Don’t Ask…

I was listening to a report on NPR of some Marines being interviewed regarding the possible removal of the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy. I know that this is a touchy subject, and that it will be a boundary-stretching experience for many if our President and the congress can take this bold, life-affirming step. But one soldier in particular really got to me… when he talked about not being able to trust his fellow soldiers if he knew they were gay. “It affects the little people. It affects them because now you can't trust the people around you. You don't know if that guy is actually going to be there when you need him.”
As if ones sexual orientation determines ones trustworthiness. It unsettled me. It made me feel so very “second-class”, even though I will never serve in the armed forces. In this day and age to have such ignorant opinions abound… my heart goes out to all the gays and lesbians who have served with honor and have been forced out of the military. And to all those who continue to remain enlisted and live a double life at times to keep their commitment to their country.
I know the views like that marine expressed stem from heterosexism and patriarchy writ large. And I know this one soldier’s voice does not represent everyone. But then another marine opined that if one wants to serve, one must be ready to give up that aspect of your personhood. If you want to be a marine, get back in the closet and stay there. No swishing about on the battlefield. No redecorating the barracks. No fairies on the frontlines. “You make sacrifices if you want to be a Marine, and being openly gay is one of them.”
Oh, sorry if that sounds sour and curmudgeonly… but it is tiresome to hear these old, outdated fears and opinions broadcast. And it is also clarifying – it shows me the work that lies before us, the education we need to do, and the courage we all need to “live out loud”.
Although I think I may live in a “don’t ask, don’t tell” neighborhood, my wider community is open and affirming. My religion tells me that I am loved just as I am. Yet that is not enough. We don’t get to sit down and rest until we help make a world where everyone feels this acceptance.

Walking to the State House on Thursday

Walking to the State House on Thursday, across various Trenton Streets, around various State agencies, I paid attention to the citizens I met along the way. I felt I was going on to witness something important (the NJ Senate vote on the Marriage Equality bill), potentially history-making. But I wondered, what has it to do with these folks? In the grand scheme of things, does the passing of this legislation do anything to ease their life, to give them hope?

There are so many things that need “fixing” in our society: work and just wages for all; affordable housing; a stable, safe, local food supply; quality education, no matter where you live or who your parents are – from pre-Kindergarten through college. Those are my dreams, and those are the things worth fighting for. And those are the things that seem so impossibly hard to fix.

So where does “marriage equality” fit in all of this? How does it help the lives of all these other people? If you base an opinion solely on the kinds of testimony you’ve heard, or the representatives the proponents of the bill have put forward, you could (uncharitably) think that although their stories are heart-wrenching, it may not be such a big deal. After all, they have options – they have health-care, even though it’s been hard to make sure the family of a same-sex couple is covered. They have jobs and houses. That is true.

Yet they struggle, and endure hurts and discrimination. And there are so many untold stories about less privileged gay and lesbian couples where the option to “marry” (not just get civil-unionized) would make a real, positive change in their lives. Marriage equality may seem like a “privilege”, but it is also emblematic of a healthier society. Allowing civil marriage for all couples honors all families. And it also evidences a civil society where equality is valued, and compassion is present. It demonstrates a potential for greater equality and equity in the wider society.

If we can do this, we CAN make education a priority and take up economic issues that support people and not institutions “too big to fail”. Universal healthcare for all – a dream that has surfaced in this country every now and then over the past 100 years (and has been unjustly vilified in these recent debates on healthcare) – might just become part of our culture.

Because one culture change can beget many more. But only if we care enough. Only if our vision is broad enough not to be stymied by some false “hierarchy of injustice”. Step by step, we keep moving forward. Is “marriage equality” the most important issue? Maybe, maybe not. But it is still worth working for.

The Lady in the Red Suit

The group opposing Marriage Equality had chosen red as their color and they were conspicuous in their attire back in December at the Senate Judiciary Committee hearing. Today, they were at the State House as well – and so were a lot of Marriage Equality supporters in their blue t-shirts. I found myself eying the crowd, gauging support by what people wore.

I was partially faked out by one woman who just happened to be wearing a red jacket, sitting next to three other women in red. I mentioned to my companion that it cannot be a coincidence, as he had asserted, that all four are just there for another reason and not opposing marriage equality. Turns out it was quite by accident that she wore red and in no way was that meant to telegraph her allegiance. But the other three, who thought she was “one of them”, were in the opposition’s camp.

So later, when I sat in the café eating my lunch, and a another woman in a red dress and jacket came over, smiled and asked if she could join me at the table, I said “yes” and thought to myself, “oh here we go!” It was pretty clear where I stood, with my Garden State equality t-shirt and stickers and a button. But in addition to her red attire, she was wearing a League of Voters pin, and so I thought “this is interesting…” and it was.

Well, you can’t judge a woman by her dress. She wanted to talk to me about the importance of Marriage Equality and the odd behavior of “lame-duck” sessions and the politicization of every vote right now, in this shift in leadership in Trenton. I was talking to an ally! I explained about the opposition’s fashion-choice. She laughed and said had she known, she would have chosen a different stand-out color to wear today.

We discussed these issues and also the “in-state tuition for non-citizens” bill as well, and puzzled over why granting civil and educational rights to people – things that don’t really “cost” the state anything but their goodwill and support, that create a more whole, intact society – seems to be so difficult for some people.

Now that the Senate voted to continue discrimination in the state of New Jersey, the wondering is not just academic. And the fight goes on. As the disappointment of the Marriage Equality bill’s failure weighs on me, I will hold on to the fine speeches some senators gave in support of equality, some that in a surge of hope, brought a tear to my eyes. And to this conversation with the woman in the red suit.

The cleansing power of song

Last night we gathered to spend a couple of hours singing Christmas Carols. I went, not sure of how I would feel. Besides the fact that I have my limits regarding how many carols I can sing in one setting (what we do in Christmas Eve Services seems just about right to me), I felt reluctance going back into that room. And this surprised me.

Our Sanctuary is a multi-purpose room, so it is not dedicated “sacred space”. And being who we are, Unitarian Universalists would experience spiritual uplift in many settings so this is not the one, unique space where that would happen. But I was reluctant to go, because the last time I was in that room was a very unpleasant experience. Using the room for a meeting was not out-of-the-norm and the topic of the meeting was important. But something happened there that was very harmful to many people’s psyches and hearts.

For days since Tuesday night’s meeting I have felt wounded by the behavior of others, most of them complete strangers to me. Whether or not what these people had to say has merit is beside the point. The manner of their speaking, the insults hurled and the contempt shown to another group of people, those attempts at intimidation poisoned the room.

So it was some trepidation that I entered what is essentially “my” space – the place where I ply my skills in preaching and crafting worship for my congregation.

But in that space, last night, something wonderful happened. That small group of disparate people joined together, donned “Santa hats” and sang a variety of seasonal songs – traditional carols, Hanukkah songs, popular Christmas tunes - with much gusto, whether we “believed” them or not. I sang the ones I really liked and hummed along with ones not so beloved, all done in good cheer. The reluctance I felt upon entering dissipated.

All the negative energy generated by the churlish, rude and insulting behavior that had so marred that space was banished – and it gave way to comfort and joy.

I have long understood, in deep personal ways, how music can heal or stir the heart and feed the soul. Here, the music of piano and flute, the clear voices raised in hopeful song transformed that space, started to make it whole again.

Maybe this was my own personal Christmas “miracle”, or perhaps it is simply evidence that we humans wield great power – not just in obvious ways of bullying or aggression - but in the ways of peace, through the power of song.

Another anniversary…

I remember, like millions of others, the bright, warm, September morning - the ordinariness of it all banal by now. And the horror that followed those morning routines is recalled so many different ways.

I was not there. I was miles away, ensconced in the old house in Connecticut where we were going to make our home for the next few years, or so we thought. Like millions of others, I watched on television, frightened, awestruck and not quite believing what I was seeing. A trip into the city just one week later brought me in touch with the loss, the grief and to my mind hopefulness and hopelessness expressed in those “missing” posters around Union Square, Penn Station and Grand Central.

So what do I feel on this 8^th anniversary? Sorrow – aching sorrow. There is grief for all the lives lost and anger over the way this country’s leaders led us into wars and terror on a new scale. But overwhelming sorrow… for what cannot be returned, for what was lost in the rubble, for the greed and belligerence that the event engendered.

After the attacks, I believed that this was an opportunity for us (citizens of the United States) to rise to our best selves. United in grief, we would seek justice but not vengeance. We would model a righteous peacefulness and we would rebuild in new ways. Naive hopes, perhaps, but I believe it still, even though I am more convinced every day that humanity may not reach this state in my lifetime. I must believe it is possible.

For me, these thoughts are almost a daily presence. Reports on the “progress” of the wars in Afghanistant and Iraq, the economy warped and ravaged by those wars, the rebuilding of “ground zero and the value of real estate in Manhattan… every day, opportunities to reflect on how the attacks of September 11^th invade and affect our lives in one way or another. I don’t brood over the memories, but I sense the interconnections, the reverberations in all that happens now..

So let me say this: just as I hoped for and advocated a peaceful response to those attacks, from the beginning I believed that no new towers should be built on that site. There is plenty of commercial real estate available in New York City.

Might not the site already be reopened if they had simply built some kind of memorial museum-like building in a park-like setting that focused on two still, reflecting pools marking the “footprint” of each of the World Trade Center towers. Simple, peaceful, full of memory and maybe even hope… why do we have to make a buck on this extreme event? Each year people are moved by the “absence” memorial created by the twin beams of light that reach into the night sky on lower Manhattan.

My heart still breaks. But my heart must still have hope.

Woodstock – the short version

As soon as I heard about Woodstock on the alternative rock/FM station out of Philly, I was sure I was going. Just that it wasn’t with the person I had originally planned to go with – but that’s another story. So I went with a boyfriend* and his best friend. We arrived late Friday night… avoided some of the traffic jam by taking back roads in “upstate” NY. Pitched a tent and woke up Saturday morning to this amazing scene of thousands and thousands of people all around us.

But as my family knows, the bummer of my trip to Woodstock was that we left early – to beat the traffic, I think, and because the best friend wasn’t picking up chicks easily enough (maybe it had something to do with his Army Ranger beret, haircut and demeanor – well, he was going to ‘Nam soon).

Did see and hear some of the concert (Country Joe McDonald; some forgettable group called Quill; and Santana – who was as hot and cool and revolutionary as they say!!!). But missed the big names.
Cannot recall what we ate – there is a memory of eating cheez-whiz on crackers and rinsing just-brushed teeth with 7-up. Obviously I was not involved in planning (or had not yet become the serious “trip organizer” I am now). And there were some folks camped near us who did plan well – frying up bacon for breakfast on their little camp stove. And the port-o-johns were an experience…
I sometimes wonder what would have happened had I just pulled a hippie-chick thing and refused to leave on Saturday (I really wanted to stay) and tried to find my own way home. Clearly, I was not a hard-core flower child!

It was an unforgettable experience –even if most of it only lives on for me in hours of classic film footage. Watching yet another documentary last night, it was cool to see the acts I did see featured – wow, man! I am glad I got to go – even though I was just a little part of it, Woodstock remains a big part of me.

Desert Blooms

It was late on a cloudy, rainy day in Canyonlands. I could see the mesas stretched out below us, with the deep gorges carved by the Colorado and Green Rivers. It was magnificent, but I groused about the dim light, the misty, hazy view. My pictures would not be nearly as dramatic as I had hoped.

We reached our last stop for the day: Mesa Arch. As we parked in the lot near the trail, the rain started up again. No umbrella, no rain jacket – do we go? I was committed: we had come this far and really, what else were we going to do? But because of the rain, I left my camera in the car. The trail up was an easy one; scent of juniper and pinon were in the air. As we strolled along, the rain was slowing to a sprinkle.

I was busy looking up at the sky, debating with myself if I should turn around and get the camera, when Mary pointed out the small cactus plants just alongside the trail. There were tiny red buds on top of the spiny, flat plants that seemed ready to burst open. The thirsty desert plants needed this rain. Rain drops clinging to spiky leaves offered a little desert mouse a welcome drink. This kind of a day was a blessing for them.

And then we neared the top of the trail. There was the arch – wonderful, magnificent, awesome! The clouds broke up and the sun peeked through. Looking through the span of the arch out into the canyon below took my breath away. For a moment, I deeply regretted not having my camera to record this. A gentle poke in the ribs from my trail companion reminded me that the picture was not the point.

Seeing this amazing vista, this harsh and beautiful landscape, the result of eons of wind and water and moving earth, even as it may appear harsh and alien, it is still part of us and we are part of it. This planet that evolved out of light and dust and air and water is flowing in our own lives. I didn’t need a camera to catch that. As I write this, here in Salt Lake City, I’m thinking about all the opportunities we have to feel this connection every day.

It needn’t take a great canyon or an ancient sandstone arch to remind us of the magnificence and terrifying beauty of creation. And despite the seeming constant rains of mid-June, summer brings us more opportunity to feel the mystery and wonder of the world around us, whether in a city street or a lush green garden or a sandy ocean beach or a shaded mountain trail.

I hope you will use this time to breathe in the mystery of creation and rejoice in its beauty. Even when things are not as we would like them to be; even when things seem to conspire to rain on our parade or ruin our plans; even when events near and far seem to threaten our peace and security… even then we need to look, feel and remember, as the poet Mary Oliver says:

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things. (from Dream Work © Mary Oliver)

After leaving the arch behind and making our way back to the car, I grabbed my camera and made my way back to that small group of cacti. One of the tiny red-tinged buds had fully opened in the late afternoon sun. I hadn’t noticed it before. Was it there the first time we walked by? Maybe; maybe not. But it was lovely and worth the wait!