Prayers for the Possible

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Earth

In 1854, Rev. Theodore Parker prayed:

“Help us to grow stronger and nobler
by this world’s varying good and ill,
and while we enlarge
the quantity of our being by continual life,
may we improve its kind and quality not less,
and become fairer,
and tenderer,
and heavenlier too,
as we leave behind us
the various events
of our mortal life.
So, Father, may we grow
in goodness and in grace,
and here on earth attain
the perfect measure of a complete [person].
And so in our heart,
and our daily life,
may thy kingdom come,
and thy will be done on earth as it is done in heaven.”

Today
I pray
that we will grow
stronger and nobler
and fairer and tenderer
in our faith,
with each other;
growing in goodness
and in grace
here and now on this beloved planet,
Earth.
May it be so in our hearts,
in our daily lives,
and in the world community
we co-create.

Shine

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love is the voice under all silences;
the hope which has no opposite in fear;
the strength so strong mere force is feebleness;
the truth more first than sun more last than star.
~ e.e. cummings

Beloveds, today the sun is shining. Yesterday the sun was shining too, even though it was pouring rain here in New Orleans. And last night, the sun was shining. Love is like that – present and shining through the dark nights, the stormy days, and the bright times.

Trust this. Trust this love more than fear, more than force, more than lies. Trust this love. Trust this sustaining shining, even when you cannot see it. There is no out but through. May we go through this together with love.

There Is No Failure But Not To Try

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We do not have to wait until we are perfect to practice our faith.

While the perfection of Jesus is lifted up in many congregations on this holy weekend, it is humanity that has always drawn Unitarian Universalists towards his prophetic message of love and justice.  Our faith tells us that it is not perfection that is the goal – but transformation.

Within our own religious heritage, we often find flaws in the prophetic men and women who worked to bring visions of respect and mercy for all into this world. Alice Walker, writer and international activist, skillfully names this humbling truth:

“People who go about seeking to change the world, to diminish suffering, to demonstrate any kind of enlightenment, are often as flawed as anybody else. Sometimes more so. But it is the awareness of having faults, I think, and the knowledge that this links us to everyone on Earth, that opens up courage and compassion.”

Ms. A—, a wise soul who once managed the cafeteria of a New Orleans public school, sealed this lesson into my heart. Her “food counts” were always high by accounting standards and, no doubt, the administrative office was concerned that she was skimming off the top. The accounting couldn’t show the extra helpings she slipped onto lunch trays of ravenous teenagers with bottomless pits for bellies and this their only hot meal of the day. She was forever tucking fruit and snacks into the backpacks of children going home to empty pantries. Many afternoons she would pull out food for the young ones – hungry and tired- who were stuck at school after a long day, waiting for their guardians to get off from work and come get them.

The administrative faults of Ms. A— were, in fact, often the tools by which she, with courage and compassion, worked to diminish suffering on a daily basis. She was not perfect. She was practicing her faith.

“Deanna,” she would tell me “there is no failure but not to try.”

May we who dream of justice and mercy, of diminishing suffering, be not afraid to practice our faith today and every day.    May we seek not perfection, but wholeness and healing for all of creation.  There is no failure but not to try.

Surprised by Joy: the Gift of Forgiveness

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“Forgiveness can begin the moment we accept that the past cannot be changed.” These words, copied by a friend from a radio show, name one of the biggest hurdles on the path to forgiveness of self and others.

Playing past events over in my mind like bad movies, some of them horror shows, I find myself wondering how different life would be if – if — if the levees around New Orleans had been built and maintained adequately, if planes had not sprayed the fields with DDT while my papa and his siblings were hoeing weeds, if I had been more mindful about what I said that time—and that other time.  What if the past was different?  What if?

The five stages of grief described by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross are useful parallels to the stages of forgiveness, especially when harm has actively been done to us or by us-

  • Shock and Denial that something like this could even happen.
  • Anger that it has happened.
  • Bargaining (here’s where we find the “what if” mental movies).
  • Depression when we begin to move into the present moment and experience the harm that has been done.
  • Acceptance – themoment when we accept that the past, indeed, is past and cannot be changed.  We must now try to live in a world where what happened and all its consequences are what we in New Orleans call the “new norm.”  Acceptance is often confused with the notion of being “all right” or “OK” with what has happened.  That is not the case.  Acceptance is about recognizing and acknowledging that this new reality is, in fact, reality.

Life as we knew it has been forever changed and, really, no kidding, no bad joke, we must re-adjust.  New Orleans was flooded.  My papa and all of his siblings are dead, all having suffered from some form of cancer.  I cannot unspeak careless, harmful words once spoken, no matter how much I wish I could.

Dutch-born Catholic priest Henri Nouwen tells us that “It is freeing to become aware that we do not have to be victims of our past and can learn new ways of responding.”  Forgiveness, he says, “… sets us free without wanting anything in return.”  Forgiveness, strangely, perhaps counter-intuitively, is largely an internal process, one that allows us to release the poison of pain and anger that makes us unhappy and unhealthy.

Nations, institutions, families, ourselves – the need for forgiveness, to forgive and to be forgiven, looms large for many of us.  To accept, truly accept that the past cannot be changed, opens the door to the possibility of forgiveness.

Bill Chadwick of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, speaks skillfully about the internal nature of forgiveness.  His 21 year old son Michael was killed as a passenger in a car crash where the driver at fault survived.  Bill relates:

It was some months later that it hit me: until I could forgive the driver, I would not get the closure I was looking for.  Forgiving is different from removing responsibility.  The driver was still responsible for Michael’s death, but I had to forgive him before I could let the incident go.  No amount of punishment could ever even the score.  I had to be willing to forgive without the score being even.  And this process of forgiveness did not really involve the driver—it involved me.  It was a process that I had to go through; I had to change, no matter what he did. … This is what I learned: that the closure we seek comes in forgiving.  And this closure is r
eally up to us, because the power to forgive lies not outside us, but within our souls.

Once we accept that the past does not change, we can make a choice about how we live in the present.  “There are times,” Sister Joan Chittister observes, “to let a thing go.  There is a time to put a thing down, however unresolved, however baffling, however wrong, however unjust it may be.  There are some things in life that cannot be changed, however intent we are to change them.  There is a time to let surrender take over so that the past does not consume the present, so that new life can come, so that joy has a chance to surprise us again.” 

As we enter a new season, may we choose to live in the present, accepting that the past will not change.  May we forgive and know forgiveness.  May joy have a chance to surprise us once again.

…born and re-born again

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“Love, yes, love your calling,

for this holy and generous love will impart strength to you

so as to enable you to surmount all obstacles.”

~St. Mary Euphrasia Pelletier

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In the late 1820s, a “change in inner conviction” led the Rev. Dr. Theodore Clapp to begin preaching universalism in New Orleans. This change inspired the Mississippi Presbytery to try him for heresy. The vote was for excommunication. Rev. Clapp returned home to New Orleans after his conviction in February 1833 and attempted to resign as pastor. Instead, a new church was born when the majority of the congregation voted to leave the Presbytery with him. Since 1833, this congregation has survived yellow fever epidemics, the Civil war, fires, fire-bombings, bankruptcy, and church-planting-through-schism. Born out of a conviction that all are loved, this congregation has been re-born, re-created, time and time again.

Eight years ago this May, the First Unitarian Universalist Church of New Orleans was on the brink of a break through. Membership and pledging levels had reached modern era highs, a new minister had been called, counter-oppression work was going on within the congregation – the excitement was palpable on a Sunday morning.

Then there was a burglary in June. And then another in July, along with a Tropical Storm that knocked out power. In August, the local School District chose not to renew its lease with the congregation, creating a vast hole in the budget. And almost immediately thereafter, Hurricane Katrina came through town and the levees broke.

The church sat in 4-5 feet of water for almost 3 weeks. The congregation was scattered across the country. The newly called minister and her wife found themselves digging through muck, trying to pull their dreams out of the destruction, standing on the side of love with a congregation they barely knew.

Knowing its own history, being in relationship with the larger denomination, and living into the mystery have certainly played large roles in this almost miraculous continuity of Unitarian Universalism in the city of New Orleans. And perhaps as significant as all of the above is the thread, woven throughout each incarnation of the congregation, of loving, yes loving, the calling to be a liberal religious presence in the Deep South.

I invite you, in this season of contemplation, to think about the calling of your faith community, the calling of your life. Revisit your history, your most sustaining stories. Be in relationship – locally, regionally, nationally, globally – with all who share some of your story, your faith. Live into the mystery that is each new day with an open heart and a curious mind. And love, yes love, your calling as a person of faith in a world hungry for the conviction that all are loved.

May this holy and generous love impart strength to you as you are born and re-born again into a universe whose only constant is change.

High Resolve

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Keep fresh before me the moments of my High Resolve, that in fair weather or in foul, in good times or in tempests, in the days when the darkness and the foe are nameless or familiar, I may not forget that to which my life is committed.” ~ Rev. Dr. Howard Thurman

Carnival has passed. Mardi Gras is over for another year. We are now well into Lent.  In the coastal south, even faith communities that do not celebrate Lent, the time of reflection and repentance before the celebration of sacrifice and resurrection, become attuned to the lenten rituals their Christian neighbors.

In her article Lenten Disciplines, Rev. Melanie Morel-Ensminger wrote:

While Lent does not have the same meaning in a Unitarian Universalist setting that it does in an orthodox Christian context, it is not meaningless.  Each and everyone of us is called (by God, the Spirit, our Higher Power, our Better Nature) to be our very best self, a self we often fall short of, sometimes even intentionally.  “Giving up something for Lent” does not have to mean that we sacrifice something we love and enjoy (like chocolate, for example) but can be a healthy spiritual discipline leading to our betterment, to our reaching closer to that wholeness we all seek.

Whether or not you religiously observe the season of Lent, as Unitarian Universalists we are always called to a healthy spiritual discipline that heals the brokenness of our lives and our world.

In this time of contemplation, we are invited to re-center ourselves and our spiritual communities.  We are invited to ask:

What’s in our heart?

What’s our vision, our passion?

What brings us joy?

Where are our strongest relationships?

What promises do we keep?

How are we called to nurture and heal our world?

“In the days when the darkness and the foe are nameless or familiar,” may we be mindful of our moments of High Resolve that we may not forget that to which our lives are committed.

Blessed be, beloveds.

Collective Joy!

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It is Carnival time in New Orleans!

From now until Ash Wednesday, there will be beaucoup parades, parties, and costumes…While February 12th will be “just another Tuesday” in much of the country, here it will be Mardi Gras – the final day of communal revelry before the ascetic season of Lent begins. It wasn’t until I moved to New Orleans that I actually understood the season of Lent. While it may be perfectly obvious for some, it took the context of Carnival, culminating in Mardi Gras, for me to truly appreciate the gift of Lent. A season of contemplation and prayer after a season of glorious communal excess now makes perfect sense.

But first – the glorious communal revelry, the collective joy…

While Lent encourages us to turn inward for reflection, sometimes taking our humanity to task, Carnival gives us the resources to accept and even celebrate our humanity- mine, yours, that stranger’s. Carnival reminds us, in the wisdom of ecotheologian Thomas Berry, that “the universe is composed of subjects to be communed with, not of objects to be exploited.”

In Dancing in the Streets: A History of Collective Joy, Barbara Ehrenreich proclaims:

“While hierarchy is about exclusion, festivity generates inclusiveness. The music
invites everyone to the dance; shared food briefly undermines the privilege of
class. As for masks: They may serve symbolic, ritual functions, but to the extent
that they conceal identity, they also dissolve the difference between stranger and
neighbor, making the neighbor temporarily strange and the stranger no more
foreign than anyone else. No source of human difference or identity is immune to
the carnival challenge… At the height of the festivity, we step out of our assigned
roles and statuses—of gender, ethnicity, tribe, and rank—and into a brief utopia
defined by egalitarianism, creativity, and mutual love.”

Collective joy tells us that we are enough – that we are all enough, that we belong to the wonder of creation. As Rev. Sam Trumbore once prayed:

Ash Wednesday will arrive soon enough…
Now, we feast on the abundance of life
The delight of hearing, seeing, smelling, tasting and touching
In a celebration that unites
the diversity of all races, classes and faiths
at the common table of fellowship…

May it be so.

Happy Mardi Gras, beloveds!

Guns: Relationship Status: “It’s complicated.”

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I first held a gun when I was eight years old.  One of my uncles let me fire his new pistol.  I still remember the strain of trying to hold the heavy gun steady so he wouldn’t think I was too weak to try it.  All these years later, I vividly remember the incredible rush of power that washed over me as I fired that pistol.

I was eight years old and I held in my hand a tool that could spit fire and knock a beer can off a fence several yards away.  I was eight years old and I held in my hand a tool that could have ended the life of the uncle who handed it to me.  It is difficult to articulate how much power surged through my little being.  I swear I heard the Scots heritage in my mutt-blood swim screaming to the surface with a mighty roar…

Nine years later, the older brother of the uncle who first handed me a gun died after being shot by another family member.  Not long after that, the father of my classmate was killed while responding to a domestic violence call.  The man who killed him was devastated to realize, once he descended from his pain-killer induced high, that he had killed not only a police officer, but a friend.

Four years ago, my partner called me at the hospital where I was working as a chaplain to let me know that he was not one of the two white men shot to death a block away from my house (where a heroin deal apparently turned deadly).  Shortly before that, I had watched an ambulance come claim the body of a sixteen year old boy, victim of a drive by shooting at the other end of my street.

I have lived in the rural life and the urban life and what each had in common was:

  1.    a sense of powerlessness about how the world is run and
  2.    deaths by firearms.

Our country (and colonial powers around the world) has a history of taking away a population’s weapons and property (i.e. indigenous peoples, Japanese-American relocation camps, mass incarceration through a government-created drug war…) when people in power decide to do so.  How then, to trust that you really will be safer by giving up your guns?

Christian social justice activist and writer Jim Wallis proclaims:

Former assumptions and shared notions about fairness, agreements, reciprocity, mutual benefits, social values, and expected futures have all but disappeared. The collapse of financial systems and the resulting economic crisis not only have caused instability, insecurity, and human pain; they have also generated a growing disbelief and fundamental distrust in the way things operate and how decisions are made.

I confess that I am grateful to finally live in a gun-free home, I freak out just a bit when even toy guns are pointed at me or anyone I love, and I would love to trust that I could walk through my neighborhood at night without hearing gunfire.  But I was also here in New Orleans when the National Guard rolled through with their Humvees and their guns and I know what it feels like to be occupied by a military force – first denied access to my home and property, then patrolled and subject to interrogation once home again.

My faith and my lived experience teaches that life is rarely an either/or proposition.  In this interdependent web of all existence, we are all connected, tangled together in a tapestry of history and mystery.  It’s complicated.

It is hazardous to talk glibly about gun control unless we talk about creating a nation that is welcoming, safe, and empowering for all people.  This conversation is complex and deserves real discernment, not sound bites and bullet points.

Guns do not provide actual safety.  They provide a sense of power. [Bear witness: our government is not at all ready to give up its guns, its sense of power.]

I suspect that if we are going to end gun violence, we will have to address the collective needs of all – urban and rural, white and people of color, individuals and institutions – who feel powerless without their guns.

We Are All In This Together

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“If middle-class Americans do not feel threatened by the slow encroachment of the police state or the Patriot Act, it is because they live comfortably enough and exercise their liberties very lightly, never testing the boundaries. You never know you are in a prison unless you try the door.” ― Joe Bageant, Deer Hunting with Jesus: Dispatches from America’s Class War

“I spent Thanksgiving Day in Central Lock-up!”

Waiting for keys to be cut in the local hardware store this week, I was completely drawn into the generously shared story of another customer with the shop’s owner. “Pulled over for not coming to a complete stop.” An initial infraction, no grace from those in power, a questionable ensuing search of the vehicle, an old open beer can giving the opportunity to turn a citation into a charge that was later thrown out by a judge as having no merit – later. After spending Thanksgiving in jail. And missing a day of work for court. Which cost him. Literally.

Living one infraction away from lock-up is a situation that is truer for more people in this country than we care to admit. Living paycheck to paycheck is a situation that is truer for more people in this country than we care to admit.

One in three Americans who grew up middle-class has slipped down the income ladder as an adult, according to a 2011 report by the Pew Charitable Trusts.*

One in three Americans who grew up middle-class has slipped down the income ladder.
Others are clinging desperately to the rung they are on.
Upward mobility, the American holy grail, is not guaranteed.
Neither is physical freedom, when prisons are a national industry, investments that can be found in a market prospectus.

Beloveds, if this sounds irrelevant to your life, try the door a bit. See how far your liberties can be exercised if you challenge an economic system that gives 50% of the American population less than 2.5% of the national wealth. See how far your liberties can be exercised if you challenge one of the thousands of ordinances, rules, and laws wrapped around your neighborhood, your state, your country.

The myth of pulling oneself up by one’s own boot straps, the myth of prisons existing only to house bad guys – slowly these are proven to be falsehoods, lies that have been used to justify closing our eyes to the human costs of comfort for a few.

Let us name the house we live in. Let us recognize that in working for the common good, we make a good life more possible for ourselves, our family, our beloveds. This is faithful work. Dear ones, we are all in this together. May we build beloved community together. For everyone.

* Drawn from the National Longitudinal Survey of Youth (a group of 12,000 interviews that researchers have followed since 1979), the report “focused on people who were middle-class teenagers in 1979 and who were between 39 and 44 years old in 2004 and 2006. It defines people as middle-class if they fall between the 30th and 70th percentiles in income distribution, which for a family of four is between $32,900 and $64,000 a year in 2010 dollars. People were deemed downwardly mobile if they fell below the 30th percentile in income, if their income rank was 20 or more percentiles below their parents’ rank, or if they earn at least 20 percent less than their parents.”

Joyful Epiphany

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Sunday, January 6th, marks the celebration of Epiphany – a.k.a. Twelfth Night, Three Kings Day, la Fiesta de Reyes.   Epiphany honors many sacred events within Christian traditions – the day the child Jesus was visited by the Magi, the baptism of Jesus, his first miracle of turning water into wine at awedding .

In New Orleans, however, January 6th is most widely celebrated as the night we transition into a new season – from Holiday to Carnival.  [Note: We have four fairly distinct seasons in New Orleans: Holiday, Carnival, Festival, and Hurricane.]

The seasonal changes brought by Epiphany are quite visible.  Red, green, and blue lights are exchanged for purple, green, and gold lights. Doors and windows bedecked with Christmas wreaths and menorahs transform into doors decorated with Carnival wreaths, masks, and Mardi Gras beads.  And the music changes too – carols are gone, replaced by Mardi Gras tunes.

Epiphany is the first day of King Cake season.  It is the night of Phunny Phorty Phellows, hopping onto the St. Charles Avenue streetcars, heralding the start of Carnival.  It is the birthday of Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orleans, and a carnival krewe marches in her honor from the Bienville statue (representing the founding of New Orleans) to the Joan of Arc statue at Decatur and St. Phillip Street.

Epiphany is the night we welcome collective joy, in the form of Carnival, back onto center stage in our lives.

Carnival offers us an opportunity to take a break from taking ourselves so seriously, from our expectations about how the world should be, and gives us a chance to engage in the healing joy of communal celebration. The work of transforming ourselves and the world is on-going.  And it is through seasonally and repeatedly choosing joy that we can find the energy we need to continually commit to this work.

“I think that the energy to do all those things [to help make the world a better place] comes from choosing joy,” writes the Church of the Larger Fellowship’s Lynn Ungar.  “You can inspire people to a certain degree by sheer terror…However, if we’re going to keep those changes going, if we’re going to find new and creative ways to build better lives, then I think we’re going to have to draw on some deep wells of joy.”

Epiphany opens the lid on a deep well of joy for me and my city.

What is your source of joy?

Where do you find your energy to make the world a better place?