War and such

So, I was reading this article this morning in the New York Times about the troops in Afghanistan, and it reminded me of a poem that I read on Sunday. Both of them also resonate with how I have been feeling about this endless, amorphous war in the Middle East. Everyone seems to know a soldier who has been deployed in this war, and yet there is a feeling of distance about it, as though it doesn't really affect us. If we really thought it affected us, I suspect we'd be more intent on ending it. Of course, it does affect us, in a number of ways: the death toll, the mental health of returning soldiers, the ever-increasing national debt, etc. But somehow we've been numbed to these effects, and to any real sense that we might bring an end to the war. I'm probably going to be called unpatriotic and told I'm not supporting the troops for saying so, but I tend to be of the opinion that trying to keep them alive and emotionally functional is being supportive.

(And then there are the various race and class issues involved in the military, which are mentioned in both the article and the poem, but which I am just not feeling the mental stamina to address. Another day, another post.)

the con job
by Charles Bukowski

the ground war began today
at dawn
in a desert land
far from here.
the U.S. ground troops were
largely
made up of
Blacks, Mexicans and poor
whites
most of whom had joined
the military
because it was the only job
they could find.

the ground war began today
at dawn
in a desert land
far from here
and the Blacks, Mexicans
and poor whites
were sent there
to fight and win
as on tv
and on the radio
the fat white rich newscasters
first told us all about
it
and then the fat rich white
analysts
told us
why
again
and again
and again
on almost every
tv and radio station
almost every minute
day and night
because
the Blacks, Mexicans
and poor whites
were sent there
to fight and win
at dawn
in a desert land
far enough away from
here.

Sermon for July 4 (Luke 10)

Happy fourth of July! Obviously today is the day we celebrate our independence as a nation, so I’ve been thinking about freedom this week. Perhaps this isn’t as true for other generations, but for many people of my age at least, there was a critical moment in which there was a shift in our understanding of the meaning of freedom. It was in 1995 - coincidentally, the year of my graduation from high school - and our concept of freedom was forever altered as we watched Mel Gibson paint his face a historically inaccurate but very dramatic blue, and give his unlikely army a pep talk ending with this phrase: “They may take our lives, but they will never take our FREEDOM!!!!!!”

Yes, oddly enough, it was the movie “Braveheart” that made some of us realize that freedom was not just something that people could die for, which we had been taught anyway by grandparents and American history classes. We came to understand that there is something about freedom that was bigger than death - something about true freedom that even death could not take away.

Of course, what I and some of my peers learned from Braveheart, I suppose others have been learning over the last couple of thousand years from Jesus.

In today’s passage from Luke, we find Jesus giving a “pep talk” of his own, not to warriors about to charge into battle, but to a rag-tag group of followers he was sending out in pairs as ambassadors of sorts to the surrounding villages. Go, armed simply with the message of peace. Bring nothing - no, money, no food rations, no extra clothing, not even shoes. Rely on the hospitality of strangers. There will be a risk that you will be unwelcome - a likelihood, in fact, and this is what you should do if - or rather when - it happens. By the way, you will be like lambs in the middle of a hungry wolf pack. For a pep talk, this is not terribly peppy.

And yet, the seventy disciples go out, and when they return, they are not full of stories of being chased out of town, or running out of food, or of the horrible rejection they’ve received. They return with joy, with stories of the healings they had done, with jubilation at the things they had been able to accomplish. And Jesus confirms for them that they have authority even over snakes and scorpions - which I don’t think means just the literal creatures of the ground, but rather anything that might strike out to harm them. They have authority even over all the power of the enemy. They have freedom to go, to preach, to rely on the hospitality of strangers, to live and travel without worry, and it is a freedom that even all the powers of death can not take away from them.

I think that one of the compelling things about Braveheart was that image of Mel Gibson and the cinematic Scotsmen charging across a field, knowing some of them were going to die, expecting death, even - and yet this was the moment in which they were least afraid. There’s something of that same feeling, I think, in the disciples at this moment - in this group of random people picked up here and there as they were drawn by the call of Jesus, who were in most other moments completely confused by the things that he said - when they headed off in pairs to preach a message they were just beginning to understand, in expectation of danger to themselves. And yet, this is the moment in which they are most certain. This is the moment in which they are least afraid.

As Americans, we like to talk a lot about freedom. We sing songs about it and create holidays to celebrate it. We have it written into the founding documents of our nation: freedom of expression, assembly, religion, the freedom to bear arms, freedom from unreasonable search and seizure and unfair trial, etc. All very important freedoms to have, all worth standing up for.

One of the things we don’t talk so much about, however, is freedom from fear. In fact, it might be suggested that we have built a load of multimillion-dollar industries around our fear. Think about the number of businesses who create products and services that protect us from one thing or another: pharmaceutical companies that preserve us from pain and illness, companies that fill food with preservatives so that it doesn’t make us ill, other companies that make “all natural” food that won’t kill us with preservatives, auto manufacturers who make our cars as impervious to impact as possible, alarm systems and security companies to protect our stuff, data storage and anti-virus services to protect our information, research agencies that tell us which water bottles are safe to drink from and which will give us cancer. I can’t begin to think of the number of companies who currently sell products that protect our children, with everything from baby gates and bicycle helmets to tracking devices and security cameras.

The appealing thing about all of these products and services is that they do, in some ways, keep us healthier and safer, which is a positive thing. But they also depend on people being fearful of all the things that might harm them. Although there are many things to be celebrated about this country, our government, as well, has been known at various points in history to depend on and take advantage of the fear of the American people, and there have been times when we have traded in that precious freedom we talk about so much, giving up civil liberties for ourselves or others, in order to preserve a sense of safety, whether it be from communist, terrorist, or immigrant.

This kind of freedom only goes so far. It might give us a longer life, but trap us in a lifetime of fear of our own mortality. It might allow us to pursue all the success and possessions we want, but in exchange for daily anxiety about keeping up with our neighbors, maintaining our reputations, and protecting our assets. This might be the American dream, I guess, but to me it doesn’t sound much like freedom.

Now, I’m not saying that we have to give away everything we have and become itinerant to be faithful - although according to some accounts, Jesus might disagree. I’m not saying that we should never be concerned for our own safety or the safety of others - although there is a part of Bible that tells us that we need never worry about what we will eat, or drink or wear, or what will come tomorrow. We all have to work out what those things mean for ourselves, individually and in community, and it would be a mistake and a terrible hypocrisy for me to tell you what to do. But I am saying that maybe we should take a little closer look at what freedom really means, and that we might get some insight into that from the kind of freedom Jesus offers the disciples.

No purse, no bag, no sandals...freedom from money and the obsession that it can be, freedom from possessions and the need to carry the burden of them, or protect them.

Say first, “Peace to this house...” Freedom from violence or the fear of it.

Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide...freedom from the mindless busyness of traveling here and there in pursuit of a better offer, freedom from worrying about whether basic needs will be met.

Even the dust that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you...freedom from being crushed by someone’s dislike or ruled by their opinion.

Authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing will hurt you...freedom from fear of harm, freedom even from fear of death.

The kinds of freedoms we have in this country are valuable and important, and people have died to defend them and continue to do so. And yet, they are not the same as the freedom that Christ offers us - which is not only the knowledge that some things are worth dying for, but the assurance that ultimately, even death itself cannot overcome us. The Braveheart vision of freedom, by the way, also falls short of true freedom. It’s a freedom based on violence, on the idea that by killing the people who are doing wrong we can escape from fear. But the way of human beings is that violence generally doesn’t cause peace, it causes more violence, and violence in turn causes fear, which takes away freedom. Christ’s way of freedom is one of peace: of going to the stranger without a sword or even a staff in hand, of welcoming relationship and collaboration, of receiving rejection by simply shaking off the dust of your feet and moving on.

Christ’s freedom enables us to make decisions about the way we live that are not based on worry about what others will think about us or do to us, but rather on what is the best choice: for those we love, for other people we encounter, for the whole of creation, and for ourselves. True freedom has no need to fear injury or rejection, because it does not need to fear even death itself.

I know we don’t quote the Heidelberg Catechism around here much, but it is one of the confessions that the Reformed Church holds to, and as I think about freedom on this 4th of July, I’m particularly drawn to question and answer #1: What is your only comfort in life and in death? That I am not my own, but belong, body and soul, in life and in death, to my faithful savior Jesus Christ. Today we celebrate the nation in which we live, and the tremendous opportunities we are given by living in it. But we also recognize that above that allegiance, we are citizens in the kingdom of God come near - and in that belonging we find true freedom.

O Dear, Dear Gender Issues, Won't You Arise Again?

I've just returned from a week at General Synod. There were no gender-related issues on the agenda. The Commission for Women brought no recommendations to the floor. And yet, when two women were the only nominees for Vice President, comments on the synod blogs reassured us that "the women's issue" is still alive and kicking in the RCA. Then I returned home, and suddenly bunches of my friends are posting gender-related articles on Facebook - a couple about the tyranny of our appearance-obsessed culture over women (important, but not unusual), and then a more atypical one about the trouble with being male today.

I'm the moderator of the aforementioned Commission for Women. I care deeply about empowering women to use their gifts in the full ministry of the Church. And yet, as I read and hear the various comments made during General Synod, and then read these articles about the wider world, I start to wonder whether what we need is something more than a Commission for Women. Maybe we need a Commission for Men, too. Contrary to popular opinion, I wouldn't be opposed to a ministry that helped men understand how best to use their gifts in the life of the church; I just don't want to create or chair it. Or maybe we actually need to throw out this single-gender advancement business and start a Commission for Working Out Our Gender and Sexuality Crap - because people, it seems we have some issues.

I haven't done a whole lot of factual research about it, but I've observed anecdotally some fairly disturbing trends amongst the men I know. As a result, I agree that a lot of men feel displaced by women's increasing independence and leadership, and uncertain about how to live into their own humanity when traditional masculinity is less valued than it once was. Some men react to that by becoming lazier, or subservient to the woman/women in their lives. Some others react by clinging to traditional ideas of masculine and feminine traits and roles (and reinforcing it with religion, which is where it becomes fun for me). The happiest men I know, the ones who seem most comfortable with themselves as humans and as men, are the ones who don't seem overly concerned with which role goes with which gender, and who have instead chosen to embrace the idea that people are unique and should do the things that fit their gifts, talents, and interests, regardless of their anatomy.

People tend to throw Scripture around when it comes to gender roles, but they seem to forget this one: "There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus (Galatians 3:28)." I don't really understand how people read that without getting the idea that Christ eradicates all outward distinctions between us and allows us to simply be who we are in Christ. And I wonder, in my idealistic moments, wouldn't it be a great thing if we could get over all of this finger pointing and telling each other what we are and aren't supposed to do, and just allow each other to figure out who we are called to be? But what do I know; I'm just one of those power-grabbing, emasculating, ungodly women.

On running and such

For about a month now I have been getting back into running regularly. I do somewhere between 2.5-4 miles a day (some of that is running, some is walking, some is jogging in place as my dog smells things, does her business, and rolls in people's yards), five days a week. Some days I can run a 5k with hardly a thought, other days I get to a mile and a half and want to die. It's an interesting process. At the moment my goal is to become someone who can just decide, "Hey, there's a 5k this weekend, I think I'll run it," and not have to worry about whether I'll be the panting idiot who is walking halfway through.

I miss the days when I could just go out and run six miles without a strain. I do not, however, miss how obsessive I was during that period of my life, in which I ran like a crazy person and basically ate lettuce and grilled chicken. But I had started to see the numbers on the scale go down, and for the first time in my life, I actually cared. All that work got me down to a size and weight that still would have made most of the women I know scream in fright and call Jenny Craig, but what do you do? I didn't even care much about my appearance; it was being able to see progress in numbers that got me.

And then I stopped being a compulsive runner, and returned to eating things other than lettuce and chicken, and the pendulum swung back the other way, and I gained too much weight again, blah blah blah. Which brings us to now.

Running makes my body regulate itself better. When I'm running, I have a better relationship with food (except that lettuce and chicken blip), because my body tends to say, "HEY! I can't do what you're asking me to do if you keep feeding me fries and pizza. Eat a vegetable already." I drink less because it makes me sluggish. I sleep better. I have more energy and deal better with stress. It's a good thing all around.

But here's something frustrating: I've been doing this for a month now. I've cut my calorie intake almost in half. And I have lost exactly ONE POUND.

I wish I could be okay with just being calmer, happier, and healthier. But I want to see a measurable result. I want to see some numbers dropping. If whoever is in charge of that could get on it, that'd be fab.

Back, sort of

Um, hi. Once again, I got out of the rhythm of regular blogging, and was somewhat swallowed by the rush of life. In fact, right now, I am only taking a brief break from trying to organize the ridiculousness that is my office to drop by and remind myself and anyone still visiting here that yes, I do still have a blog. In case anyone is wondering, my office will cease to look like a donation center when I can ship off the last of the hygiene and baby kits to Haiti, which will happen when I acquire about 10 baby sleepers/gowns, 12 cloth diapers, 5 nail clippers, about a dozen gallon bags, some shipping boxes, and the check that needs to go with the kits to cover handling costs.

It has been a week of minor irritations. My back is out, I have some sort of hacking cough illness that won't quite go away and that is keeping me from sleeping well, I've spent too much time on hold, fielded too many complaints, had too many things go just slightly awry. In honor of the times in which things are just not quite right, I share with you this poem.

In Answer to Your Query

by Naomi Lazard

We are sorry to inform you

the item you ordered

is no longer being produced.

It has not gone out of style

nor have people lost interest in it.

In fact, it has become

one of our most desired products.

Its popularity is still growing.

Orders for it come in

at an ever increasing rate.

However, a top-level decision

has caused this product

to be discontinued forever.

Instead of the item you ordered

we are sending you something else.

It is not hte same thing,

nor is it a reasonable facsimile.

It is what we have in stock,

the very best we can offer.

If you are not happy

with this substitution

let us know as soon as possible.

As you can imagine

we already have quite an accumulation

of letters such as the one

you may or may not write.

To be totally fair

We respond to these complaints

as they come in.

Yours will be filed accordingly,

answered in its turn.

You know it's going to be good when they use the word "terrorism"

So, last week I was on jury duty. I thought about postponing, which apparently you can do pretty easily if you're clergy, but then I thought, "What week will ever be better?" Monday morning, into the courthouse I went, completely ignorant of the local news because I had spent the two weeks before on a youth mission trip to Brooklyn and then in denominational meetings in Phoenix. It turns out I was one of 600 potential jurors summoned for this huge, high-profile case. The guy has 23 charges against him, one of which is terrorism. Excellent.

Fortunately, I was not chosen for this jury, which will last at least a month and which seems to me to be likely to be sequestered because of all of the media coverage. One of the questions the lawyers asked was about whether jurors would be able to go without internet, and social networking sites in particular, for a month. Gentlemen, I am not the juror for you. My number was never even called (I was one of about eight people left), which means that I spent the week hearing a lot of information about strangers. Anyway, yahoo, that is over.

In theory, I am now back in commission. However, the thing about being basically gone for three weeks is that there is a whole lot of catch-up to do. I'm slogging through my to-do list, slowly but surely, and maybe I'll even get back to semi-regular blogging...and semi-regular eating, and semi-regular sleeping, and semi-regular working...

Absence

I've been traveling for about two weeks, first on our youth group mission trip to Brooklyn, and then to Phoenix for the meetings of the Commission for Women, which I moderate. I had internet access, but only intermittently, and blog-writing was just not a priority. I'm back now, but guess what? I start jury duty tomorrow. So, who knows when I'll be back into regular posting. But I popped by to note one thing: being essentially without the news for two weeks is an odd thing. I have NO IDEA what's going on in the world right now. And while it's pretty easy to get back into the swing of work, catching up on the wider world is like waking up with no coffee after a long, much-needed, deep sleep: it takes a while, and it isn't pretty.

Fear of Falling

Today I went ice skating.

We've decided to do this staff bonding thing at church where we do activities together once a month, and this month it was ice skating. I think of myself as a fairly good skater. I've been doing it all my life. In my family, when you can walk, you learn to skate. I used to coach my brother's hockey team. However...

I am now TERRIBLE.

This is not an understatement. I felt like I had never been skating before in my life. And I could blame it on a number of factors - it's been at least a couple of years, I was in rented figure skates rather than my own hockey skates, they weren't sharpened, blah blah blah - but the fact is, I can't skate very well. I am stiff and jerky and awkward. I got better with time, I loosened up, but this is not second nature anymore. Suddenly, I am afraid of falling.

So afraid that it makes me stiff and jerky and awkward...which in turn makes it more likely that I will fall, because seriously - it's a little difficult to be fluid and graceful when your knees are locked and your toes are curled up inside your skates in panic about catching a toe pick and doing a header onto the ice.

I wonder when this happened, when I began to fear falling, getting hurt, failing. I wonder why that seems to be about much more than skating.

A Whole Lot of Underwear

Thanks to the wonder of Super Bowl advertising, I have finally figured out why it is so difficult to have a satisfactory relationship with a man: they use a thin veneer of depressed apathy to mask their seething anger that they have to be coerced to wake up, go to work, clean themselves and their homes, and be courteous to the people around them, and their trade-off for all this emasculation is - wait for it - a DODGE CHARGER.

First of all, if you can't wake up, care for your pets, keep up basic hygienic practices, bring in an income, and put your underwear into a laundry basket without my intervention, kindly scamper back to your cave and leave me alone. But if all you get in exchange for a life of such utter desperation is a car, and the car you choose is a Dodge Charger, well. My respect for you is such that I might just ask you to carry my lip balm.

I think this might have been the Super Bowl commercial that annoyed me most, but it's kind of hard to choose. One scene of men marching around in their underwear while being encouraged to return to their grunting neanderthal roots is kind of indistinguishable from another, as are the women portrayed as nagging harpies. Much was made of the Focus on the Family anti-abortion ad, which I thought was a little odd and out of touch with their target audience but tastefully done. What really disturbed me was the Focus on the Family-esque views of masculinity, femininity, gender roles, and relationships that permeated the rest of the advertising - right down to a painfully stereotypical gay couple slapping each other over Megan Fox (one of the best parts of my evening was that I was sitting in a room with people who asked, "Should I know who that is?")

In case my sarcasm isn't dripping loudly enough, I don't actually believe that men are incapable of being functional adults (although some of them insist on proving me wrong), which I believe to be a more important question than whether they're capable of being masculine, whatever that means. Speaking of which, when I think of a "manly man," the first image that pops into my mind is totally of a guy wearing Dockers. "Wear The Pants" indeed.

Feeling Cynical?

A friend shared with me today the lyrics of a traditional Irish song called "Grace," which I will now share with you:

As we gather in the chapel here in old Kilmainham Jail

I think about these past few weeks, oh will they say we've failed?

From our school days they have told us we must yearn for liberty

Yet all I want in this dark place is to have you here with me

Oh Grace just hold me in your arms and let this moment linger

They'll take me out at dawn and I will die

With all my love I place this wedding ring upon your finger

There won't be time to share our love for we must say goodbye

Now I know it's hard for you my love to ever understand

The love I bare for these brave men, the love for my dear land

But when Pádraic called me to his side down in the GPO

I had to leave my own sick bed, to him I had to go

Now as the dawn is breaking, my heart is breaking too

On this May morn as I walk out, my thoughts will be of you

And I'll write some words upon the wall so everyone will know

I loved so much that I could see his blood upon the rose.

Now, I realize this is supposed to be touching, and that I'm probably supposed to swoon while I think something like, "Oh, isn't this so sad, he loves her so very much, but must leave her for a higher calling from which he will never return." A lot of Celtic music, which I enjoy a great deal, is written on the theme of the couple tragically parted when the man marches off to kill the English. (I don't truly know if that is what this song is about, but I can make a reasonable assumption based on the fact that the song is Irish).

Well. I can be as sappy as the next girl from time to time, but please. How many songs do there need to be in which a man avidly declares his love in one breath, and in the next announces that he loves his country/his honor/his friend Padraic more? There is always something the 'hero' loves more, that keeps him from sticking around and being reliable for this woman he's tied down with his declarations and promises and rings. How is that romantic? Having actual obligations and deciding to stick it out even though you can't be in the same place is one thing. "I love you....but now I'm going to demonstrate the higher value that I have for adventure and impressing my friends by ditching you, and hope that you find it manly and honorable" is another.

No, I'm not feeling cynical or bitter today, why do you ask?

I am pondering a song declaring a long list of things that I love more than any person, which I will somehow make out to be a love song - except that it won't work, because somehow it's not so romantic when it's a woman who is more committed to her work, friends, country, whatever. Bah. Until that song gets written, listen to this: