Dear Friends… thank you

Dear Friends,

This week, hundreds of friends are posting on Facebook that they have voted.
It fills me up and I find myself commenting ‘thank you’ on every post.

Thank you, not because I didn’t expect you to vote (I do)
or didn’t think you knew how important our votes are in this time (I don’t)
but because I am grateful for your powerful act.
Thank you all  who thought ahead and requested absentee ballots.
Thank you for driving your ballot to drop boxes.
Thank you for voting early.
Thank you for standing in lines for hours and hours refusing to be disenfranchised.
Thank you if you are able to get in and out in a reasonable time.
Thank you if you are going to the polls on November 3rd.
Thank you for making e a plan to vote.
Thank you for  claiming and exercising your power.
Thank you for standing up and speaking out.

I am grateful for the numbers, the great numbers of people who are voting
I am grateful that so many of us are refusing to accept the dehumanizing and cruel excuse for an administration that we have endured for the last four years.

Thank you from the bottom of my hopeful, hurting heart.
Connie

Dear Friends… stand up

Dear Friends,

Well, there’s 19 days to go before the election
and we are holding our collective breath.
It looks good but we must persist.
Vote early if you can.
I worry about disrupters at the polls on Election Day.
Make sure your friends are voting.
Offer rides.
Take water to those waiting in line.
Phone bank.
Pray.
Now is the time to stand up
to do all we can however we can wherever we can.

It cannot be said too often:
this is the most important election of our lifetimes.
Be a hero for our time.
Do the best you can with what you have and who you are.

Together, let us stand
to make a country that insists on justice
and relies on science
a country that celebrates differences
protects the weak
frees children
fights systemic racism and sexism
feeds the hungry
a country where we tell ourselves difficult truths

Now is the time
if ever there was one.
Stand up.

Connie

Dear Friends… thank you

Dear Friends,

Thank you. Sometimes, in the midst of it all (pandemic, destruction of our democracy, hatred, the rise of militant racism- all of that and more) it is easy to forget the things for which we have to be grateful. So today I invite you to join me in the practice of gratitude. Here are some things that make my gratitude sing:
the autumn weather
friendships nourished over time
trees
peaceful protestors taking to the streets
flies
the passion of the electorate
music
pink pussy hats
believing in something greater than myself
political humor
women of color
people who do things to protect the planet
you

If you are reading this it is because, in some sense, we have been in relationship or conversation with one another through this blog.
I am grateful for the time and energy you take to engage.
I am grateful when you disagree and grateful when we hold one another up.
I am grateful that we are not alone in the miasma of our current political and spiritual situation.
I am grateful I am not expected to have all the answers.
I am grateful for the questions.
I am grateful that we travel together and that our journeys – no matter how different – have crossed paths.

You may have battle fatigue. You may be overwhelmed. Or depressed.  It’s okay. I am still grateful for you.  You do not have to be perfect or sustain past your ability for me to be grateful for you. I am so glad you are in the world and that we are walking together.

We cannot  give in or give up. When we are able to immerse ourselves  in gratitude we are energized for the work before us. So join me here.  Look for the places and things that you are grateful for. Name them. List them. And let them  be  places of solace and strength as we get up each and every day to bring in a new reality.

peace and love,
Connie

Dear Friends… I’m so sorry for your loss

Dear Friends,

In times like these words seem hollow.  I am sorry for your loss. Our loss.
Sorry beyond words. We stand before the mystery of death and try to comfort one another – not with the certainty of belief  but by holding one other in the pain of our grief.

We grieve  for this majestic woman who championed and embodied ideals that so many of us live and breathe. Let us enfold one another in care. In any other time her death would be a great loss, these times make who and what we mourn even more difficult.
We grieve the loss of a bright light who fought for justice.
We grieve for a woman who changed our world in so many ways for the better.
We grieve not only our loss of advocate and judge but of one who was a protector of the marginalized.

We need to grieve. We need to grieve and to give thanks for her life well-lived, for her voice lifted, for the witness and tenacity of her stands for justice.

For me, the loss of Justice Ginsberg mirrors the apparent loss of so much else in the nation:
civility
human decency
shared values
and who we can aspire to be as a democratic nation.

I wish that we could gather and lift our candles to the sky along with our fists, defying the darkness. I wish I could tell you everything will be alright and that we are passing through a storm. That joy comes in the morning.
Actually, I will tell you that.
Ruth Bator Ginsberg did not give up, not to her dying breath.
How can we honor her and do any less?

What we cannot grieve is the loss of hope.
To do so would disrespect not only her memory but the memories of all who fought for the principles of justice, equality, and shared power.
We can grieve but we must not despair.

I am sorry for our loss. So deeply sorry that it brought me to my knees.
But we are her legacy. Our task is to continue the work she has done.
As it says in the Talmud:
“Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly now, love mercy now,       walk humbly now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.”

I am so sorry for our loss. May our tears cleanse our vision and create a tsunami that will clear a way to a new day.

peace, my friends,
Connie

Dear Friends… turn your socks inside out

Dear Friends,

I want to tell you a story about my Dad. He was career military and in active combat  both in  World War II and the Korean War. He was also a story teller. As a child, I sat on his knee and listened to him weave what I now recognize as self-deprecating stories of survival and courage. I loved his stories. They were stories of deep friendships told in an offhand way and moments of belly laugh humor.

In these times I recognize the need to tell our stories with the absurdity of dark humor.
We are living through our own horrors, fighting for our lives and for justice against an enemy within the fabric of our nation.
We are fighting for a vigorous, committed response to climate change.
We are fighting for justice for people of color and for a real, committed response to systemic racism.
We are fighting for science.
We are fighting for women’s reproductive rights.
We are fighting for truth over lies, love over hate, community over tribalism.
… and we are fighting desperation and fear.

In the Korean War men were told to change socks every day to prevent trench foot. It was a ludicrous command to men sleeping in tents, marching miles a day in rain and snow, with no possible way of doing laundry, much less of the laundry drying. To follow the order in letter, though clearly not spirit, the men had a ritual after they set up camp to ‘change socks’ by turning them inside out and putting them on again. Okay, I can’t tell it like my dad. He had a way of recounting  the story with a twinkle and a chuckle so you saw how ridiculous both the order and the action were .

The thing is, those guys would have loved to have clean, dry socks. They rebuked their misery by laughing at the circumstances and poking fun at the stupidity of the order. We can learn something from them. It’s awful right now. Tribalism is so  virulent that it’s hard to imagine how or if we can ever bridge our differences. The possibility of another term for 45 looms. Sometimes I wonder if there is anything I can do to make a difference. But I get up every day and do the tedious work of making change. It is easy to be overwhelmed. It is reasonable to get depressed.

But let us end our days by adopting the ritual of ‘changing our socks’.
Find the absurdity of the day, the news, the man and laugh.
Remember that we are in this together, clustered around the same campfire, impelled by the same passion for justice. Laugh at the absurdity of where we find ourselves and at what we must do to survive.
My dad’s stories taught me that connection and laughter are absolutely necessary for survival when in the thick of a battle.

So laugh with me over some smarmy lie, some absurd policy, some ridiculous assertion then sit down and turn your socks inside out, get some rest, we fight again tomorrow.

love and blessings,
Connie

Dear Friends… How are you today?

Dear Friends,

How are you today? I wonder how you are managing life in this time of Covid and Trump? Things are difficult and I wonder how you are making it through?

Were you able to get out of bed today? If not, take a deep breath, linger in the scent of your aliveness, and do not judge yourself. There will be days like this. Days when you clench your jaw as you listen to the news. Days when your heart tap dances in your chest trying to find the rhythm of reality. Days when you cry without being able to name just what outrage you grieve. It is okay to descend into that shadow land. Your responses make sense. You are not over the overreacting.

If this is where you are, know that others have hoisted the burden and rose to challenge injustice and cruelty today. Let your work come from under your covers as you pray for their courage and safety.  Let their work help carve out a space for hope to take hold so that tomorrow or the next day you are able join the battle for the soul of our nation again.

If this is a good day, I hope you are honoring it by moving the arc toward justice a little further along. What songs are you singing to put steel in your spine? What do you love enough to make this work imperative? Is it the sweet green earth crying out for care? Is it black lives that have not mattered for way way too long? Is it your trans neighbor struggling to survive?

The work that is being done, from marching in the streets to making a plan to vote to volunteering to phone bank, is work we  do together. Sometimes it is on a crowded zoom call and sometimes  it is a relay race where we hand off to the next person and ready ourselves for the next hand off to us. Together we will be enough to make the necessary change.

I close here with this invitation, whether you are energized or struggling: reach out and share with one other person today and every day. Share your fears and your hopes. Share your struggles and your triumphs. Not the calculable results of your actions, but the experience of acting. Nurture the connections that remind us why what we are doing matters.

Dear friends, today I got out of bed. Today I prayed for you. Tomorrow I may march. Today I wrestled with the demon of despair. Today I won.

Blessings,
Connie

Dear Friends… Do Not Let Despair Defeat Us

Dear Friends,
Another week of living, breathing, grieving, working, and loving amidst a pandemic has passed and weeks of the same loom before us. In the midst of trying to navigate life with closed parameters, we witness more and more accounts of our fellow citizens being murdered and maimed,  white supremacists wielding weapons with the intent to kill protestors, and a president who encourages hateful division as his best method of retaining power.

How are you managing? How is your heart? Mine is awash with grief and wrestling each day not to descend into despair.  It is from this place I am  urging  us not to succumb. Despair sucks the life out of our ability to hope  and paralyzes our ability to act. So I write  not to deny the despair you might be feeling but to beg you not to surrender to it.

Despair is manifesting in a couple of ways (at least). Some are striking out blindly like a cornered animal.  Let us, instead, calculate our acts of resistance  to achieve the better outcome and make the necessary change we seek. Still impassioned, but result oriented or, as Michelle Obama said, ” When they go low, we go high.”  The other way despair manifests is in giving up. We cannot allow ourselves to believe that nothing we do will make a difference. This is the kind of despair I am hearing from so many.

For those of us mired in despair: we cannot surrender to it. If we do,  we are lost.
So today I invite you to the difficult task of refusing to give into despair. Challenge it by believing that each of our small acts make a difference. Challenge it by doing necessary and important menial work: get it involved with voter registration, become a poll worker, participate in texting, phone banking,  or letter writing campaigns urging people to register and vote.

Whatever you do, do something. We cannot let despair be what defeats us.

Dear friends,  I promised to offer hope in the weeks leading up to this most important election.
Today, this is the hope I offer:
You choosing to fight feelings of despair.
You refusing to descend to the shadow side of resistance.
You finding the small acts that make a difference.
You committing to vote and making a plan.
You standing shoulder to shoulder with all who seek justice.

You.
You are the hope.

Blessings and peace,
Connie

p.s. the song on a loop in my head today:
I will hold the Christ light for you
in the night time of your fear
I will hold my hand out to you
speak the peace you long to hear:

 

 

Dear Friends… It’s the end of the world as we know it

Dear Friends,
As a pastor I know that  one of the most important aspects of ministry is to offer hope. I must confess that sometimes when I wake in the morning, see the light of dawn breaking through my window, hear the first birds greeting the sun, feel cold water slushing  my face as I complete my ablutions, run downstairs to take the dog out, and wait for the aroma of coffee brewing that I forget to hope. You’d think with all those sensory blessings hope would come naturally and eagerly, but it doesn’t.

I blog each week with an offering of hope that sometimes I have to dive deep to find. Because here’s the truth: it’s the end of the world as we know it. As I wrote that last sentence I realized that  this is the hope I can offer. It is terrifying and promising. We stand on a precipice: we will either descend into a scruffy form of nazism in which the state will institutionalize the elimination of marginalized people or we will harness our power to make change.

From now until the election I will write to you each week. Letters of encouragement. Letters filled with rage. Letters offering hope. But be sure of this, this election is the most important election of our lives. White people once saw racism ‘through a glass darkly’. Men once saw sexism, heterosexuals saw homosexism, citizens saw immigrants – all through a glass darkly. If our eyes are not opened now. If we cannot see the dehumanization of others. If we close our eyes to the violence perpetrated on black bodies through out our history. If we allow ourselves to be blind to those truths, then we will not be a part of bringing about necessary, long-overdue change. Even worse, we will be allowing evil to persist.

What hope can I offer you today? If we dare to open our eyes and open our hearts, then we have the hope of a new dawn, a new reality that we must do everything in our power to usher in. The hope of hearing the other, even if the reality they speak is different from our own. The hope when we offer our hearts and our bodies to that cry for justice that is truly sacred. The hope the comes when we both trust and live into knowing that love is greater than hate.

It’s the end of the world as we know it. Thanks be to Godde.
Connie

Love and Fear in the Age of Trump

What does ‘love casts out fear’ mean in a time when we have so much to fear? In the past three and half years fear has ridden me like the proverbial hound from hell.
I fear the rise of fascism, the rise and deepening of racism and sexism.
I fear the corona virus.
I fear people who do not socially distance and/or wear masks.
I fear anti-vaxxers who may waylay our best outcome.
I fear the unbridled hatred of an ‘us and them’ culture.
I fear that our nation will devour itself and descend into the chaos of hate.

Fear unchallenged devolves into hatred. Our primal need to survive, fueled by fear, can shift our experience of powerlessness into hatred. If we find and claim our power through hatred we may survive but our dreams for a better world will be stunted. I feel it. I feel utter hatred when bombarded by ignorance, injustice, lies, and evil. But I also feel how it can make me a smaller person. Hatred has its place, but if I draw my power to act from my hatred I am diminished and the justice I seek to invoke is diminished.

What I don’t imagine when I ponder the meaning of love casting out fear,  is that Godde is calling us to love what we fear.  Instead,  when we experience ourselves loved by Godde, we trust that Love is the grounding  of the world. It is then that we are freed  to stand up to the very  things that inspire our fears and work to diminish us..

When I began to think about this I started at the place important to me: knowing myself as loved. Living into the certainty of Love as the primary activity of Godde,  I am freed to act without fear.  When I allow myself to experience unfettered love and acceptance I am opened to another kind of power. Unlike the power of hatred, the power of love bequeaths the audacity to act with courage, to live into what Carter Heyward calls justice-love in the world.  (Justice-love: justice as the inherent activity of Divine love)

There is being loved and  there is being the one who loves. In some real sense being loved empowers us to become lovers. When we are lovers – lovers  of our world, lovers of  our neighbor, lovers our children, lovers of justice – it enlarges our hearts and banishes fear. It is then we stand,  protect, and love so fiercely that fear does not inhibit us.

So love extravagantly.
Love boldly.
Love with a ferocity that drives out the fears that keep us from standing and acting on behalf of justice.
Love so that the world we create is better than the one we are challenging.

Centering in Gratitude, Finding Hope


Last night, while online with my spiritual community for a time of prayer, I felt the heaviness of all we are enduring during this pandemic: the chaos of authoritarianism, if not fascism, the small and daily losses we face, the heaviness of systemic racism and sexism in our nation. And it came to me as we were sharing and praying that in the midst of so much suffering, rage, and fear we weren’t praying any prayers of gratitude.

Gratitude is a spiritual practice that centers me. It keeps me from dropping into an abyss of hopelessness. So I invited (okay harangued) everyone to share something, one thing, even a small thing, for which they were grateful. And as we began to share small lumens flickered. Fireflies of grace blinked into view, if only for a moment.

And our tentative lights strengthened into the ‘luminous darkness’ that Howard Thurman talks about. When diving in the ocean we are first illuminated by the light from the sky. Further on, we enter deep darkness where light does not penetrate. And then. And then when we have gone deeper than we think we can bear – there is a the unexpected light at the bottom of the ocean given off by unknown sea creatures.

While not as dramatic, through our gratitude practice we encountered unexpected light. Even more, we began to hope. And the hopes we shared for a better world were glorious. I hadn’t realized how much hope I had given up. I could dream an end to this time of hate, disease, fascism, isolation, anxiety…  but I hadn’t hoped for what we could be.

Last night as hope began to burn within us we dreamed of the wonderful ways this tragedy could be transformed. Eager. Excited. Animated. Things we hadn’t been or felt for so long. It was like gasping  a deep breath after nearly suffocating. We were astonished by our very ability to hope – and not just little hopes, but to hope large.

So today I invite you find gratitude where you can. Small or large, let your gratitude become a place of luminous darkness. And may it carve out space in your heart for the possibility of hope.