Category Archives: Uncategorized

An Invitation to Radical Bridge Buidling

A Gracious Heresy, Christian feminist (radical and otherwise- or is it all radical?), everyday theology, musings, Uncategorized

bridge buildingI am a radical bridge builder and I want you to be one, too.

Somewhere in my upbringing with the experience of many cultures, many races and many people, I came to the absolute conviction that human beings are more alike than different. It is really difficult for me to go to a place of ‘us’ and ‘them’ – though that thinking permeates our cultural and political landscape.

It is hard to be a bridge builder. As difficult as it is to be a vocal activist. Both require putting one’s self on the line. Both are the important work of change and justice.

Bridge building asks of us a different kind of courage. If your call is to put your body on the line as an activist, then do it. And, oh yeah, they aren’t mutually exclusive. Both types of work needs to be done.

What is the courage required to build bridges? First, is the courage of vulnerability. You have to be open about yourself to people who dislike, hate, or fear you. You have to be willing to expose parts of yourself that are real, and sometimes the parts of you that are tender, as an invitation to mutuality.

Then you must have the courage to listen. You have to listen to things that are repugnant, hateful, fearful and, often, ignorant. You have to listen without the immediate agenda of being heard. And you have to listen with a heart of compassion as well as with emotional intelligence. Believe it or not, this is change making. This is the slow process of mutual humanization that opens the door for new understandings and new relationship.

Here’s the thing: there will be many times when you speak and will not be heard. Helping someone to hear is an important task of bridge building. It requires patience and gentleness because when people can’t hear it is because they are afraid. It may present as anger, aggression, or hate but behind those leading feelings is profound fear. And when people are afraid the most radical thing we can do, the most loving thing we can do, is walk with them through their valley of shadows.

So… I invite you to join me and be a bridge builder, too. Know that it is difficult work that requires vulnerability with those who are hostile toward you, compassion for those who hate, and the strength to listen to those who disagree with you.

We who work for justice crave radical change. We work to change laws and systems because injustice saturates our culture. We must march. We must VOTE. We must speak and not be silenced. We must challenge ourselves to root out our own internalized racism, homophobia, sexism, ageism, ableism and classism.

And we must do the hard work of building bridges. Because who we are when we get to the other side is important.

I Forgot to Be Afraid

everyday theology, memoir, musings, Uncategorized


In 1973 I fell in love with a woman. We walked down the street holding hands and swinging our arms, laughing and I, filled with some kind of holy joy, sang the Doxology. I was so happy I was sure the whole world would be happy with me. All the world loves a lover, so they say.

That’s the last time I felt safe. Before that I knew I was not safe as a woman. Keys in hand when I approach my car. Not going out at night alone. Heightened awareness of my surroundings. How I traverse the world are so internalized I usually am not conscious of why I make the choices I do. Usually not conscious of the underlying fear that has become a part of me.

Being LGBT invites a different kind of fear. Some of us use the privilege of our appearance to feel safe. Some can’t. Many don’t want to. I chose to be open about who I am, not trading in on my appearance, understanding the possible consequences.

Being gay, whether you are out or not, means being bombarded with hate speech, threats of violence, actual violence, rejection by loved ones, communities, and spiritual homes. It takes a strong person to move in the world as openly LGBT. When gay marriage was legalized by the Supreme Court we believed the tide was turning. And it is. It also became a call to arms for our haters. In my better moments I realize that what drives the haters is fear.

So then North Carolina happens, legislating base discrimination. And then Orlando happens and our worst fears are met. The denial we found comfort in when it doesn’t happen to us is the same denial women lean toward when another woman is raped or harmed. “It won’t happen to me because I make different choices.” We use it as a psychological shield because it is intolerable to live in constant fear. The truth is, one can only handle so much hatred, rejection and violence. That is why so many of our LGBT young people commit suicide. That is why the need for safe spaces, like Pulse, like affirming churches, like safe campuses, are so important to us.

Our brothers and sisters were killed and injured in what we thought was a safe space. They walked through the doors and let out the breath they were holding. No hate speech here. No rejection. No hatred. Only the freedom of one another’s company. It is a good thing to not be afraid.

Sometimes I forget to be afraid. I pray for the day when we can forget to be afraid: African-Americans, women, LGBT, immigrants, our haters… The task before us, our nation and our world, is to confront the ignorance that perpetrates fear and anger wherever it raises its hideous head. In the boardroom, the classroom, the chambers of government, the sanctuaries of churches.

We have a big job ahead of us. Let us proceed with courage in the memory of those who were murdered and in honor of all of us who survive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

What is in my panties?

Uncategorized

sexy-kitty-pantiesWe are only a generation away from the time when ‘vagina’ wasn’t a word said in polite society. Before that, if I recall correctly, it was ‘privates’ – or if you were progressive like my mom was – one referred to what was in one’s panties as ‘genitals’.

That was the good stuff. On the streets it was twat and cunt and pussy and gash… I could go on and on.

Men seem to have a love/hate relationship with female genitalia, even gay men. I was on the board of a gay/lesbian organization (that I soon left) where the men referred to women as ‘fish’. To demean another man call him a ‘pussy’. To demean a woman spew ‘cunt’ at her. Or a gazillion other slang names. I refer you to this slang dictionary website: http://onlineslangdictionary.com/thesaurus/words+meaning+vulva+(%27vagina%27),+female+genitalia.html

Now – thank you, Eve Ensler, we proudly use the words ‘vagina’ and ‘vulva’. Even in public. Even on prime time television.

The rest of the country seems to be afraid of what is in each others’ panties, jock shorts, boxers or thongs.                                                                                                                                                 Here’s the deal. The only person whose business it is about what is in my panties is me. And anyone with whom I care to share the information. It is private. Not only is it my privacy to control, every one should have the right to that privacy.

Maybe it’s a good idea for us to begin calling what is in our panties, tighty whitey’s, boxers or thongs ‘privates’ again. Then when someone enters a public restroom we would all remember that what is in their drawers is ‘privates’.

Paint and Change

memoir, musings, Uncategorized

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Color is a palate of emotions. Blue is calm, green energy, red strength, yellow openness.

My life changed significantly in the past three years. The colors around me kept me in places I no longer want or need to be.  So I changed colors. Not for me the soft gray, charcoal and dusty mauve. I no longer wake to periwinkle blues. Grief muddied all the colors around me any way and the dulled colors bound me to relationships that no longer exist and a life no longer lived.

So I paint. No white ceilings for me, I wrap entire rooms in color. Now I wake to apple green. I gather family and friends in a room of white blush, robin’s egg blue and teal.

Colors arise from my insides and move into the world like a life force, like dandelions pushing their way through a crack in the sidewalk. And color gifts me from the outside in, beckoning me to new life. Reminding me to live again. To embrace the world and be a part of it.

I reclaim my life with paint. Color me Connie.

A short good-bye

everyday theology, memoir, Uncategorized

13137_10151300548633803_1002071737_n                                                     My mother died December 20, 2014.

The picture above is from her 90th birthday party. A hundred and twenty of her closest friends – including many folks from out of state – joined in the celebration. At one point we had open mike for people to share stories.  There was a repetition of themes: she loved life, she loved without borders, she served without acknowledgement,  and she accepted unconditionally without theological contortions.

She woke up every morning attuned to Jesus’ command to love Godde and neighbor. And she did. Every day in a myriad of ways.  After the party was over (an indoor picnic- it was February after all – BBQ,  potato salad, slaw, deviled eggs, 12 homemade cakes and gallons of homemade ice cream) I asked her what she thought about what people stood up to share.

“I kept wondering who they were talking about.” she said.

This is how I will remember her: laughing, joyful, loving, quietly serving, humble, and deeply in love with Godde.

She always told me she wanted to die in her sleep. (Don’t we all?) And she came about as close to that as possible. December 17th she went to a Christmas luncheon, ate dinner with me of homemade tomato-basil soup and fresh bread, played bridge until 10 that night and shortly after our guests left, suffered a major hemorrhagic stroke. At the emergency room I refused to have her intubated and the next day we moved her to hospice.

For three days I served her.  She passed quietly with myself and my daughter in the room and a crowd of loved ones keeping vigil outside. I opened  the window so she could feel the fresh air on her skin. And I sang her over. I sang her favorite song, In the Garden and the song, unbidden, that came out of me as I stroked her hair, Jesus, We are Here. 

When her spirit rose from her body I washed the vessel that had gestated me, held me, accepted me, honored me and loved me.  I have thanks for each part of her as I blessed her hands, feet, womb, and heart. I brushed her hair, dressed her in red with matching red lipstick and a spritz of perfume as I loved her from life into death into life.

This short good-bye is what she would have wanted. For me, the good-bye will last until I greet her at the hour of my own death.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

retro- Wednesday- How Can It Be Different?

Christian feminist (radical and otherwise- or is it all radical?), Circle of Grace, everyday theology, retro-Wednesday, spiritual practice, Uncategorized

 

 

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originally posted August 16, 2010

How different can you ‘do church’ from traditional models?  So far the answer is a resounding ‘somewhat’.

Here’s the thing: we want to share power.  We don’t want to replicate any kind of hierarchy.  We named ourselves Circle of Grace because all the points on the circle are on an even playing field.  In theory that translates to equal or shared power.   In practice, people are often uncomfortable with the thought of exercising power.  Maybe they are afraid of being ‘wrong’ or maybe they are afraid they will have to ‘bring it’.

In our model everyone has a voice.  That’s a good thing.  What’s difficult (I’ll refrain from saying ‘bad’) is that not everybody is willing to exercise his or her power.  As feminists, we redefined power.  For us, power isn’t ‘power over’ anything.  Power is what we share.  For some of us it is uncomfortable – but we agree it is important.

This breaks down pretty significantly when commitment and responsibility are iffy.  It is a pretty big trade off.  For some reason, in hierarchical power structures those with power are able to require a certain amount of responsibility.   Not so much in a non-hierarchical situation.  In my bad moments, I hate that.  I hate that we don’t have a structure I can wrangle to get something done quickly, without discussion or dissension.  Sometimes I hate it that everyone has a voice but not everyone has the inclination to do the work that needs to be dome.

So how different are we from more traditional churches?  Sometimes not at all.  Sometimes power lands in the lap of a few because of lack of interest.  Kind of like state and federal elections.  We have the power to vote, but too many people don’t give enough of a damn to exercise their power.  As pastor, I am sometimes left with too much power by default.  (Default: no one else wants to do it)  Fortunately, I don’t want the power even when I have to exercise it.

Sometimes we are very, very different from traditional churches.  There is no power of ‘right thought’ or ‘right belief’.  One of the most challenging aspects of being in our community is that we are not bound by shared belief.  There may be someone who believes in substitutionary atonement and another who vehemently does not (in fact most of us don’t).  We have had times of members who opposed abortion and those who worked for choice organizations.  We have learned to make room for one another.

That’s the wonderful part.  It is wonderful enough to balance out the trials of a lumpy sharing of power.  How different can it be?  Different enough that we keep on trying to figure out how we’ve been socialized and work against what is easy or comfortable.  We know we are on a huge learning curve.  I guess that’s how different it is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

What makes me an American

A Gracious Heresy, memoir, musings, Uncategorized

 

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Writing memoir raises a slew of questions that clamor to be explored, always returning to the central question: who are you?

As an army brat, when people ask me where I am from I answer, “All over”. Growing up, I lived most of my formative years abroad.  As a child I was clear and sure that I was American even though most of my young life had been lived on ‘foreign’ soil. In places that are often more home to me than anywhere in the United States.

I do not identify as American because I was raised in a common culture with my fellow citizens,  not because I share common experiences and not because we speak a common language.  It means I don’t look like my fellow citizens who come from all over the world. It means we often disagree about faith and politics. And on our better days our differences are good and give us the richness of our ideas.

What makes me an American are the ideas and the ideals my family taught me about what it means to be an American. My Dad  instilled in me that  I am a part of a grand experiment in equality, freedom and justice. My duty as a citizen is to always stand on the side of equality, freedom and justice.

It also means that I have the freedom to explore, to try new things, to expand my understandings and experiences… and to fail.  As an American I was taught that failure, though painful, is not terminal. I can rise and try again. Try things that are born in my imagination. Fail spectacularly at reaching for the stars and make it to the moon.

Those are the things that make me an American. Freedom, equality and justice don’t stop at my borders. Having a responsibility to those ideals gives me a world vision. Knowing I can fail and not be defeated makes me ever hopeful.

And along the way I discovered that understanding myself as an American encourages me  to claim myself as a citizen of the world.

 

Retro- Wednesday: revisiting the beginning

Christian feminist (radical and otherwise- or is it all radical?), Circle of Grace, Uncategorized

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(this was originally posted in 2010)

Over sixteen years ago, twelve women took a class I taught entitled Christian Feminist Theology. Toward the end of the class several women said, “We want to do church that looks like this.”

For me, it was the beginning of a vision of what spiritual community could look like. Okay, then it was all women and mostly lesbians but it was s a good start. Our intent was to build community way more expansive. We didn’t want to repeat what we saw/see to be the shortcomings of the traditional church. Instead, we have found plenty of our own unique shortcomings. But more on that at a later date.

At our first retreat, working to form a covenant that expressed our vision, our big question was ‘ is there anyone who would not be welcome?’ followed by a lot of ‘what if’ questions: what if a skinhead came? what if someone showed up naked? or drunk? would those folks be welcome?

Our answer was: everyone is welcome, even those who we find distasteful. The only criteria is that their intent not be to disrupt worship. And by the way, for a long while, someone had a blanket in the trunk of the car, to cover the naked person so s/he didn’t disrupt worship.

The bigger vision we held, and still hold, is a community of women and men, children and elders, LGBTQI (lesbian, gay, bi-sexual, transgendered, queer-identified, and intrasexed), heterosexuals, people with physical and mental disabilities, people with mental health challenges, Asian, African-American, and Latino folk- and anyone we hadn’t thought of yet. We wanted and want to create a community that is inclusive. And not merely inclusive of the kind of people who show up, but inclusive in the building relationships, making space for one another and struggling with all the messiness of living in dynamic community.
That kind of community can be built in many contexts but, to me is the imperative of christian life. The vision of all-inclusive community is a vision of the kin-dom. It is how we live Godde’s future in the now. Or as theologians would say: it is living eschatologically.
To that end this is the covenant we hammered out early on:
We, the Circle of Grace Community Church, as christians, covenant with God and one another to intentionally and self-reflectively:
* live with compassion and seek justice
* continually discern that to which God calls us
* build spiritual community that is inclusive of race, gender, sexuality, abilities, class,
culture, age and religious backgrounds.
* provide safe haven
* worship and pray together and our worship and prayer and that in our worship and
prayer our language about God and humanity will be inclusive.
* live in right relationship with God and each other
* speak truth to power.

Clearly ambitious and not particularly comfortable, building expansive spiritual community is like building a path in the wilderness: many people have to walk the way before the path becomes either clear or firm. We’re walking. We’re sometimes screwing it up. We’re sometimes the glory of what human beings can be. Mostly, we’re walking. We’re rolling. We’re limping or crawling. We are making a way together through the wilderness.
Stay tuned for more about the good, the bad, the ugly, the profane and the sacredness of our journey together.