Category Archives: Uncategorized

Here’s What We Can’t Do

February 9, 2017everyday theology, musings, progressive politics, resistance, spiritual practice, UncategorizedConnie Tuttle

Do you, like me, wake up every morning wondering what fresh new hell has occurred while you were asleep? Silencing women. Confirming the unqualified and the racist to two important positions in government. Nudging us to the brink of nuclear war. Climbing in bed with Putin. Refuting the supremacy of law. The catalogue is longer than I have either the time or interest to list. Suffice it to say that in a short three weeks we have been subjected to seemingly unending ‘series of unfortunate events’.

Many of us are calling our senators and representatives. Keep it up.

Many of us are writing letters, postcards, and emails. Don’t stop.

Many of us are going to town hall meetings. Show up. Speak up.

Many of us keep marching. Rest those pups and keep on walking.

Many of us are meeting together, making connections, and multiplying our energy. Keep on keeping on.

There are times when we may become overwhelmed, fearful, or exhausted but we can’t lose hope or give up.

We can’t give up because:

we believe that our beauty and power are expressed in many ways

we believe in sharing power and in each one having a voice

we stand with those who cannot stand for themselves

we speak for those with no voice

we care about the powerless, the homeless, the ill, the impoverished, the marginalized

we care about our planet and its future

all those things are worth standing for whether or not we prevail

There is no failure when we live into what we believe.

The Power of Small Acts of Resistance

February 2, 2017musings, progressive politics, resistance, spiritual practice, UncategorizedConnie Tuttle

In Chaos Theory there is something called ‘the butterfly effect’. The most popular example is of a monsoon in China caused a butterfly flapping its wings in New Mexico. It may take a very long time, but the connection is real. If the butterfly had not flapped its wings at just the right point in space/time, the hurricane would not have happened.

Here’s our takeaway: Small acts make a big difference.

Do you think your phone call to a Senator’s or Representative’s office doesn’t make a difference? Think again. What will a postcard matter? More than we can imagine. Showing up at a town hall meeting? Ten thousand butterfly wings flutter.

We are not corporations. We are not the power elite. We are teachers, preachers, plumbers, administrative assistants, veterans and veterinarians, dog-walkers and retirees, hair dressers and waitresses. We are moms and dads, grandparents, sisters and brothers. Our individual and collective actions, however small, will change the climate in Washington.

So flap away my fellow butterflies.

We’ve Only Just Begun

January 23, 2017feminism, progressive politics, UncategorizedConnie Tuttle

I look back at my last post and wonder at how afraid I was – to the point of saying I was willing to die, if necessary. I thought we might be confronted by the ugliness and/or violence of the misogynistic, nationalistic, neo-Nazi, right. I was willing to take the risk. The night before the march there were riots in the streets of the capitol and hundreds arrested. I expected the police to be on edge. They probably were.

Today I am here to report that 500,000 strong came together in ways I have not seen before. Women’s participation and leadership shaped an atmosphere and embodied a kind of strength that is contrary to the traditional masculine understanding of power. And we shone. Proud. Powerful. Fun. Fabulous. Making all the connections between race and class, immigrants, nationalities, people with disabilities, sexualities, genders, gender-expressions, children, elders, infants, and the planet! This is what we do so well – we see ourselves linked and bonded to one another and to the earth and the sky and the oceans.

We chanted

“This is what democracy looks like!”

The women shouted “My body, my choice!” and the men responded “her body, her choice!”

And “immigrants are welcome here” and “We’re here, we’re queer and we will not be afraid”

The signs! The AMAZING, creative signs (all correctly spelled):

“the rise of the woman is the rise of the nation”

“I march because a man once told me my opinions about politics were an example of ‘why women should stay in the kitchen’ all the other men in the room laughed. Am I still funny now?”

“Fight like a girl”

“Impeach Putin’s pussy-grabbing, tiny fingered, puppet”

“when they go low, we go high” (thanks Michelle)

“YUGE mistake”

“this election was brought to you by the KGB”

“a woman’s place is in the revolution”

“let us not grow weary”

“make America Kind again” and “make America Care again”

“hope not fear”

“they buried us but they didn’t know we’re seeds”

“there is no planet B”

“black trans lives matter”

“amnesty for the dreamers”

“women know how to clean, let’s start with your Cabinet”

“make America think again”

“I will not be silent”

“rapist in chief”

“pussies unite”

“respect our existence or expect resistance”

“What do we want? Evidence based science! When do we want it? After peer review!”

“the power of the people is stronger than people in power” .

We embody the hope, the anger, the passion, and the commitment of women and men across our nation and around the world, from Antarctica to Zimbabwe. We will rise up, engage, work from within and without to take back the heart of our country. We will define who we are as a nation – not the one painted by neo-Nazi, misogynist, racist, classist, ‘alternative fact’ bullshit artists.

What can we know now that we may not have realized before? That our story is quite different from the one fabricated by Trump and his hacks who believe his election is the end of the story. It is not. We are.

We will write about the time to come because we are the ones who will make it happen.We will claim our flawed fore-bearers and our own imperfections while following a shared vision of what is possible. We will work against racism, sexism, homophobia, ageism, climate change, and for disability rights, trans-rights, healthcare, equal pay and all things that contribute to the well-being of each one. We will work to recapture the heart of our nation and tell tales of all those who champion truth, freedom, inclusion, and justice. We must do the work and be the change so we can teach those who come after us the art of dragon-slaying.

Once upon a time…

“Are You Ready? Come Go With Me”

January 19, 2017everyday theology, feminism, LGBT theology, memoir, musings, progressive christianity, spiritual practice, UncategorizedConnie Tuttle

Today we pack our belongings – enough to last for three days. Not so much meager as essential. Take only what you need. Underwear, shirts, a pair of jeans, portable phone charger, black sharpie, metro pass, ID, gas money.

In the morning we load up the car. We will wipe the sleep from our eyes and suck down coffee as we face early traffic. It will be a long drive. And we will laugh and sing, pray and cry. Mostly we will feel both our connections and our shared fears.

I am not afraid of dying so much. And perhaps I am being over-dramatic but a friend called this morning and asked if I were sure I wanted to go. There could be violence, he warned. And this, too, is new for a seasoned marcher like me. This march may be more like Montgomery and Selma than the peaceful marches for women’s rights, against the war, for civil rights, for gay rights that I have been a part of… this might be different.

I am not so much afraid of dying but it doesn’t mean I do not want to live. The Way in which I follow, the one whose life is my roadmap lets me know there are things worse than dying. Not standing for the disenfranchised, whether or not I am one of that number, is worse than keeping ‘safe’. And what is ‘keeping safe’ any way if I abandon my core principles.

My dad was a soldier. He put his life on the line many days for many years. He, too, taught me that it is important to live in service to something greater than yourself. And he taught me that being brave and being afraid are intricately entwined. He even went so far as to tell me that if I wasn’t afraid then I would not proceed with caution and that was just plain stupid.

No matter the outcome of this testament to the values we hold sacred, the standing together matters. I will stand with you, my friends, and I will stand for you.

There is a song from my younger days that the Staple Singers sang. It keeps running through my head and it is important for our time as well. I’ve posted the lyrics here. It is my invitation to the nation: come go with me. Go to Washington. Go to your local march. We cannot wait to stand and be counted.

If you’re ready come go with me

No hatred

Will be tolerated

Peace love all between the races

Love is the only transportation

To where there’s communications

If you’re ready come go with me

The boat is after

The ever here to there

No wars will ever be declared

No economical exploitation

No political domination

Take your evil

Come go with me

Genocide

Get ready

Troublemaker

You better get ready now

Liars

I’m waiting on ya

Songwriters

BANKS, HOMER / HAMPTON, CARL MITCHELL / JACKSON, RAYMOND E.

Bread of Life

January 5, 2017everyday theology, memoir, musings, spiritual practice, UncategorizedConnie Tuttle

Can I tell you a story about what happened the other day? On December 20^th a new friend came by with a large bag and handed it to me saying, ‘Merry Christmas’. I opened it and the yeasty fragrance of freshly baked bread wafted into the air. It was a loaf of homemade bread that she made in a bread machine.

“Can I tell you a story?” I asked.

“Sure.” She replied.

“My mom baked bread every week in her bread machine. When someone moved into the neighborhood she took a loaf of homemade bread and welcomed them. Every week she took a fresh loaf to her hairdresser as her ‘tip’. She often baked bread for communion at Circle of Grace. What you don’t know is that today is the second anniversary of my mother’s passing. This loaf of bread must be coming from her through you. It is the most special gift I will receive.”

This is my Christmas story.

We Need A Little Christmas…

December 22, 2016A Gracious Heresy, Circle of Grace, everyday theology, LGBT theology, musings, progressive christianity, progressive politics, UncategorizedConnie Tuttle

Not here we said.

Never here.

But it is here

and it is now.

Wealth so repulsive, unethical, self-serving

Built on the backs of the hungry, the hurting, the oppressed,

the left out and left behind.

Power so arrogant as to despise kindness and human dignity.

We need a little Christmas right this very minute

We need a vision of the beauty in creation

the ethic of vulnerability

the power of love.

We need a story that emerges in the midst of

an oppressive state

corrupt power

religious factions.

We need a story of perseverance

Right over might

Love over hate

Goodness over evil

Truth over lies.

America is built on ideas that are important to hold on to and that many have forgotten. We are built on ideas that require a strong commitment to diversity, to a free press and undiluted truth. Assumed in our constitution, in all our founding documents is the idea that we will remain in dialogue. That respect for one another grounds us in a way of being. That relationship is necessary and disagreement is always in context of relationship. The concept of the ‘loyal opposition’ assumes we all seek the greater good for the nation.

We have lost that relationship. Lost it because, in no small part, the right is now so radicalized (see: Tea Party, white supremacists) that finding ‘a third way’ is no longer the goal. All or nothing is the goal. It has rent us in two.

So when I, as a pastor, say ‘we need a little Christmas’ I mean we need to remember the source of our faith journey. It begins in poverty, it values the outsider (moral, cultural, racial, etc) and it overcomes oppression, hate, and fear with love. Our story invites us to a kind of love that infuses a deep sense of self worth, the courage to resist, and the willingness to sacrifice.

Now the rubber meets the road. We must live into ideas greater than ourselves and our own self-interest. For my fellow Christians, this season I urge us to embrace our story of hope, power, and promise. And let us honor faith traditions other than our own who journey beside us as they uniquely express the love of God.

The story of this nation isn’t over.

The story of the incarnation isn’t over.

It is just beginning.

Our hope is being born in the muck,

in the stench of poverty

in the belly of the oppressive beast.

We must allow hope to be born in us

with power and passion

for the facing of this hour.

We’ll All Go Up to Washington

December 8, 2016everyday theology, feminism, progressive politics, UncategorizedConnie Tuttle

January 21^st.

Make plans NOW.

It isn’t ‘just’ a protest.

It is a show of force.

Let it be known that we have a voice.

Loud

Shrill, if need be

Strong

even when it shakes.

We are a force to be reckoned with

We vote

We stand

We act

Let it be known that the power rests with us

‘Trump may have the position

but we have the power’

the preacher preached the day after the election

We will not be intimidated

We will not be silenced

Remember, friends,

there are more of us than there are of them

they will not soon forget a million women

and their allies

strong

vocal

unrepentant

seeking justice for our neighbors

for the earth

for the oppressed

for oursleves.

Make plans now.

Carpool.

Stay with friends.

Bring snacks

and gloves

and scarves

and wear your warmest coat.

We must stand together.

Now more than ever.

January 21^st.

Make plans NOW.

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/womens-march-on-washington-official-tickets-29428287801

(register, it’s free. Go to link above)

The Lies of Despair

November 10, 2016UncategorizedConnie Tuttle

Despair is the rat gnawing at my gut while it tries to seduce me with lies: you are powerless, you are alone, there is no hope

I refuse to accept the lies of despair.I am not powerless.I am not alone.There is hope. We are not powerless. We are not alone. There is hope.

Please join me in rejecting the lies of despair. Go where you need to go to not feel alone.Find and nurture your innate power to stand, speak, listen, act on behalf of compassion and justice.

There is hope. And when we do not give into the lies of despair we become the embodiment of that hope.

That Time A Man Grabbed My Pussy

October 13, 2016feminism, memoir, musings, progressive politics, UncategorizedConnie Tuttle

A storm of memories hit when I heard Donald Trump bragging about being able to grab a woman’s ‘pussy’ without repercussion.

Like most, if not all, women I have been subject to unwanted advances, sexual innuendoes, lecherous remarks, and crude invitations. I have been and felt threatened to be by myself at night. I know the drill. We learn to navigate it. Our awareness becomes second nature and, eventually, not even consciously recognized. As a woman who embraces my sexuality I encounter men who think I ‘deserve’ the unwanted attention, however sordid.

I was twenty-one or so and worked in a bar around the corner from the Springer Opera House in Columbus, Georgia where I volunteered backstage for their theatre productions. One evening, after the opening of a play, members of the audience crowded in for a nightcap before going home. It was a crush. I placed a slew of drink orders at the bar and carefully placed over ten mixed drinks on my serving tray. Lifting it over my head and pushing my way through the throng I smiled and joked with the customers as I passed.

Then it happened. I gently pushed through a group congregated in the middle of my path. These folks were dressed to the nines. Women in evening clothes, men in suits. The crème de la crème of Columbus society. As I made my way I felt a hand reach between my legs from behind and grab my pussy.

As if he had a right.

I pivoted on a dime in the tight space, wrenching myself from his trespass and smashed my tray full of drinks into his face.

“Get your hands off me!” I screamed, shaking with outrage.

I couldn’t believe anyone would be so arrogant as to grab me like that, in public, with his wife standing nearby. Without my permission.

He told the bar owner that he hadn’t done a thing. I insisted he had. The owner told me that as his employee I was considered his ‘ property’ and I should have come to him. Then he did something the Donald would love, he sneered at me and said, “You’re Fired!”

So when I heard Donald Trump bragging about what he is able to do (in his mind) without permission I was forced to remember the time I was powerless to defend myself. Did I mention I was a single mom supporting my daughter? The man with the money and the power and the arrogance to assault me like that suffered a little embarrassment and the enjoyment of having me fired. I suffered both assault on my most intimate self and financial insecurity.

So thanks, Donald, for helping me remember what it is like to have a rich and powerful man assault you with impunity. Thank you for reminding me how the women who have come forward are brave and righteous. And, finally, thank you for revealing yourself as an arrogant, entitled, misogynist who has no idea how your actions of a moment affect the women you manhandle for a lifetime.

We Are An Idea

October 6, 2016musings, progressive politics, UncategorizedConnie Tuttle

I keep gnawing on this concept that the United States is more idea than geography. It is really important for us to pay attention to, to name, to remember and we just don’t pay the Idea of who are its due.

Think about it. The pilgrims, the slaves, the convicts, those fleeing famine and political unrest, those fleeing persecution ended up here. Why? It wasn’t to be with other British or Irish or Poles or Jews, Chinese or – well, you get the idea. Africans were enslaved and brought here against their will but ended up, however tragically, a part of the great experiment, the great idea.

Everyone who comes here comes from a place where their geography defines their history, nationality, worldview, and politics. Why do they come? Why do they leave home and hearth, generations of memories, and a world of shared experiences?

They come because of an idea. Or in the case of those who came against their will, they hope for the future because of an idea.

That’s who we are. We are an idea. An ever-expanding idea of justice, self-government, equality, and freedom. We often get it wrong. Mostly because of where we’ve come from or where we’ve been. We crave freedom and fear it at the same time. We lust after justice and worry that justice for others will diminish us. Not so much because we are bad but because we are human.

Well, some of us are bad. Some of us hate. Some of us live in fear. Some of us have made the United States about geography. Our idea is supposed to temper and guard against that. But that is NOT who we are.

We are Cajun and Irish, Italian and Jewish, Chinese and Vietnamese, Thai and Pilipino. We are English and German, French and African. Bangladeshi and Indian. We all came from a place (or our ancestors did) to an idea.

And we need to remind ourselves every day. Religious freedom, personal freedom, freedom of speech and expression. Self governance – the idea the world thought would fail (please don’t let it be this year that it does!). Equality. An idea that does not and cannot remain stagnant but that must be expanded every time it is challenged by people who are oppressed.

Black Lives Matter doesn’t just challenge the racism in this country, it challenges us to remember, buy into, and own the IDEA of who we claim to be as a nation.

We are based on some really, really good ideas. Our founding documents are sacred in their intent. It is often difficult to enter an idea with preconceptions and prejudices of the past, but not impossible. It is our task. Our work. Our future. Our duty and our calling, in each generation, to live into the promises of the ideas this nation is founded on.

Don’t be the generation that allows our sacred ideas of freedom, justice, and self-governance to die.