Karen Oliveto

Standing on the Side of Justice and Love?

2012-01-13T17:13:00.000-08:00

Recently, The United Methodist Church General Board of Pension and Health Benefits decided to add another social screen to their investment portfolio: companies related to private prisons. This adds to the current screens of gambling, the manufacture, sale, or distribution of tobacco-related products, weapons, and pornography. This continues to keep the pension funds of clergy and lay employees in line with the denomination's historic stand for social justice.

I am very happy that The UMC is concerned about those on the margins enough to make a commitment not to profit from (or add to the profit of) companies that support systems of injustice.

I wonder, however, how well The UMC would fair if some companies that we are in partnership with utilized certain social screens? Would they continue to do business with The UMC?

Every clergy and lay employee whose pension is through GBPHB has free access to Ernst and Young Financial Planning Services. This is valuable and important for those whose careers do not exactly offer a windfall of economic gain. But interestingly enough, Ernst and Young has just been named The Employer of the Year by the gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender advocacy group, Stonewall.

The UMC, with its own version of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell", speaks out of both corners of its mouth when talking about homosexuality. The church believes in equal rights for gay men and lesbians in society, but not within the church. Gay and lesbian couples ought to have their relationships protected by law, but cannot have those same relationships blessed in their house of worship by their pastor. Gay men and lesbians ought to be able to serve freely in the military, but self-avowed, practicing homosexuals are not to be admitted as ordination candidates, ordained clergy, or appointed to churches. All this because the church states that homosexuality is "incompatible with Christian teaching."

This year, The United Methodist Church will gather as it does every 4 years to determine how the Holy Spirit is moving the church to live with greater faithfulness into the future. Nearly one thousand delegates will spend two weeks in prayer, conversation, study and legislative activities, providing a new set guidelines for the people called United Methodist. One of the issues that will be discussed and debated is homosexuality. For forty years, this has been an issue which has divided the church, yet the voting body has been unable to even acknowledge that the divide exists, voting down time after time a simple recognition that the church does not agree on this issue. As a result, United Methodist gay men and lesbians have been told that their lives and their love are incompatible with Christian teaching. This pronouncement flies in the face of a God who causes each one of us to proclaim in our own voice, "I am fearfully and wonderfully made." (Psalm 139)

As we prayerfully approach General Conference, I wonder where, how, and what God is saying to us regarding homosexuality:

as our sister and brother mainline Protestant denominations have moved to accept the gifts and graces of gay and lesbian members,
as state after state offers legal recognition through marriage equality or domestic partnerships of gay and lesbian couples,
as the US military sees that gay men and lesbians can serve as faithfully and valiantly as straight service men and women,
as young people turn to suicide because of the church's complicit support of bullying,
as more and more companies that The UMC does business with have more just employment policies than the church.

The United Methodist Church has a long history of standing on the side of justice and love. What side will we be standing on after the final votes are cast at General Conference?

Occupy Your Life! (audio sermon)

2011-12-08T15:31:00.000-08:00

This Advent Season, watch for signs of the original occupier, Jesus, and Occupy Your Life!

We Are Glide in San Francisco!

2011-12-02T08:05:00.000-08:00

Here is a little homage to the people who make Glide such an amazing place. It was premiered at the Glide Gala on December 1, 2011.

We Are Glide in San Francisco!

Why I Love Advent

2011-11-28T19:56:00.000-08:00

This says it all:

Calling All Angels

2011-11-22T09:36:00.000-08:00

The profound mystery of being both a vessel and recipient of God's grace: I came out of the gym locker room and saw a woman--I didn't know her name but knew she had lost her son earlier this year--who was crying. I asked if she was okay and she fell in my arms, saying, "The song that's playing was sung at my son's funeral. The grief just got to me" as she fell in my arms in tears.

Then, as I got to "my" machine, another woman--whose name I also don't know--came up to me, "I've been looking for you. I just bought a pair of slacks and I think they'd look better on you than me" as she handed them to me.

We are indeed angels for one another.

Why I Support Occupy Wall Street

2011-10-19T11:04:00.000-07:00

I was disappointed to read a tweet from one of my favorite religious authors, Len Sweet: ‘Isn't the way to really "Occupy Wall Street" to buy stocks and become shareholders?” Actually, my mouth fell open as if I was watching a Republican primary debate. From what place of privilege does a statement like that emerge?

Of course, a “publicly owned” company allows the shareholder to have voice within a company, but there is too much broken within this system to really allow the other 99% to even own stock, much less to have a voice.

A recent report in Business Insider summed it up pretty succinctly:
1. With a brief except in 1980, unemployment is at the highest level since the Great Depression
2. At the same time, corporate profits are at an all-time high
3. Wages as a percent of the economy are at an all-time low.
4. Income and wealth inequality in the US economy is near an all-time high

Take a look at this graph which shows how CEO salaries have skyrocketed in the past 20 years while worker wages have had an incremental increase:

This information confirms what I am seeing every day at Glide: the American Dream has become the American nightmare, as more and more individuals and families struggle just to make ends meet. Investing in stocks has become an activity reserved for the rich and famous, not the poor and struggling. Unfortunately, in this economy, even things like health insurance and education are now luxury items for too many Americans.

This is why I support the Occupy Wall Street movement. The system isn’t working. Too many are suffering. It can no longer be business as usual.

The Death Penalty and a Nation's Soul

2011-09-22T14:37:00.000-07:00

The morning after the executions of Troy Davis and Lawrence Russell Brewer found me mulling over Luke 19:

⁴¹As he came near and saw the city, he wept over it, ⁴²saying, “If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. ⁴³Indeed, the days will come upon you, when your enemies will set up ramparts around you and surround you, and hem you in on every side. ⁴⁴They will crush you to the ground, you and your children within you, and they will not leave within you one stone upon another; because you did not recognize the time of your visitation from God.”

Jesus laments because Jerusalem ignored the signs of God's nearness. By choosing to ignore God's presence and refusing to pursue the path of peace, Jerusalem was sealing its own fate: a future filled with violence and destruction.

What kind of civilized society sanctions the killing of its own citizenry? What is the chilling message that is sent to its populace? Where do the lines of vengeance and justice blur? When the State deems that some lives are not worth living, and in fact ought to be put to death, doesn't that cheapen all other lives?
People do horribly evil things in this world. But we simply perpetuate evil by killing people who have been convicted of killing people. The death penalty is not a deterrent to evil. It does not offer the possibility of reconciliation. Is this really what justice looks like?

In a study by Amnesty International, 23 countries carried out the death penalty in 2010. The US was number four in the highest number of executions, behind Iraq, Iran and China. Is this an area in which we as a nation want to excel?
Troy Davis’ case shows how race and class enter into our judicial process. Some individuals are not presumed innocent until proven guilty but are guilty until they have enough money to hire a good lawyer to prove them innocent. Perhaps the redemptive act from all of this will ultimately be the end of the death penalty in the United States. It is time we learned the ways that make for peace and reconciliation.

Our future depends on it.

The BART Unplugged Experiment: There's Got to Be a Morning After

2011-08-17T14:11:00.000-07:00

Okay, all last week I went cold turkey: during my morning and afternoon commutes on BART, I kept my phone off and as safely tucked away as I would on a place during take off and landing. You may recall that what prompted all this was the realize that I was so addicted to my iPhone that I began missing my stops, and didn't even notice that someone had passed out in front of me until the train was stopped and EMTs were working on him!

It wasn't easy, this low tech ride through high tech country. Looking around at my fellow commuters, it was hard to find someone who wasn't plugged in. Conversations were not with seatmates, but with the digitalized disembodied voices. texts, and emails. But I learned a great deal last week, and recognized that time unplugged can actually be a good thing, helping me not only tune in to my outer surroundings, but also my inner landscape.

But, as the song goes, "There's got to be a morning after." What is most telling about an addiction is not so much what happens when you are not engaged in the addictive behavior, but what happens when you resume the behavior.

So what happened Monday morning?

Feeling oh-so-smug I waited to pull out my iPhone until we were WAY underway (look at my. I made it to Daly City without my ear phones on, without checking email, and without playing one number in Suduko. But then it sucked me in!

Old habits die hard: I looked up to get off at my Powell St. stop, and discovered that we had gone one stop beyond and I was at Montgomery.

Sigh...

The BART Unplugged Experiment: Day Five

2011-08-17T11:59:00.000-07:00

My Fridays are not commute days. Fridays are either my Sabbath, a day to rest and renew for the work week that begins on Sunday, or it is my sermon writing day, which I do from home. Day Five of the BART Unplugged Experiment found me working on my sermon for Sunday.

A week of being unplugged did seem to have an unexpected result. I usually write sermons by multi-tasking: writing, doing the laundry, writing, checking up on emails, writing, listening to music, writing, putting the dishes away...writing in very short increments that resemble more sprints than actual focused writing.

But this day was different.

I found that I was not needing other stimulation in order to get my thoughts in order. I was able to concentrate. Words, sentences, thoughts flowed freely. "Wow," I thought, "This is great!."

I don't know if it was from intentionally unplugging for most of the week, or if I had just put a lot of preliminary thought into the sermon prior to Friday, or if it was simpy the Spirit at work! I have a hunch, however, that giving my mind some breathing room, without filling it up with one kind of stimulation or another, helped the process.

What an illuminating and interesting week!

The BART Unplugged Experiment: Day Four

2011-08-12T10:01:00.000-07:00

The ride home today was tough. I write my sermons from home on Fridays, so Thursday's ride marked the end of my commute week. There was a weariness, but also an undercurrent of adrenaline, like a shifting tide as I began to move from the extroverted "the-pastor-is-in" mode to the more reflective and quiet sermon-writing mode (one Glide members calls me "The Sermonator" when I am in this mode). So in this in-between space, I wanted to keep the weariness at bay and DO something.

BART is not a conducive environment for DOING.

I looked around at my fellow commuters. Eyes were closed, faces were in a book, or, yes, thumbs were flying on the smartphone keyboard. But no one was talking. Upwards to 200 people were sharing a very confined space, but there was no interaction, no conversation, no connecting.

What opportunities are we missing when we fail to connect with the person right beside us?

The BART Unplugged Experiment: Day Three

2011-08-10T22:02:00.000-07:00

Today started out great. The BART train I took into the City originated from the airport, so there were lots of tourists on the train. "OOOoooo," I thought, "Those researchers are so right. Plugging into our smartphones really does stop us from interacting with each other. But look at me now!" Before I even got to my seat, someone asked me if this was a train that goes to Powell Street. Then the couple across the aisle needed help figuring which train would get them to Hayward. Then the first guy and I struck up a conversation. Yup, I was CONNECTING!

My work day ended on a very painful note. Sometimes, being a pastor is heart-breaking work, and my last appointment of the day weighed heavy on me. It was all I could do to pack up my bag and head to the BART station. Getting on the train, all I wanted to do was to plug in and tune out.

But there was no plugging in for me this time. I reflected on my last appointment and couldn't avoid the flood of feelings within me. Unable to back burner, avoid, or push away the feelings, I reached for the one thing that could help me the most: prayer. So as the train made its way southward, I took a journey to God, carrying all the feelings and laying them before God.

Plugging in is a great avoidance, but once the batteries run out, I am still left with whatever was bothering me. Prayer, I was reminded once again, is a way to sink into the feelings and surface with greater clarity and peace.

Maybe I'm learning a thing or two through this whole unplugging experience.

The BART Unplugged Experiment: Day Two

2011-08-10T08:39:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, August 9. Day two of commuting without being plugged into my iPhone.

What really surprised me today was that my mind wandered...unfettered of music, news articles, emails, voicemails, it was free to roam wherever it wanted to go. I found myself thinking, wondering, dreaming on a mental map with no road signs.

It made me realize how rarely I leave myself with time to day dream. Most of the time, I am directing my thinking, in one way or the other. I often listen to music on my commute. Or I am looking at my calendar and planning the day's meetings and activities, or analyzing the game board for my next move.

So today was a day of liberation! It reminded me that creativity requires space for exploration and a willingness to enter into the unstructured so we can be led to a new and unexpected place.

Here's to more time to day dream!

The BART Unplugged Experiment: Day One

2011-08-09T10:05:00.000-07:00

Monday, August 8, was the first day of commuting without being attached to my iPhone. For my entire commute to work, my iPhone stayed in my bag. I didn't text anyone, didn't check emails, didn't listen to music, didn't play a game, didn't even (gasp) call my mother. Instead, I listened to the sounds around me, looked out at the passing scenery, took glances at my fellow passengers, and even took a quick nap. Ah...so this is commuting life without technology.

Until I saw the bed bug sign.

Taking time to look around at the BART car, I saw the ad "Got Bed Bugs?". Ewwwwww.

Those "Got Milk?" commercials are cute. Good looking celebrities (often with their kids) display those tell-tale milk moustaches, making me wish I had a tall cold one.

But "Got Bed Bugs?" Talk about bad ad placement. I looked around at my BART seat and got a little nervous.

Now I wonder if, in addition to keeping my iPhone stashed, if I also have to stand for the duration of my commute...

BART Unplugged

2011-08-08T16:54:00.000-07:00

At Glide, we say that everyone is in recovery for something. I confess that as I read a recent online report on the web browser of my iPhone, I got in touch with an issue that is requiring recovery: my addiction to my iPhone.

Research shows I am not alone. Psychologists are worried that while we are connecting with our mobile device more, we are connecting with each other less.

I first recognized that I might have a problem when I was riding BART to Glide one day and looked up from my Sudoku app to realize that the train was stopped. Then I looked up the aisle and saw a man passed out on the floor, surrounded by paramedics. How long had we been stopped? How long had that man been laying there and I simply didn’t see him?

There are other warning signs as well: twice within the last month, I missed my home station, only to leave the train and look around bewildered, “How did I get here?”

I know I’m not the only one to have this smart phone addiction. I looked around my BART car recently and saw passenger after passenger not speaking to anyone, not looking around, but texting, surfing, listening to music, watching videos…everything but being present to their surroundings and fellow passengers.

So I am making a commitment. Starting with my commute into Glide on Monday, August 8, I am going to keep my iPhone in my pocket for the entire week (!) of commuting back and forth. I want to see what and who I’ve been missing. Who knows what I will discover from this tech-free commute?

Care to try it with me?

Lady Gaga, Evangelist?

2011-04-06T21:37:00.000-07:00

Last week, I attended the Lady Gaga concert in at the Oakland Coliseum. It was a rainy night, but the rain didn’t dampen the spirits of concert goers as we stood in line waiting to go in. The crowd was a wonderful mirror of the beautiful diversity we have in the Bay Area. Hugs, laughter, singing and dancing broke outside spontaneously as the crowd inched closer to the doors.

Except for one man.

Standing close to the crowd was a man dressed with a coat covered in slogans like “hate the sin, love the sinner” and “hell is for eternity.” The man was shouting at the crowd so hard that the chords of his neck were bulging and his face was beet red. He shouted things like “You're going to burn in hell!”

The man was quickly forgotten once Lady Gaga took to the stage. People were swept up by her performance. In between her songs, she asked people to support local homeless shelters and in particular, shelters for homeless lgbt youth. Then, she did something I totally wasn’t prepared for--Lady Gaga actually… well, there's only one word for it… PREACHED!

She began by talking to Jesus, “Jesus, some people say you only love a certain kind of people. Some people say that Jesus only loves only one kind of person and not everybody, not every race, not every ethnicity, not every sexual orientation. But Jesus, you have blessed me…I'm quite certain that Jesus must love everybody. Jesus. Loves. Everybody." With that, the crowd acknowledged the blessing she had given them through shouts and claps of affirmation.

I had to wonder, as I thought of how the crowd responded to Lady Gaga’s message of love and how they responded to the street preacher’s message of hate, which one touched and changed more hearts that night, opening lives up to God's love?

Lady Gaga, evangelist. Who knew? I am grateful for her message of God's unconditional love to 50,000 concert goers, reminding them: “Baby, we were born this way!”

The Butterfly Effect

2011-03-24T14:26:00.000-07:00

There is a phenomenon known as the Butterfly Effect —it states that the world is such a delicate and connected eco-system that a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil can cause a weather change in New York City.

Since March 11th, we have known just how true the Butterfly Effect is. It is hard to believe that an earthquake which leveled the landscape in Japan could cause millions of dollars in damages more than 5000 miles away due to the ensuing tsunami . Many of us on the West Coast have family, friends, and friends of friends in Japan and wait anxiously for a daily update from them. The eyes of the world have nervously watched the nuclear reactors as they belch radioactive clouds into the atmosphere and reach critical levels as efforts to contain them continue to fail.

Due to the earthquake, we are seeing the Butterfly Effect multiply its impact as the whole world is effected.

I wonder, as I watch and listen, whether this can be an opportunity for us to recognize in ways greater than ever before, how connected we are to one another, the earth, and all living things? As we mourn the terrible loss of life, can we commit ourselves to new life together? Can we diminish our differences and recognize our common humanity? Are we able to recognize that what we do, the choices we make daily, have consequences to those we may never meet? Are we able to stand in solidarity with those whose suffering is beyond our comprehension? Can we care for one another and all of creation in ways that offering healing and wholeness?

Let us engage in radical acts of love and care, and trust that through the butterfly effect, our actions will increase and multiply, and be a soothing balm in the midst of a broken world.

Want to do something for the people of Japan? Make a donation to UMCOR. This organization is already on the ground, partnering with local organizations to assess and respond to the devastation. 100% of your donation will go directly to relief efforts.

BART Encounters #2

2011-03-14T10:57:00.000-07:00

I am one of those people that starts the day wide awake and ready to go, and the earlier the better! No caffeine is needed here! Once my feet hit the floor I am already headed towards the gym followed by a warm shower. Then I am ready to take on the world.

One morning, however, I was uncharacteristically tired before the day had even begun. I glumly made my way to BART, my head feeling in a fog. Listless, I went through the motions of entering the station to board a train.

I wasn’t even aware of how far I had travelled on the train when I heard a small voice whispering emphatically, “Wow!…Wow!…Wow!” The voice nudged me and I found myself more alert than I had been. What was it that was eliciting these wows?

The train stopped. “Wow!” the voice exclaimed. The doors opened. “Wow!” People entered. “Wow!” The doors closed. “Wow” The train entered a tunnel. “Wow.” Every stage of the trip was met with an exclamation of wonder.

This small child’s excitement was contagious. I found myself looking at the beauty of the diversity of people found on the train. Wow! I looked outside and could see the ocean. Wow! I saw someone give up their seat to an elderly person. Wow!

This wonderment stayed with me throughout the day. There was beauty in the most unlikely places. I looked at the world--and all I encountered--with new eyes. My day was filled with joy, wonderment, and above all, gratitude.

The Spirit was made manifest for me that day in a small child, whose sense of awe helped me be surprised and amazed once again.

Wow!

Standing on the Side of Love

2011-02-14T14:45:00.000-08:00

Today I was taken away in handcuffs as the battle ground for equal rights moves from the lunch counter to the marriage license counter.

It was part of a marriage equality action. As a way to highlight the injustice of marriage laws, which deny gay and lesbian couples the legal rights and protections which marriage affords, and to honor the anniversary of San Francisco's "Winter of Love" (2004) when Mayor Gavin Newsom surprised the world by allowing city officials to issue marriage certificates to all couples, regardless of sexual orientation, marriage counter protests occur in city halls across America as gay and lesbian couples request--and are denied--a marriage license.

Heading into the marriage license office

In San Francisco, clergy, gay and lesbian couples, and city officials held a press conference in City Hall. Following the press conference, we clergy accompanied several couples to the marriage license counter. When they were refused a license, we sat down and began to sing, "What the world needs now is love, sweet love" until we were led away in handcuffs.

As an officer handcuffed me and led me down into the basement of City Hall, he guided me with his hand on my shoulder and back with the gentlest of touches. I remember thinking, "I have never been touched by a stranger--and certainly not by an arresting officer--in a way that had ever made me feel like I was something precious." That's how gentle he touched me.

We got to the bottom of the stairs and then he motioned for me to walk with him down a long corridor that ran the length of City Hall. Suddenly, he blurted out, "I didn't think this would be as hard as it is," and he burst into tears.

He looked at me, tears running down his face, and told me of how he and his husband had been married in 2008. He was grateful that they were amongst the lucky ones, whose marriage is still recognized by California. "But it hurts to know there are other couples who feel the same love we do, who can't get married."

By then, we were both in tears, held in the tension felt between our two vocations. He was doing his job, by arresting me. I was doing my job by standing up for justice and love. Together, we saw how flawed our legal system is when it refuses to protect the loving relationship of all committed couples.

He led me into the holding room and before he uncuffed me, he blessed me with two simple words:

"Thank you."

BART Encounters #1

2011-02-03T10:36:00.000-08:00

She looked hesitatingly at the seat next to me before our eyes met. I smiled and gestured that the seat was all hers. Shortly after she sat down, I couldn't help but notice the most enticing aroma from a package she was carrying. I finally asked her what it was.

"Mussels and french fries," she said. "I just had an interview for a job, and it was so horrible! I decided I needed something to cheer me up."

We spoke about her interview--she worked in a downtown office and had been invited to apply for another position in the organization. The interview did not go as she had expected, and she felt depleted and betrayed. "Why would they invite me to apply, and then treat me that way?"

She told me that as soon as the interview finished, she called home. This was no quick call across town. The woman was from another country, an ocean away. But at that time, she needed to hear the voice of someone who would love her no matter what. Whether the interview went well or was horrible, whether she got the job or not, she knew to reach out to someone who would love her, not judge her. She called home.

The need for home runs deep in our souls. Whether that home is a physical one, or an emotional one we share with loved ones, we all need a place of safety, love and support. Dorothy clicked her heels, saying,
There's no place like home." ET pointed longingly to the sky and asked, "Phone home?"

Too many people, however, don't have a place to call home. Poverty and foreclosures have caused many to lose their home. Others have been forced out or had to flee their home. Still others aren't even at home in their own skins.

How can we be home for each other? How can we create strong communities that are committed to ensuring a place of home, a place of safety, for the most vulnerable? My faith tells me that there is a place, there is a home, for everyone in the body of Christ. Unfortunately, not enough Christian communities are willing to be a home--a place of safety, love and nurture--for all people. Perhaps one sign of this unwillingness to be a home for all is reflected in empy pews, dried up souls, and tired faith. Too many people outside the church have learned to read the sign, "You can't go home again."

What if our churches were committed to finding the lost parts of the body of Christ, reattach missing limbs, and protect and strengthen the most vulnerable parts of the body? What if our churches were to welcome each outsider with the same joy and generosity as the father who welcomed home the prodigal son? What if we truly recognized our brothers and sisters in the faces of those we meet every day, even on a BART train?

Things I'm Grateful for this Thanksgiving--2010

2010-11-25T12:18:00.000-08:00

The way the sun comes over the mountain outside my bedroom window on sunny mornings

Clean bed sheets

Reunions with old friends

The calm that follows the storm

Those who stand up and speak out for justice

A perfectly ripe strawberry

The waiter at the Thai restaurant in Berkeley who always remembers my favorite dish, even though I only go there about once every two months

Hugs

The smell of jasmine flowers

Health

Laughter

Feet that can take me wherever I want to go

Public libraries

Tea

My family's ability to laugh at themselves, and each other

Mozart

Seeing people make room for other people

"It Gets Better"

A warm shower on a cold morning

A hike in the mountains

Sharing a meal with loved ones

Singing in a choir

So You Want to Go to Seminary?

2010-11-15T10:54:00.000-08:00

I don't know whether to laugh or cry when watching this video...there are parts of it that ring so true it hurts. Yet, it is also good to laugh at the truths found here.

While I didn't learn how to ice fish in my first appointment after seminary, I did learn how to hay and the reason why one really does "make hay while the sun shines." I, along with all the women in my ordination class, served in churches on the periphery of our annual conference. We prepared for ministry in places like Berkeley and New York City, but we were appointed to the outlying, rural communities of our otherwise urban conference.

So much of what we learned in seminary was light years away from what the folks in the pew knew (or wanted to know). Looking back at my early years of ministry, I realize that seminary needed to do a better job of teaching us to be translators--it was difficult to take what we learned in seminary (feminist/liberation/queer/post-colonial theology) and utilize it in an effective way in the parish.

I loved what I learned in seminary, I really did. The worlds and words that seminary introduced me to remain central in my theology and sustain me spiritually to this day. But there is a curious disconnect between seminary education and ministry. I will never forget being invited to lecture to a seminary class about parish ministry and having the professor interrupt me and tell the class, "I could never be a parish minister. I really don't care what color the drapes are in the church."

What a curious vocation we are called to! I don't care what color the drapes are either, but I do care about how God's people talk to each other about what color the drapes are. I care about the ways children can discover they are precious in God's sight. I care about how social systems too often crush the spirit of God's people. I care about how worship can help us see the reflection of God within us more clearly or can distort it and make us even doubt it.

Seminary set me off on a vocational course I couldn't even imagine. Many still scratch their heads and wonder what in God's name we (especially we women) do there. For me and for many, seminary was the first step of a great adventure in loving God and caring for God's people that I wouldn't trade for the world.

"Clean, Safe, and Reliable"

2010-11-12T09:12:00.000-08:00

My ministry at Glide entails a lot of travel beyond the Bay Area. While my favorite airline is United, I have recently grown a little nervous about the airline. It is not because the airline has merged with Continental but because of the messaging from the CEO of the now merged companies, Jeff Smisek. Mr. Smisek has tried to reassure costumers that the quality of air travel will remain the same during the transition, stating that the company will continue to provide "clean, safe, and reliable air transportation."

Maybe it's just me, but when I hear "clean, safe, and reliable" I hear a hierarchy of values, #1 being "clean", #2 being "safe", and #3 being "reliable". This makes me nervous as I listen to Mr. Smisek's pre-take off message on the plane. As the plane is taking off, in mid-air, and landing, I confess that the cleanliness of the plane is not foremost on my mind. Safety? Oh yes!!!! Reliable? It really helps when making connections! But clean? While I like a plane that is free of debris as much as anyone, an empty peanuts bag in the chair pocket isn't going to make or break my decision to fly United ever again.

But a less than safe flight? Well, that's another story.

Dear Diary...

2010-10-29T09:02:00.000-07:00

Uncle Howie asked me to help him look for Christmas gifts for my sisters’ daughters, both ‘tweens. He thought that the perfect gift for them would be diaries. Not a journal, not a writing pad, but an old fashioned, lock-with-a-key-so-no-one-else-can-read-it diary. Surely, this would not be too hard to find?

I went to a department store and searched through the stationary department. Sure enough, there were spiral bound notebooks with blank pages and leather bound journals, but no lock-with-a-key diary. I asked one of the employees if they carried diaries. “Oh no,” she said, “Not for a long time. These days, all the kids use Facebook.”

Why does this concern me?

Diaries were an avenue to express one’s deepest thoughts and longings, as well as to record the most mundane events of the day (I remember that in my 7th grade diary I faithfully recorded—well, when I was disciplined enough to write—what the weather was like as I waited for the school bus). One could be uncensored as one articulated, with all the angst of adolescence, the changes one was experiencing as one began to carve out one’s unique place in the world. It was a place to safely test out one’s reality (and fantasy!).

Facebook, while it does provide “privacy settings”, isn’t quite the same thing as a locked diary. One rage-filled status update, one wondering note, and one’s innermost thoughts can go viral in the internet. What happens to one’s inner life when there is no safe place for expression? How can one express one’s thoughts and experiences that are meant for no one’s eyes but one’s own? Do we stunt the ability to be self-reflective if we bypass a quiet private place to think aloud and instead directly post our musings on the web?
Even as I write this, I question if that is exactly what I am doing with a blog. However, my hope is that I have had many years and opportunities to develop the skills of self-reflection and self-censorship so that what appears here is not emoted reflexively but after spending time musing. Even once it is posted, I hope that what is generated isn’t the fodder of gossip, but rather a healthy give and take of ideas and opinions.
So I am going to keep looking for those lock-with-a-key diaries for my nieces. The confidante of a private diary could be just the right thing as they are growing up in the digital age.

If you happen to know where I can buy one of those diaries, be sure to let me know!

We Must Remember

2010-08-10T11:08:00.000-07:00

In July, my vacation took me to the alps of Austria. One day, I travelled to the town of Ebensee to visit a former concentration camp. It was difficult to find: my map was not verydetailed, and there was no sign at the train station. I knew that it was in a mountain near the town, so with compass and map in hand, I headed off in the general direction.

After a couple of miles, I began to hone in on its whereabouts. Small, brown signs began to appear, pointing the way to go. However, they were few and far between, so sometimes I was left wondering if I was still on the right path. My trek led to a housing development. The main street into the development was clearly the entrance gate to the former camp!

As I walked through the neighborhood, I saw beautiful homes and heard a loud party in progress. On one corner, was a children's playground. Right next to it, a cemetery, the final resting place of thousands of named and unnamed prisoners held at Ebensee.

I followed more signposts through the neighborhood, and then took a small path into the woods. This path led to a gaping hole in the mountain, the entrance to the miles of tunnels the prisoners were forced to create. It was here that Hitler planned to research air weaponry and to store armaments. Prisoners were forced to rise at 4:30 am and walk up the mountain to dig out the tunnels, working past 6pm.

From my perch at the side of the mountain, I looked out over the town of Ebensee, as well as the housing development over the former prisoner barracks. I couldn't believe that this piece of history could simply be bulldozed over and life could go on. Now, in the place where once there was so much misery and inhumanity, there were parties and celebrations. How did these present-day inhabitants--who had to drive through the former concentration camp gate each day--live with the past's horrors upon which their homes were built? How could they live there? Did they remember?

I was greatly troubled by what seemed to be an erasing of history, a willingness to forget, on the part of the Ebensee community. But then I had to think of my own neighborhood. I soon realized that forgetting is not just as Austrian trait, but a universal one.

Close to my home is the Tanforan Mall. The land on which the mall resides has had quite a history. It was a racetrack (where the famous Seabiscuit once was stabled), an airfield (where the first plane to land and take off on a boat finished its historic flight), and a military training area. However, like Ebensee, it, too, holds a past that we in America would like to forget.

"On May 1, 1942, Tanforan became an Assembly Center for people of Japanese ancestry who were interned under federal order. Around 8,000 people stayed at Tanforan on the way to Relocation Camps. These families were housed in the horse stalls of the stables." A result of the bombing of Pearl Harbor, these camps were set up because of the mistrust of the Japanses who were now considered a threat to US security. However, racism also contributed to the establishment of the camps.

Ultimately, 120,000 individuals of Japanese descent were relocated. They lost their homes, their business, and their possessions. They were sent to camps that had no plumbing and many were unprepared for the harsh winters they would experience. Some were killed by sentries. When they were finally released from the camps, they were given a train ticket and $25. Many experienced psychological trauma because of the internment.

While I could not understand how the residents of Ebensee could build a layer of normalcy on top of the former concentration camp, I realized that I have done the same thing. On the grounds of a former internment camp, I buy shoes and laundry detergent and go to the movies. I don't think twice about the people who were forced to leave their homes and sleep in a horse stall where I now park my car.

It is too easy for us to cover up the great wrongs we as a people have inflicted on a whole group of people. But when we forget, we fail to learn the lessons from the past and can wind up renewing a cycle of inhumanity. We grow into our best selves--as individuals and as a society--when we remember.

Whether Ebensee or Tanforan, or all those other past and present places of injustice and horror, we must remember.

Barbie, Doll

2010-07-13T21:54:00.000-07:00

She sat on the city sidewalk in her own urine. I wanted to turn away but there was something about her that made me keep looking at her. Did I know her?

In one hand, there was a Barbie doll. Barbie's blonde hair and elegant dress was in stark contrast to the woman's greasy hair, torn clothes, and dirty hands which held the doll. I had to wonder: did her mother give her a Barbie when she was younger? She was someone's daughter. She may have siblings. Perhaps even children of her own.

What pushed her to the streets? Did anyone miss her? She was someone's daughter, after all. Was there someone out there, wondering what happened to her, looking for her, searching for her?

Was there someone who cared about her, wanting to hold her as tightly as she clung to Barbie?

She was someone's daughter.

She was someone's daughter.

Then I realized: she and nameless, countless others will take their places on our city sidewalks as long as we think they are of someone else's family. Until we see those on the streets as our kin, people we miss, trhose we've been searching for, loved ones we long to hold and care for, our streets will remain the address of the forgotten and overlooked.

The woman who held the Barbie doll, tenderly, tightly in her hand? Now I recognize her: my daughter, my sister, my mother.

Be Counted!

2010-03-30T13:16:00.000-07:00

Now is the time for the voiceless to have a voice, the overlooked to be seen, the underrepresented to have representation, the nameless to be named. It is time for every one of us to be counted in the US Census.
The Census, which occurs every ten years, has far reaching effects in our communities. Census numbers redefine the boundaries of legislative districts, which impacts our political voice, as well as the distribution of $400 billion in federal funds a year ($4 trillion a decade!), which support essential services and impact the quality of life of us all.

This is why we at Glide celebrate the efforts of census workers to count everyone, especially low-income and homeless persons through this service based enumeration operation which will occur at Glide and across San Francisco over the next three days.

Too many in the Glide family know intimately the impact of not being seen or heard. Because of race, because of economic status, because of disabilities, because of the lack of permanent housing, their lives and needs are often forgotten. That is why we encourage everyone in our community to be counted! This is a time of empowerment! This is the chance to be seen and heard! This is a chance to take a place at the table called America!

We need every man, woman, and child to be included in this census. The well-being of us all depends on each one of us taking the time to participate. The family portrait of America is incomplete unless we all are in it. Be seen, be heard, be counted!

ReThink WHAT??!!

2010-03-16T16:55:00.000-07:00

I was making my way to Glide one morning, and when I stopped off BART at the Powell Street station, I looked around and saw that the station had been plastered with "RETHINK" ads. I was excited to see this that The United Methodist "Rethink Church" campaign had invested to much in marketing in San Francisco. Rethink Church is a four-year marketing strategy "to invite the church and those unchurched who seek spiritual fulfillment, to become more outwardly focused and engaged in the world."

Well, imagine my surprise when I saw that these RETHINK ads had nothing to do with the church. They were for Bare Escentuals, a make-up company!

I began to think about these two RETHINK campaigns. The church is experiencing an aging membership, empty pews, and the inability to sustain mission and ministry due to decreased donations.

I believe that the church possesses a life-giving message of transformation and liberation, so needed in our day and age! But too many of our churches have become museums and historical relics of a by-gone era. Instead of looking unflinchingly at the world and seeing where faithful witness is needed, the church has turned inward. Instead of engaging as bold disciples and offering the world ministries of compassion and justice, the church has too often turned its back on the cries of God's children.

I am glad The United Methodist Church is calling us to RETHINK the church...my only hope is that it is not a slick make-over job or a glossy cover-up.

Musing While Meandering

2010-03-09T16:36:00.000-08:00

The other day I took a walk on a bike path near my home. Looking over at a building, I noted that someone had scrawled a message on it:

The irony of seeing this Marxist slogan ("From each according to his ability; to each according to his need") during a time of bitter debate over health care in America made me chuckle. Conservatives have been utilizing scare tactics (death panels and increased costs) and screaming about the evils of socialism. I trust that those conservatives who are standing against health care reform are not basing it on their religious conviction. As one astute blog writer asked: "I can't think of one religious reason against health care reform--can you?" The writer reminded us that religious traditions all hold a basic concern with the well-being of persons. Affordable, accessible health care is a pretty basic requirement in order to provide a foundation for well-being.

When I read scripture, I see that care for the poor and most vulnerable among us is a sacred duty. In fact, those of us with wealth have much to answer for. Jesus rebukes the rich young ruler who wanted to follow him. Jesus tells him all he has to do is "Sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor." (Luke 18:22).

The early church took this to heart. In the book of Acts, we are told that "the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common. With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all. There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need." (Acts 4:32-35).

The rich sold their possessions and gave it for the common good??? Not a needy person among them??? One has to wonder if Marx had read Acts...and if conservatives simply skipped over that part of the Bible.

Who is Really Ruining Marriage and Destroying the Family?

2010-03-04T17:26:00.000-08:00

The Catholic Archdiocese of Washington has, in response to marriage equality in DC, chosen to drop spousal health care benefits for its employees. Additionally, they have dropped their foster/adoption program. The reason is that the Catholic Church does not recognize same-gender-loving couples and is unwilling to extend health care to the spouses of their gay and lesbian employees. Additionally, they are not willing to place children in houses of married gay or lesbian couples.

I find this so troubling. Jesus helps us redefine family, extending our notion of who is and who is not family far beyond our comfort zone. Jesus embraced the outcast, the unlovely and unlovable, extending love and a healing touch even to the untouchables. Here, Jesus points, are my sisters and brothers...all who do the will of God.

The Catholic Church has now chosen to pull the plug on the well-being of the families of its employees. Additionally, it is turning its back the cries of children who long for permanent, forever families.

While conservative pundits warn that marriage equality will spell the ruin of marriage and destroy the family, it seems like the ones who are doing that are conservatives themselves!

Feeling Nostalgic for a Snow Day

2010-02-11T12:25:00.000-08:00

Hearing about the snowmagedon experienced by my friends on the East Coast, and seeing their Facebook updates of snow days made me nostalgic. Growing up on Long Island, I remember listening intensely to the radio in the early morning when it was snowing, praying that my school would be announced during the list of school closures, providing us with a Snow Day.

Snow Days were unlike any other day off. It was a gift of unexpected time and an experience of grace. Upon learning that we were having a Snow Day, we would pull out a jigsaw puzzle and start cooking a pot of soup on the stove. The day was spent alternating between sledding and snowball fights (as a child), cross-country skiing and snowball fights (as an adult) and warming up with hot chocolate while tackling the jigsaw puzzle. In and out of the house we would dash all day, returning to the house when we were too cold and too wet and heading outside once our snow clothes had sufficiently dried (having a definite crusty feel to them after a while!).

But the best thing about Snow Days was that everything that was planned that day was gone—erased. The Snow Day suspended time. You didn’t work twice as hard once the Snow Day was over. You just picked up where you left off. That is what made a Snow Day so grace-filled.

I have spent the last 20 years in San Francisco, where our seasons are marked by fog or no fog. I suspect (and my East Coast friends could probably confirm) that Snow Days are not what they used to be. Technology and the internet now allow us to work from any where, at any time. A Snow Day no longer gifts us with an uncluttered day (except for that jigsaw puzzle begging for completion on the card table) but simply allows us to work in our flannel pajamas.

Oh, to experience a Snow Day of days gone by!

The Hungry Heart

2010-02-07T20:29:00.000-08:00

Last week I was invited to preach at Bethany United Methodist Church in Noe Valley, which I pastored for 12 years. By the time I left, one third of my life had been spent in that community. So last week was a wonderful reunion, we hadn’t seen each other in 5 years and we just had a great time telling stories about our time together.

I was reminded of one fall when a flustered parent handed me some items for a rummage sale. As the bag passed from her hand to mine, I saw signs of relief wash over her: "I am so glad to be rid of that Barney doll" she said, with a sigh.

I placed the bag in a closet near the office, and it wasn't very long after that I learned why the mother was at her wits end: every time a truck rumbled past the church, it would trigger a mechanism in the doll, and Barney would sing through the church: "I love you; you love me."

"I love you...you love me." on and on the Barney doll would call out. I tried moving the doll further away from the office, but even muffled, I could still make out the song. People who would come to the office for pastoral care would role their eyes when the song rang out. One looked disgusted and said, "Barney, ugh."

What is it with all the bad blood around Barney? Why does a low-tech, purple-plush dinosaur stir such negative feelings? The message sounds pure enough: "I love you, you love me..." Yet, something about it makes most adults cringe and turn away. Could it be that Barney makes it sound too easy, this loving thing? \"I love you, you love me, we're a great big family, with a great big hug and a kiss from me to you, won't you say you love me too?"

What does Barney know about 3am feedings and nightmares? What does Barney know about the tension between wanting to provide for your children, but then working so much you barely have time for them? What does Barney know about life on the streets and being worried sick wondering if your son will come home alive, or if he will become one more addition to the prison pipeline? What does Barney know about infidelities and other betrayals?

I love you? You love me? Does Barney have any idea how hard this loving thing really is? Does he know about the frustrations, the despair, the longings that come with love. "I love you, you love me"...if it were only that simple.

And maybe I am projecting something here, but whenever I hear that grating, “I love you, you love me” line, it sounds to me like an obsessive, compulsive lover. I love you. You love me? I love you. You love me? You love me?

Maybe that’s it. The ears through which I hear Barney’s words are more than just a bit jaded by my own baggage that I have brought to love. Barney reminds me of my own hungry heart, one in which love was absent, which sent me bingeing on all sorts of activities and things that never helped fill the pangs of desire that were within me. Do you know something about that? Have you had a hungry heart, where the expectation for love was unfulfilled, or, once you got it, was unfulfilling?

And, in a mad, crazy attempt to fill the emptiness, you grabbed whatever came your way: a revolving door of lovers, overwork, drugs, alcohol, food, risky behaviors, relationships that only compounded the hunger. I think this hungry heart is a phenomenon many of us are acquainted with, and I am reminded of a song by the Boss, Bruce Springsteen, who wrote a song about it:

Got a wife and kids in Baltimore, Jack
I went out for a ride and I never went back
Like a river that don't know where it's flowing
I took a wrong turn and I just kept going

CHORUS
Everybody’s got a hungry heart
Everybody’s got a hungry heart
Lay down your money and you play your part
Everybody’s got a hungry heart

I met her in a Kingstown bar
We fell in love I knew it had to end
We took what we had and we ripped it apart
Now here I am down in Kingstown again

(CHORUS)

Everybody needs a place to rest
Everybody wants to have a home
Don't make no difference what nobody says
Ain't nobody like to be alone

(CHORUS)
(Copyright © Bruce Springsteen (ASCAP))

Everybody’s got a hungry heart. Perhaps Springsteen points to what is one of the biggest reasons why so many hearts are hungry: “Everybody needs a place to rest, everybody wants to have a home.” We are a people who have lost the ability to be at home.

I am not talking about the physical place of a home, which some of us are in need of. I am talking about something even more basic than that: being at home with ourselves. Being alone with ourselves drives us up the wall. If we can’t stand ourselves, how can we expect anyone else to?

Too many of us have run away from home, run away from ourselves. Because of the way some people treated us in our past, the messages they gave us, the way they used or abused us, the way they made us feel about ourselves, we have distanced ourselves from our Self, wearing a mask that has become a permanent part of our persona. When that happens, we have run away from home. As a result, we are not even at home in our own skin.

With no home of our own, is it no wonder why our hearts are so hungry, why, when we or others say the words “I love you” it comes out feeling a little like a disembodied echo, reverberating in the hollowness of our empty heart?

In Psalm 32 we are invited to rediscover a home in our heart. The psalmist cried: “When I kept it all inside, my bones turned to powder, my words became daylong groans. The pressure never let up; all the juices of my life dried up.” Signs of a hungry heart.

But it doesn’t have to stay that way. We are invited to bring our whole self before God. We are reminded that “GOD holds nothing against you and you are to hold nothing back from God.” Give it all over to God, your pain, your shame, your wounds and scars, your secret fears, your anger, your brokenness. Give it over to the one who loves you with a love that will never let you go. With this assurance, drop the mask you have been wearing and find yourself coming home to your Self.

It is then that we will grow comfortable in our own skin, our own body, our own life. It is then that we will hear the divine voice say clearly: “I love you.” And our hearts will be hungry no more.

To Embrace a Ministry of Vomit

2010-01-30T12:57:00.000-08:00

It is always interesting to read the final papers of my students and see what the main "take-away" of the class was for them. For my Evangelism class, which concluded in January, the take-away was a brief comment I made on my "Ministry of Vomit" (or VM for short).

Being a pastor in San Francisco, I often find myself in settings with people who have left the confines of their hometowns for the openness and freedom of the City, where the impact of "The Summer of Love" is still felt. These folks migrated West in hopes of leaving behind the restrictiveness of the past and the rejection they often experienced. Frequently, religion has been at the root of their discontent.

For these individuals, the prevailing religious expression of their hometown left them feeling battered and bruised, as they experienced judgment and condemnation.

I was blessed to be raised up in a faith that kept reminding me that I was loved unconditionally by God. This love was expressed vividly by the community. This orientation shaped my life and my vocation and has sustained me through the ups and downs of life, the good and the bad decisions and choices I have made. Always, this love drew me back onto a path of wholeness and hope. It is at the core of my ministry today. More than anything else, I want people to experience this love and rest in its assurance. For me, it is central to the Good News of Jesus Christ.

Pastoring in SF requires me to create the space for people to express the wounds and pains they have experienced by religious communities. It necessitates being a witness as they explain the ways they were harmed by religious people. In order to offer people a radically new understanding and experience of Christian faith, I have to allow them to emotionally "vomit" on me, knowing that at that moment I am representating a faith tradition that has done them wrong. It is only after they have been able to get out all that has been bad, then perhaps space can be created for them to experience some good.

So for this pastor in SF, doing evangelism means embracing a ministry of vomit!

We All Could Use a Little Good News

2010-01-24T15:50:00.000-08:00

I just finished teaching a week-long January term class on Evangelism at Pacific School of Religion. I love teaching this class and helping progressive Christian students, who can barely stammer out the "E" word, not only say "Evangelism" but embrace it as a fundamental emphasis of their future ministry. It is exciting to see these students strip away assumptions and previous experiences of evangelism through a study of scripture and an articulation of a theology of evangelism which seeks to invite people to participate into the Good News of God's realm.

What is sobering for this instructor, however, is how many students see evangelism as primarily what we SAY versus what we DO. Sadly, our words don't always mirror our actions. How can our ministries of evangelism help people experience God's love? How can this experiences instill in them a desire to know/experience more, and begin their journey as participants in the realm of God? It's time we did less talking and more living out the Good News in our communities.

Perhaps the best evangelism lesson of all comes from St. Francis, who said, "Preach the Gospel at all times. If necessary, use words."

It Matters to Us

2010-01-18T15:31:00.000-08:00

One of the sacred texts that has shaped my life and ministry is Martin Luther King, Jr.'s "Letter from the Birmingham Jail". Writes King: "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly."

Certainly recent events have revealed the truth of King's words:

The fact that our Haitian sisters and brothers are experiencing suffering beyond measure must matter to us.

That there are those in our nation who cannot afford health care must matter to us.

That some households are filled with violence and abuse must matter to us.

That some couples' relationships of love, mutuality and commitment are legally considered second class must matter to us.

That bombs continue to fall upon, maim and kill civilians must matter to us.

That in a world of plenty so many have so little must matter to us.

That people are held in suspicion even in their own neighborhoods because of the brown or black skin or accent or country of origin must matter to us.

If it does matter to us, we are propelled to do something about it, to relieve the suffering, to address the injustice, to commit to equality, to address the causes of violence, poverty, and oppression. If we are truly connected to one another, we must put our love into action and help bring healing, hope, and wholeness to a world in need.

Thank you, Martin, for modelling to us how faithful living prompts us to love in ways that challenge structures, systems and institutions that crush the human spirit and deny dignity so that the beloved community may emerge.

Sometimes I Wish My Eyes Hadn't Been Opened

2010-01-09T21:34:00.000-08:00

When I was in seminary in the early 1980's, the women at the school would sing together:

Sometimes I wish my eyes hadn’t been opened
Sometimes I wish I could no longer see
All of the pain and the hurt and the longing of my
Sisters and me as we try to be free*

The words were a reflection of the experience we shared as women entering into a bastion of male experience: theological education. While called into ministry and pursuing a Master of Divinity, many of us would be unable to be ordained because of our gender. Still, God's call was too compelling to ignore.

Sometimes I wish my eyes hadn’t been opened,
Just for an hour, how sweet it would be
Not to be struggling, not to be striving,
But just sleep securely in our slavery.*

Being in seminary ripped open my life in ways I hadn't anticipated. I grew up in a church where I was nurtured and mentored into ministry. Even though I had heard my call to ministry long before I met my first clergywoman, I never thought that my gender would have an impact on the journey to ordination or my participation in the larger church.

Try as I might to ignore sexism and the power of patriarchy, it was too great to deny once studying in seminary. As other women shared their experiences, as I read the work of women scholars, and as I studied history, the sacred canopy of my worldview was torn into shreds as I learned of the sin of sexism.

But now that I’ve seen with my eyes, I can’t close them,
Because deep inside me somewhere I’d still know
The road that my sisters and I have to travel:
My heart would say, "Yes" and my feet would say "Go!"*

Mary Daly (October 16, 1928 – January 3, 2010) was one of the scholars whose work changed my life. With linguistic creativity, Daly critiqued patriarchy and the Church. She was a "Revolting Hag" who challenged us to see the damage patriarchy was doing not only to women but to the entire planet. Reading Mary Daly cracked open my mind and made me consider what it meant to seek ordination in a patriarchal social institution. Because of Mary Daly, I was able to embrace the word "feminist" and seek to live as a "Spin-ster" whose creative acts birthed gyn/ecological justice.

Mary Daly passed away on January 3, 2010 but she still reminds us that "Courage to be is the key to the revelatory power of the feminist revolution." As I give thanks for her life, her words and witness, I am recommitting myself to the task of feminism and daring to live with courage so that those who will come after me will find a world unencumbered by oppression due to gender, race, class, or sexual orientation.

Sometimes I wish my eyes hadn’t been opened,
But now that they have, I’m determined to see:
That somehow my sisters and I will be one day
The free people we were created to be.*

*(Words and Music By Carol Etzler, 1974 published by Sisters Unlimited, RR 1 Box 1420, Bridgeport, VT 05734)

Heart to Heart

2010-01-05T17:17:00.000-08:00

I was at the gym Saturday when something scrolled across the CNN channel that nearly caused me to fall off my eliptical machine: "Doctors find nothing wrong with Rush Limbaugh's heart." Huh?

Several days ago, Limbaugh was admitted to the hospital for chest pains. Conservative talk show host Limbaugh has lambasted liberals, reviled revolutionary thinkers, and verbally pummelled progressives by filling the airways with half truths and mistruths. His brand of social commentary has brought new lows to civil discourse in the public square, demeaning his detractors through name-calling and smear tactics.

So it surprised me that the doctors found nothing wrong with Limbaugh's heart. Because it means that he has one.

While we all have our political/social/theological agendas, we must never further these agendas by demeaning or dehumanizing those who disagree with us. If we are to create healthy communities and cities, if we want a more just nation and a world filled with peace, we must do it by staying connected, even to those who disagree with us.

Libaugh's tirades (even if they are to generate ratings) have done nothing to help us collaborate across lines that divide us. Instead, he has deepened those divisions.

Rush, if you're heart is okay, use it to mend the world's brokenness instead of adding to it.

They sang an Easter song after my Christmas sermon...

2009-12-26T17:36:00.000-08:00

For most of my life, I have followed the liturgical calendar. Over the years, it has come to add an orientation and meaning to my life in deeper ways than the secular calendar. I love the start of the Christian year (Advent), which is more than a full month sooner than New Year's Day. In this four week time, I relearn the old story told by prophets and gospel writers, about the promise of a Savior. This time period becomes a pilgrimage, as I once again take a spiritual journey to Bethlehem, remembering the birth of the Christ Child.

The church I currently serve doesn't follow the liturgical calendar.

This has made that inward trek to Bethlehem more difficult, especially when preparing to preach. During Advent, the preacher resembles a tour guide, telling the stories, introducing the cast of characters, and pointing out the sites so that people can make their own journey to Bethlehem. But this year there was no tour, no discussion of John the Baptism (or Joseph or Mary or Elizabeth or Zechariah), no angel visitations, no census requirement.

So I approached my sermon hoping to find that point of intersection between the old story and today's story, hoping that there, in the midst of it, we all could get a glimpse of where Christ was being born in our midst. To help with that experience, I had asked that the song "O Holy Night" be sung after my sermon.

Imagine my surprise--and dismay--when I ended my sermon and "I Know that My Redeeemer Lives"--an Easter song!--was sung! I wanted a CHRISTMAS song, not an Easter song!!!

We have extremely gifted soloists at Glide, and even though I was upset over this unplanned song, I was drawn into music and felt my heart open to the words of the song:

Well I know my Redeemer lives
I know my Redeemer lives
All of creation testify
This life within me cries
I know my Redeemer lives (lyrics by Nicole C. Mullen)

I was trying hard to bring people to the Bethlehem manger, but isn't the real message that Jesus still lives? You don't have to go to the manger, because eventually he'll come to you. From the cradle to the cross and beyond, whenever we experience new life, new hope, new love, Christ comes to us.

They sang an Easter song after my Christmas sermon, and it couldn't have been more perfect.

A Note to Family (and Friends)

2009-12-21T11:32:00.000-08:00

Dancing Our Way to the Manger

2009-12-20T13:13:00.000-08:00

Celebrate God all day, every day. I mean, revel in God! Make it as clear as you can to all you meet that you're on their side, working with them and not against them. Help them see that the Master is about to arrive. He could show up any minute!
Philippians 4:4-7 (The Message)

Sometimes, when our eyes and hearts are open and on the lookout, we see the Gospel take flesh before our eyes, and we know deep in our bones that the story isn't some made-up fairy tale offered as a placebo for a spiritually starved people, but the real-honest-to-God-Gospel-truth experienced by a spiritually starved people for other spiritually starved people. In this we learn that the Good News really is good news.

Last week I went to my favorite Christmas season activity: The Dancealong-Nutcracker, performed by the SF Lesbian/Gay Freedom Band. This show, where young and old, the graceful and...well, the not-so-graceful, don tutus and dance our hearts out. I never fail to be inspired by the show--each year it allows me to enter into the old story of Jesus' birth in new ways. One year, in particular, stands out in my mind.

The show had all the exuberance of previous nutcrackers. This year, however, during one of the numbers, the children, all donned in tutus, sat waiting expectantly for a ballet lesson. Out came a drag queen in tutu, ballet slippers and tiara.

Clearly, this prima donna wasn't quite what the children had expected.

As Miss Diva ran through the ballet positions, you could see the children trying to figure out who this one was. She didn't quite fit in any of their already carefully crafted social constructions. They sat and stared and furrowed their brows and squinted their eyes, trying to make sense of it all. Clearly, Miss Diva was no ordinary ballet teacher.

Miss Diva seemed oblivious to their confusions, or maybe she was keenly aware of the cognitive dissonance her presence had created, but she just kept calmly, gently, reassuringly laying out the dance moves. Then, she motioned for the children to stand. For the first time in the entire program, the children were shy, timid, and hesitant. They still weren't sure what this ballerina was all about.

The first notes of the "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies" sounded, and Miss Diva stretched out her arms and began to dance. The children slowly, cautiously, followed her. Glide, glide, dip, glide, glide, dip. Miss Diva did a spin, and the children followed. Miss Diva did another spin and once again the children followed. Then, Miss Diva smiled a most loving smile of apporval, and the children smiled back their own approval.

Miss Diva danced across the room, and the children followed behind her like a colorful cape, flowing together to the music. Then Miss Diva leapt in the air, and 50 tiny heads bobbed in response.

Sometimes, when our eyes and hearts are open and on the lookout, we see the Gospel take flesh before our eyes, and we know deep in our bones that the story isn't some made-up fairy tale offered as a placebo for a spiritually starved people, but the real-honest-to-God-Gospel-truth offered to a spiritually starved people. In this we learn that the Good News really is good news.

Before my eyes I saw the children's suspicions fade as they mirrored Miss Diva's every move. Smiling, laughing, giggling, sharing in the sheer joy of moving together to the music, they had been transformed by their encounter with this one who had at first seemed so strange. I found myself both laughing and crying, seeing once again Christ taking flesh and dwelling amongst us once again.

Two thousand years ago the Hebrew people were watching and waiting for signs of God's coming. But so few recognized those signs even when Jesus stared them right in the face. Jesus came and offered to teach those around him a new way of living--and even dying--but people kept scratching their heads in disbelief, "Who is this?"

How could a humble carpenter with such radical ideas be the Messiah, they wondered. And as they stared in disbelief, watching his every move, some were able to recognize both the signs and the possibilities, and began to move with him. Together, Jesus and his followers danced joyfully , passionately through the land, inviting others to join in the steps.

Thank God there have been followers throughout the ages who have kept that joyful dance going--unexpected ones who have risen up to lead in the steps when our lives and hearts have turned to stone and we've been unable to join in. Faithful ones who have risked it all to continue the dance even when it has been dangerous to do so. Foolish yet wise ones who keep poking us to join in.

Advent is the opportunity to prepare ourselves to join in the dance, to embrace the good news, to share in the sheer joy of faith. For as Christ was born 2000 years ago, Christ continues to be born in our lives. Watch and wait. Christ comes in the most unexpected ways and places, even as a drag queen at a dance-along nutcracker. Say yes to the invitation to join in the joyful dance.

Too Little, Too Late?

2009-12-12T11:32:00.000-08:00

Rick Warren, noted evangelical and pastor of Saddleback Church, has finally denounced the anti-homosexuality bill pending in Uganda (the topic of Warren's refusal to denounce the bill has been discussed in an earlier blog). I do believe that if this bill passes and lives are lost as a result, Rick Warren and other Christian Right leaders ought to be held accountable.

Their rhetoric, camouflaged with theological language, has spawned too many hate crimes against glbt persons. While they are learning that their language of intolerance is growing increasingly unacceptable in the United States, they have discovered that they can export a stronger version to Africa.

What amazes me is these leaders do not make the connection between their rhetoric and gay-bashing. Doesn't Warren realize that when he says that homosexuality is "not the natural way" and therefore is not a human rights issue, he is providing moral fodder for the anti-gay sentiment that gave rise to the bill in Uganda?

Several years ago, the Reconciling Ministries Network was holding its convocation at one of United Methodisms holy sites: Lake Junaluska, in North Carolina. The Institute on Religion and Democracy wrote to United Methodists, urging them to protest the meeting, using inflammatory language to rile people up. And it did. More and more conversative United Methodists, including Good News joined their battle cry, denouncing the presence of a meeting that would include glbt United Methodists and allies at Lake Junaluska. But conservative United Methodists weren't the only ones to join in the protest. Guess who else heard the invitation to protest, and were only to happy to help?

The Ku Klux Klan.

KKK encouraged their membership to come to Lake Junaluska to protest the RMN conference, whose theme was "Hearts on Fire." The KKK changed the title to "Queers on Fire."

The IRD, Good News, and other right wing organizations should not be surprised when their hate-filled messages are taken to heart and used by extremists groups. Once you demonize a group and label them unnatural and devoid of rights, the next logical step is to rid the world of such rubbish. We have seen evidence of this cycle of dehumanization and genocide repeated throughout human history.

While Warren may have finally spoken out against the Uganda bill, I just wonder if it is too little, too late. Can he really have an impact? He has already sown the seeds of injustice--can his recent words tear up the roots he has planted?

What would be happening in now Uganda--and throughout Africa--if he had preached a Word of loving all God's children, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity?

Advent 8: Growing the Family Tree

2009-12-06T15:48:00.000-08:00

Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a Son, and shall call his name EMMANUEL, God with us.
Isaiah 7:14

This is the season when I am acutely aware of the geographical distance between me and my family of origin: both sisters live in the south now with their families, my Mum spends part of the year on Long Island (where I was raised) and in New Orleans with one of my sisters; Uncle Howie still lives in Nova Scotia, in the town where he and my Mum were raised; my dad and his family live in Washington state, and assorted cousins, cousins, and more cousins live throughout the northeast and Canada.
But at this time of year, I long to see them, to have a meal together, to share a game of cards (a nightly family activity), and most of all, to laugh with them.
A pastor’s life, however, requires that I stay put for the holidays. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I participate in a ministry decathlon of special services and events which, by the time I cross the finish line on December 26, leaves me filled spiritually but depleted physically and emotionally. As a result, even the lull between Christmas and New Years is not the greatest time to see family, unless they want to watch me nap!
This longing for family connecting is perhaps why I cherish putting up the many nativity sets I have collected over the years. Whenever I travel, I look for a set that reflects the culture of the country I am in. I have sets from Kenya, Mexico, Israel, and France, as well as sets from some of my favorite places in the US and Canada. I take my time setting them up, holding Mary and Joseph in my hands before setting them down on a shelf. I try to imagine them as they were 2000 years ago, wandering far from home, Mary beginning to enter labor with no loved ones present to assist, no familiar things around her to comfort her.
Once Mary and Joseph have been placed, out come the other pieces: shepherds, kings, peasants, and assorted animals all gather around them as the baby Jesus is laid in the midst of them. The nativity set becomes whole, all the characters connected, as the awe and love they share for this God-gift unites them in love.
This always becomes an object lesson for me, reminding me that no matter how far I am from my family of origin, in this season I remember once again how my family extends beyond my genealogical chart. New branches keep getting grafted on as the God-gift of love keeps helping me discover brothers and sisters I didn’t even knew I had. As we all pause in this season to make our way to the manger once again, may we all discover new family members who are made one with us through the one whose birth the angels sing.

Advent 4,5,6,and 7: Too Many Fires to Put Out?

2009-12-05T16:59:00.000-08:00

Be still and know that I am God.
Psalm 46:10

I have always found Advent one of the richest times for spiritual growth. So much of the season has signs and symbols which beg us to stop and ponder. Unfortunately, this week I had a hard time responding to the begging and didn’t do much stopping, and even less pondering.

I have learned from experience that NOT stopping and pondering can be disastrous. In 1992, I was invited to take an appointment in a local church. The appointment came at a surprise. As much as I love parish ministry, I had moved into campus ministry in 1985, and assumed that my local parish phase of ministry was over. Imagine my surprise when a district superintendent of the Cal-Nevada Annual Conference asked me to take Bethany UMC, in San Francisco!

I was worried that I had forgotten how to “do” parish ministry and pushed myself very hard those first few months of the appointment. So hard, in fact, that I wound up skimming on my spiritual disciplines in order to “do” more ministry.

Advent came and I thought I would take up the spiritual practice of lighting the Advent wreath every morning and have a short devotional before diving headlong into my day. Even before the first week was barely over, I began to grow distracted with the practice, finding more and more things that begged my attention as I prepared to head to church.

One day, I cut too many corners trying to pack everything in I needed to get done. I flew out the door to do an early bit of grocery shopping before heading to church. When I returned, I opened the garage door and thought I smelled smoke. I immediately thought of my 92 year old neighbor whose house was connected to mine, and worried that she had left something burning on her stove. As I went up the steps, I saw smoke—her place must be on fire! I grabbed a phone and dialed 911. I was put on hold (!) and as I waited I heard crackling. I turned into my dining room and saw that the table was in flames. The fire was in MY house! And there, at the very center of the table, was the culprit: my Advent wreath, now with all the candles melted down into the table…

God is so funny. Just the week before I had bought fire extinguishers for the parsonage, so knew exactly where it was and quickly put out the flames (five minutes later the phone rang. It was the fire department asking why I had called).
I learned a lesson that day. When God puts a sign or symbol before you, you had better stop and ponder, before it becomes a burning bush/dining room table!

Advent Day 3--Speaking the Word

2009-12-01T20:17:00.000-08:00

We couldn't be more sure of what we saw and heard—God's glory, God's voice. The prophetic Word was confirmed to us. You'll do well to keep focusing on it. It's the one light you have in a dark time as you wait for daybreak and the rising of the Morning Star in your hearts. The main thing to keep in mind here is that no prophecy of Scripture is a matter of private opinion. And why? Because it's not something concocted in the human heart. Prophecy resulted when the Holy Spirit prompted men and women to speak God's Word.
2 Peter 1:19-21 from The Message

I will never forget when a seminary student visited Ecumenical House at San Francisco State University, where I was a campus minister. He took one look at our bulletin board, filled with announcements about all sorts of justice issues, protests, and symposiums, and proclaimed, "I want to be a campus minister so that I can say whatever I want!"

What he was implying was that he felt that pastoring a local church would muzzle the message he wanted to proclaim. Campus ministry, at least through his eyes, offered him a free license to say what he wanted to.

I looked at him like he had two heads.

Preaching, offering the Good News, proclaiming the Word, is not saying what we want to say. It is allowing the Holy Spirit to speak through us. It is allowing sighs which are too deep for words to be filled with the breath of God and take shape as the Word. It requires us to look at the world with open eyes and to have people in our lives who will challenge us to open our eyes further still. With eyes wide open, we must allow our soul to be disquieted, to feel dis-ease, as we see this world, our communities, ourselves in all their flawed possibilities. It is then and only then that we can begin to bearers of God's prophetic Word.

It is never about saying what we want to say. It is about allowing the Spirit to birth the Word within us, and speaking it aloud. This can happen in a campus ministry, a local church, at your job, and in your family. Wherever we are in community with God's people, we can be bearers of this Word.

Advent, Day 2: Rick Warren, Pastors, and Politics

2009-11-30T19:29:00.000-08:00

Why the big noise, nations? Why the mean plots, peoples? Earth-leaders push for position,
Demagogues and delegates meet for summit talks, The God-deniers, the Messiah-defiers:
"Let's get free of God! Cast loose from Messiah!"
Heaven-throned God breaks out laughing. At first God's amused at their presumption; then gets good and angry. Furiously, God shuts them up:
"Don't you know there's a King in Zion? A coronation banquet is spread for him on the holy summit."
Psalm 2: 1-6, from The Message

Rick Warren, who along with other evangelical leaders, has been courting African religious leaders with a strong anti-glbt message, has recently stated that he will not denounce a bill in Uganda that is getting world-wide attention. The proposed bill makes gay sex a crime, with the minimum punishment being life imprisonment and the possibility of the death penalty if one has gay sex and is HIV+. Warren, who has attempted to distance himself with Rev. Martin SSempa, a Ungandan pastor who has strongly endorsed the bill who has also appeared at Saddleback Church several times, has yet to speak publicly against the bill, stating that ""The fundamental dignity of every person, our right to be free, and the freedom to make moral choices are gifts endowed by God, our creator. However, it is not my personal calling as a pastor in America to comment or interfere in the political process of other nations." Additionally, he added on Meet the Press, "As a pastor, my job is to encourage, to support. I never take sides."

I am sorry, but as a disciple of Jesus and as a representative of His Church, we are always called to take sides in the face of injustice and oppression. When a country is contemplating genocide of a minority population, it is a sin for the Church (and that means you and me) to take a "hands off" approach and sit idly by.

As one student said in my United Methodist History/Doctrine/Polity class today, to do/say nothing in the face of injustice is to already take a side.

Beginning the Advent Journey

2009-11-29T13:30:00.000-08:00

Hallelujah! I give thanks to God with everything I've got—Wherever good people gather, and in the congregation. God's works are so great, worth a lifetime of study—endless enjoyment!
Splendor and beauty mark God's craft; whose generosity never gives out, whose miracles are God's memorial—this God of Grace, this God of Love.
(Psalm 111, from The Message)

It feels like the work of the Holy Spirit, that I am starting this Advent Journey, this walk to the Bethlehem manger, with a purple band encircling my right wrist. It was given to my colleagues and me when we attended a clergy retreat earlier this month. The band is from A Complaint Free World. The purpose is to help one stop complaining about things and instead act to change what one doesn't like. We have been challenged to wear the band for 90 days. 90 days of no complaining! None!

This band has been very effective. Every time I have begun to complain about something, my left hand has instinctively reached for the band on my right wrist, and my mouth has closed shut! It has become a Pavlovian response! And my complaining quotient has drastically reduced.

Which feels like a good way to begin Advent, this four week journey of preparing ourselves and our world to welcome Christ into our world once again. By reducing my complaining and increasing my praising, my heart feels like it is making room as I look for God's gift of love to be born in my heart once again.

Getting Gratitude

2009-11-26T09:47:00.000-08:00

I love Thanksgiving because out of all the holidays, it is the least commercialized. Christmas has been turned into a shopping frenzy. Easter has become literally sugar-coated, with chocolate bunnies and jelly beans.

But then there’s Thanksgiving. Face it, marketing turkeys just isn’t very sexy. But it's more than that, you can’t manufacture and sell gratitude.

Gratitude is not forced optimism; it is not a denial of real pain and loss; it is not the power of positive thinking. it is not a focus on the good things on life.

It is a posture and a prayer.

Albert Einstein once said, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

Thanksgiving invites us to live our lives as if everything is a miracle:

The sky as dusk descends
The birth of a child
The community that comes together when there is a loss
The taste and texture of a perfectly ripened strawberry
People helping people
The abundance that is revealed when we share
The amount of light a single candle gives off in the darkness
The opening of one’s heart to love after it has been broken
A warm bed on a cold night

Thanksgiving invites us to remember the miracles that are waiting to be discovered in each and every day we are given, and to uncurl our fists and open our hearts to accept them. That's how gratitude grows in our lives.

Whose Table Is It, Really?

2009-11-23T09:16:00.000-08:00

It has been sobering to read about Roman Catholic Bishop Thomas Tobin banning Sen. Patrick Kennedy from receiving communion. Tobin has justified his action by stating that Kennedy's political positions--specifically around reproductive rights--go against the teachings of the Church and therefore he should not receive communion.

I hesitate to call this a pastoral act, because there is nothing pastoral about refusing someone access to communion. The communion table does not belong to the Roman Catholic Church, it does not belong to Bishop Tobin. It is Christ's table. Can Bishop Tobin be so presumptuous as to speak for Christ about who can come to the table?

Communion is a means of grace, meaning that God works through the sacrament to impart saving love that has the power to transform human lives. To politicize the table and withold this means of grace from someone is a form of ecclesiological cruelty and spiritual violence.

In 1996, I was a participant in a Reconciling Ministries Network worship service held at The United Methodist General Conference. This service celebrated the ways that God works through all God's people, regardless of sexual orientation and gender identity, and provided spiritual support for those who were working for the full inclusion of all people into the life and ministry of The United Methodist Church. I was one of the communion servers. Hundreds of people came to the worship service, and as I offered the bread and cup to one worshipper after another--many co-workers in the movement for justice as well as many I did not know--I found standing before me, with hands outstretched to receive the communion elements, Mark Tooley, the director of UM Action of the Institute on Religion and Democracy (IRD). The IRD is a right-wing thinktank based in Washington, DC that has stirred controversies in primarily three denomonations: Presbyterian, Episcopalian, and United Methodist. The IRD criticizes the churches' social witness, particularly around lgbt rights, women's reproductive rights, and environmental justice. The IRD tactics seem like they have been written from a page of international espionage, and in fact, Mark Tooley is a former CIA analyst.

I had read many inflammatory articles by Mark Tooley about church leaders I have long admired. I have also been attacked by Mark. So imagine my feelings when Mark appeared before me, to join in the communion meal. Here was one who, like Bishop Tobin, seeks to limit God's grace to an "in" group. As he stood before me, I passed the bread to him, and offered him the cup of salvation.

That meal has made a huge impact on me. There have been times when I have wanted to demonize Mark for the pain he has caused me and others who disagree with his understanding of church. But I can't forget that Sunday afternoon service, and the meal we shared together. I am reminded that Christ's table is large enough to include both of us, and that it can even hold the tension of our differences. God is so great. At Christ's table, our ideological and theological differences are stripped away as we recognize around the table our sisters and brothers--children of God who struggle to walk in the footsteps of Jesus. We often mis-step, but at the table we are welcomed and fed so that we can rise from our knees and resume the spiritual journey, nourished by the grace of God.

Why would we want to hold anyone back from this meal?

The Act of Friending as a Means to Be-Friending

2009-11-20T16:07:00.000-08:00

The word “unfriend” has recently been named word of the year by the New Oxford American Dictionary. “Unfriend” has made its way to the dictionary by way of Facebook and other social networking sites, in which you are asked to “friend” someone, making them a part of your Friends list. One unfriends someone one wants removed from one’s Friends list.

I admit to being a Facebook fan. As someone who is 3000 miles from her place of birth, Facebook has reconnected me to my past. I may no longer reside in the village of my youth, but Facebook, through cyberspace, has created a virtual village where my childhood friends, college classmates, colleagues, family, and current friends “live”. I feel known and whole in a way I didn’t even realize I was missing. The many pieces of my life have been brought together in a way that would be if I had stayed in my hometown.

Secondly, Facebook has demonstrated that we as a species can return civility to cyberspace. The internet had become a place where rude, catty, snarky comments could be posted to blogs, articles, and other sites anonymously. This anonymity brought out a meanness in messages that bordered on violent bullying. On social networking sites, however, you determine who will be on your Friend list and, therefore, who you will interact with. And most friends, even when we get on each other’s last nerve, communicate in ways that do not run the risk of ruining the relationship. As our Friends list grows to include our friends’ friends, civil conversation in cyberspace rises exponentially.

While the verb “unfriend” might be the word of 2009, I find the verb “friend” to offer greater hope and possibilities. As we learn to friend beyond our circle of acquaintances, as we develop bonds with friends of friends, as we add more and more people to our Friends list, we discover the power of be-friending. Be-friending enlarges our circle of care and compassion and helps us learn from those with whom we may disagree. In a mobile world where many have migrated to towns far from their birth, be-friending helps make the world our home and cyberspace our village.

You Have Now Entered...The Church Zone

2009-11-16T11:24:00.001-08:00

Five years ago, when I became Associate Dean at Pacific School of Religion, I had the most jarring experience: I went to the movies on a Saturday night. It may sound benign, but as one who has spent more than 25 years preaching every Sunday, I felt like I had entered a new country. Who were all these people, and what were they doing out on a Saturday night?

Professional athletes have their training programs and plans to ensure readiness for a major event or meet. As a parish pastor, most Saturday nights of my adult life have been spent preparing for Sunday morning, preparing myself spiritually and emotionally to lead a congregation in worship. Friends knew not to ask me to a party (I would politely decline) and family never had high expectations of me (I was not the best Saturday dinner conversationalist). On the odd Saturday night that found me in a social setting, I was worse than Cinderella at the ball: if I wasn’t in bed by 9pm on Saturday night, surely my soul on Sunday would be as hollow as a carved-out pumpkin, lacking the spiritual substance to lead a congregation in praise of God. I usually left the party before most of the guests had even arrived.

So imagine my surprise when I went to a Saturday night movie shortly after beginning my position at PSR. People! Lots of people! People lingering over a late dinner! People going to the (gasp!) late showing of a film! There was a whole world happening of which I was unaware. Clearly, I had spent too many years as a cloistered clergywoman, so I did my best to get the most out of this “cross cultural” experience.

After four years of enjoying my Saturday nights unencumbered by the specter of Sunday worship duties, I have been surprised at how easily--almost instinctively--I have returned to this soulful activity upon my appointment to Glide Memorial United Methodist Church in San Francisco. It feels like a behavioral trait that is imprinted in my soul as I face weekly worship duties once again.

Having had some time away from this weekly ritual has given me a keener recognition of the pull and sway it has on my life. Now, as I feel myself drawn to its power (at around 5pm on most Saturdays), I can name it. I can also alert others who may have greater social expectations for me on a Saturday than I can provide. I simply post a status update on Facebook: “Karen Oliveto is in the Church Zone.”

Some friends scratch their heads and type back, “What’s that?” But there are others who know exactly what I am talking about. It is the tug of the Spirit that begs for attention. It is the mindfulness of the broken body that will gather in the morning, with all the pain, grief, tears, joy, laughter, wounds, betrayals and love that a community holds in common. It is the consideration of those whose legacy of faithful witness brought us to this place while at the same time wondering what we will bequeath to those who will follow after us. It is the discipline of wrestling with sacred texts, hoping to provide a word that will break these ancient stories open into the lives of those who will gather in the morning. It solicits from me a prayerfully intense posture as I consider the awesome, audacious task of helping others engage their whole selves in an experience of God. The Church Zone is the spiritual discipline required to do this work of worship and, in the words of the 18th-century theologian Isaac Watts, it “demands my life, my soul, my all.”

(this first appeared in PSR Bulletin, Spring 2009, Volume 88, No. 1)

Why do the powerful always create a bridge of compromise on the backs of the vulnerable?

2009-11-10T09:22:00.000-08:00

Why do the powerful always create a bridge of compromise on the backs of the vulnerable?

History is filled with examples of how those in power use the rights of the minority to create wedge issues, block progress, and derail justice.

The history of my own denomination is filled with instances when unity has come at the cost of those who are left out of backrooms, who don't have a voice or vote, whose numbers seem not really to matter. Whether it has been the rights of African Americans--segregated into their own conference--or women--who lost ordination rights with nearly every merger--or gay men and lesbians--whose lives are deemed incompatible with Christian teaching, even when a study commissioned by the Church said that we cannot responsibly hold this position--unity has come at a high price.

While I applaud the hard work on the part of many of our elected leaders to create health care reform, I am outraged that this reform comes at the expense of women's reproductive health care needs. The Stupak/Pitts amendment, which restricts public funding of abortion, attacks a critical health concern of poor women who don't have the economic privilege of privately funded abortions.

Once again, the powerless must join together and confront the powerful, to name what is unacceptable and to seek justice.

Be Crazy...Good Crazy

2009-11-08T20:17:00.000-08:00

Today, Rev. Dr. Joseph Lowery preached at Glide as a part of the 45th anniversary celebration of Rev. Cecil Williams' ministry at Glide. It was awesome to have a living legend of the civil rights movement provide us with the Word. And what a word it was! Of the many inspiring things he said, one thing I have been pondering was what he said about how those who pour themselves out as agents of God's love and justice--the saints--are pretty crazy people. But--as Joe reminded us--just as there is such a thing as good cholestorol and bad cholestorol--there is good crazy and bad crazy. Saints are good crazy. Rush Limbaugh is bad crazy. And Willie Brown, according to Lowery, is bad and good crazy.

I believe that the goal of the Christian walk is to be good crazy. After all, following Jesus is a pretty (good) crazy thing to do. It is a (good) crazy counter cultural activity which upsets the status quo as it makes the first, last and the last, first. It is (good) crazy in the way we are called to love our enemies and offer forgiveness when we've been wronged. It is (good) crazy to speak truth to power. It is (good) crazy to think of everyone, EVERY ONE, as our brother and sister.

So my new spiritual discipline is to be crazy...good crazy.

On Eagle's Wings

2009-11-06T18:53:00.000-08:00

We humans have always tried to make sense of God. Philosphers and theologians help us with our God-talk and God-knowledge. Anselm said that God "is that, than which nothing greater can be conceived." Aristotle said that God was the prime mover. Gandhi said that all life comes from one universal source, and that Truth is God. The Bible is a collection of written accounts of men and women and their life with God.

We use all sorts of words to define who/what God is, so that we can enter into a relationship with this One: Rock of Ages, Breath, Fire, Burning Bush, Counselor, Bright and Morning Star, Bread of Heaven...what name helps you deepen your relationship with God?

For most of my adult life, the words I have used were "Cool, Rushing Stream". During a time in my life when I felt most deconstructed (my first year of seminary, of course!), I ran to the mountains, for solitude and reflection, trying to figure out who I was now and who I was meant to be. As I hiked high in the Canadian Rockies, I came to a glacial stream, quickly flowing down the mountain. I sat by that stream for a long time, aware that if I were to return in a year, the stream bed would look different, due to the force of the water. The strong flow of the stream was picking up dirt and rocks and tree roots and plants from one stream bank and depositing them downstream. The stream was changing the landscape, right before my eyes.

I experienced an epiphany by that stream. This is exactly what God is doing to me! Moving the dead parts of me, reviving other parts, and giving birth to a new me! Instantly, I felt that "peace which passes all understanding" and I came down off the mountain a new woman.

This understanding of God has served me well, keeping me close to God through transitions and changes. Recently, a new understanding of God has emerged for me. I was on vacation in Mexico, and a man with a harness and a parachute (and a friend with a boat) asked if I wanted to parasail. After much hemming and hawing, I strapped myself into the harness, and before I knew it, I was in the air. I vaguely remember digging my heels into the sand--this was all happening too fast!--but the parachute caught the wind and I was aloft!

There I was, suspended in the air, looking out at the water, the coast, the mountains. Once again, I experienced that peace of God surrounding me. I could have stayed up there forever...

All too soon, the ride ended, and I could see the spot where I was supposed to land. Slowly, I descended. Then quickly! But there was no fear as workers reached out to me. Strong arms eased my landing, and before I knew it, I was back on the beach, walking back to my beach chair.

This experience has helped me come to a new understandings of God: "One Who Lifts and Strong Arms that Hold". For most of my life (and especially in my ministry) I have worked hard to make things happen. I have set goals and then made plans to meet those goals. I learned a new lesson, up there in the sky: it's time to let go and let the Spirit lead, and trust in those strong arms to reach out when things look bumpy.

The Bridge to Community

2009-11-02T10:37:00.000-08:00

The San Francisco Bay Bridge reopened this morning after being closed for six days due to a part of the span that collapsed. The bridge created chaos for commuters who rely on the bridge to get from one community to another. I have been thinking alot about bridges and their importance in connecting not only communities, but individuals and families. Whether physical, emotional, or spiritual, bridges are necessary if we are to span the chasms that lie between us. Too often, we pass by the people around us, seemingly unaware of the ways we are connected to one another. We tend to see the differences between us as unbridgable, and thereby choose to remain separate. We have seen the result of this disconnect in families that are at war with each other and in communities that are crumbling.

Too many of us are living lives filled with bridges that are in disrepair or breaking down. Misunderstandings, harbored grudges, and wounded egos result in failed and failing relationships. What are the bridges in your life that you need to repair?

There is a hymn that I remember singing at every communion service of my youth: Blest be the tie that binds. In light of the past week, I like to think of it as Blest be the bridge that binds...

Blest be the bridge of love, that draws us, soul to soul.

Blest be the bridge of acceptance, that sees our differences as gifts to be cherised.

Blest be the bridge of mutuality, that honors and respects the other.

Blest be the bridge of forgiveness, that heals our wounds.

Blest be the bridge of hope, that keeps our faces turned to tomorrow.

Blest be the bridge...

San Francisco: A Sanctuary City?

2009-10-22T17:30:00.000-07:00

San Francisco, being the city that it is, finds itself once again embroiled in struggle: the mayor vs. the board of supervisors, the City-By-the-Bay vs. the US goverment. This time the issue is about the rights of immigrant youth.

For the past 20 years, San Francisco has been a sanctuary city, meaning that the city is on record as not working cooperatively with the federal government in the enforcement of immigration laws. In fact, the city has reached out to immigrant populations to offer city services regardless of one's immigration status.

In 2008, when Tony Bologna and his two sons were murdered by a suspect, Edwin Ramos, who is an undocumented immigrant, Mayor Gavin Newsom unilaterally decided to change the sanctuary city ordinance and required local law enforcement officers to immediately hand over to US Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents suspected juvenile offenders, without due process which would ultimately determine their criminal guilt or innocence.

On October 20th, there was much cheering in the Board of Supervisors meeting, when, by a vote of 8-2, the city supervisors voted to restore due process for immigrant youth, thanks to legislation drafted by Supervisor David Campos. In response, Mayor Newsom instructed city law enforcement officers to ignore the supervisors vote, and continue to hand youth directly over to ICE, prior to trial and proof of innocence or guilt.

I am in support of the restoration of due process for immigrant youth.

The great city of San Francisco has long been a city that knows how. Knows how to value its residents, knows how to honor diversity, knows how to advance justice, knows how to promote innovative thinking, and has historically known how to implement policies that bring all these elements together. Whether being a sanctuary city, providing health care for all, or extending domestic partnership benefits to gay and lesbian couples, this city has been willing to step up to the challenges of our day and find inspired ways to protect the vulnerable and ensure equality and justice for all.

Mayor Newsom's current policy related to immigrant youth does none of this. It has resulted in increased tensions between law enforcement and immigrant communities, it has torn apart families, it has wrongly detained innocent youth, and it has isolated young people from their families and communities of support and placed them in unfamiliar and unsafe situations.

This policy fails to live out our highest values as a city.

This City has always welcomed the stranger and embraced the outcast. San Francisco has provided a home to those who have no home, to those who have been cast from their homes, and to those who have to flee from their homes. Whether sexual orientation, gender identity, faith background, race, class, ethnicity, or country of origin, what has made San Francisco the great city it is has been the result of this ability to extend a home, a place of safety and belonging, to those who are often marginalized or oppressed.

Restoring due process to immigrant youth who are picked up by the police is consistent with this city’s historic tradition of ensuring that the marginalized and oppressed are not further marginalized by unjust policies.

Medical Marijuana and the Risks of Faith

2009-10-20T11:34:00.000-07:00

I was glad to learn of the Obama administration's decision regarding medical marijuana, shifting resources away from the investigation and prosecution of medical marijuana users, growers, and suppliers.

In 1996, the California attorney general's office ordered that all medical marijuana dispensaries in the state be shut down. Knowing that this would increase the suffering of those who relied on the drug to ease the pain of illness, several other progressive pastors and I were invited to turn our churches into medical marijuana distribution sites. I was invited see what that would entail so went to an "undisclosed location" (or so we thought) to see how the drug was given out.

The following day, I woke up to grab the morning paper and read on the front page of the SF Chronicle: "Rev. Karen Oliveto is considering allowing her church, Bethany United Methodist Church in Noe Valley, to be used as a medical marijuana site." Oh no! I had made no decision, said nothing to my congregation, and now they were all learning this bit of "news" along with their Saturday bagel and coffee.

Needless to say, I was more than just a little nervous about what Sunday morning would be like. The first thing I did was apologize to the congregation and correct the zealous journalistic reporting. I then promised to send each congregational member a packet of information about medical marijuana and the legal risks involved. I also asked them to pray every day for discernment about what we as a community should do.

The following Sunday, we gathered after church to discuss whether or not we would become a distribution site. One by one, members stood to voice their opinion: "Well, it is illegal...but what would Jesus do? Didn't he break laws if it meant relieving suffering or healing the sick?" "I wish, before my Harold died, I could have eased his pain with this drug. I hated to see him suffer so..." "It is illegal, and we could lose our church assets if the government came after us, but doesn't God ask us to put people first?"

It looked like we were coming to a consensus when suddenly Inez, one of the community's "grandmothers", raised her hand and stood. "Just hold on here a second." Uh-oh, I thought. Here comes the controversy. "Do you hear what we are saying? 'Sure, they can come and use our building.' What's so Christian about that? We need to be here, when the sick come for their medication, and offer hospitality. We need to be here and love them as they receive the marijuana." So every Tuesday afternoon, an 84 year old woman would lead a band of church folks as they welcomed the sick into our building and helped them access medical marijuana.

It was a transformative experience for our community, one that we often turned to as an example of extreme faithfulness. We are called to take great risks as a people of faith. In fact, if we aren't taking risks, we probably aren't being very faithful. Because living our faith out loud is countercultural. It is nothing short of revoluntionary activity.

I learned an important lesson from this experience. People in the pews are hungry for a lived expression of faith that makes a mark in the world, that calls them to be their very best selves as individuals and as community, and that calls them to step out and risk it all as a disciple of Jesus. The Gospel demands nothing less.

Where Have You Gone, Joe DiMaggio? To Colma...

2009-10-17T02:43:00.000-07:00

When I was in the 2nd grade, my teacher required us to recite a poem by heart. The poem I chose got seared into my brain-I can still recite it without pause. It was a Robert Frost poem entitled "In a Disused Graveyard":

The living come with grassy tread
To read the gravestones on the hill;
The graveyard draws the living still,
But never anymore the dead.
The verses in it say and say:
"The ones who living come today
To read the stones and go away
Tomorrow dead will come to stay."
So sure of death the marbles rhyme,
Yet can't help marking all the time
How no one dead will seem to come.
What is it men are shrinking from?
It would be easy to be clever
And tell the stones: Men hate to die
And have stopped dying now forever.
I think they would believe the lie.

Looking over this poem, I realize it is a strange one for a 7 year old to choose to memorize! It is also oddly prophetic. Now, as an adult, I live in the only necropolis on the United States: Colma, California.

Colma has 1.5 million dead people, and 1500 living residents. My neighbors include Joe DiMaggio, Wyatt Earp, Levi Strauss, Emperor Norton I (one of my favorite San Francisco legends), and Tina Turner's dog (wrapped in one of Turner's fur coats), all buried here in Colma (there are 17 cemeteries--including Pet's Rest, the pet cemetery run by Glide member Phil C'de Baca).

I love walking through the cemeteries (my "parks"), looking at tombstones, reading the inscriptions, noting which graves are still lovingly cared for and which have been long neglected. I am happy to report that my neighbors are fairly quiet, seemingly content in their final resting place.

Colma is also the backdrop of an indie film, Colma: The Musical. It is the coming of age story of three friends who recently graduated from high school. Living in that "in between" time of adolescence and adulthood, they must make a choice, to leave Colma and live, or remain amongst the dead.

Isn't this a life-long task? It is one thing to visit and remember the dead, it is another thing to reside in the past with them. I know too many people who can't let go of the past, of what once was, of the way things were. Jesus said, "Let the dead bury the dead." We must leave the cemetery and enter the land of the living, choosing life, over and over again.

Standing on the Side of Love

2009-10-13T11:34:00.000-07:00

On October 11, I participated in the National Equality March in Washington, DC. This march brought together activists from around the country to call for full civil rights for lgbt persons at the local, state, and national levels.

I had the privilege of standing on the rally stage as Rev. Troy Perry offered an invocation. There we were, at the foot of the Capitol Building. I looked out at the tens of thousands of people gathered before us, saw tens of thousands more still marching in, and then looked across the reflecting pool and mall to the Washington Monument. I couldn’t help but think of the many millions of people who have stood here, witnessing for equality and justice. So many streams of justice-making, calling our country to be the very best it can be.

What is it about this country that causes so much division? Why do we fear and hate difference? Why is it so hard for us to recognize the sacred worth of every person? Why don't we understand that none of us is truly free as long as some of us are oppressed? Democracy hinges on each of us standing up for the rights of each other.

There were many critiques from within the lgbt community leveled at this march: its timing, how it was diverting energy and resources away from local and state battles, how it was asking for too much too soon. Needless to say, those outside the lgbt community had things to say against this march as well.

For me, I will always choose to stand on the side of love. Because of my relationship to God and my commitment to follow Jesus, I can do no nothing less. Love calls us to work for each other's liberation, to take a stand even when it is unpopular or inconvenient, to join together to mobilize love's power to transform. Love's imperative is always "now", never "not yet". October 11th was the time, DC was the place, to stand on the side of love.

*Photos by Tyler Shaw

The Quotable Bible

2009-10-08T12:07:00.000-07:00

My first pastorate was in upstate NY, in the northern foothills of the Catskill mountains. In a closet that was clearly long forgotten, I happened upon a most interesting artifact: a book entitled "The Quotable Bible". Someone had gone through the Bible and omitted verses, chapters, sections, entire books that were deemed "unquotable"! It was very interesting to read familiar passages and note what parts the editor felt was extraneous and what needed to remain in the text.

Well, according to the Huffington Post, another group of people have decided to go through the Bible in order to remove its liberal bias. This has caused me to scratch my head and wonder what would be left! Economic justice is one of the rallying cries in the Bible (forgive debts, share one's resources, do not hoard one's wealth but give to the poor...). Is this a liberal or conservative bias? If these mandates are ommitted, what's left?

Is the love of neighbor a conservative or liberal bias? Does healing the sick (even the sick without health care) reveal a liberal leaning? Would Song of Solomon be considered a liberal celebration of wanton sexuality? What would they do with that wild woman, the woman at the well? What about Judges 19, which is a text some folks use to condemn homosexuality while overlooking the rape and dismemberment of a woman? Oh yeah, and then there's Jesus himself, who broke rules, overlooked religious laws, touched the untouchables, and hung out with outcasts. Conversative behavior or liberal behavior?

It is not just as simple as discarding the parts of the Bible we disagree with. What makes this ancient book a modern, living document are the tensions that exist within it. When I read the Bible, I am challenged, pushed out of my own comfort zone, forced to see beyond my own limits and biases as I listen for God's Word. The contradictions, the offensive and distasteful parts force me more deeply into text and tradition, into the story of faith, and invite me to participate in it. To sanitize the sacred book robs it of its transforming power. Why would anyone want to do that?

The Guy on the Corner

2009-10-07T11:58:00.000-07:00

I share the corner of Taylor and Ellis, where Glide is located, with a remarkable patch-work quilt collection of humanity: staff, clients, congregants, tourists, the homeless and the strung-out. After a year and a half, I've come to recognize the "regulars" and note the tell-tale signs of a tourist (it has less to do with their camera and everything to do with their clothes--most people come to SF expecting warm weather and wind up buying SF sweatshirts).

One man, in particular, is someone I always look for. Graying hair and beard and in a dirty white coat, he is a ghostly presence on the corner. Sometimes I pass him, asleep alongside the building. Other days, he is sitting on a planter, talking to an unseen companion. Still on other occassions, he is standing in the middle of the road, shouting and gesturing like a fiery preacher.

Today, I realized he hasn't been around for a while. We have been passing each other daily for 18 months, and I can't recall when I last saw him on the corner. What was it about today that made me realize that he was gone? How long has he been gone?

I don't even know his name.

"Pastor, You Were Angry"

2009-10-04T14:10:00.000-07:00

Today, someone came up after Celebration and said, "Pastor, you were angry." I had brought to the attention of the congregation an email I had received before church. Last May, eight of us from Glide went on a mission trip to Kenya. While we were there, we met with Rev. John Makokha, one of the few pro-glbt clergy in Africa. He introduced us to a gay couple, who told us their story. They told us how, in Kenya, it is against the law to be gay or lesbian. One of them had, in fact, done jail time. The other had been fired from a bank because it was suspected that he was gay.

This morning, the email informed me that one of the men had been beaten in his own home. His partner was out of the house when the intruders--who were known to the men--broke in and began to beat him, telling him, between the blows, that he deserved to die.

Yes, I was angry in church this morning. No one should be subjected to violence because of who they are. I was also extremely sad this morning. We humans have such a hard time with the diversity found in the human family. Instead of embracing our differences as a mirror of God's greatness, we are frightened and threatened by it. How can we learn to love the God-given differences that are found in our brothers and our sisters>

Why I Practice Sabbath-Keeping

2009-10-02T08:38:00.000-07:00

I am troubled by the fact that I have to schedule times with friends at least two, if not three weeks in advance to fit into each other’s schedules.

I am troubled by the fact that so many kids today live lives that are as heavily scheduled as many adults.

I am troubled when couples tell me that they often don’t get to reconnect with each other until after 10 at night.

I am troubled when single people tell me they don’t have time to date.

I am troubled when folks tell me that their work load is so great that they have to make a choice between attending a church meeting or coming to worship (a side note: if work is that demanding, always err on the side of attending worship).

I am troubled that all these technological devices which are supposed to allow us to work anywhere have resulted in us working everywhere.

I am troubled by all of this because many of us are going through life terribly off-balanced.

We are overloaded, overworked, overcommitted, overanxious, overextended and overwhelmed, .

I recently read a book by Steve and Mary Farrar that described the contemporary American lifestyle that contributes to overload as deficit living. They wrote, “Overloaded people live in deficit—emotional, relational, or spiritual. When our checking accounts are overdrawn, we experience immediate stress and pressure, don’t we? It sets off an adrenal rush to find a way to immediately cover that shortfall. But where do you find a surplus when you’re already short? Where do you get money when you’re completely out?

“It’s also possible to get overdrawn in life. When we are overwhelmed, we find ourselves living in deficit—emotional deficit, relational deficit, spiritual deficit. We get overdrawn in our relationships and overdrawn with our kids. We run out of currency—the emotional and relational “cash” that it takes to live life well. And before long we begin to get anxious and panicky, because we think there is no way out.” (from Overcoming Overload by Steve and Mary Farrar, Colorado Springs: Multnomah Books. 2003)

This deficit living is one reason why I try to observe a Sabbath every week. Sabbath is a time for me to unplug, keep my calendar empty, and do nothing that is even vaguely related to "have to" "must do" or "should do". Sabbath helps me breathe unconstricted, stretch my body and my soul, and relearn the rhythm of grace in my life again. Sabbath is a time of reconnection: with God, with those I love, with myself.

The weeks I fail to observe Sabbath, I feel as if I am running on empty and out of sync with myself and God. By keeping Sabbath, I ensure that in my busy, overextended life I have made room for God. And God never fails to show up in the midst of my Sabbath to sustain me the rest of the week.

Do you observe Sabbath?

What difference does it make in your life?

No One Expects Nothing From a Pitcher

2009-09-30T23:40:00.000-07:00

Tonight, my colleague Don Guest and I went to a SF Giants game. The game was a perfect place to reflect on our shared ministry, banter about the game, and just relax a bit. Watching the pitchers on each team strike out at bat, we both commented, “No one expects nothing from a pitcher.” The pitcher is usually the last person in the batting order because he is usually the weakest hitter. While he might be an ace pitcher, most pitchers are lousy at bat. So no one expects much when they enter the batter’s box.

Earlier in the evening, we attended Glide’s Speak Out. This is an hour of open mic. People from the streets, members of the congregation, and Glide staff have the opportunity to share what’s on their minds. It is an hour of powerful and honest sharing. Tonight, a young black woman shared a poem about how she exceeded society’s expectations of her. Raised in one of the poorest neighborhoods in SF, her skin color and class status placed her in a certain demographic. Her poem was a defiant yet celebratory self-affirmation about how she beat the statistics stacked against her: she did not become pregnant at 17; she did not drop out of high school; she did not wind up in a low income job; she graduated from college; she is now a web designer. She refused to let the weight of society’s expectations keep her from attaining her dreams.

Imagine a world where our children and young people are not pigeon-holed into boxes because of race, class, sexual orientation, ethnicity, but instead are encouraged to be their highest and best selves. Imagine a world where every child receives a consistent message that she is worthwhile, capable, creative, and beloved. Imagine a world where we really do expect the very best for and of each other…

Is Your Health Insurance Making You Sick?

2009-09-28T08:59:00.000-07:00

When vacationing in Nova Scotia this summer, we were amazed, as we listened to CBC radio, how seriously the country was preparing for a swine flu epidemic. Every day, the radio featured lengthy programs on various aspects of the flu, from deciding at what point public events would be cancelled to detailed information on the transmission of germs. It was all there, including information on how schools were preparing for the epidemic (teachers were pre-recording class sessions, which would be televised to students in case of school closures).

Swine flu concerns even had an effect on churches: one Sunday, we went to an Anglican Church, and the priest said that, under direction from the national office, communion would not be received through intinction (dipping the bread in the cup). Also, a bottle of Purell was strategically placed at the altar rail. Instead of preparing our souls to receive the meal, we had to purify our hands!

Here is one person's view of communion in swine flu season:

While a humorous response to the possible epidemic, I am more fascinated by the relative lack of discussion in the US about Swine flu. When arriving in Canada, we found Purell dispensers at the airport, at the gym, at shopping malls...well, any place people gathered in public. There was constant discussion in the town square about how to avoid the flu.

It feels as if we in the US have barely started the conversation. But then again, consider the difference in health care: when the (Canadian) government is providing (and paying!) for health care, it has a vested interest in keeping people well, because then it keeps the cost of health care low. Prevention is paramount. In contrast, the privatization of health care in the US means that insurance companies want to have diseases treated because that is when they can make money. Treatment = profit.

Is your health insurance making you sick?

Guilty Pleasure

2009-09-27T08:37:00.000-07:00

I confess that one of my guilty pleasures occurs every Sunday morning on the way to Glide: I listen to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on KOIT. I do feel guilty about listening in to what is being sung in Temple Square, particularly after the Mormon Church's contribution to the passage of Proposition 8 in California. And it feels like a lot of cognitive dissonance, listening to the MTC on the way to listen to the Glide Ensemble, hearing a message from the Church of Latter Day Saints as I am preparing to offer a message at Glide. Could the two churches be any further apart, theologically and sociologically?

One of the reasons why I enjoy listening to the MTC so much is that I know many of their anthems. I grew up in the Babylon United Methodist Church (NY) which had an amazing music program. I grew up marking my age with the corresponding choir I was in. I didn't so much read the bible as a child and teen, I sang it through all the music we covered over the years.

So it makes me wonder: how is it that the same songs that the MTC and the Babylon choirs sang resulted in such different faith expressions? These songs became the bedrock of my faith, which calls me to participate in the liberating work of God's love. The music communicated to me a commitment to be in community with all of God's people, to seek release from all forms of oppression which place God's people in bondage, and to love and protect the earth in all its glory. How does God speak through music in ways that lead us to such radically different actions in the world?

Finding Time

2009-09-26T09:42:00.000-07:00

One of my colleagues from the East Coast asked me via Facebook, “How do you find time to blog.” Since this is only my second post, I guess I don’t know the answer to that question yet! But here is another reason why I want to blog and am hoping to turn it into a daily discipline: I miss preaching weekly.

When I left the local church to be the associate dean at Pacific School of Religion, the biggest grief I experienced (besides leaving a community I dearly loved) was preaching every week. Preaching offered me a lens through which to encounter the world. Throughout the week, I would grapple with the text, wrestling like Jacob with the angel, trying to find out where the word was taking shape and form as the Word in the world. Where was God at work, providing hope, grace, Good News? That’s what preachers get paid to do: to notice where God is at work in the world and to point it out to a group of people who gather each week, waiting and wanting to see and hear a little Good News.

Returning to the local church has meant I get to flex these spiritual muscles again. Our preaching rotation, however, means I only preach once every 3 weeks. That’s less than a weekend warrior workout! Whenever it is my turn to preach, I feel those flabby spiritual muscles groan. My vision feels cloudier than when I used to preach weekly. Where is God these days?

So my hope is that these regular posts will be a way for me to spiritually exercise. Being a Methodist, I hope to carve it into my day most methodically, like my daily gym workouts and prayer times. I figure if I can manage to box with my trainer regularly, I can box regularly with God as well.

To Blog or Not to Blog?

2009-09-25T11:42:00.000-07:00

I have been wrestling with the question of blogging for several months. When you get to have a weekly public platform from which to air one’s thoughts, is blogging overkill? Preaching is such a privilege, because I get to share with a community my faith musings, my own wrestling with angels, the Good News I hear. And folks in the pews have two choices: to listen or leave (or nap, as some have reminded me!).

The more I thought about it, the more I became excited about blogging. Feedback on preaching is usually limited to “Great sermon”, “Thanks”, or “You really made me think” as people head out the door. There is little opportunity for in-depth conversation, or even to hear from those who disagree. Blogging, I hope, can be a way to engage in conversations in which we all might learn something from each other, even when we disagree, because it allows for us to have dialogue, back and forth (with no interruptions!).

At least that’s my hope.