Thoughts on equity and "trailer trash"

It's been months since I have blogged.

I have lots of excuses, er, uh, extremely valid reasons.  Honest I do!  (Among them is the fact that my migraines have been a steady annoyance, but that is a topic for another post)

In the past few months I have been actively engaged in ministry in Calvert County through my church and through several community organizations.

Just within the past couple of weeks I have been engaged in discussions around racism and healing some of the wounds and distrust that continue to divide black and white churches (and individuals) and efforts to stop some of the systemic issues that continue to contribute to inequity.  This diverse group discussed many topics around race and class including how "trailer trash" is considered the absolute lowest of the low when it comes to social class and standing in the community.  Then, as happens, within days our entire community got activated because several families living in a trailer park were indeed being treated like trash.  I was extremely proud of those who stepped in and offered assistance, including members of Trinity UMC.

Being involved in ministries and advocacy groups that work with homeless and nearly homeless / at-risk populations can be depressing at times.  To see the cycles of poverty that many individuals and families find themselves trapped in not only makes me sad, it makes me angry.  Many of these people could be helped if they had been given more opportunities earlier in their lives.  That's one of the reasons I am so passionate about providing equitable education.  When people are part of an oppressed or disadvantaged group for whatever reason (poverty, skin color, ethnic background, primary language, physical or mental disability, etc.) they need more help to be able to achieve.  Why is it so hard for so many of us to give up some of our privilege or at least our own sense of entitlement and offer a boost to these folks in their earlier years (and beyond) so that they too can be productive members of society?  And, furthermore, even if they are less "productive" than some (again, I think of those with certain disabling conditions), that should never make them any less valuable in the eyes of their neighbors.

Just a few thoughts that have been swirling in my mind these past few weeks...

What say you?

Nightmares

I had a nightmare last night.  You would think since I have been bingeing on Supernatural lately that it would have been about demons or ghosts or something.  But no, it was so much worse than that... it was about the church.

I dreamed that I was invited to be part of a planning team for an upcoming youth event.  In the dream, I was living two hours away from the planning meeting, and the whole thing was in my former denomination, and in my former state.  I'm not sure that's relevant or not, but the mind does odd things when we let it have its way.

Anyway... the details are getting fuzzy already, but here is what I remember:

• I had to pass through some sort of security to get to this meeting.
• When I got there, there were several leaders of the church (none of whom I recognize in real life, but in my dream I knew them and recognized that they were VIP's)
• We met over a fancy dinner in a fancy restaurant
• We played an icebreaker game or something... all I remember is that it involved people gorging on bags and bags of candy.  And, they all looked at me disdainfully when I refused to gorge as well (sorry folks, I've got food allergies and sugar triggers my inflamation).
• When we actually discussed the content of the event, one of the VIP's suggested one very weak idea.  I don't remember the details of what he suggested, just that it was "lukewarm" so to speak, and that the rest of the planning committee ate it up.  They loved it.  It was a song or chant, but it really had no real content or meaning, and they all thought it was a wonderful idea.  They thought it was exactly what the youth needed.  When I tried to interject and suggest a deeper level, when I tried to suggest more gospel or a social justice element I was scorned and mocked.  They liked the lukewarm chant about nothing and wanted to keep it.  Then the meeting was adjourned.
• At that point I felt like my life was in danger.  I snuck away, down a hallway I knew I was not allowed to be admitted into.  The hallway led to the bulk of the building, the main headquarters for the denomination.  It was filled with offices or something, I couldn't really tell because every door was closed and there were no windows.  It almost reminded me of a prison hallway, except with less windows and less color... but the doors were heavy steel and all closed.
• When I heard someone coming I ran up the stairs and into the one open room I could find.  It was like a choir room, with chairs around and a piano.  Plenty of hiding spots.  So I hid.  There were other people in the room, but they didn't notice me.  But, unfortunately, the security guards had followed me, and they did spot me.
• I got up and ran.  And then something I was not expecting happened.  Someone else got up from hiding and ran too.  She was wearing something similar to a scouting uniform, and I could tell instantly that she was GLBTQ.  When she made eye contact with me I instantly knew that she also felt chased, repressed, and threatened by the church.
• We made it out of the room, together.  
• Then we started searching for an exit.

Then I woke up.

• The first thing I thought of once I was awake was that it had been a long time since I had blogged.
• I went downstairs and prepared to read my bible for 20-40 minutes, as is my habit as soon as I get up in the morning.
• I sat down, and thought of my blog again.
• I opened my bible and thought of my blog again, in a very strong, urging sense.  I realized that God wanted me to write about my dream.  I don't know why.  I don't know if it's just for me, or of my dream will mean something to someone else.  I don't know if you, dear reader, will be touched by my dream or not... but I offer a few bits of my own interpretation.  Feel free to add yours in the comments section.

I don't think the denomination of the dream was important.  Who knows, maybe it was, maybe I was blending memories from when I was a volunteer counselor for the Vermont Catholic Youth Conference, an annual summer retreat for high school students.  However, the discussion and the content of the meeting could have been any number of denominations, including my current denomination (The United Methodist Church).  I think that was part of what bothered me, it wasn't even overtly Christian, let alone specific to any particular denomination's unique theology or doctrine.

To me, the security obviously symbolizes the closed-offness of many of our churches.  It represents our need to protect our own, our concern with self-preservation rather than sharing the Good News, reaching out to the hurting world.

I think the fancy restaurant and the bags and bags of candy represented waste.  We, the church, focus so much on keeping up appearances and filling "tummies" (or minds) with junk, that we forget to worry about filling hearts and minds with Truth.  We forget that our job as the church is to be the hands and feet, the eyes and ears, even the belly and bowels of Jesus.  Our job is not to sing happy-clappy songs and make sure people have fun.

Being a Christian is about so much more than that.  I'm not saying you can't have fun.  There are times of great joy when serving our Lord.  But there are also times of great trial, and of tribulation, and even of pain.  When we teach our youth, or when we teach new believers, and especially when we speak with believers who have been around a while, we need to TALK ABOUT THAT!  We need to lift one another up, to strengthen ourselves, to prepare to engage the world (particularly the parts of the world where Christ and his grace are unknown or misunderstood).  We have to stop shying away from the tough stuff.

When we do find others, in hiding, in secret places... we need to stick together.  Even if we are hiding for different reasons or turned off by the institutional church for different reasons, we need to support one another and lift one another up.  We need to pray together and speak out together.

I think that it is significant that I did not make it out of the building in my dream.  I don't think that was what I was supposed to do.  I think I was supposed to stop running, to stand up and speak Truth.  To hold the hand of my new friend and speak her truth with her.

We are killing the church.

We are watering it down and drowning out the message of salvation with a few catchy tunes and quirky phrases.

God wants more from us.

We need more from us.

And the "church" I'm referring to here: I'm not talking about a particular building or even a particular denomination.  Remember, the church is the people.  We're all in this together, brothers and sisters in Christ.  Yes, we are a dysfunctional family, but maybe that's because when we get together we follow the same rule most dysfunctional families follow: avoid talking about religion or politics.

Wake up folks.  We need change!

P.S.  As I was editing and about to post this, my internet died.  Obviously this message is so important that someone does not want it to get out there.  I pray that you, dear reader, got something out of this and that you will share it with others.  So how did I post this?  I went over to my nearly empty church building and used the internet there.

Through the eyes of a visitor

My time in transition has had its ups and downs.  On the downside, I have no paycheck.  On the upside, I have no responsibility to be at any one particular church on Sunday.  This has given me a freedom many clergy can only dream about: I can worship anywhere I want on Sunday.  What's more, I choose to worship somewhere different each week!

Why on earth would I want to do that?  Many lay people "church hop" or "church shop" until they find one they like then they keep going there, maybe eventually become a member... and if they're committed, stubborn, or maybe even just afraid of change, they stay there until they can complain when the grandkids don't come anymore, and then they die.  For clergy (in the Methodist church as well as many other denominations), you don't get to choose your church, you simply go where the bishop tells you to go.

So this was a unique opportunity for me.  I could hop between churches, but as a clergywoman, not laity.  I knew that eventually I would have a new church home given to me by the bishop, so there was no need to look at a check-list of "what can I get out of this" or "what could I offer them"  criteria.  Instead, I could go in without any agenda at all other than to simply join with my Christian brothers and sisters in worshiping our Lord and Savior.

But, of course, I was never completely able to turn my brain off.  I found myself taking a few mental notes about which churches used the hymnal and which put the words (just the words, no music) on a screen, which churches had strong lay leadership and which turned to their pastor/priest for just about the entire liturgy, which ones had a worship time posted on their website and an empty parking lot at that announced time (people - please make sure your website is updated when you make significant changes like this!), etc.

I would have loved to remain anonymous, I think it would have made my observations even more "pure" so to speak, but that was not possible in most of the places I visited.  For one reason, many of the churches I visited contained clergy or lay persons who already know me - I've been around the county and involved in a few different ministries for five years.  Additionally, despite the advice of growing, thriving mega-churches we are all told we should strive to be, several of the churches still have a practice of asking visitors to stand and introduce themselves.  In churches where I have seen this occur, I have seen that the practice has one of two effects on the visitor.  A) They are excited to be recognized and they share all about themselves.  They feel loved and welcomed, and they come back the next week.  or B)  They are mortified.  They begrudgingly introduce themselves after the microphone is passed to them because everyone is STARING at them because they stand out (we never get visitors!).  They never come back again.  Note: It is particularly difficult for a visitor to "hide" or "blend in" in a county where congregations are segregated.  If you visit a church that is predominantly a race other than your own, expect to be swarmed, for better or for worse. In my case, it was more like BA.  I got the stares and the passed microphone, but I was happy to share who I was and why I was visiting.  And suddenly the tables turned - I was not a potential new member or a beloved guest of anyone... I was just a fellow follower of the faith hoping to find some good companions for the journey for only day.

My time as a wandering vagrant clergy member is almost over.  I only have two more Sundays before I start my new appointment.  I am hoping to engage my congregation in a bit of church hoping in the year to come - I would love to take a small group with me to visit a neighbor church every now and then.  you know, just because we worship the same God and in the spirit of neighborliness we want to worship with them!  Of course, the new appointment means a new head pastor, and there is no guarantee he will see the value in my ideas.  Either way, I will take the lessons learned with me.

Lyme Disease Awareness and Advocacy

May is Lyme Disease Awareness month.  This coming Saturday is the first of June.  So why did I wait so long to write this blog?

It is always much easier to spread awareness when you can do it from an objective standpoint.  It is always easier to quote statistics and point people to stories to help support your argument when you don't feel personally involved.

Unfortunately, when it comes to Lyme Disease, I am personally involved... and that complicates matters.

All month long I have been tweeting (@umdeaconjulie) and sharing things on Facebook about Lyme Disease, but most of it was just passing along the work that someone else had done.

Somehow, writing about Lyme Disease takes so much more effort and so much more energy than writing about an issue I may know about but not face day to day.

And this month I have been faced with Lyme Disease each and every day, because this month there were two people living in my house with confirmed cases of Chronic Lyme Disease, one with Lyme induced Autism, and one who most likely has Lyme or one of it's nasty co-infection cousins but is fairly asymptomatic and terrified of getting tested or treated.

Lyme Disease hits our home, our family, each and every single day. (Those new to this blog can look back at some of the earlier posts to see some examples of how).

I personally have made a great deal of progress in my recovery... though I seem to have hit a wall.  Because I have been battling the symptoms of this chronic illness for the past eight years, most days I do as much as I can to avoid focusing on it.  Because, to be honest, when I focus on it I often find myself getting depressed.  I know I shouldn't.  I know I should focus on the progress I've made in those 8 years since my diagnosis.  I know I should celebrate the fact that I am no longer bedridden, or that I can walk without the assistance of a cane now.  But, thinking about how far I've come in the past 8 years also makes me think about where I was 9, 10 or even 20 years ago.  And then I mourn the loss of my late 20's and early 30's to this horrible disease.  I mourn the fact that I never achieved my goal of having two children because Lyme stole my ability to reproduce without serious risk to my child (then I sacrificed my uterus because the Lyme was slowly and painfully destroying it anyway).  I mourn the fact that many days I don't have the energy to devote to being a mother to my one child.  I mourn the fact that my undiagnosed Lyme was passed on to that one child and the fact that as a result of his congenital Lyme he developed an Autism Spectrum Disorder.

Then I feel guilty, because I know that the best advocates are those that know personally the horror of living with a particular disease.

Then I get overwhelmed by all the mourning and the guilt that I give up and try to distract myself with something else so I don't need to focus on it anymore.

But I just can't do that this May.  I have let the Lyme world invade my world.  I know many people in the "Lyme community" that are facebook friends with each and every person they ever meet that has or may have or did have Lyme Disease.  For those that are severely ill and homebound it is a lifeline.  I've never been an active part of that community, like I said, it's easier to try to avoid it.  But this May my mother is visiting.  My mother is an active member of the Lyme community.  So I actually read a few of the links she posted.  Then I shared a few links that others in the Lyme community posted.

Now when I go on Facebook my wall is flooded with "Lymies".  

This is partly due to the fact that this past weekend I joined several hundred of them in Washington, DC for a rally.  The goals of the rally were two fold.  1) to have a place for the Lyme community to gather and support one another and 2) to provide an avenue to educate the public about the existence of chronic Lyme and the challenges those of us with chronic Lyme (and co-infections) face on a day to day basis.  The majority of the day was spent with patients and doctors sharing their stories (I even spoke briefly).  Stories included successes, various treatment plans and therapies, and of course challenges.  Among those challenges discussed was, of course, the fact that the Infectious Disease Society of America (IDSA) rejects the very existence of chronic Lyme and, because of this, most insurance companies follow their guidelines which means long-term antibiotic treatment is denied to patients. This, in spite of the fact that Lyme literate doctors (LLMD's), particularly those belonging to the International Lyme and Associated Diseases Society (ILADS) know that two weeks of antibiotics is not enough to prevent chronic infection.
But I digress...

The rally ended with a little march around the White House to help spread awareness even more.  This of course was no easy task since the "little" trip was several blocks and for many with chronic Lyme, that's not "little" at all, particularly those who were hobbling with canes or pushing a wheelchair.  But we did it.  We walked through DC chanting about wanting a cure.  We held our signs (high, when our arms could stand it).  We handed out pamphlets to anyone who would take one.  We did our best to raise awareness.  And we all decided that if it saved one person from developing a chronic case of Lyme disease it was well worth it.


I am not going to spend a lot of time in this blog writing about the controversies surrounding chronic Lyme disease and its diagnosis and treatments.  There are others who have done this already.  I just wanted to take a moment to give a shout out to all the "Lyme Warriors" here in the USA and around the world who have joined together this month to help raise awareness.  Keep fighting friends.  The road is difficult, the battle is long... but we're in this thing together.

The meaning of "Justice"

It's over... mostly.

After a week of fear and absolute terror suspect #1 in the Boston Marathon bombings has been apprehended and suspect #2 is in custody.

I have had such mixed emotions from this whole experience this week.

I'm sure if I was a runner or if I actually lived in Boston I may see things a little differently, but I hope not.

Friday, during the manhunt, as more and more vague details about the Tsarnaev brothers began to come out I found myself praying harder than I had all week.

But I have a feeling that the prayers I was saying were different from the prayers most people were saying.  I know from a quick scan of social media that they were.  My prayers did not involve racial/ethnic slurs or curse words.  My prayers did not revolve around continued violence.  My prayers were for peace... not just for Boston, but for the 19 year old kid hiding somewhere, most likely injured and probably terrified beyond belief.

Now, while some people may respond "good, he should be terrified", I just can't do that.

He's only 19, and from what his friends and family say, he seems to be a "good" kid.  So, what drove him to commit such a heinous crime on Monday?  What drove him to join his brother in murdering not only marathon spectators, but also a security guard at MIT?  What causes a "good kid" to do such an "evil" thing?

Probably some of the same things that cause you or I to do stupid things that hurt other people.  While our stupidity may not physically injure someone.  I know that I personally have done some stupid things that have broken someone's heart and completely caused them to lose faith not only in me, but in humanity.  I'm sure I'm not the only one.

The world is full of brokenness.  The world is messed up.  Bad things happen to good people.  And yes, sometimes good people do bad things.

It's always been that way, and it always will be.

Until Christ comes again.

Until the Kingdom of God is here.

So, what are we supposed to do about it?

Well, how about we fight the cultural peer pressure to demand retribution?

How about we stand up and say "NO" when we hear people saying that we need to ignore the constitution and use any means necessary to get the answers we are looking for.

How about we turn to our faith.

I for one will pray for not just the people killed and injured in the marathon this week. 

I will pray for more than just the first responders and the police. 

I will continue to pray for Tsozhar. 

I pray that our nation treats him with the kind of justice that God speaks of, a justice which though it is difficult to embrace, nonetheless seeks mercy instead of vengeance.  I will pray for a justice which rejoices in a loving and forgiving God instead of instituting retributive violence.

If we do that, we will truly witness to the world the kind of God we serve.  

Good Friday

Pilate handed Jesus over to be crucified.  The soldiers took Jesus prisoner. Carrying his cross by himself, he went out to a place called Skull Place (in Aramaic, Golgotha).  That’s where they crucified him—and two others with him, one on each side and Jesus in the middle. Pilate had a public notice written and posted on the cross. It read “Jesus the Nazarene, the king of the Jews.”  Many of the Jews read this sign, for the place where Jesus was crucified was near the city and it was written in Aramaic, Latin, and Greek. Therefore, the Jewish chief priests complained to Pilate, “Don’t write, ‘The king of the Jews’ but ‘This man said, “I am the king of the Jews.”’”

 Pilate answered, “What I’ve written, I’ve written.”

 When the soldiers crucified Jesus, they took his clothes and his sandals, and divided them into four shares, one for each soldier. His shirt was seamless, woven as one piece from the top to the bottom. They said to each other, “Let’s not tear it. Let’s cast lots to see who will get it.” This was to fulfill the scripture,

They divided my clothes among themselves,
    and they cast lots for my clothing.
        That’s what the soldiers did.

Jesus’ mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene stood near the cross.  When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.”  Then he said to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from that time on, this disciple took her into his home.

 After this, knowing that everything was already completed, in order to fulfill the scripture, Jesus said, “I am thirsty.”  A jar full of sour wine was nearby, so the soldiers soaked a sponge in it, placed it on a hyssop branch, and held it up to his lips. ³⁰ When he had received the sour wine, Jesus said,“It is completed.”

Bowing his head, he gave up his life.

 It was the Preparation Day and the Jewish leaders didn’t want the bodies to remain on the cross on the Sabbath, especially since that Sabbath was an important day. So they asked Pilate to have the legs of those crucified broken and the bodies taken down.  Therefore, the soldiers came and broke the legs of the two men who were crucified with Jesus.  When they came to Jesus, they saw that he was already dead so they didn’t break his legs.  However, one of the soldiers pierced his side with a spear, and immediately blood and water came out.  The one who saw this has testified, and his testimony is true. He knows that he speaks the truth, and he has testified so that you also can believe.  These things happened to fulfill the scripture, They won’t break any of his bones. And another scripture says, They will look at him whom they have pierced.

 After this Joseph of Arimathea asked Pilate if he could take away the body of Jesus. Joseph was a disciple of Jesus, but a secret one because he feared the Jewish authorities. Pilate gave him permission, so he came and took the body away. Nicodemus, the one who at first had come to Jesus at night, was there too. He brought a mixture of myrrh and aloe, nearly seventy-five pounds in all. Following Jewish burial customs, they took Jesus’ body and wrapped it, with the spices, in linen cloths.  There was a garden in the place where Jesus was crucified, and in the garden was a new tomb in which no one had ever been laid.  Because it was the Jewish Preparation Day and the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus in it.

John 19:16-42

Why some fights are easier than others

This week I have been reflecting a lot on why I engage in some of the social justice "fights" that I do, and why I am less engaged in others.

There are no easy answers.  Probably the simplest explanation is that some issues have impacted me on a more personal level than others, so those are easier to get involved in.

One of those issues is the fight for GLBTQ rights.  It is a justice issues I was heavily involved in during the late 1990's.  In fact, I even testified at the hearing for marriage equality, which then got downgraded to Civil Unions in Vermont "back in the day" as they say.  At the time I was one of the faculty advisory for the Spaulding High School Gay-Straight Alliance, and I was determined to fight for my students to have access to marriage just like I did.  (I am happy to say that Vermont continued to progress and that some of those same students who were at the State House with me that night are now happily married to the person of their choice).

But I haven't been as actively involved or as vocal on the issues for the last ten years or so.  I could use the excuse that I've been busy raising my son.  But that's not the whole truth, especially now that my son is getting older and issues of sexuality are more and more a part of his life.

I could use the excuse that I'm clergy in the United Methodist Church, a church that teaches that homosexuality is "incompatible with Christian teaching".  But that's not the whole truth, there are plenty of others who stand up and speak out against that stance, and I have done that to a lesser degree.

The truth is that I am scared.  This is a dangerous issue.  This is an issue that can get you attacked and slandered in the media for supporting it (as I was in 2000).  It can get you beat up or kicked out of your home (as many queer youth have experienced).  It can get you brought up on charges in your church.

I had planned to be more vocal this week.  I had planned to go to DC and join others in publicly praying for all involved in the Prop 8 and DOMA cases.  Unfortunately, my chronic health problems had other plans and I spent those days in pain and unable to participate other than turning my social media profiles red.

I wish I was healthy enough and courageous enough to fight for social justice in more ways than through social media, but some days it's just not possible for me.

I do admire those people who take risks to stand up for what they know to be right, what they know to be just.  People like those arrested in Chicago this week while fighting to keep their children's schools open... fighting to save their communities.  The problems we have with our educational system here in Calvert County is no where near this challenging.  If it was, would I be brave enough to truly fight for justice (non-violently of course)?

While we enter the Triduum, I find myself reflecting on my place in the larger community.  I find myself reflecting on true suffering and sacrifice.  I find myself reflecting on the injustice and brutality that our society (any society) is capable of.  And I remind myself that even when it's Friday, and all seems dark, that I must have faith, because Sunday is coming.