I still have a relatively clean colon. My colonoscopy showed me a squeaky clean anus and lower GI, but I’m still having a few issues. My lower GI ultrasound was reasonably decent, although the results showed that I have gallstones and a fatty liver. No big surprise there, given the symptoms. I knew I would have to clean up my diet a bit, and of course the answer to every problem in my world is to lose weight and exercise more. If my problem is the attraction of narcissists to my orbit, losing weight and exercising more should fix that as well, I would imagine.
I’m continuing to read the Isabel Wilkerson book Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents, and it is magnanimously slow going. Her analogy of the current situation in America, as living in an old house with the common problems of an aging structure, really appeals to me. We didn’t cause the cracks and uneven floors, but if we’re going to stay we have to take ownership of those problems. But we won’t do that, while still clamoring for things to be as they once were before time and nature took their inevitable toll. We can’t go back in time, but still we try rendering history in edited form, and become violently frustrated when that doesn’t work.
Recently, I attended services at my UU Fellowship, and there was a guest speaker that had been highly recommended. She’s an African-American woman who has a local ministry known as 18 Springs Meditation Center. I was excited to have a person of color in the so-called pulpit, and she did not disappoint. Unfortunately, it was difficult for me to experience her intense and dynamic offering because I had been so incredibly disappointed before she uttered her first word.
There’s a counter-culture casual feature that has been a part of Sunday morning programming for many years, known as Forum. This is somewhat common amongst UU congregations, and offers an opportunity for congregants to participate in informal sessions that generally spotlight an issue or subject in a brief presentation, followed by questions and comments from the attendees. It generally occurs prior to the formal worship service, and is sometimes a contentious battle of the intelligentsia and advanced degrees. I am not a huge fan of it in my congregation, primarily because there is a core base that feels it belongs to them, and is frequently misinformed about a plethora of subject matters. It’s also primarily a group of older and entitled dominant culture members – cis-gender heterosexual white males with disposable income, too much time on their hands, and accustomed to being heard.
I attended the Forum accidentally this past Sunday – I thought the offering was to feature the formational pagan group at the Fellowship, but I discovered the pagans had been the presenters for the previous week’s session. When I walked in, I was surprised to discover the present was an African-American male set to discuss the empirical data he had compiled on police-involved deaths of civilians nation-wide. That piqued my interest, and so I decided to stay. That proved to be a mistake.
The speaker intended to present only the data, and the obvious disparities in the rates of death across the usual demographics. He also discussed how the percentile figures are obtained, and problems with that methodology. I found that very interesting, and raised a couple of comments about how law enforcement often categorizes incidents and crimes in ways that often prove to engineer a questionable narrative. For example, if a woman is attacked ina domestic violence incident, and she is sexually assaulted, the report may be categorized solely as a domestic violence incident and the sexual assault is lost to statistics that are tallied for sexual assault. It can get complicated, and often might misrepresent trends in criminal activity if one doesn’t understand how the statistics are compiled.
As the session went on, there were a couple of near-horrifying comments from attendees. One particularly egregious offering was that large numbers of Native Americans were not really killed by European settlers, but instead by their own internal conflicts and disease. Hmmm. Several people had issues with that, including a retired history professor who turned to the person who made that statement and said, quite simply, “That’s not true.” Another erstwhile participant, who actually hosted the session, called the session to an end when the prescribed time had expired, but in particularly bad form she admitted there were a few minutes left and she was exercising her privilege to offer a final comment of her own. I don’t know what she had to offer, because I left. Strike One.
The nauseating “blame the victims” nonsense that minimalized Native American genocide, and the annoyingly predictable “exercise of personal privilege” cause me to become rather cranky but I continued on to the other end of the building for the formal worship service. The afore-mentioned speaker did not disappoint, although before she could get started there was a gaggle of women at the rear of the room, where I was sitting, who found it hilariously funny to push on each other in order to fit into the limited seats available. One of them sat on another, claiming it was an accident, but they all erupted in peals of high pitched giggles, drowning out the speaker. I had turned and glared at them no less than three times, but to no avail. Finally, I got up and stormed out, calling them idiots on my way past (which they did not even hear, being so wrapped up in their own amusement), and slapping open the door to the lobby. Strike Two.
Once in the lobby, I was so discombobulated that i wasn’t sure if I wanted to stay or go, but knew that I wanted to hear the speaker. There were a couple of people in the lobby, part of a self-important group that claims they are keeping a watchful eye on things for security purposes. The only thing they are keeping an eye on is their own power over who can enter the building. They have enacted a ridiculous policy that locks all but one door out of four to enter via the main entrance. Even the handicapped entrance is locked, but no worries, if you are handicapped and need entrance you need only wave or get the attention of one of these folks and they will open the door for you…if you look “ok”, that is.
I’ve said on more than one occasion this door locking policy is nonsense, and unacceptably non-inclusive. Further, I pointed out that having only one entrance door open creates a bottleneck of people trying to enter, some of whom may need to enter quickly for physical reasons or to meet scheduling obligations for the service. Because I was already irritated from the Forum debacle and the giggling women in the service, I was ready to go ballistic on these fools because they have been a stone in my shoe for a while. I pointed out to them once again that locking the doors does absolutely nothing to provide added security, and that it’s an issue of inclusivity when they lock the handicapped door. I made one other point on Sunday for which they had no answer – I said what if someone is being chased or threatened by someone outside, and is trying to enter in an emergency? The gatekeeper said oh, no worries, there’s a push bar on every door so you can always get out. It’s not getting out, I repeated – it’s getting in. Why do I need to wait for YOU to decide whether I’m worthy of gaining entrance if I am in an emergency situation and need … wait for it … sanctuary? Silence. No response. Strike Three, and you are OUTTA there.
I stormed out the front door in question and retreated to my truck, where I tuned into the broadcast of the service. The speaker was still talking, thank goodness, and I hear the bulk of her incredible comments. I needed her message, which was all about authentic ministry. Not ministry to see and be seen, or to have your name on the socially acceptable lists, or to pat yourself on the back for good deeds, but authentic ministry that helps people with no thanks or recognition expected. Authentic ministry that lets everyone know who you are by your deeds, not by your advanced degrees or your money or your beautiful building with solar panels gleaming in the sun. By what you do, by how you live, by standing in your integrity and walking your talk. In my not so humble opinion, we are not there yet. We are more concerned with making ourselves comfortable.
At this point, I’ve been saying the same things for more than a decade, that we don’t walk our talk, that we talk a good game but still present as privileged folks who pick and choose who is worthy of entrance, literally and figuratively. Do you have your environmental convictions in place? Got a compost heap, recycle, conserve energy, don’t let your gas guzzling car idle too long? We might look upon you with favor if all that’s true, but to be really “in”, how much cash are you contributing annually? Do you contribute to the big auction fundraiser? Drop a few extra dollars in the plate for supporting worthy non-profits?
I hate being so hard on them. but I despise the feeling of mere mortals like us feeling that we get to decide who is worthy of entrance to our facility is a bit nauseating. There are now literal gatekeepers. This is not what I had in mind at the entrance to a sanctuary; there should only be smiles and welcoming hands. I brought up that when other churches, namely Mother Emanuel in South Carolina and Tree of Life in Pittsburgh, experience the heartbreak of active shooters that took the lives of their congregants, they opened their doors wider. They did not make it harder to get in, they made their welcome more broad. They cannot bring their dead back to life, or go back in time, but they are intentionally not allowing those tragedies a role in defining their identity going forward. We are letting something that has not happened define who we are now, and that just seems like scaricity mentality once again.
Despite how much I hate what is happening in my Fellowship, I’m still not leaving. I will fight. I’m ready to bust the established infrastructure to shreds…with love and concern. Sadly, if there was somewhere else for me to go here, I would be there but this is the only game in town that even comes close to my beliefs and my faith, and I’m not going gently into that good night. My mama always told me to not let anybody run me out of anyplace I wanted to be, so I’m holding fast to that credo. They are going to have to sweep me out of this place with a fucking broom if they want me out, so I’m bringing it. I hope they’re read.
The Sound Hole 