This afternoon I had the most extraordinary experience. I sat in the familiar pews of First Parish surrounded by over 600 people from all over the State of Maine who had come to an interfaith rally and service against discrimination. The Meeting House was packed with folk who were old and young, gay and straight, rich and poor and all of the colors of the rainbow. Yet in spite of the diversity we were united in purpose; that Maine be the first state to uphold the right of all people to marry. Catholics and Lutherans, UUs and Jews, Episcopalians and Congregationalists affirmed with one strong voice that Love was the only path. Love is the way we heal our world. Love is always worth striving for in the end.
The rally and the upcoming vote are personal for me. My eldest daughter fell in love 2 years ago with a lovely person. He is intersexual. He loves my daughter and treats her with dignity and respect. To be honest, I would not have picked this path for my beloved child as it will be a hard path to walk in the years to come. But we do not get to pick who our children will love. All we can hope for is that the relationship is healthy and nurturing to all concerned. And even though their path will be hard, it will be less so if Prop 1 is voted down. And when they marry, as they plan to do at some point in the future, they will be able to do so with all of the legal safeguards our government has to offer.
And I will dance with joy at their wedding.
Peace
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Stuck in my Shoes
It's happened before and it will happen again. The lure of an open microphone and a captive audience will prove to be too much of a temptation to a person with an agenda. This morning was one of those occasions. I noticed her as I was standing by the side of the lectern listening to the first announcement. I know all of the members of the congregation by face, if not by name. The well dressed woman who marched up and stood at the back of the announcement line was a stranger to me. As discretely as possible I walked down to stand by her side. I asked her in a whisper if her announcement pertained to the life of the congregation. She answered in the affirmative but would not meet my eyes. Her manner was tense and purposeful. If I had gone even one step further and asked her what the announcement was, the situation might have been averted.
She walked up to the lectern and started speaking. At once I knew that I had made a mistake. The woman was clearly angry at everyone; a member of the congregation whom she named but whom I did not recognize, her custody situation, life in general. As she continued to rant she frequently looked over in my direction as if she were waiting for me to stop her. Kitsy stood up shortly after she had started to speak but was as hesitant as I was to interrupt. So the rant continued. I was in turn horrified and transfixed. Stuck in my shoes. Finally, a member of the congregation came down from the choir loft and whispered in my ear that it was time to act. She and I approached the lectern together and we gently each took an arm and assisted her from the chancel area. As she walked down the center aisle and out the doors she continued to speak her truth in a loud and clear voice.
It was then that I heard it. Voices from the congregation. I did not hear any of the exact words that were spoken to her as she walked from the church but I do remembered the tone and it was harsh. I was shocked.
As this day has worn on I keep coming back to the incident. I am troubled and confused. When we open our doors each Sunday morning we claim to welcome any and all who choose to join us. Does that include the mentally ill? Does it include the stranger who has an axe to grind? The woman was not a danger to the congregation but where is the line? Do we have an obligation to let anyone say anything they wish, whether it be during announcements or Joys and Sorrows? She could have easily taken the microphone during Joys and Sorrows. Who decides that the content is not appropriate? The minister? The worship leader? The Head Usher? And then what? Where is that line between compassion for the speaker and the sanctity of the worship service? If I had been less kind, less trusting, less hopeful that she would finish at any moment, would the outcome have been different? If the choir member had not come down and taken the initiative would she have spoken for another 10 minutes?
The most troubling question of all for me: why were angry voices raised in response as she left the Meeting House? Yes, she should not have acted as she did but what of compassion? I have felt the same level of anger, the despair and the deep, deep frustration at a world that did not feel fair or just. I have walked in her shoes. As a faith community what do we owe the wounded, troubled souls in our midst? Why did I not follow her out of the meeting house and ask if she needed help? I have none of the answers only many, many questions.
Peace.
She walked up to the lectern and started speaking. At once I knew that I had made a mistake. The woman was clearly angry at everyone; a member of the congregation whom she named but whom I did not recognize, her custody situation, life in general. As she continued to rant she frequently looked over in my direction as if she were waiting for me to stop her. Kitsy stood up shortly after she had started to speak but was as hesitant as I was to interrupt. So the rant continued. I was in turn horrified and transfixed. Stuck in my shoes. Finally, a member of the congregation came down from the choir loft and whispered in my ear that it was time to act. She and I approached the lectern together and we gently each took an arm and assisted her from the chancel area. As she walked down the center aisle and out the doors she continued to speak her truth in a loud and clear voice.
It was then that I heard it. Voices from the congregation. I did not hear any of the exact words that were spoken to her as she walked from the church but I do remembered the tone and it was harsh. I was shocked.
As this day has worn on I keep coming back to the incident. I am troubled and confused. When we open our doors each Sunday morning we claim to welcome any and all who choose to join us. Does that include the mentally ill? Does it include the stranger who has an axe to grind? The woman was not a danger to the congregation but where is the line? Do we have an obligation to let anyone say anything they wish, whether it be during announcements or Joys and Sorrows? She could have easily taken the microphone during Joys and Sorrows. Who decides that the content is not appropriate? The minister? The worship leader? The Head Usher? And then what? Where is that line between compassion for the speaker and the sanctity of the worship service? If I had been less kind, less trusting, less hopeful that she would finish at any moment, would the outcome have been different? If the choir member had not come down and taken the initiative would she have spoken for another 10 minutes?
The most troubling question of all for me: why were angry voices raised in response as she left the Meeting House? Yes, she should not have acted as she did but what of compassion? I have felt the same level of anger, the despair and the deep, deep frustration at a world that did not feel fair or just. I have walked in her shoes. As a faith community what do we owe the wounded, troubled souls in our midst? Why did I not follow her out of the meeting house and ask if she needed help? I have none of the answers only many, many questions.
Peace.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Miracles
In coffee hour after the Water Communion service a long time member approached me and complimented me on how I had addressed the congregation at the beginning of the service. Naturally, I was flattered and I thanked her for her kind words. She asked if I had any formal training in public speaking. I explained that all of my training had been of the "on the job" variety right here at First Parish.
As I reflect back now I can't help but marvel at the personal growth I have experienced as a member of our faith community. When I joined the congregation 17 years ago I thought of myself as a true introvert. Happier alone with a book or in a small group setting, the idea of standing up and speaking to a group of strangers made my blood run cold. Coffee hour was no picnic, either. For many years I used my small children as an excuse to leave as quickly as possible after service. Coffee hour felt too much like a dreaded cocktail party for my taste. And for many of those years I avoided stepping up and offering service to my community. Having not been raised within a faith community, I thought that all that was required of me was to attend worship as often as possible and then to go home. Again, using my large family as an excuse, I said "No" whenever I was asked to serve First Parish, even if that service was of a small and limited nature.
What I did not know then but know all too well now is that by saying "Yes" I opened the door to the possibility of miracles. If one definition of a miracle is an "awakening," then service to my community has awakened aspects of my personality and spirit which might have remained shuttered and dark if I had said "No". It happened with small, cautious steps. Saying "Yes" to service on the Children's Religious Exploration committee helped me make my first real friends at First Parish but more importantly taught me how to play well with others. Saying "Yes" to ushering taught me that I could be in front of a large group of strangers without fear or nervousness. Saying "Yes" to serving on the Governing Board taught me to speak my truth with courage and to listen to others with respect. And saying "Yes" all those years ago to reading "'Twas the Night before Christmas" from the high pulpit taught me that not only could I speak in front of strangers without dying of fright but that I enjoyed doing so.
When we say "Yes" to a call for service to our community, that service is never one-sided. The community is enriched and nourished by the gift of our talent and time. But the individual is also enriched and nourished, often in surprising and miraculous ways. We are afforded the opportunity for truly transformational personal growth: of our minds and our spirits. Serving our community helps turn strangers into friends and a church into a loving community that offers us shelter and warmth in these trying times. As I enter into this first year of my presidency, I remind myself often that I said "Yes" not only for the personal joy of serving my beloved First Parish community but for the possibility of miracles.
Peace
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