sports stadiums, this seemed in line. She asked how I felt about my taxes being spent on this and I said, that amortized over the next 50 to 100 years that people will enjoy this, it doesn't strike me as unreasonable, and that I'd rather have my tax dollars support this than two endless, purposeless war.
That wasn't the story she intended to tell, so I wound up on the cutting room floor (although you can catch a glimpse of me walking up to the entrance in my dashing black leather jacket in the teaser before the story began!).
Perhaps I should have said, "compared to a trillion dollar bailout of a failed financial system and a $25 billion bailout of the auto industry, $600 million spent on making citizen access to the Capitol a bit easier and more pleasant seems like a pretty sound investment."

Pursuing Happiness on Black Friday

I can't say that I wanted to work today, but I can say that I am thankful to have work to do. If, as Wendel Berry put it, "good work done kindly and well" is prayer, then to have work to do is a prerequisite to being able to pray without ceasing, as Paul exhorted.
Black Friday, that grand spasm of American consumerism on the Friday after Thanksgiving, strikes me as a particularly good day to be able to work -- unless you are a retail worker, in which case it must be sheer hell. (Even dangerous, as indicated by the tragic news that a Wal-Mart worker was trampled to death today by early-bird shoppers.)
My work today consisted of finishing a few things for Sunday, getting out a couple of e-mail messages, and putting the final touches on a newsletter for next month -- a perfectly relaxed agenda that took less than half a day.
I spent part of that time in the local coffee shop, doing my small part to stimulate the economy and taking a few quiet moments to reflect on the day's great and central contradiction. Black Friday comes the day after the only authentic American religious holiday and kicks off the season of continued debasement of a singular Christian holiday.
I think Henri Nouwen was spot on when he commented that gratitude is the fundamental response to the world that is common to every authentic religious expression. Thanksgiving invites Americans, thus, to authentic religious expression that can be articulated in the language of any of the world's great religious traditions.
Black Friday, on the other hand, gets to the heart of America's triumphant tradition: consumerism.
It is a day that reminds us that we all have the right to pursue happiness. Like every day dedicated to shopping, Black Friday comes without the reminder that we have only the right to pursue happiness, not the right to catch it.
Many of us will spend the next 364 days in the pursuit of a consuming passion -- the belief that we can buy that happiness the pursuit of which is promised us.
Then on the last Thursday of next November, another year older, we can gather with friends and family, and give thanks for all that makes us genuinely happy -- almost none of it having been bought and paid for during the previous year's consumer orgy.

Happy Thanksgiving

We've got family coming to town tomorrow, and odds are good that there will be no more postings here till after the holidays. So count your blessings, give thanks and enjoy the holiday. The weather in the nation's capital is supposed to be quite lovely. I hope it is nice wherever you are, too.

Why I Was There

I attended Presbytery tonight. As often happens, I sat wondering why I was there. What was my calling? Would I better be serving the purposes of the kingdom of God in a meeting in which no meeting happened, in which no relationships were nurtured and in which we did only routine business? Or would such purposes be better served by responding to my calling to be father to my three kids and husband to my wife on the evening before she leaves town for work for a week?
I appreciate the importance of the routine work: an ordination was approved, several new pastoral callings were approved, and a retirement was acknowledged. The necrology from 2008 was lifted up and we recalled all the saints who, having run their race with perseverance, are now at rest with God. Announcements were made of significant events in the lives of the faithful.
But everything that happened could have been accomplished either through virtual means, via committee work, or in one hour of stirring worship, so I wondered, why was I there?
Turns out I was a vote counter on an overture from General Assembly that the General Assembly Council be renamed the General Assembly Mission Council. Unbelievable as it seems, the voice vote on that motion was unclear and someone called for a division of the house. I don’t recall how it turned out, and I doubt that anyone who attended recalls either. Talk about rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. We took extra time to count the votes on whether or not to change the name of a body whose function will not change at all!
Is it any wonder that there is a group of pastors who want to change the way we do business as a Presbytery?

My Aunt's Last Words

My aunt Ruth died earlier this month after a long battle with cancer. Her memorial service was Saturday and much of the clan gathered to worship and to honor and remember a life lived incredibly well and faithfully.
My uncle shared with us that on election night, as he and my cousin Jo sat in John and Ruth's living room watching the returns, my aunt lay sleeping in the next room. They knew that her death was coming, and John and Jo thought, in fact, that she had slipped into a coma.
But when the newscasters announced that Virginia had, indeed, gone for Obama, John and Jo heard a "whoopee" from the next room. They went in to check on Ruth, and she smiled at them and said, "my vote counted."
A little bit later, as my cousin was talking with her mom, Ruth said, "see what we can accomplish if we all work together." Then she slipped off to sleep and never regained consciousness.
I don't know if Ruth looked at the Obama campaign as a final step on the journey of her life, but I do know that she and my uncle John worked for a more just society throughout their lives. John is a retired Presbyterian pastor whose ministry was primarily in camping. He and Ruth literally wrote the book on Christian camping, and the center that they founded outside of Richmond in 1957 was, from its beginning, a place that welcomed everyone. Begun when Virginia was still practicing "massive resistance" to school desegregation, Camp Hanover was established as an integrated ministry that was intended always to witness to what the psalmist observed: how good and beautiful it is when kindred live together in unity.
That unity came at a cost in those days. While I never spoke with John and Ruth about the opposition, I know my own father wound up on the Klan's enemies list in Alabama during those same years for holding integrated youth gatherings in his work with the YMCA.
Along with thousands of others whose names will not be written large in the history of the United States, they are part of the long work of bending the arc of the moral universe toward justice.
One of Obama's campaign posters said, "Rosa sat, so Martin could stand, so Obama could run, so our children can fly." I like to think that Ruth and John camped along the way so that thousands of young people might understand better what that sitting, standing, running and flying is all about.
In addition to camping, my aunt was an accomplished artist. At her memorial service, at Ginter Park Presbyterian Church near their home in Richmond, a banner that Ruth had constructed graced the sanctuary.
In her reflection, the Rev. Carla Pratt Keyes, the current pastor, told the story behind the banner. It was a story that Robert Fulghum tells about a conversation with philosopher Alexander Papaderos. In response to Fulghum's question, "what is the meaning of life?", Papaderos answered,
"When I was a small child, during the war, we were very poor and we lived in a remote village. One day, on the road, I found the broken pieces of a mirror. A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place.
"I tried to find all the pieces and put them together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the largest piece. This one. And by scratching it on a stone I made it round. I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine -- in deep holes and crevices and dark closets. It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find.
"I kept the little mirror, and as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments and continue the challenge of the game. As I became a man, I grew to understand that this was not just a child's game but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that I am not the light or the source of light. But light -- truth, understanding, knowledge -- is there, and it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it.
"I am a fragment of a mirror whose whole design and shape I do not know. Nevertheless, with what I have I can reflect light into the dark places of this world -- into the black places in the hearts of men -- and change some things in some people. Perhaps others may see and do likewise. This is what I am about. This is the meaning of my life."
Ruth heard that story and produced a piece of art that suggests mirror fragments falling from the Holy Spirit into outstretched hands of every size and color. Like all good art, the piece resists reduction to any single explanation or to words, but as I reflected on my aunt's final words and the testimony of her art, I thought about being one small part of the many who are holding small mirrors these days, trying to catch the light and reflect it into the darkest places of our world.
So I'm holding a part of my own family in the light these days, and hoping that together we are shining a light of hope into the world as the nation tries to emerge from a long dark season.

Resurrection of Call

I went for a run this morning in the frost of Stony Point. Up a hill from the conference center is an old cemetery, and my route took me through it. I noticed, in particular, one large headstone with its back to the path I was on. I could see no details of dates of birth or death or even first name, just the all caps word "CALL." I wondered, "was this a request, as in, 'call me when I'm gone'? Or, was it a sign of an untimely demise of a central theological concept? Considering the latter possibility, as I ran I pondered the death of call. But, being part of a resurrection people, I also considered the rebirth of vocation.
Being in the midst of an intense 72 hour consultation on evangelism, I pondered the rebirth of the call to share the good news with a world that so desperately needs to hear a bene diction -- a good word, a word of good news.
It was a fascinating conversation with about 80 or so committed Presbyterian leaders from across the country and from across the spectrum of Presbyterian life and theology.
The conversation was by turns inspiring and frustrating. The inspiration came, as inspiration so often does, from the rich and compelling personal stories shared in groups, in worship, over food and drink. The frustrations arose, as frustrations often do, from the spinning of wheels when we either bogged down in process or couldn't quite get to the heart of the matter of what we variously mean by that slippery word "evangelism."
Nevertheless, despite the slipping and sliding and occasional sense of "stuckness," I think 80 leaders left Stony Point committed to act on what we learned from each other.
Whether or not the word "evangelism" can be restored, perhaps the practice can experience a revitalization if the experience of the past few days announces the resurrection of a common call.

Blogging Out Loud

It's getting late, so nothing I post at this point should be taken with any seriousness!
I spent the afternoon, and will spend all of tomorrow, at a consultation on evangelism at the Stony Point Center in New York. It's been an interesting afternoon and evening. GA Moderator Bruce Reyes Chow is here (and he's podcasting right now and has been twittering all afternoon ... and if I was at all tech savvy I'd understand exactly what all of that means and how it might be used effectively for evangelic outreach!).
Lots of good conversation on the meaning of evangelism, and lots of food for thought, and in the spirit of "blogging out loud," I'm posting a couple of random responses that have not yet achieved the level of even random thoughts.
First, it is helpful to be in the midst of the more evangelical wing of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) and to spend a while immersed in that language.
Second, I would rather being singing the songs of the Iona Community than the contemporary evangelical praise music that dominated our worship this evening -- songs that focus exclusively on Jesus on the cross and Jesus on the throne of heaven as if Jesus never had a life.
Third, numbers one and two above lead me to wonder what it is we think we are calling people to when we invite them to faith.

Change in the Air

Fall has long been my favorite time of year. I love the colors. I love walking through the woods and feeling the leaves crunch, listening to the swirl around in the wind, smelling a bit of death and decay. More than any other season, fall reminds me of endings and new beginnings.
So it was with a strong sense of personal decay -- or, at least, middle agedness -- that I took my oldest on a college visit to Mary Washington University.
It was a stunningly beautiful autumn day, and, as has been the case all fall, change was in the air. This time, though, it was personal.

Change We Can Believe In!

Well, not so much. Actually, just got tired of the old format and thought, after almost four years of posting here, that it was time for a change. Hope you find it a bit cleaner and easier to read.

Yes We Can!

Tired, mostly, is my response today to the election yesterday of Barack Obama. Too many late nights in a row watching politics and history unfold.
But mixed with the tiredness is a sense of hope and of pride in being a citizen of the world's oldest democracy.
Yes we can overcome a history of racism -- not in one night, not by the election of one man, but yes, we can overcome.
Listening, today, to responses from people around the world it is clear that the world is looking at us with hope because we have come so far in overcoming our national original sin, and moved one step closer to being a more perfect union.
None of that has anything to do with the issues, the partisan positions or the problems that will come President Obama's way -- and the failures that will no doubt trouble his administration along the way as well.
But it is to say that, a Obama noted, only in America is this story possible.
As I watched it unfold last night, I was particularly moved by an interview with Rep. John Lewis, who recalled standing with Martin Luther King on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.
The arc of the moral universe is long, and every once in a great while we get to witness it bend a little closer to justice. Last night, all those who have put their hand to the work of bending that arc with respect to race in America saw the arc bend again. Yes we can!

Really, you can't make this up ...

Seems that the good folks at the 700 Club have called for prayers for the economy, so the "faithful" gathered at the bull on Wall Street to pray. Did these people never read the Exodus story? Does the word "idolatry" ring a bell? The prosperity gospel has run amok. "Lord Jesus, protect us from your followers."

Pastors, Politics, Religion, Questions

I suppose it's only natural that less than a week prior to a significant national election I might have politics on the brain just now, but this story really did sidetrack my sermon writing today.
Seems that the North Carolina U.S. Senate race has taken a particularly nasty turn with a new ad from Sen. Elizabeth Dole (linked here) that suggests that her opponent, Kay Hagan, is, well, godless.
It's an interesting line of attack against a woman who is an elder in the Greensboro First Presbyterian Church where her family has been members for, oh, about 100 years. She's taught Sunday School for years, worked on the congregation's local missions and basically been an all-around good church-going, God-fearing woman.
All of that is, alas, politics as usual these days.
But the story has another twist that got my attention. Hagan's pastor of 17 years has recorded a radio ad for her campaign. He defends her faith and values and endorses her election.
I'm not sure of his present ecclesiastical standing. He may well be honorably retired and not tied to a congregation whose tax-exempt status could be put at risk.
But the whole thing leaves me wondering what I would do if a member of my congregation was running for public office and came under such a scurrilous attack.
What do you think?

and now, for something completely different ...

Because I am a small "d" democrat and believe that every voice should be heard, here's a different perspective on faith and the upcoming election. Enjoy ... or, at least, endure.

Neighbor, Community, Politics

I've worked on campaigns going back to the 70s, so you'd figure that well before middle age I would have learned something about the value and meaning of retail politics. Well, duh, I learned it again yesterday as I did a bit of door-to-door work for my choice in this election.
The Obama campaign has canvass launch sites spread across Arlington County (which is among the smallest -- by land area -- counties in the United States). The ground game across Northern Virginia is simply huge with Obama canvassers heading out from at least eight sites across the county.
When I got to my launch site yesterday there were 15 people getting their clipboards and preparing to hit the sidewalks at 3:00 on a beautiful fall Sunday afternoon. You can do the math on the likely number of canvassers in Arlington yesterday for three shifts. We probably had personal contacts in more than 1,000 households.
I managed to find people at home in a dozen. Three, in particular, reminded me firsthand of both the importance of neighborhood politics and a deeper and broader sense of neighborhood that ought to prevail in our politics.
I can walk up the hill from my house to the launch site. I have done so each of the past four weekends and asked for a route that doesn't require me to get in my car. This gives me the opportunity to talk to people who really are my neighbors in a traditional sense of the word. When I find someone at home I always mention the street I live on, and that bit of personal information never fails to open up a channel of conversation.
I met a neighbor yesterday who is a Pakistani-American who told me, "I was enthusiastic for Obama until he started talking about invading my country." I admitted that I was not enthusiastic about that stance either, but that I believe Obama is committed strong diplomacy and multilateralism, and that his calm response to the financial crisis gives us a strong sense of the way he will respond to international crises as well.
My neighbor was not convinced, and he told me of his concern for friends and family in Pakistan. We talked for a while longer, and he said he was likely to vote for Obama but that he probably wouldn't really make up his mind until he was standing in the voting booth.
I'd like to be able to tell you that I swung this voter, but, instead, he reminded me that all politics -- even on international issues -- remains local, and his personal connections to friends and family in Pakistan shifted his sense of locality and of responsibility to neighbors. So, I just said to him, "I think the most important work of this campaign begins on Nov. 5, when we have to work hard to hold Sen. Obama accountable and push him to live up to his own highest ideals, especially on issues like this."
As I walked on to the next house I thought about the long hours of work I have done organizing with Christian Peace Witness for Iraq and about our internal conversations about the need for a strong peace witness around the broader war on terror and the ongoing violence in Afghanistan. My neighbor reminded me that the real work does begin on Nov. 5, because the wisdom of the ancient psalmist is right, "Do not put your trust in princes, in mortals, in whom there is no help. When their breath departs, they return to the earth; on that very day their plans perish."
It will be up to us to put the real breath and life into the Obama presidency, just as we have into the Obama candidacy. So, if you are committed to just and lasting peace, keep organizing, keep pressing, keep talking with neighbors.
I was still thinking about my Pakistani-American neighbor when I knocked on the door of an African-American neighbor. I was looking for an 18-year-old man, a potential first-time voter, and he was home.
In fact, his whole family was there and they gathered around the front porch with me to talk about the election. We talked about the fact that his grandparents' generation lived under Jim Crow laws and fought for the right to vote. I told him that I was born in Alabama and, as an Scots-Irish-American, had probably had my diapers changed in "whites only" public restrooms.
His younger sister, a charming six-year-old with beads in her braids and a gap where one of her front teeth used to be, told me that she had polled her entire family and got 13 votes for Obama. Then I remarked how she was about the same age as Sen. Obama's younger daughter, so maybe when the Obama family moves into the White House she could send the girls a "welcome to the neighborhood" card. I said that clearly she was the head of this household so I gave her the campaign literature and elicited a promise from her that she would make certain that her big brother made it to the polls on election day.
With a solemn look on her face, she promised that she would. Not only is politics local, sometimes it is all in the family.
Of course, the definition of family, kin and neighbor is what's at stake so often in our politics. This is nothing new under the sun. Jesus' parable of the good Samaritan was all about defining neighbor, about moving beyond tribal politics to a broader understanding of community.
The last door I knocked on was a Latino-American family just up the hill from my house. The mom and one daughter were home. Although both were enthusiastic Obama supporters, neither were voters -- the daughter being too young and the mother not yet a United States citizen.
The daughter chided her mom for "not taking the test yet." The mom chuckled and said, "I know, I know. I will soon." I said, "well, we're going to want to reelect Obama in four years, so maybe you can aim to be a citizen for that election."
I told them I lived just down the hill, and the daughter said she was in the same school as my younger son. It was abundantly clear that we share a common stake in the neighborhood, the community, the commonwealth.
I ended the afternoon thinking that maybe, if we all continue to work together for authentic change and if we all continue to talk with our neighbors as often as possible and not just once every four years, then someday we will share a deeper sense of that commonwealth no matter what hyphen happens to fall in our American identity.
The heart of the faith-based community organizing that gave Obama his start is personal relationships. While progressives certainly hold no monopoly on personal relationships, there is a reason why such organizing has a particular power for progressives.
Progressives place a high value on relationship while the corresponding value for many conservatives is purity. That's one of the reasons that same-sex issues, for example, are such a hot button: in the conservative evangelical worldview sex outside of marriage between a man and a woman is not pure, and the question of purity trumps the value of any relationship at question. You can detect the same logic -- absent lousy Biblical interpretation -- in the question of immigration which devolves too quickly to the question of who is a "real" American and who is not, who is in and who is out, who is pure and who is tainted.
But the deeper our relationships with neighbors who don't share the same background and experience and ties of kinship, the more we are forced to call into question our own understanding of what constitutes "purity."
My Pakistani-American neighbor pushes me to remain critical of my own candidate in productive ways. My African-American neighbor reminds me of my own roots and the privileges that come with them, and thus pushes me to remain critical of power structures that enshrine exclusions. My Latino-American neighbor reminds me of the promise of America that I often take for granted, and thus pushes me to remain committed to keeping doors -- and borders -- safely open.
All of these neighbors remind me of the urgency of continuing this work beyond next week. We must find more and creative way to use the remarkable network built by the Obama campaign as a movement that begins come November 5, rather than a project that ends on November 4. As Sen. Kennedy would say, "the work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dreams shall never die."

When I Was Hungry ...

This evening was my congregation's monthly night to bag groceries for the Arlington Food Assistance Center. We filled 350 bags with rice, beans, veggies, and soup. The volunteer coordinator at the center told us that they've seen a serious uptick in clients over the past couple of months -- almost 40 percent increase in the number of folks served each week here (from 800 to more than 1,100) in one of the metro area's more affluent inner-ring suburbs.
One of the women bagging with us tonight works for Wachovia. She was telling us of the huge decline in the retirement plans of their 100,000 employees as the financial crisis dropped Wachovia's stock from the $15.00 range to less than a buck over the course of three or four months. Throughout the period employees were reassured via e-mails from management that everything was fine.
It struck me speaking with her that it is somehow perfectly fitting that the Bush era began with Enron and will end with the financial crisis, and throughout it has been the folks who work for a living who have been the victims. Now more and more of them are coming to places like AFAC. They are hungry. Who will feed them?
Oh, it was a beautiful autumn day today with a palpable sense of seasonal change in the air, and I voted.

In Jesus' Name ... oy

Tis the season of robocalls I reckon. Our home phone has been inundated with them this week as the McCain campaign tries to convince Virginians to be afraid of Bill Ayers. Well, I guess actually they want us to be afraid of Barack Obama, but it seems more reasonable, given the tenor of the calls, to be afraid of Ayers.
But that's neither here nor there. The church phone today received a robocall from Gordon Klingenschmitt, a former Navy chaplain who was discharged because he insisted on praying, against Navy regulations, in Jesus' name at events which non-Christian Navy personnel were required to attend.
The ex-chaplain has become a Right-wing gadfly focusing on any instance of perceived violation of the rights of chaplains to force Jesus down the throats of non-Christians. Well, of course, he doesn't see it quite like that.
Now he's pulling together an event in Virginia that, so he said on the robocall, is completely non-political. Interestingly enough, this "nonpartisan" and "non-political" rally will take place in Richmond on the Saturday before an election in which Virginia plays a critical swing-state role, but I'm sure that is mere coincidence.
Somehow I don't think the chaplain's robocall was any less political than the McCain camp's robocall, but I'm just the listener on the end of the line.

Fashion a Statement

Someone passed along a note to me today saying that the blog would be better if it touched more on fashion. So, this one's for you.
John Bell was with us this week as charming house guest and as musical guest for a concert evening. Normally I'd go on at length about his remarkable music or his hysterical stories, or staying up till 1:30 Wednesday evening chatting and drinking wine with him, but this is a fashion column today so I'll focus instead on his remarkable shoes.
His was unmistakable and unmissable standing in front of Union Station Monday afternoon in his typical bright shirt and bright red Dr. Martens. Amazing shoes! In the kingdom of God they wear such shoes, and, in the kingdom of God they come in half sizes.
I've looked at many a Dr. Marten over the years, and tried on quite a few. Alas, my feet fall in a half size range and the Docs have all felt either a bit tight or a bit loose. However, the red ones are such that one might just suffer a bit for fashion. After all, they are the proper dress for the kingdom so some sacrifices must be made.

Sad, Scared ... but Full of Hope

It's been a strange week here in Lake Woebegone. Markets crashing. More than enough anxiety to go around in the lives of so many folks.
We had a credit card canceled last week. We had never used it, and the reason given for its cancellation was "lack of use." I know card companies do that, but the timing struck me as interesting, then I heard a commentator on NPR say that card companies were shedding as many accounts as they can, and that having a card canceled by the company is never a good thing for one's credit score. Ah well, one can hope that this is the only nick we get beyond the huge losses on those retirement savings. The quarterly statement arrived today; I'm not planning on opening it.
And in the midst of all this, today, right here in "communist" Arlington (oh, that's what Joe McCain, John's brother, said about our community last week), I saw a car with a bumper sticker that said "Obama bin Laden '08."
I have always considered myself a small 'd' democrat. I believe in hearing lots of voices from lots of communities in the body politic, so the past week of presidential politics has been deeply sad. I am also a Southerner, so when I hear hatred aimed at an African-American leader I get scared, too.
But I heard an older man preach a few weeks back about the way America pulled together in his youth during the Great Depression. I certainly hope that we are not going as far down the economic road as that.
At the same time, we do have resources as a people that we can tap into. That sermon reminded me. Then yesterday, I came across this post from David LaMotte, a man whose music inspires me. As David puts it, "it is the job of Christians to stand with all persecuted people when they are persecuted unfairly, as some Christians stood with Jews in southern France during the holocaust (told beautifully in the book “Lest Innocent Blood Be Shed”) Read what Jesus had to say in the Sermon on the Mount. These are our instructions, and Obama in [Dreams of My Father] is talking about unfair persecution of a religion within our country. Friends, if we’ve stopped believing in religious freedom, we have ceased to be America. If we will only stand up to defend people who agree with us, we have nothing left to be proud of."
Right after I read David's blog, I caught Sarah Vowell's Blog of the Nation on the Puritans. Her commentary led me to look up John Winthrop's sermon, "A Model of Christian Charity," in which he holds the New World up as a city on a hill.
He wrote the piece during the 1630 crossing of the Atlantic as the Puritans came to America to found that city, and lay claim to their share of its promise. The Puritans' vision surely foundered on the shoals of reality and their own excesses -- including Winthrop's -- but Winthrop's advice to those voyagers rings true today as the nation struggles in the rough water of a battered economy and a diminished politics.
"Now the only way to avoid this shipwreck, and to provide for our posterity, is to follow the counsel of Micah, to do justly, to love mercy, to walk humbly with our God. For this end, we must be knit together, in this work, as one man. We must entertain each other in brotherly affection. We must be willing to abridge ourselves of our superfluities, for the supply of others’ necessities. We must uphold a familiar commerce together in all meekness, gentleness, patience and liberality. We must delight in each other; make others’ conditions our own; rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together, always having before our eyes our commission and community in the work, as members of the same body. So shall we keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace."

I Buried an Obama Voter Yesterday

I buried an Obama voter yesterday morning at Arlington National Cemetery. Now I have to find at least two new ones here in Virginia to honor the one we lost.
Well, actually it's more accurate to say that I officiated at the commital service and, later in the afternoon, at the memorial service for a 95-year-old woman who lived one of the richest and fullest lives I could imagine. Her name was Sally, and for the sake of her family's privacy, I'll leave it at that.
When she died last month, I remember thinking, "the only two things that Sally would be disappointed about in death are not seeing what comes next in the lives of her great grandchildren and not living long enough to see George W. Bush leave the White House."
She could not stand George Bush!
That last time I visited with her, early this summer, we got to talking politics. This was just after Obama had sewn up the Democratic nomination, and she was so excited by that development. She reflected back on all the remarkable change that she had witnessed over 95 years in this country, and found renewed hope and excitement at the prospect of casting a vote for Obama this fall.
She was born on a farm in South Dakota prior to World War I, when travel was literally horse powered. Married to an Air Force officer, she traveled the world and had the broad-minded vision of one who was well traveled and thoughtful.
Though I didn't say this during the memorial service, as I think about her life I cannot help but compare her to Sarah Palin. Both women of the Great Plains and upper Midwest, the young governor does not hold up well in comparison to the 95-year-old farm girl.
Sally was, for more than 50 years, a member of the congregation that I now serve. She came close to leaving it twice, that I am aware of.
First, about 15 years ago, when the church welcomed into leadership its first out gay elder (or member of the church board). Sally did not consider leaving because the congregation elected a gay elder, she considered leaving because some folks in the congregation were up in arms over it. She thought, "where is the mercy in them?" and "the man is clearly right for the job and his partner is lovely."
That first gay elder and his partner of more than 20 years were at the service yesterday.
The second time she considered leaving was when I told her, a few years back, that both Donald Rumsfeld and Condoleezza Rice were members of Presbyterian churches. She was deeply committed to peace, having served in the Red Cross during World War II, and she could not tolerate the War in Iraq and those who dragged us into it. In the end, she just said, "well, they are not Clarendon Presbyterians!"
She was a passionate believer in equality and in peace. Sarah Palin could have learned a thing or two from her.
When Barack Obama takes office in January, I will go to Sally's grave and lay a flower and a copy of Post.

Saving Jesus

So we've begun saving Jesus at Clarendon. We've tossed him a life-ring of conversation and a rope of discussion. Lots of fun. You should join us.

The Coolest Thing About My Church

Yesterday at worship during the prayers of the people a man (who I'll call 'Joe' for the sake of a bit of privacy) prayed for a bit of peace and comfort. His wife, who serves on our session -- Presbyterian-speak for church board -- was with her father who was dying. In addition to that heavy burden, they had lost their 17-year-old dog earlier in the week. They'd also had a couple of family 'highs' -- birth of a grandchild -- in recent weeks so it had been an emotional roller coaster for the past month or so. He was in tears as he prayed aloud.
As powerful as such moments are, they are, to be sure, nothing particularly out of the ordinary in a small church. Except for this: Joe is Jewish.
We say, every Sunday, that Clarendon Presbyterian Church is a house of prayer for all of God's children. And we mean it. Without exception.
We are clear and unapologetic in proclaiming the good news of Jesus. We pray in Jesus' name. But we trust that God hears everybody's prayers. We know that we do not have hold of all there is of God in our Christian confession and are enriched by the faiths of others. We hear Jesus' words, that his father's house has lots of rooms.
And we trust that there is one for Joe -- not because he comes to church, but because he seeks God and anybody who knocks at the door of God's house is going to find a welcome. So in our little wing of the house, we don't have a litmus test of creed or confession for joining the fellowship, offering prayers, serving the least of these, and finding a little peace in the presence of a loving God.
Will Joe ever "find Jesus"? That question holds little interest for me. Frankly, I think it is the wrong question.
Joe is a sojourner, walking a path in fear and trembling -- as Paul put it -- toward the light of life and love that shines in the darkness. Some will only always interpret that light as Jesus.
On the other hand, if light can be both particle and wave, perhaps the metaphor can be expanded, as well. After all, long before Jesus, God told Moses: I will be who I damn well please.