Moving in Faith
A UU Minister's Blog on Running, Relocation, and Reverence
Moving in Faith
A UU Minister's Blog on Running, Relocation, and Reverence
blog.uucmtka.org
"Homosexuality and Hospitality" - my video about it
Greetings. This fall we here in Minnesota will vote on whether or not to make some residents of our state second-class citizens. On the surface, it is called a marriage amendment: a proposed amendment to our constitution that would enshrine bigotry in our state constitution, limiting and defining "marriage" as between "one man and one woman."
The thing is, same-sex marriage is already illegal in Minnesota. Proponents of this amendment just want to make it a little bit more difficult - no, a LOT more difficult - to remove these unjust laws from our state books by elevating these laws and protecting them with the state constitution. Another thing is that if this proposal passes, it will be the first time that we will use our state constitution to reduce the rights of our citizens, not expand them.
I am against this amendment for so many reasons - reasons which I will surely address in more detail in the months ahead prior to the November vote. For now, I want to share with you one video I made about it.
Unfortunately it is too large for this blog to embed within this text, but I can share a link to it, and you can go check it out. It's in two parts. I titled the video, "Homosexuality and Hospitality." Here is Part One:
And here is Part Two:
You can also see the two-part video with a little write-up about it on the Standing on the Side of Love website here:
I also made the video partly to counter the right-wing rhetoric that uses Biblical passages to support hatred. I view those stories and passages very differently. Many of the stories in the Bible, especially from the Hebrew scriptures, take place in a harsh desert world. Laws and codes of hospitality governed many human interactions because settlements were often built around wells, and the only way a traveler or alien could have access to that water was if the locals allowed it. So one code was to always offer hospitality to travelers and aliens, and another code - if you were the traveler or the alien - was to always accept what was offered. To refuse to do either could cause a minor or major war.
So the hospitality codes back then arising from the harsh desert world - and metaphorically arising from the often harsh world we live in now - were lessons taught by the God of the Hebrew Bible, and the prophets, to those with hardened hearts. They were lessons of how to offer hospitality.
May we, as a common intertwined and interdependent humanity, someday learn those lessons.
UU Fast Day 2012
Just finished my day of fasting for 2012. This is the third year of offering this at the congregation. It's not the kind of thing that is easy to be popular. People prefer to celebrate ways we succeed, or ways we can be joyous. It is much more difficult to honor in ritual a day of humility, or to honor in ritual the ways we have failed in the past year, both as a nation and as individuals.
But I think this is important. We don't always succeed. We don't always behave according to our aspirations - either as individuals or as a nation. I think it is important to honor that failure, and then support one another and encourage one another to begin again in love.
One of the pieces I just love about this tradition is that it does not come from some other religious tradition. We don't have to go looking for ways to tweak a Christian or Jewish or Buddhist practice so that it fits our own sensibilities. This Fast Day practice comes right directly out of our own Unitarian and Universalist heritage and traditions. I've added a piece below that was written in 2005 by Dean Grodzins, who was our UU History professor in seminary. Many of us who were students at that time took this information and have begun making it part of our church year in the congregations we serve. This is our third year honoring it.
Today I didn't eat anything until evening. Thursdays are my study days, and often I spend my Thursdays at a coffee shop (if I'm not at minister's meetings), reading and writing. I had intended to allow myself to drink coffee today, even if it was without the breakfast, but then I thought, "Part of the whole point of this day is to do things differently, to remember those who are not as well off as I am, and to do something differently. Part of the point of this day is to NOT do my same old routine - to reflect on the ways I have not lived up to my aspirations, and the way I feel our country has not lived up to its aspirations.
Sometimes I get upset with my children and I am more harsh with them than I intend. Sometimes I say things in frustration or pain that hurt my wife. Sometimes I don't follow through on things I say I will. Sometimes I don't take care of myself as well as I could.
Sometimes our nation allows itself to be manipulated and governed by fear, wanting to build walls rather than bridges. Sometimes our nation allows itself to believe the phrase, "All men are created equal" to mean "all rich white heterosexual men are created equal - but not women, people of color, people with less money, or people who are gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender." Sometimes our government attempts to preserve democracy behind bars and under a plexiglass shell rather than living into the messiness that true democracy requires.
And so I fast - along with many of my colleagues, and hopefully many other UUs across the nation. It was good to feel in my heart a web of solidarity today with other Unitarian Universalists. It is good to know I can start over again tomorrow, strengthened and supported by others who understand failure and who will provide encouragement and love. In many ways, it all comes down to love, and how much of it we really feel and express - not just through our personal feelings, but through the laws of our nation and the behaviors of our politicians. So until next year, I will be...
Moving in Faith,
-Kent
* * *
A Short History of the UU Fast Day Tradition
Dean Grodzins, former Associate Professor of History
Meadville/Lombard Theological School (Unitarian Universalist)
April 2005
Fast Day was the complementary holiday to Thanksgiving.
In the early 17th-century, the Puritan ancestors of the Unitarians and
Universalists would observe days of thanksgiving to God whenever a remarkably
good thing happened. Whenever a remarkably bad thing happened, the
Puritans saw God as punishing them for their wickedness, and therefore called
for a day of fasting, prayer, and penitence.
By
the 18th century, Fast Day and Thanksgiving had emerged as regular,
state-sponsored religious holidays across New England. There always would be a
fast on a Thursday in April and a thanksgiving on a Thursday in November. These
dates corresponded with the local agricultural year. Farmers in effect were
asking God’s forgiveness and blessing before they planted and giving God thanks
after the harvest.
People
generally behaved in a subdued manner on Fast Days and refrained from work, but
their fasting was not severe. They abstained from food until evening,
when they would eat a simple, usually cold, meal. During the day, they
would attend one or more religious services. Ministers would preach
special Fast Day sermons of admonition and reconciliation (in contrast to the
celebratory ones they preached on Thanksgiving). Fast Day was the only
occasion when congregations expected their minister to speak on the sins of the
nation; some famous political sermons were preached on Fast Days.
Fast
Day remained a legal holiday in New England, and Unitarian and Universalist
churches continued to hold special Fast Day services, throughout the 19th
century. For a time, both Fast Day and Thanksgiving looked as if they
might go onto the national calendar; Congress or the President occasionally
would call national days of fasting or thanksgiving, as events warranted.
Fall
thanksgiving days grew in popularity. President Abraham Lincoln established
the national November holiday with two successive annual Thanksgiving
proclamations (1863, 1864). Fast days, however, began declining in
popularity by mid-century. The last national fast day was called in
response to President Lincoln’s assassination (1865). After 1894, Fast
Day was no longer a legal holiday in Massachusetts. New Hampshire kept it
as a holiday much longer than any other state—until 1991, when it was dropped
to make room for the state observance of Martin Luther King Day.
Fast Day failed, in part, because most people (although by no means all) came to reject the Puritan theological justification for it. They no longer believed in a God who needed to be or who could be appeased in this manner. Fast Day failed as well because it ran counter to the consumer trends of the culture. By the mid-19th century, Americans had come to observe their festivals by buying things. They could buy nothing for Fast Day, so it was discarded.
Reasons for UUs to Consider Reviving Fast Day
As those who fast for Yom Kippur, Lent, and Ramadan know, there is value in an observance that requires somber reflection, recognition of one’s personal wrongdoing and the wrongdoing of the world, and a renewed commitment to turn personally and as a community towards truth, justice, and love. Also, fasting as a practice has a rich history of religious meanings, particularly involving charity and increased spiritual awareness, which would be valuable to explore. Fast Day, moreover, would be a holiday that implicitly criticizes the excesses of American consumer culture, while implicitly recognizing the old agricultural year and the cycles of nature. Finally, Fast Day would be a distinctive UU holiday and as such might help UUs develop a stronger sense of identity. Yet no persons should abstain from food who believed doing so would be for them physically or psychologically unhealthy; individuals should decide for themselves how to fast. There are many ways a Fast Day could be observed besides fasting, including making food for the break fast.
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Policy Governance and Democracy
Three years ago our church Board began studying policy governance, and how it would enhance our congregational leadership. After two years of study, research, and some practice, our Board recommended to the congregation that we make the move to policy governance. They also proposed bylaw changes that would allow policy governance to take effect in our congregation. At our Annual Meeting in May 2011, our congregation approved the Board's proposal, and accepted all changes to the bylaws.
Policy governance began in the nonprofit sector, but has taken hold - with a few modifications - in many churches. Especially in the past ten years or so, more and more Unitarian Universalist churches have moved this way. And more recently, in about the past two years, both our Prairie Star District and the Unitarian Universalist Association have transitioned to policy governance. So we are most assuredly in good company!
One question that comes up a lot about policy governance, though, is the question about how it relates (or rather, from some initial perspectives, doesn't relate) to the democratic process, which is a foundational principle of Unitarian Universalism.
For the past couple of months I've been working with Laura Park, a policy governance consultant from Unity Consulting in St. Paul, and in her work with us this question came up again - about how it appeared that this model is in conflict with the UU principle of "The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregations and society at large."
Laura Park responded in an email that this is a fundamental question and gets asked a lot. Because it was such a heartfelt, wise, and articulate response, I wanted to share a major portion of her email here:
* * * * * * * *
[From Laura Park]
Part of my commitment to this model stems from my belief that it better
supports democracy than other approaches to governance I've seen. That belief
starts with how I understand democracy. I understand democracy to mean that it's
clear how the voice of the whole finds its way into the decisions of our elected
leaders. I understand democracy to mean that our elected leaders have an
obligation to get and stay in touch with the values and dreams of the people to
whom the congregation belongs, and to use that connection to discern what's in
their best interest for the future. I believe that's what gives decisions
legitimacy in a democracy and is precisely what Policy Governance supports in
its expectations of the board.
I've also had people say that this model gives the minister too much power.
In many ways, I believe it harnesses their power more thoroughly than other
governance systems, asking that everything they do be in service to the
realization of a mission discerned in consultation with the people to whom the
congregation belongs. This model makes it clear from the outset that the
minister's power is in service to the congregation and its mission, and that the
board gets to set reasonable limits around the way a minister uses their
power.
Finally, I think many people believe that decisions of any kind, whether
made by the board or the minister, can't be legitimate unless the entire
congregation has been able to provide their input on them or even sign off on
them. I don't believe that's what democracy means. I believe democracy means
that you put real limits in place to catch egregious mistakes and then you build
trust together so that the people we've elected and called to serve us can
discern the best way to act on our behalf. I believe democracy means that you
get clear about the level at which it makes sense for us to made decisions
together, and then, with effective monitoring in place to be sure our core
values aren't violated, we trust our called and elected leaders to get the
information they need and the involvement they need from others, to make the
decisions we've delegated to them. Not that we don't provide feedback when they
could do a better job, but fundamentally, we trust them because we're verifying
what matters most to us through monitoring.
[End of email from Laura Park]
* * * * * * * *
I've really appreciated this guidance from Laura. I am much newer at it than she is, but her words resonate deeply with my experience in policy governance so far. One of the things that excites me about it most, too, is the clarity it provides: clarity of roles for the minister, board, and staff, and clarity and unity of direction for all of us.
I'm looking forward to moving more with this model in the coming years. As always, I am,
Moving in Faith,
-Kent
Daddy Care
I'm genuinely curious about why I don't see more dads taking care of their kids. I see lots of mothers and grandmothers, and some couples (presumably parents) and other older couples (presumably grandparents) taking care of children, but very rarely do I see single men, by themselves, taking care of their children.
Mondays are my day "off" and I'm also home on Wednesday mornings. I've got a pretty full life, at the church and at home, but I deeply treasure my time with my children. The reason I put the word "off" in quotations is that on Mondays and on Wednesday mornings, I'm the one who takes care of our kids. So even though I have "off" from my church work at those times, it's not as though I'm sitting at home on the couch eating bon-bons!
My wife and I have two children: Parker, age 5, and Mirek, age 3. Parker will begin kindergarten this fall. When Parker was born, I was a stay-at-home dad. I finished a year-long hospital chaplain residency that August, and my son was born in late October. My wife had a job and I didn't, so it made sense for me to take care of our baby as I began searching for a church. It went beyond practicality, though. When it became clear earlier in the year that we would have a baby, and even that I had the chance to BE a stay-at-home dad, I was very eager to do it, knowing it was a rare chance to bond with my son and to learn how to be a dad who knew the quirks about his child, what the noises meant, and what the schedule was - and sometimes, even to initiate or create the schedule.
After Parker was born, of course our life changed dramatically. It was hard. I was 40 years old when he was born. That's a lot of single living to change. But I had wanted kids for a long time, so I was finally living a dream. And for the first eight weeks or so, my wife was on maternity leave, so we got to learn together how to begin parenting and round-the-clock changing and feeding schedules. By the time my wife went back to work, I was as ready as I could be to stay home alone with my son. Yes, it was hard, and yes, there were times I felt like a failure (and yes, there are still times I feel, ah, less than successful!). But mostly it was really fun. And I had the rare luxury (certainly for men) to have entire days, all week, each week, with my son. And of course, I loved it when people (mostly women) would stop and fawn over how cute he was.
And then, when Parker was a little older, I began going to some ECFE (Early Childhood Family Education) classes. I suspected a stay-at-home dad might be a rarity, but I was startled to discover that in every single class except one, I was the only father in the room. This is where I first noticed there were single moms, and there were married or partnered women who were stay-at-home moms, but no other dads (except one other dad in one class). I made friends with one group of women, and we met for walks in malls or parks about once or twice a month, and that lasted through the next summer. But as friendly and as welcoming as they were, it got a little awkward when they began talking about periods or started sharing stories of how it felt to give birth. I don't begrudge them their talk with one another. I believe that kind of sharing and bonding between women is a really important part of human culture. But sometimes I did feel sad and lonely that I didn't have a male friend to talk with about how it felt to be a stay-at-home dad.
Five years later those feelings of sadness and loneliness are not quite as strong, but they still linger. In the winters I periodically take my kids to indoor play areas like the Maple Maze in Maple Grove, the play area in the Ridgedale Mall, our local library, the indoor parts of the Minnesota Zoo, and even, once or twice each year, the amusement park in the Mall of America. In the summers I take them to places like French Park, swimming pools, lakes, playgrounds, and even our local parks here in town...and always, during the days, I am pretty much the only dad around.
It happened again yesterday. Because we are having such a cold spring, I took them to the indoor "tree house" in Edinborough Park, just north of 494. I saw many mothers with their children, I saw one mother and a grandmother with two children, and I saw three male-and-female couples with their children, but no other dads, by themselves, with their children.
And I'm confused. I just don't know why this is. I see and know a lot of good dads out in the world, dads who hug their kids, who talk and play with their kids, who are patient, present, and kind and loving. But it seems not many do that "good dad" stuff on their own. I don't know if it is just so deeply ingrained in our culture that women care for children that it makes it difficult to break the tradition, or if it is some deeper genetic/instinctual thing. Or is it another unequal matter of society that men still generally make more money than women, so it makes practical sense for men to keep working while the woman does childcare? Or is it something else - like men who don't want to be the sole caregivers of their children, or don't know how, or are scared about how do do it?
I'm not trying to say that I am a better dad, or that every other father should be like me. It's just that I really like being part of my kids' lives, and I want other men to experience that deeper connection with their kids. And amazingly, after only five years, I'm already seeing an "end" to one way my life changed. This fall my son enters kindergarten and I will no longer have full, whole days to spend with him, so I feel myself getting more and more selfish about my time with him. I'm confident I'll roll with the changes as I usually do, but this has been a sweet ride. I am deeply grateful I got to this place in life: to be a dad!
Thank you, Parker and Mirek, for choosing me to be your dad.
PSD Conference 2012
There's been a notable absence in my blog posts, so it is good to come back and do some writing again.
In particular, I just wanted to share what a great time I had at the Prairie Star District (PSD) Conference this weekend. For those of you who may not be familiar with it, our Unitarian Universalist Association in America is divided up into 20-some districts, and ours, the Prairie Star District, includes North and South Dakota, Minnesota, western Wisconsin, Iowa, Nebraska, Kansas, and a little corner of Missouri. Each year we have a weekend conference in April that moves to a new location around the district. This year it just happened to be here in the Twin Cities.
The theme this year was "Lessons from War and Peace: Stories of Hope, Faith and Courage." If you want to read more about it, you can go here:
The keynote address on Friday night was by Jim Eller who spoke on "The Glory of Courage and the Joy of Reconciliation." On Saturday, the Arthur Judy lecture was by Thomas Weiner, who spoke on "The Toll War takes on All Who are Called to Serve." He is the author of a book called, "Called to Serve: Stories of the Men and Women Confronted by the Vietnam War Draft." Both men spoke of their own experience during the Vietnam War era, and the trauma that visited most heavily and clearly on the veterans, but also how the violence of that war left no one untouched, not the men themselves, the women and families back home, not the men who obtained conscientious objector status, not the men who fled to Canada, nor those who went to jail.
It was a powerful weekend of testimony, story-telling, heartbreak and compassion. The weekend concluded with worship this morning, part of which included the story of a young justice-seeking anti-war activist woman just finishing college (or just out of college), who is engaged to a man in the National Guard who is serving for a year in Iraq. Hers is a compelling story that does not settle easily into definitions of "peace activist" or "war monger." Hers is a story of nuance, love, confusion, and conflicted emotions that I would guess is more widespread and common than the government or most of the media would have us believe.
In the midst of all this, the youth led a powerful and beautiful worship service last night by the youth at the conference - the next generation who must struggle with notions of war and peace, duty and conscience, compassion and meaning. Their service included music and readings, one of which was the chalice lighting at the beginning that we use in our Sunday morning service each week (one that I wrote a couple years ago!). Their service ended with five of them standing at the front of the stage, singing in five-part harmony.
I come home tonight with many good memories from and images of the weekend. I've been in this district for over 20 years - first in Davenport, Iowa, and since 1995, in the Twin Cities. So I know people from the Davenport congregation and the Iowa cluster, I know people from First Universalist Church not too far away in Minneapolis (I was the Youth Director there in the late 1990s, and they were the congregation that sponsored me through seminary), I know people from my own church (UUCM), and I know all the ministers of our district as well. So at these gatherings, I have a lot of people to say "hi" to!
It was a great pleasure to reconnect with ministerial colleagues from all over the district in our annual dinner and meeting, and to attend the workshop conducted by our intern (Leslie Mills), who talked about her travels to Guatamala, the Philippines, Chiapas, Mexico, and to Phoenix, Arizona, to protest the immigration law that went into effect there in 2010.
By my unofficial count, we had 19-20 adults from our congregation who registered for the conference, another six youth who registered, four staff, and myself. In addition, there were another 10-12 (10-15?) who sang in the conference choir this morning, and an unknown number of others who showed up to attend the conference closing worship this morning. So many of the 20 or so congregants who registered said this was the first time they had attended a district conference, and they were all very enthusiastic and inspired by their experience. We are a small denomination anyway, so it is always inspiring, I think, to join in with some 300-500 others (at a district conference) and some 3000-5000 others (at a General Assembly) in a worship experience. It is a reminder that we are not alone. It is a reminder that we are not just 200 or so people (as we have at UUCM), just "doing church" here alone on the western edge of the Cities. We are part of a larger movement. We are part of a larger faith. We are part of a larger and intertwined group of like-minded, justice-seeking, compassionate, loving, and generous people.
One of my enduring images of this conference is of one of our members, Barb, who is very gregarious, outgoing, and fun. At the worship service this morning, as one of our closing songs, we sang, "I'm gonna lay down my sword and shield, down by the riverside." They added a new line to it that included the phrase: "I'm gonna shake hands, around the world." Since I brought my wife and two kids to service (they are ages 3 and 5), we sat on the outside aisle near the back in case we had to leave or engage in some distracting activities if the kids got antsy. So we're standing and singing near the back, and when this phrase comes up, I see Barb turn to her neighbor and shake her neighbor's hand. Then she turns and shakes her other neighbor's hand. Then she turns around and shakes the hands of the people standing behind her. Then she steps out into the aisle, crosses the aisle, and shakes the hands of people on the other side of the aisle. Meanwhile, the people behind Barb begin shaking hands with each other. Then THEY turn around and shake hands with the people behind them. And then that row shakes hands with the people behind them. On and on it goes as we're all standing and singing, until eventually, the people standing in the row in front of me shake hands with each other, then turn around and shake hands with me! So I shake hands with my son and my daughter and wife, and turn around and shake hands with the people standing in the row behind me. And after the deep pain, confusion, compassion, and hope offered during the service, I couldn't help but laugh and appreciate "my people" so much.
It reminded me of a quote we have in our hymnal (#561 in "Singing the Living Tradition") from Margaret Mead, who said, "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has." Thank you, Barb, for your embodied joyful reminder of this timeless wisdom.
And thank you to the people at White Bear Unitarian Universalist Church (from Mahtomedi, MN) for hosting this conference, and thank you to all "my people" from the church I serve, as well as UUs from around the district for making this such a powerful, moving, and meaningful conference.
Happy Valentine's: Anoka-Hennepin, Washington, Oh My!
Wonderful great news! Just tonight, Monday, February 13, I received word via the OutFront Minnesota website that the Anoka-Hennepin School District (the district where Michelle Bachmann lives) just finally voted to revise its so-called "neutrality policy" to a new "Respectful Learning Environment Policy."
Here are the first few paragraphs of the article, which can also be found on this website: Anoka-Hennepin School District revises neutrality policy :
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In a 5-1 vote Monday night, the Anoka-Hennepin School Board eliminated the notorious Sexual Orientation Curriculum "neutrality" policy and replaced it with a new Respectful Learning Environment Policy.
While some have legitimately asked whether this policy will change much, the fact is that policies matter. They reflect priorities and values, they send messages of inclusion...or the opposite.
Three years ago the Anoka-Hennepin district had a policy specifically stating that homosexuality is not a "valid or normal lifestyle." In marked contrast, the current proposal directs that "district stall shall affirm the dignity and self-worth of all students," regardless of, among other things, sexual orientation and gender. For the first time in 17 years Minnesota's largest district will not have a policy designed to stigmatize its LGBT students.
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This is such wonderful news, partly because some members of our church live in Champlin and their children attend schools in the Anoka-Hennepin School District...but also because this is great event for human dignity. I do not understand the viciousness and the bile that comes out of the mouths of some people, especially those who call themselves Christian, regarding the hate they bear toward people they don't know whose only "crime" is that they are expressing love for another person.
I love studying and wrestling with both Hebrew Scripture and Christian Scripture, so I find it particularly brutal when people on the extreme right ends of some religions use the Bible to support their hate, particularly when the supposed founder of Christianity, and the proclaimed Son of God, Jesus, says nothing whatsoever about homosexuality. If this "issue" is so important - even crucial to the existence of our country as some conservatives claim - then how is it that the founder of their entire religion never said one word about it?
Really, it comes down to the fact those particular conservatives who read scripture in that way are twisting and bending it to their small human will. I prefer people who are direct. So if I had my way, rather than hide behind scripture, I'd prefer it if those particular conservatives would just say, "I hate gay people. I hate lesbians. In fact, I hate anyone who thinks or believes differently from me." If they said that, at least then they would be honest.
Apparently the Anoka-Hennepin School district did not like a recent article that was written about them in Rolling Stone magazine. It was published just this month, on February 2, 2012, and can be found here: One Town's War on Gay Teens. I can understand why the district wouldn't like the article. It doesn't portray them in a very good light. But how else can even moderately objective reporters write about a school district that suffered through nine student suicides in the span of two years? By many accounts, that high of a number is a severe epidemic.
Tonight, though, after reading about the decision, and after reading through the new policy (which you can read if you click on the link I provided above), I feel supportive of what the district is moving through. So tonight I wrote them a letter commending them for their integrity to "stay at the table" to work through all these difficult discussions. I don't know whether individual members of the school board have had a change of heart, or if they are simply responding to being in the national spotlight or to legal realities, but I do see that they revised their policy to one that specifically and explicitly states: "In the course of discussions of such issues, district staff shall affirm the dignity and self-worth of all students, regardless of their race, color, creed, religion, national origin, sex/gender, marital status, disability, status with regard to public assistance, sexual orientation, age, family care leave status or veteran status."
For this, I felt compelled to write them a letter congratulating them on their good work. If you want to write them a letter in support of their revision, you can contact them here: the Anoka-Hennepin School Board
This is a good day in many ways. In related news, I'm also so happy to hear that the State of Washington officially made same-sex marriage legal.
What a wonderful and happy Valentine's Day this has turned out to be!
Ferris Bueller and Pablo Picasso
Maybe it's a matter of seeing things if you look for them. In my previous "Shaking Hands with Buddy Guy" post, I wrote about how there are many layers to Chicago. And life in general. And then, the next day I discovered another layer.
The third week in January I was in Chicago teaching a Film and Theology class at Meadville/Lombard seminary. One primary aspect of the course involves viewing and reviewing images: first how they are presented, and then also the matter of how the image presented affects, enhances, supports, or contrasts with the dialogue, theme or plot of the movie.
Since the class took place in Chicago and is all about movies, on the first day of class I couldn't help but show a clip from Ferris Bueller's Day Off, that 1986 flick starring Matthew Broderick. Here is the clip:
A great little clip. Images of fine art within the images of the popular art of movies. In class we noticed several layers of the clip. The one we latched onto was the one where Cameron, Ferris' friend, is standing alone and staring at the George Seurat mural painting, "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte," copied here:
At the same time, Ferris and his girlfriend, Sloane, are shown kissing in front of the middle window of these three stained-glass windows, created by Chagall:
And here is a screen shot of Ferris and his girlfriend, Sloan, in front of the middle window:
Chagall named this piece "America Windows", and though they don't look out on anything, they reflect the arts, freedom of expression, and the viewer. That is, they are about living and experiencing life in all its vitality and variety.
So even in this delightful teenage comedy, here is an example of the use of images in film. In this case, an image of images. In the movie clip I reference above, there are no lines of dialogue. Yet the images portray a huge amount of meaning in and of themselves.
Cameron is a lonely son, coming from a family where his father cares more about his expensive car than he does for his son. Cameron does what his father says, and as a result, he does not develop a personality of his own. The movie clip reflects this by alternately moving in closer and closer on Cameron's eyes as it moves in closer and closer on the face of the little girl in the painting. On an image level, the movie-maker is making a comparison - just what that comparison is, we may not know for sure.
Because of the style of the painting, the closer and closer we get to the girl's face, we see that she has no face - just a bunch of mashed-together colors. And as we get closer to Cameron's face, we see only his eyes. As the saying goes, "The eyes are the window of the soul". Do we see Cameron's soul? Given the time this takes place in the movie, I think it could easily be argued that at this point, Cameron has no soul - or at least he is not aware that he has one. Like the girl in the painting, the closer you get to him, the more we see nothing, a blank look, a face without distinction.
On the other hand, if we were in a different mood, we could say that, like the girl's face, which lacks definition but is full of color, Cameron is just a jumble of unformed color and smudges...waiting to burst forth. Lots of valuable ways to interpret the image.
And then there is Ferris Bueller. In front of the Chagall windows that tell of the vibrancy of life, Ferris is engaged in one of the most beautiful, luscious, and symbolic acts of a full life: kissing. And there, in that short movie clip, we have two full-blown images of two very different characters.
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So then later in the week we actually go to the museum - and again as often is said, "Life imitates art." Ferris Bueller skips school and for part of the day, goes to one of the best art museums in the world. And with the class I was teaching, we took off early from our morning class on Friday (that is, we skipped school) and went to the same museum - to make a pilgrimage to at least those two pieces of art we saw in the Ferris Bueller clip: the Seurat painting and the Chagall widows.
Our group then split up, and then before returning to class, I wanted to make a pilgrimage of my own. I wanted to see Picasso's "Old Guitarist," which I've always called the "blue guitarist."
I have a long history with this painting. I grew up in Milwaukee, and our grade school took annual field trips to Chicago to the Museum of Science and Industry. I am not entirely sure, but I'd be willing to bet we also took field trips to the art museum. My first reliable memory of going to the art museum was during Christmas of 1985. The seminary where I was teaching my film class is the same seminary I attended, and is the same seminary (back when it had buildings in Hyde Park) my mom attended from 1985-1988. I came home from college for Christmas of 1985...and that's when I went to the art museum. And that is when I have my first conscious memory of seeing Picasso's blue guitarist. I even took a picture of it then. Almost every time I was in Chicago, I'd go to the museum and I'd always include that painting in my pilgrimage.
As part of the story, my dad was diagnosed with a terminal illness when I was a junior in high school. As he aged and as the illness progressed, he got more and more skinny, and as his body deteriorated, he became more hunched over. As a result of my dad's illness, and because it was part of my mom's lifelong dream, and because she now had to take care of the family, my mom felt the call to ministry. That's why my parents were in Chicago in the first place.
Eight years after he was diagnosed - and three years after my mom was out of seminary and one year after I had graduated college - my dad died. He died on February 6, 1991. Hard to believe it has been 21 years. The Reverend John Weston (a family friend and colleague of my mom's) conducted my dad's memorial service, and in that service, he said the way my dad had become so emaciated and the way his head sometimes hung down, always reminded him of Picasso's "Old Guitarist."
So for a number of reasons, this painting has held a deep and meaningful place in my heart and spirit.
And then, two weeks ago, there I was again standing in front of it. I moved closer to get a look at the brush strokes and coloring. I bent down to see the individual lumps and bumps of the paint. Then I looked up to see the old man's face. And what was that? Here was something I'd never seen before. In the angling gallery lighting, I saw bumps underneath the color. Bumps on the board itself (this painting is on a board, not on canvas) stuck up from the surface. I stared for a long time. Two sets of bumps, about two or three inches apart. Did they look like...eyes?
I went over to one of the gallery guards to ask about them. Are those eyes underneath the painting? Is that another painting underneath? Yes, she told me. Picasso painted this when he was about 22 years old, and very poor, so to save money he would often scrape off the old paint from some of his old paintings, and just paint over what had been there. I've now read that there is at least one, maybe two other paintings underneath this one.
I'm not sure how well it will show up on this blog, but here is a close-up of the eyes - you can see a woman's neckline across the top of the man's neck, and the two eyes float above the hair and neck:
And here is an x-ray/infrared image of the painting underneath:
It strikes me how, the older I get, the more full of spirals my life becomes.
I attend the seminary my mother attended.
I return to teach at the seminary I attended.
I return again to visit a painting I fell in love with years ago and discover a new painting with more layers.
And it strikes me that DNA is constructed with spirals. It seems that life is built in the layers of ladders and moves in the rotation of spirals. Up and down and around and around. Each week in church, for Life Passages, we sing Hymn #155: "Circle 'round for freedom / Circle 'round for peace, / for all of us imprisoned, / circle for release."
And moving in spirals and circles, I can't help but think of dancing - out and back, a square dance, a do-si-do, a tide washing out an in, a Sufi whirling dervish. I don't always know what to make of it, but life seems built to be a dance. A long, slow dance of plate tectonics swaying from firm certainty to crumbling loss, and then back again. We live in the motion.
Shaking Hands with Buddy Guy
Chicago is not what it appears. It has layers.
I am down here in Chicago for a week. I am teaching an "intensive" course at Meadville/Lombard, the Unitarian Universalist seminary in Chicago. The course is titled "Ancient Hospitality in an Altermodern World" (T310 INT). It is a 10-week course, so I've assigned ten movies - one each week. Yes, we are examining the story and dialogue and content of movies. But a significant portion of the course is about images - how they are presented and represented, and what meaning we ascribe to them. According to Jann Cather Weaver, one of my former professors at United Theological Seminary in New Brighton, MN, there are (at least) two ways to view film:
1) Reading meaning into movies, meaning which viewers want to see. This from is known as "eisegetical".
2) The other form allows the the movie to speak to us, so that we may see the film as a "text", speaking its own truth. This form is known as "exegetical".
So that's this week, and sometime I'll be happy to speak more on that. But last weekend, prior to the class, I traveled down to Chicago with my family - my wife and two kids, my five-year-old son, and my two-year-old daughter. We took the train down from the Twin Cities and then walked to our hotel through the cold, dark, and well-populated streets. And then we spent the weekend together, with some friends, exploring and experiencing some aspects of the city.
We had dinner at Gino's East, and a place called Quartino's, and even managed to make our way to Hyde Park, where Meadville/Lombard used to be located, to eat at Medici's. And we saw the old buildings of my seminary, the stone structure at 57th and Woodlawn. Yes, I mourn the loss of these historic buildings to our progress, remembering the days and months and years I spent there - and even before me, the days and months and years my mother, Charlotte Justice Saleska, spent there from 1985 to 1988, when she was a seminary student there.
Yet, I have hopes and dreams for the new direction of the seminary, now located in the Spertus Building downtown in the loop, on Michigan Avenue, just north of East Balbo Ave. I was thrilled and honored when, a year ago, out of the blue, I received an email from a professor at the school asking if I would teach a film class at the school this January.
In my class, I emphasize the importance of presentation and images. How does a movie begin and how does it end? Why does it take place where it does? What sounds do you hear? Who introduces new ideas and who listens? What colors are repeated? Why are some scenes portrayed in slow-motion? Why are some played in black and white, while others are presented in color? Who is transformed and under what circumstances? Why was this subject matter presented as a comedy and not a drama, or a drama and not a comedy?
I experience parallels in the life of the city of Chicago. I recall walking my family and friends back to the Amtrak train station on Monday. As we crossed the Adams Street bridge heading west over the Chicago River, we could see the train tucked away underneath the street, sequestered behind pillars and pylons, on a subterranean existence visible to pedestrians almost only by accident. At the same time, Wacker Drive, on the east side of the river (the road that brushes past the west side of the Sears Tower - now called the Willis Tower), is under construction, revealing a vast sub-level of construction, support, and existence, quite separate and typically hidden from daily life.
And so I cannot help but extend this metaphor to the movies, to the seminary, to the seminary students, to humanity in general. Life is not what it may at first seem. A movie full of humor and entertainment is layered with the truths of racial profiling and common humanity in America. One student who seems quite capable to me is in a state of doubt, struggling with depression and profound questions of competence. And as I walk down the streets of Chicago, admiring the vast glory of varied architecture, I wonder about the people I pass and what shadow sides they each struggle with.
On the way, it is just a town, just a collection of buildings. And then, at the seminary community dinner tonight, one of the permanent faculty (the one who sent me an email a year ago asking if I'd be interested in teaching a film and theology course at the seminary) invites me to the nightclub around the corner, the one called Buddy Guy's Legends.
So we go, and it, too, is not what it seems: a small bar on a sparsely populated corner in the south Loop. But we walk in to an expansive space with a huge stage for the Wednesday night up-and-coming blues musicians. Tonight it was Eric "Guitar" Davis. And in the middle of his second song, Eric Davis offers his thanks and tribute to Buddy Guy....who he says, as a matter of fact, happens to be sitting over at the end of the bar, in the shadows, watching.
ARE YOU FRE?CKING SERIOUS? BUDDY GUY IS IN THE HOUSE???
I've been listening to this guy on records and tapes for at least the last 25 years. These are my sense memory images of him: listening to him in my Idaho dorm room, on my old Walkman while travelling across the country on my motorcycle, at parties during my junior year in New York City, at a campsite on my truck speakers in Iowa, in a new apartment in Minneapolis near Uptown. He's amazing. He's a legend. He's at least 150 years old, weighs about 90 pounds, and along with Muddy Waters, Koko Taylor, and Howlin' Wolf, he is one of the most distinctive guitarists on the planet. Here's a video of Buddy Guy playing at his own bar, Buddy Guy's Legends, in 2009: Mustang Sally
Well, we had to leave reasonably early. We do have to teach tomorrow, after all. So we bundle up in our coats, I throw on my shoulder bag complete with laptop and DVDs of the day's movies, and as we walk out toward the door, my colleague walks over to Buddy Guy at the end of the bar, shakes his hand and says something I cannot hear. As stunned as I am, I cannot let this moment pass. When my friend is done, I walk up to Buddy Guy himself, and extend my hand. He takes it. I tell him as loudly and as gratefully as I can:
"Thank you for the music."
I mean all of it. His music. This music. The band playing. The bar he made so that more music could be shared each night for days and months and years on end. For music that reaches down into the soul more deeply than words to drag our collective unconscious kicking and screaming into the light of human possibility. Thank you for all of it. The joy. The pain. The fierce love. All of it. Thank you.
Emerging from Chaos
Today I gave a sermon at church called "Emerging from Chaos." It was in direct relation and response to a sermon I gave three years ago (on March 8, 2009) called "Sitting in Chaos." And that sermon I gave three years ago was in direct response to the denial we received from the City of Wayzata - on December 16, 2008 - to our request to rezone a plot of land so that we could build a new church.
That denial from the city was nearly devastating to us. We weren't sure what to think or what to do. As I mentioned in my sermon today, "We had worked hard to
do the right things to ensure our rezoning request would pass. We had met with city officials, met with
residents of the Holdridge Neighborhood, conducted soil tests, traffic studies,
and hired an architectural firm to designs our new building. We even conducted Phase One of our capital
campaign, called “Moving in Faith,” in which we raised nearly one million
dollars, most of which was to pay for the plot of land itself and the work of
our architect."
Then, in my "Sitting in Chaos" sermon, I said, in part, "As opposed to standing, or running around in frantic
reactivity, the image of sitting in chaos is one of radical presence and
attentiveness amidst the swirl of activity.
Sitting in chaos does not involve shutting down, it involves opening
ourselves up. Sitting in chaos isn’t a
matter of doing nothing; it is a matter of being aware of everything. Sitting in chaos involves being responsive,
but not reactive."
So now I want to share a little more of what I spoke about with our congregation today. The full text of the sermon will be posted soon on our "Sermons" page (under the "Spirituality" button), but here is some of what I shared today:
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In the process of preparing for
this sermon, I discovered that January 6 is the day of Epiphany in the
Christian tradition. Epiphany is the
culmination of Advent. It is the 12th day of Christmas, which
we love to sing about here every year during our annual Christmas pageant. According to Christian tradition, Epiphany is
the time of the liturgical calendar when the magi meet the baby Jesus. That is, this is when Jesus makes his first
appearance to the gentiles, to the world.
In practice, that means that Epiphany is when the church focuses more
mindfully on its calling and mission – in particular, how the church will engage
with the wider world.
Wow. What an amazing and appropriate metaphor for
our work, for our time and place as a congregation. As most of you already know, just a little
over two weeks ago, on Thursday, December 22, 2011, after the third
court-ordered mediation process, we came to an agreement with the city that will not only allow us to build on the land we originally asked for, but will also recoup all our expenses we put into this court case for the past three years.
This is all we wanted. It is all we wanted: to build a new church that not only meets our needs now, but also serves our vision and practice for years to come.
Recently I was talking with a ministerial colleague, and in
our conversation we were reminded that all conflicts are opportunities for
intimacy. In conflict, we hold the
attention and the intention of our partner in the struggle. We may choose not to use the opportunity for
intimacy, or we may waste the opportunity for intimacy, but the opportunity is
there, nonetheless...
...In any conflict, we may be able to
engage the conflict as an opportunity for intimacy. Conflict becomes an opportunity for intimacy
when we see that our fellow wrestlers hurt and that our fellow wrestlers get
scared. This does not mean that we need
to agree with our partners in conflict, but it does mean we can enter the
conflict with a compassionate presence.
Conflict becomes an opportunity for intimacy when we engage it with a
sense of humility, knowing that we hurt, too; knowing that we get scared, too;
knowing that we make mistakes, too; knowing that we are imperfect beings, too.
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I'm not sure what it will look like for us to move forward from here, but I do believe it will serve us well, both the city and us, to transition from an "us" versus "them" mentality, and enter into (or return to) a relationship where all of us understand that we are simply "us." I look forward to what this new mentality and approach may bring.
Moving in Faith,
-Kent
Beginning Spiritual Practices...Again
I have so many things I want to write about here on this blog, and yet I also have so many things to do - committee meetings, Council meeting, Board meeting, individual meetings, sermon prep, counseling, staff supervision, administration, finances, finalizing my prep and work on my "Film and Theology" class I'll be teaching at Meadville/Lombard seminary in Chicago in two weeks - oh, and when I have time to get to it, a spiritual practice...
Wait, what was that again?
Last on my list of things "to do" is engaging in a spiritual practice. Does this sound familiar to anyone? Let's make sure we do our "real" work first - the work that really matters, the work that ensures our employment, the work that "gets stuff done" and "proves" our value to our families and the world. Then if we have time, we'll get to the frivolous stuff, the nebulous stuff, the sugary coating on our practical existence: our spiritual lives.
I am much better and nurturing and engaging my spiritual presence and engagement than I ever thought I would be - and yet I'm not nearly where I want to be, even where I need to be. Like many of us, I find it easy to get caught up in the things that need to be done, and to overlook the thing that grounds me and sustains me in the process of "getting things done."
I've shared in several times and places that one of my primary spiritual practices is raising children. Anyone who is a parent (or possibly even anyone who has ever had a parent!) knows how raising children brings up all your old baggage and presses all your "fly off the handle" buttons. Part of what a spiritual practice does, then, is to provide grounding in our own desire to be the people we want to be, and to be present and nonanxious in the midst of chaos. And raising children can be a matter of living in continual chaos! I expect to share more about this particular spiritual practice, but I also want to just briefly mention writing.
I've kept a journal for a long time. It began, formally, with a writing assignment in 10th grade, when I had to write (hand-write, that is, in the days before computers) five pages each week (8 1/2 x 11 3-hole punch lined school paper) and turn that in. For that particular assignment our grade was solely dependent on quantity - if we turned in five full pages each week, we got an "A" for that assignment that week.
My next extended daily writing took place when I was 18. After high school graduation, I took a year off from school. That summer and early fall I rode my bicycle across the country, from Seattle to Gainesville, Florida. Except for the last two weeks of that trip, I kept a journal every day.
A year later, when I began college, I began keeping a journal in earnest. Over the next two years I filled six steno pad notebooks with my reflections, feelings, thoughts, poetry, and aspirations. My third year in college I found discarded in a dumpster a pristine 8 1/2 x 11 blank page journal with imitation red leather hard covers. That August I rode my motorcycle from Idaho to New York City to spend a year studying theater - and that year I filled three of those huge blank hardcover journals.
Ever since then I've kept a journal. For about 10 years I wrote in those large journals - until I realized how unwieldy they were. I discovered smaller journals half the size, and for about the past 12-14 years I've been writing in those. The smaller ones are much easier to transport in a backpack or book bag. By now I've got a huge plastic bin in my basement full of my journals from the last 28 years.
Now, ever since my two children were born, my wife and I have been keeping separate journals on their lives and growth.
Writing is one of the most powerful tools I have that keeps me grounded and present to what I'm feeling and doing - it is a powerful spiritual practice. Ironically, when I begin "doing" so much, it is easy to see my journal writing as frivolous, and to drop that "frivolous" practice in favor of all the necessary work. So over time, when I write less and less in my journal, I become less connected to my spirituality, less grounded.
So, with the advent of a new year, and in the spirit of new year's resolutions, and with the intention of reconnecting with more of my spirituality, I've made the commitment to write one page each day for a month in my journal, particularly focusing on gratitude.
Serendipitously, last night we had our Worship Arts Ministry meeting, at which we engaged more deeply in some conversation about the purpose of church, and the conversation turned to spiritual practices - particularly because one of the five expectations of membership at our church includes having a spiritual practice. So we resolved to offer a service on this topic on February 5. I'll keep my journal for one month until that time, and part of the service will be the story of how this month goes. I'll be working on that service with Jami Stromberg, so if any of you have any questions about this topic, or have comments on it from experiences of your own, please contact one of us, and maybe we will be able to incorporate that into this service.
What spiritual practices do you have? What keeps you grounded and present to other people when things are in chaos and the world around you is full of anxiety? I'd love to hear from you!
And Happy New Year!
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